All or Nothing

Porches—and more porches—wrapped around the lengthy wooden home, with rockers, tables and roll down screens to overlook the nearby river. Palm trees had a more tropical than landscaped feel. Mangrove trees reached for the sky with their gnarled roots twisting up from the ground like wads of fat cables.

She glanced at her husband, wondering what led him to purchase this place just before they’d split. But his stoic face wasn’t giving away any clues. Although, Lord, have mercy, he was as magnificent as the stark and unforgiving landscape.

With the day heating up fast, he’d ditched the sports coat and just wore jeans with his shirtsleeves rolled up. Like his home, he didn’t need extravagant trappings to take her breath away. As if she wasn’t already tempted enough around him.

Although the gun still tucked in the shoulder harness gave her more than a little pause.

Their game of twenty questions during the plane ride hadn’t helped her understand him one bit better. If anything, she had more questions, more reservations. Being here alone together was complicated now. They’d moved past the idea of sex for the hell of it as some farewell tribute to their marriage. That didn’t mean the attraction wasn’t still there, fierce as ever, just beneath the surface of their tentative relationship.

Tearing her gaze away, she pressed her hands to the dash. “This isn’t at all what I expected.”

“How so?” He slowed the SUV then stopped at the half-dozen wooden steps leading to the front door.

“No bells and whistles chiming. No gambling rich and famous everywhere you look.”

“The quiet appeals to me.” He opened the door and circled the hood to her side.

She stepped out just as he reached her and avoided his outstretched hand, not ready to touch him again, not yet. “If you’d wanted somewhere to be quiet, there were places a lot closer to home than Africa.”

The dusty wind tore at her hair. She tugged her scarf from around her neck and tied back the tangled mess.

“True. But this is the one I wanted and since I’m sinfully rich,” he said, pulling out her roll bag and a duffel for himself, “I can have the things I want, if not the people.”

Was this quieter persona one he donned for his missions or was this a part of her husband she’d never seen? She shivered in spite of the temps already sending a trickle of sweat down her spine. “What about security? I don’t see any fences or cameras.”

“Of course you didn’t see them as we drove up. They’re the best, thanks to our good friend Troy. If anyone crosses the perimeter, we’ll know.” He jogged up the stairs and flipped back a shutter to reveal an electronics panel. “You’ll be briefed on how everything works so you’re not dependent on me if an emergency arises.”

Now wasn’t that an eye opener?

She trailed her fingers along a rocker, setting it in motion and thought of his casino with the glassed-in balcony overlooking the sea. And she realized he loved the outdoors. Even now, his ear tipped toward the monkey chattering from some hidden tree branch.

“Jayne?” he called from the open door. “Are you ready?”

“Of course,” she lied and followed him inside anyway.

This was definitely not a safari lodge after all.

There weren’t any animal heads mounted on the walls, just paintings, an amalgamation of watercolors, oils and charcoals, without a defining theme other than the fact each one portrayed a unique view of Africa.

And in such a surprisingly open space.

Conrad had a style of his own—and a damn good one. But she’d fallen into a stereotypical assumption that he would put a foosball table in her living room if she turned over the reins to him. She thought back to his penthouse remodeling. She’d been so focused on the shock of all her things swept away she’d failed to notice the sense of style even in his man cave.

How much of his “hiding” of himself had she let happen?

She stepped deeper into the room with a massive stone fireplace in the middle. A wood frame sectional sofa dominated the space, piled with natural fiber cushions and pillows. There were no distractions here, just the echo of her footsteps and the sound of the breeze rustling branches outdoors.

The place was larger on the inside than it looked from outdoors, likely another means of security. Her entire condo back in Miami could have fit in the living area with room to spare. A glance down the hall showed at least five other doors, but she was drawn to the window overlooking the river. A small herd of antelope waded in for a drink, while a hippo lazed on the far side of the shore.

Conrad’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Jayne?”

She jolted and spun to face him, finding him so close her heart leaped into her throat. Her hands started to press to his chest, but she stopped shy of the silver gun.

“Uh, I was just enjoying the view.” She gestured over her shoulder at the window.

“You’ve been standing there awhile. I thought you’d dozed off.” He tugged the end of her scarf, her hair sliding loose again. “You must be almost dead on your feet since we didn’t sleep last night, so I’ll save the grand tour for later. There’s just one place you need to see now.”

The kitchen for a snack? His bed to make love before they both fell into an exhausted slumber?

He stopped in front of a Picasso-style watercolor of people in bright colors dancing. He slid the painting to the side to reveal another panel like the one she’d seen on the front door. After a quick tap along the keypad, he stepped back. Boards along the wall slid automatically and stacked, revealing a passage.

“This is the panic room.” Conrad pressed a card into her hand with a series of numbers. “This is the code. Do not hesitate to use it in case of an emergency. Don’t wait for me. I can take care of myself a helluva lot better if I’m not worrying about you.”

Salvatore’s words from earlier came back to haunt her, about how she was Conrad’s Achilles’ heel. Her presence placed him in greater danger. Somehow in the rush to leave Monte Carlo, she’d lost sight of that revelation.

Tears burned her eyes, and she ached to reach for him.

“Jayne, it’s going to be okay.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder. “You need to sleep, and I need to check the place over. We’ll talk more later.”

She tried not to feel rebuffed. He was doing his job. She had pushed him away after Salvatore’s revelation.

Her hands fell to her sides. Of course he was right. She couldn’t possibly make rational decisions with her head cottony from lack of sleep. And if she couldn’t think clearly she became even more of a liability to Conrad.

Yet as he showed her to the guest room, she still couldn’t help wishing she could sleep in his arms.

* * *

Conrad punched in the code to the safe room where he stored all his communication gear and security equipment. The entire place ran off solar power and a satellite feed, so he couldn’t be cut off from the outside world. He kept enough water and nonperishable food in storage to outlast a siege.

Call him paranoid, but even in his infrequent freelance role with Interpol, he’d seen some intense crap go down in the world.

The windowless vault room in the middle of the house had everything he needed—a bed, an efficiency kitchen, a bathroom and a sitting area, small, but useful down to the last detail. A flat screen was mounted on the wall for watching the exterior. And an entire office’s worth of computers were stored away, ready to fold out onto the dinette table like an ironing board lowered out of a wall.

He parked himself in front of the secured laptop and reached for the satellite phone. He needed to check in with Salvatore. Halfway through the first ring, his boss answered.

“Yes,” the colonel barked.

“We’ve arrived, and we’re settled. No red flags here that I can see. What do you have on your end?”

“The money in Zhutov’s wife’s account has been withdrawn and we have images—which I’m forwarding to you now—of his known associates in discussion with a hit man. We’ve got trackers on both individuals.”

“I’ll review his wife’s bank accounts again. Why her assets haven’t been frozen is beyond me.”

“We do what we can, and you know that.”

“Well, let’s damn well do more.” Scrolling through computer logs of account transfers, Conrad tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, not wanting to risk speakerphone where Jayne might wake up and overhear.

“Hughes, my people are on it. You should sleep. You’ll be more alert.”

“Like you sleep?”

The colonel was a well-known workaholic. When they’d all been in school they’d theorized that their headmaster was a robot who didn’t need mere mortal things like sleep. Seemed as if he was always walking the halls, day and night.

Salvatore sighed. “Go spend some time with your wife. Repair you marriage. Put your life back together again.”