Night Secrets Cherry Adair CONTENTS Cover Page Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Also by Cherry Adair Preview for Night Shadow Copyright This one is for Lisa Marie McKay, with love. In memory of the bright light that was Lily. One NOVOS C OMECOS M EDI-S PA RIO DE J ANEIRO BRAZIL 0100 He was screwed. Face pressed to the gritty sand, Lucas Fox attempted to unscramble his brain. Think, dammit. Unfortunately he'd fallen forty feet to land on his head. It wasn't nearly as hard as his friends claimed it to be. And speaking of friends--he could use a little help right about now. The night sky was bright with the light cones of five military choppers illuminating a crosshatch pattern over both the choppy ocean and the narrow strip of beach-front where he lay. They whop-whop-whopped back and forth, stirring up sand and causing palm fronds to dance wildly. Down the entire sugary length of the beach, the rows of pastel-colored beach houses were strung like gaudy beads and the violently swaying palms were lit up as if it were high noon. If he were visible, he'd be . . . fucking visible. He was a sitting duck out in the open. A ruffled wave lapped up to dance playfully against his foot. A futile attempt to move out of the surf made his head swim. Acknowledging concussion--been there, done that--Lucas focused on cataloging his injuries while his lungs automatically fought for air. Everything hurt like hell. By some miracle he hadn't broken his neck, a definite plus. He'd been shot, but only once, and in the fleshy part of his shoulder. Been there, done that, too. He'd live. Maybe. Right now he was hanging onto invisibility by willpower alone. He'd been at the tail end of a Trace Teleport, following Mica Escar, a Half wizard, when his powers had fizzled out midair. He'd dropped like a rock. The sand wasn't nearly as goddamned soft as it looked. Obviously he'd been unconscious long enough to hear the distant echo of his window of opportunity slam shut. A chopper flew directly overhead, making the inside of his eyelids burn red. Lucas managed to stay out of sight until it passed. Sustaining invisibility was like holding your breath underwater for too long. Eventually one had to come up for air. He had to teleport off the beach. He gave it his best shot. Visualizing the hidden end of the long white beach, the sheltered, grassy section of land, he thought himself there. Sand still pressed into his cheek. Damn it to hell. Nothing. He faded in and out of consciousness. A bad thing. Apparently, it was impossible for him to use two powers at once. He could maintain invisibility for only minutes at a time, but he couldn't maintain invisibility and attempt teleportation. One or the other apparently. Fuckit. He needed cover, and he needed it fast. Move. Too dizzy to think, let alone stand, he fought to hold onto iffy invisibility, his only protection against the searchers. The vibrating ground, thanks to the heavy rotors on the low-flying Hueys, made his brain hurt, and swirling sand stuck like fire ants to his abraded skin. The shouts of the soldiers gathered south of his position let him know they were forming a grid to search the beach and surrounding area. His shoulder ached like a bitch. The bullet had gone through and through, and sand adhered to the bloody wound. Well and truly screwed. Shit. It took everything in him to remain cognizant. His stomach pitched again and his vision blurred. Great. Just frigging great. Sucking in a hard-won breath, he considered his options before he passed out again. Wearing a bikini and carrying a glass of chilled wine in defense against the lingering heat of the day, Sydney McBride stood to one side of the picture window and widened the gap between the slats of the wood shutters with her fingers to get a better look outside. She'd been typing up the day's notes and contemplating a swim by moonlight when she'd heard the incredibly loud noise of helicopters overhead. She'd raced to switch off the lights in the bungalow so she could watch the action on the beach unobserved. The night sky was artificially bright as searchlights strafed the white-capped surface of the water. The illumination also showed at least twenty gun-wielding, uniformed men searching the beach and surrounding area. "Who or what are you guys looking for?" she murmured, intrigued. Clearly someone, or many someones, dangerous. Sydney's heart did a little tap dance. Woohoo! Excitement. Thank God. After five weeks of doing nothing more thrilling than compensating for her surgically enhanced boobs, interviewing fellow plastic surgery patients, writing and walking the beach, she was ready to scream with boredom. This was the longest she'd stayed in one place in years. Why all the guns? Was someone stealing penile implants? The thought amused her. A chapter in her new book Skin Deep on that subject would be entertaining to write if nothing else. There was much yelling and talking as the soldiers moved with purpose toward her middle-of-the-row bungalow. Whoever they were looking for didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell. She felt a twinge of sympathy for their hapless prey. A mouse couldn't escape detection faced with such determination and manpower. She observed several men knocking on doors far down the line of bungalows to her right. It wouldn't take them long to get to hers. The bungalows were all but empty. At least she thought they were. Sometimes when she'd been walking the beach late at night, she'd seen lights go on or off, and thought she heard voices. But she'd never seen anyone coming or going. As far as she knew, only nine of the twenty-five small, luxury beach houses still housed patients. Sydney knew them all. Polly Straus, nose and boobs; Stan Simpson, chin. There was Karen with her enhanced butt and higher cheekbones, and Denise with her face bandaged after her skin resurfacing and full lift. There was flirty, movie megastar Tony Maxim who'd looked better before he was "done." And Kandy Kane, a porn star whose new double Fs made her look as though she were a Macy's hot-air balloon ready for liftoff. The soldiers might linger at Kandy's door awhile, but they'd be knocking at her door soon enough. Sydney lifted her glass, taking a sip of cold, crisp Casa de Amaro chardonnay and letting the fruity flavor roll on her tongue as the soldiers got closer. Setting down her glass on the coffee table, she went to find a wrap before they got there. She had a few questions of her own to ask and her new, larger breasts distracted even herself. Crossing back to the window as she tied the belt of a short white robe, Sydney listened to the crunch of gravel as two men approached her front door. Her heart lurched in anticipation. God, she loved drama. Reaching for the doorknob she froze in her tracks as a primitive chill of awareness raced up the back of her neck. Exactly the same chill as when she'd been a kid, and frightened to put her feet on the floor because of the monster under her bed. She'd always had a terrific imagination. The hair on the back of her neck and arms stood up. This was not her imagination. Someone was in her room. She started to spin around just as a large hand curved over her mouth. The second he touched her, Sydney's eyes went wide and her teeth snapped together mid-scream as terror rendered her immobile. Static electricity shot through her body, making her hair crackle and her heart skip several beats before picking up speed and knocking hard against her ribs. Ow! Had the son of a bitch used a Taser on her? "What the hell--" her assailant muttered at the same time. He recovered from the shock faster than she did, and tugged her against him so that her back was flush to his front. He was a big man, yet he'd moved close enough to grab her without making a sound. Shifting slightly, with her against him, he leaned against the wall next to the door. Her body couldn't have been in any closer contact with his. Holy Mother of God. He was naked. Like an animal sensing the hunter was ready for the kill, Sydney's body went still, but her mind zigged and zagged as she tried to find a center of calm so she could decide what to do next. Whatever it was better be fast. And soon. But it was hard to think with the heat of his body surrounding her. The hot male smell of his skin overwhelmed her, making her thought process muddy and unwieldy. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as mind-boggling carnal images--things she'd never done, let alone imagined--flooded her brain in a kaleidoscope of graphic pictures. She went hot, then cold, then hot again. Bam. Bam. Bam. The soldiers were impatient. The intruder's breath brushed her neck. "Take off the robe." "N--" He stripped her of the garment before she'd finished the word. Left in just a few scraps of cloth that made up her bikini, Sydney felt the shocking, intimate touch of the man's powerfully muscled body from shoulder to thigh. He was tall, at least six three. His body the kind of hard that came from strenuous physical activity, not the gym. His skin felt hot. Wet. Gritty. She sucked in a breath-- His left hand went back over her mouth and smothered her scream. "Tell them I'm your boyfriend." His hot breath as he whispered against her ear was a disconcertingly intimate assault of its own. No way, buster. She tried to bite his palm. No go. Wiggling in his tight hold, Sydney kicked back with her bare foot. He didn't even twitch as her heel struck his shin. The knocking got louder. "Open it." His free hand snaked around her waist sliding down to rest securely, possessively, on her hipbone. Heat came off his large body in waves. He seemed to surround her. His hands were huge, cool, and implacable. The water on his skin formed a glue between them, sticking them skin to skin. She went absolutely still as the scent of him--heat, ocean, man--curled inside her like smoke. The sensual images flashed in her head. Something dangerous and crazy was happening to her. Terrifying and thrilling. She reached out to turn the doorknob. He uncapped his fingers from over her mouth and controlled the door opening with his foot--just wide enough to reveal the two of them, but not wide enough for someone outside to notice that the man standing behind her was buck naked. She felt rough toweling against her left shoulder blade. He hadn't used her robe to cover himself, instead he'd slung it toga style over his shoulder. Boy, did he have self-confidence or what? Arrogant came to mind. You picked the wrong woman, asshole. "Senhorita--" the man looked at the piece of paper in his hand. "McBride?" His line of sight rose a few inches to land on her breasts. Clearly he was distracted. As was the man next to him. Pressured by her publisher, Sydney had caved and had plastic surgery in order to get a first-person perspective for the book she was writing. Reluctantly she'd gone from a perfectly decent B to a full C. And men not making eye contact was one more reason she was going to have the implants removed as soon as possible. After a few, too long seconds the soldier's eyes shifted from her chest, bypassed her face, and focused over her head. Suddenly she was looking down the barrel of a very large black gun. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. "Who is this?" the soldier's eyes narrowed. "You know this man?" "Of course." The word "not" had been on the very tip of Sydney's tongue. She frowned and tried again. "I don't--" know who the hell he is, but I bet he's the guy you're looking for! Even as she wasn't saying what she wanted to say, her mind raced. Here was the big story she'd been starving for. Dare she offer to help the guy in exchange for the scoop of the year? It was a decision she didn't have time to debate. It was now or never. Uncharacteristically, she hesitated. Impulse and loving spontaneity was one thing, but using her good judgment served her better. Most of the time. In this case she had absolutely nothing to base an opinion on. For all she knew, the guy behind her was a serial killer. As much as she wanted, needed, to play out the scene as he wanted, she wasn't stupid enough to invite a serial killer to hang around while armed soldiers searched for him. Hard to write a best-selling book on the experience if she died before she wrote word one. Damn. It would've been so interesting . . . "He's my namorado." What? Sydney's eyes went wide with shock as the words came out of her mouth. Where did that come from? While she understood some Portuguese, she'd been here for over a month after all, she didn't speak it. How had boyfriend come out of her mouth with such ease when she didn't even know the word? Frowning, the soldier pulled out his notebook, the gun weaving in his hand as he flipped pages. "He is not on guest list." That's because he's the bad guy. Sydney's heart pounded hard enough for them to hear it. Grab him. Haul him away in chains. "He arrived this morning," she heard herself say smoothly. What the--had this guy hypnotized her? The soldier hesitated, then slid the gun back into a shiny new-looking hip holster. "Como e seu nome, senhor?" What's your name? Good question. The intruder lifted his hand from her hip, extending it to the guy on the doorstep. His strongly muscled arm was tanned and forested with dark hair, the hand engulfing the uniformed man's. Chills ran up and down Sydney's spine. He could snap a person's neck in a heartbeat with those ginormous hands. Or melt her with the burning heat radiating off his body. "Lucas Fox." As the two men shook hands, Sydney between them, the intruder's arm brushed against her already sensitized skin. The small hairs on her arms stood up, giving her goose bumps. "You are two alone, senhor?" "Bungalow's one room. Nobody here but us. Would you like to come in and search the place?" Cocky. Really cocky, Sydney was astonished at the man's utter audacity. Especially since he was naked while the two men were armed. With a feeling of dread she watched as suspicion died from the soldier's eyes. "Nao vai ser necessario." Of course it was necessary. Jeez Louise, don't take this guy's word for it. Sydney wanted the two soldiers to come in. To see that the guy holding her so tightly was naked, and then . . . they'd believe his story that they were lovers. Even she was practically convinced. Fox's big hand slid around her waist and he drew her impossibly harder against him. As casually relaxed as he sounded, Sydney felt the tension in his large body. It shocked her anew that he was pressed against her so intimately. Who the hell did this guy think he was? And where the hell were his clothes? Surely he hadn't just strolled off the beach bare-assed naked? "Who are you guys looking for?" he asked easily, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her midriff just under her left breast. The bikini had fit perfectly well a few weeks ago. Now her Cs were running over. The caress of his thumb made her nipple pebble, and her insides contract. Her heart was pounding hard enough for her to feel the rapid beat through her entire body, every pulse-point was on full alert. "Is escape patient from--" the soldier thought a moment, probably translating from Portuguese into English. "Como voce diz isso? Mental hospital?" He twirled a finger at his temple. "Have you seen such a man in the last hour?" How about right behind me? Sydney opened her mouth, only to be cut off by Mr. Naked before she could speak. "We were too busy with our . . . reunion to notice anyone," Fox's voice was smooth and smoky and conjured up all sorts of illicit activities. Both soldiers' gazes were redirected to her new and improved breasts. Sydney was going to blacken both Lucas Fox's eyes for stealing her robe. And that was just for starters. "Stay inside, and if you see anyone suspicious, por favor dial seven on the house phone." "Shouldn't we go somewhere safe?" she asked hopefully and in her most even voice. She gave the soldier a speaking look that he didn't pick up on. "Up to the main hotel perhaps?" He clearly wasn't reading her signals, dammit. "Not for the present, senhorita. It is only one man. I can assure you, he will be apprehended within minutes." "I'm sure he will." Behind her Fox's tone was Sahara dry. The soldier who'd done all the talking gave a half bow as if to royalty. The deferential gesture was spoiled by the lascivious gleam in his eyes. "Boa noite. Senhorita. Senhor," he said to her chest. He motioned to his partner to precede him down the stairs. Sydney and her uninvited intruder stood in the half-open doorway and watched them cross the small porch, go down the stairs, and turn onto the gravel path. "They might get a little suspicious if we stand here like this all night," Sydney pointed out when he didn't move to close the door. Every muscle in her body was ready to make a break for it the second he released her. She figured she could make it down to the path if she ran really fast, screaming all the way. The two soldiers hadn't even reached the empty bungalow to the left, and more men walked a few hundred feet away on the beach. This guy wasn't going to chase her outside. Not naked. Not with all eyes on him. She knew he wasn't armed. "Don't." His voice, lethally soft, was right in her ear. Squinting against the bright lights, waiting for her chance. The searching soldiers were now right in front of her bungalow. "Don't what?" she asked innocently. "Make a run for it." "Why's that?" She tried to read his intent by the feel of him, waiting for the sensation of his muscles flexing against her. But there was no movement at all. He was dead still. Was he going to pull her back inside? She pictured the room behind her, mentally searching for weapons in case he was faster than she was and did manage to pull her in with him. If she could, she'd knee him in the balls, or head slam him, or use her palm to break his nose. Her brothers had taught her to fight dirty if it ever became necessary. This was as necessary as it got. The bungalow consisted of a small bathroom and one large living space. Bed. Kitchenette. Small sitting area. The bathroom was off to the side, with no window. But she didn't plan on running in. She wanted out. Out where the helicopters' bright lights and the soldiers with their nice big guns waited. "I'm a desperate man. Anything can happen." "I'm a desperate woman. And you're damn right. Anything can happen." He huffed out a breath. Amusement or irritation? He still wasn't moving. Why not? The door was half open, the light behind them, the helicopter spotlights turning night to day. Anyone passing the bungalow, and there were dozens of men doing so, had a clear view of the two of them just standing there. "Did you really escape from the loon--mental hospital?" "You think I'd tell you the truth?" His voice sounded tight, strained. Good. She hoped he was scared to death. No. Wait. Scared to death meant he'd take dangerous risks to stay safe. "Why not?" The half-round table in front of the window a few feet from the door held her open laptop and half-empty wineglass. "I'm a captive audience." "No." She could lunge to the side and grab her computer and conk him on the head with it, but she seriously doubted a desperate man would let her get that far. "No what? I'm not a captive audience?" The fact that he wasn't doing anything unnerved her. What was he waiting for? "I'm not an escapee from the local asylum." "Good to know." Which meant she'd been right the first time--he was a killer. Her heart was going into overdrive, beating fast enough now to make her dizzy. Get a grip, she told herself fiercely. Just damn well get a grip. Because if she didn't start thinking, and thinking fast, he was going to have control of the situation. And she couldn't allow that to happen. He could stand there as long as he liked, but she was going to make a run for it. As if he could read her mind his arm tightened around her middle. He was going to drag her back inside, slam the door, and do his worst. There was the floor lamp-- The desk chair-- Or his penis. She spun around in his arms, lifting her knee at the same time as she shoved at his chest, pushing him off balance. His bare chest, tanned and hairy, was higher than she'd estimated, and she found her hands on his rock-hard, sandy six-pack. Despite his height, he moved with animal grace, light on his feet. Fast and deadly. "Watch that knee." He blocked it with his thigh and reached over her head to slam the door closed behind her. Her body was still blocking it. Ha! Take that. Sydney punched him in the solar plexus. He grunted, then grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her up on her toes. Suddenly she found herself staring into eyes a brilliant, glittering moss green. His strong jaw was shadowed by several days' growth. Dark hair, wet and crusted with sand, brushed his broad shoulders. She stared at his mouth. God . . . Panic at her inappropriate response welled up inside her and she struggled to get free. His fingers tightened on her arms. "We have an audience." "Put me down and I'll give them a show," Sydney said through her teeth. Her struggles were clearly useless. He was much stronger than she was, and she would just hurt herself unnecessarily. Still, her brothers were all a lot stronger than she was, and she'd bested them countless times. "What's the plan, Stan? Gonna keep me up here until morn--" She saw the blood, wetly scarlet against the white of the robe he'd slung over his shoulder. Blood wicked into the fabric at an alarming rate. "You're bleeding. You need a doctor. A hospital--" She glanced back up at his face; he was watching her in the most peculiar way, his green eyes glassy. Now that she was this close she could see that he was also pale under his tan, and his lips were white with strain. "Put me down, you moron, you're going to bleed to death right in front of everyone." "You say that like you care." "I don't," she told him with asperity. "But you're holding me six feet off the floor." It was probably only a foot, but she was getting altitude sickness. "If you drop me I'll likely break my neck. Put me down." "What's your name, tiger?" Sydney rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, don't get cute. I have eight brothers. Put me down before I emasculate you." His teeth looked very white in his swarthy face as he grinned. Then the smile disappeared as he brought her closer, and bent his head. Sydney froze as his mouth touched hers. The door was open--everyone out there would see them. The guy was insane. Crazy like a fox. Her chin jerked up and her eyes narrowed in warning. "Don't even think about it, pal." Hard to make a strong point while hanging between the man's ridiculously large hands, bare feet swinging. Sydney gave him the evil eye.