The Stranger Page 13

  A primal need to soothe and console him overrode all of my fears. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. I put my arms around his waist, pressed my body against his back and kissed the scar on his shoulder. Time slowed down to show me the image of us on the mirror, sharing in the moment’s intimacy. The expression on my face was raw as I held back from kissing and exploring every inch of him. His eyes sparkled and I swore he was holding back an impulse to do the same to me.

  His hand fisted around the knot that held the towel around his waist. His belly tightened beneath my palm. The cream terrycloth tented over his erection’s unmistakable bulk. The need I spotted in his eyes matched the passion challenging my resolutions, softening my knees and blazing in my lower belly. A vision from our first night together flashed in my head, a memory of me, lost and found in his arms.

  The fragmented vision fed my fire. The look in his eyes didn’t help. I’d never wanted another human being the way I wanted Seth Erickson right now. The flush burned through me like wildfire. My impulse was to jump into his arms right then and there. Instead, I unwound my arms from him and forced one foot to step back and then the other.

  “We’ll put another patch on you tomorrow,” I mumbled, trying to conceal the fluster. “I’m off to the kitchen. It’s omelets this morning.”

  I more or less ran for the door.

  “Summer?” he said, holding himself very still against the bathroom counter.

  “Yes?” I hit the pause button to freeze the scene of my harrowing escape.

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh.” I gulped. “Don’t mention it.”

  I closed the door behind me, leaned against the wall, and let out a long breath. My blood swooshed in my ears. Whatever had happened to Seth, it must have been a terrible ordeal. And yet none of that eased my craving for him. On the contrary, I admired the will that powered his recovery and I didn’t want him to hurt anymore. Instead, I wanted him to moan in pleasure as I made love to him.

  Chapter Nine

  “What do you mean nothing?” I stared at Spider’s face on my screen. “Are you telling me we’re dead in the water?”

  “I’m telling you that, right now, we’ve got no clue of who the guy on the clip is.” Spider fidgeted on his chair. “I even ran the pics with my FBI contacts. Zero. Nobody knows who that fucker is.”

  “Now you got me worried.”

  “I know,” Spider said. “The fact that he’s not on anybody’s radar is concerning.”

  “Not a petty criminal or a thug,” I said. “A professional.”

  Spider nodded. “It ups the stakes for sure.”

  “We’d be talking big money.”

  “For sure.”

  If there was a professional out there stalking Summer, then she was in even more danger than I’d originally thought. It pretty much eliminated any theories that entailed mistaken identity.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “I want a full background investigation on anybody who could conceivably have an interest in Summer’s death and the means to hire someone to do it.”

  “Okay, dude.” Spider hesitated, then just came out and said it. “But I have to remind you that our resources are heavily invested on the Alex investigation right now. I worry about distractions. The board meeting is coming up and you need to keep an eye on that motherfucker.”

  I opened my mouth to snap at Spider then thought better about it. He made a good point. I couldn’t afford to lower my guard now, not when I knew Alex was making a run for my position.

  “I’ll keep my eyes on Alex and so will you,” I said. “Bring on some additional assets so we can deal with both investigations. It’s all on me, not out of the company’s budget. Got that?”

  “Got it.” Some of the tension ebbed from Spider’s face.

  “Start with Sergio De Havilland,” I said. “Summer refuses to discuss him. I can’t tell you exactly what went down between him and Summer, but I can tell you he’s a major asshole. Find him. I don’t care if he’s on a different planet. Find out if he’s an asshole with a motive. Stick a tail on him. I want to know where he is at all times, who he’s talking to and about what. If Summer’s name so much as crosses his lips, I need to know.”

  “Okay,” Spider said, taking notes as I spoke.

  “Check out the stepmother too. Send someone down to Miami to ask questions, get me some impressions. Maybe from there we can come up with a list. Take a look at Carrera and Associates as well, disgruntled coworkers, for example. And look at the crazy sister too.”

  “We’re searching for her all over Alaska.”

  “Dig into her background as well. Maybe she has a grudge against Summer. I want you to go all out, Spider.”

  “On it,” Spider said, before the screen went dark.

  I let out a long breath. I’d attended too many remote meetings today, answered hundreds of emails and messages and reviewed the draft of E&E’s annual report twice. I’d also delivered the eulogy at Danny’s funeral in his home state of Montana, albeit remotely. It’d been a hard day, but it was this last conversation with Spider that had my head throbbing, my lungs cramping and my scars feeling tight all over.

  I needed a good cooldown. Instead, I grabbed my tablet from my desk and walked out of my office. Something changed when I spotted Summer stretched out on the hearth’s granite bench. I drew in a deep breath. The air in the room felt lighter, cooler and fresher. She was here. She was safe.

  She wore silk thermals and one of my MIT sweaters, which hung down almost to her knees. She lay on her belly, crossing and uncrossing her feet, fingering her screen at dizzying speeds as she moved lines and objects on the blueprints displayed on her touch-screen laptop. Music blared from her earphones, a woman belting out some powerful notes. Adele or maybe Alicia Keys?

  Summer cozied up to the fire as if she couldn’t get enough warmth. Her craving for heat made me jealous. Christ. I remembered this morning in the bathroom, the look on her face, the enormous amount of restraint I’d had to muster to keep myself in check. Something had shifted the moment she touched me. The connection between us had flared and, in the midst of the power surge, something inside of me tripped. She wasn’t Alex’s plant. She’d never been. The last of my doubts scattered on the spot. Originally, I’d wanted her to stay to learn more about her and, most importantly, to ensure that she was protected. But right now, I had to be honest with myself. I wanted her to stay so that I could make her mine again.

  I stared at the woman by the hearth. All of a sudden, the fire seemed to burn too hot. I had a vision of the blue-tipped flames, reaching out for her like malignant little fingers. My skin prickled with memories of pain and I cringed. Was that sweater flame-retardant?

  “Summer?” She couldn’t hear me.

  My pulse pounded in my ears. A sheen of sweat broke out over my lip. I took small breaths, trying to control the anxiety, but I couldn’t resist the impulse. What the hell. I stepped up to the fireplace and scooped her up.

  She squealed, pulling out her earphones in midair. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re way too close to the fire.” I deposited her on the cowhide chaise.

  Her eyes rounded on me. It didn’t matter if she thought I was nuts. I wasn’t going to let her burn. I wasn’t afraid of the fire. I was afraid of the pain it could cause her. I retrieved her computer and settled it on her lap.

  “Thank you, I think,” she said. “But maybe I was cold.”

  “Your blood freezes at sixty degrees.” I dragged the chaise—with Summer on it—and parked it alongside the fireplace.

  “Now I’m going to be warm on one side and cold on the other.”

  “No, you’re not.” I settled down on the chaise and cozied up to her, shoulder to shoulder.

  “Oh.” Damn those probing eyes.
>
  “Warm?” I asked.

  She wiggled against me. “Like a slice in the toaster.”

  Her smile ignited the need in me and left me struggling to suppress my cock’s rapid reaction. This had gone better than expected. I couldn’t remember the chaise being this comfortable before. I couldn’t remember being this close to another human being since coming back from Afghanistan, either.

  “How much longer do you have on your project?” I asked.

  “Two, three hours,” she said, “but dinner’s in twenty minutes.”

  The door chimed and Jer strolled in as if he owned the place. When he saw us sitting together on the chaise, he screeched to a stop, gaping like a goddamn idiot.

  “Jeremy!” Summer leapt to her feet and welcomed him with a hug. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I said, but not sincerely. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Summer invited me,” Jer said in a defensive tone. “She said the three of us could look at the lodging project together.”

  “I hope it’s okay I invited Jeremy,” Summer said. “I wanted to thank him for his help and he wanted you to look at his project. Maybe I should’ve asked you before I opened my big mouth?”

  “It’s fine.” I didn’t mind Jer, I just wanted Summer all to myself, but obviously, that wasn’t going to happen right now. “Let’s take a look at those plans.”

  I got up from the chaise and marched to the kitchen counter, where the three of us clustered around Jer’s blueprints. Our lively discussion introduced me to Summer the professional, a gifted, forward-thinking architect with valuable insight whose ideas got me all excited and not just physically. Not for anything, pretty women were nice to look at, but gorgeous women with huge brains, uttering sexy tech talk?

  Irresistible.

  In a short time, we made a lot of progress, except on one front. The solution for the tundra-friendly pylons continued to elude us. My belly’s growls announced the end of the discussion.

  “Somebody’s hungry.” Summer’s smile teased all my senses.

  “Make that two of us,” Jer said.

  “What are we having for dinner?” I asked.

  “Can’t you smell the deliciousness in the air?” Jer said. “Something Italian.”

  “Lasagna.” Summer opened the oven and grabbed the potholders. “I make a mean one.”

  I looked in the oven. It was indeed a mean-looking dish, bubbling and steaming like the very mouth of hell, capable of scalding her to the bone.

  “Jesus.” I snatched the potholders from her and reached into the oven. “I’ll do it.”

  “Be careful.” She hovered over me, mouth pursed.

  Balancing the broiling dish in my hands, I carried it and settled it on the bamboo mat on the table.

  “Looks amazing,” Jer said.

  “I got this recipe from my Italian gourmet class,” Summer said, rummaging through the kitchen drawers until she found a spatula.

  “Do you take cooking classes often?”

  “I love taking all kinds of classes.” She came over to the table and cut into the dish, releasing a cloud of steam likely to vaporize flesh on contact.

  “Let me do that.” I took the spatula from her and dished out the portions.

  “Thanks.” She sat down on the chair Jer pulled out for her. “I take a class every night of the week when work allows it. French. History. Art. Cooking.”

  “Sounds more like an addiction.” Jer laughed. “What do you do for fun?”

  “Weekends are all about the beach and the Discovery Channel. Love that stuff.”

  I recognized the strategy. If every moment of her day was busy, she didn’t have a lot of time for fear, anxiety, or regret, or for venturing out beyond the safety of her scheduled activities and her door chain. Yep, I knew all about the Discovery Channel/exhaustion strategy.

  I uncorked a Chianti I’d set aside for a special occasion.

  “None for me.” Summer covered the top of her wineglass when I tried to pour for her.

  “A tad won’t hurt,” I said.

  Her eyes scoured my face, probing my intentions. “I shouldn’t.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said. “I promise.”

  The look she gave me told me she believed me. Her hand wilted away from the glass. I poured her a couple of ounces. My heart drummed when her lips met the glass rim. Her eyes confirmed that she, who trusted no one, trusted me. The tug in my groin announced my cock approved. A cheer went up in the back of my mind.

  Summer’s lasagna tasted delicious. Jer and I ate like barbarians. It was the first time I’d had anyone at my table since I’d built the house. The atmosphere was downright cozy. Summer had dimmed the lights and lit some emergency candles I kept in the pantry. They pulsed in the middle of the table like tiny hearts. By dinner’s end, I discovered in shock that I’d been having an excellent time.

  Jer stretched out on his chair. “Bro, we should’ve done this before.”

  Summer’s eyebrows quirked. “You mean Seth has never had you over for dinner?”

  “Seth’s a loner,” Jer said. “We get together for a beer every so often, but he likes his space.”

  “You don’t have to explain me as if I were exhibit A.”

  “Sorry, bro,” Jer said, “but sometimes I do have to explain you to people. It’s true you like your space. Isn’t that why you moved out of the big house in the first place?”

  “The big house?” Summer said.

  “The family house,” Jer said. “Hasn’t he told you?”

  Summer shook her head.

  “Of course not.” Jer tsked. “This is Seth we’re talking about. His communication skills measure low on the Cro-Magnon scale.”

  “Hey!”

  “The Ericksons live down the road a ways,” Jer said. “We all keep rooms at the big house, except Seth, of course. He’s antisocial. He’d rather live alone out here.”

  “Is that true?” Summer perused me as she sipped on her wine.

  I shrugged. “I like my privacy and I enjoy having my own place. Besides, Jer forgot to tell you that the Ericksons—including him—are a pain in the ass.”

  She giggled at that. Do-re-mi-fa. Her laughter messed with me.

  “I’m beginning to imagine a litter of puppies yapping away in the yard,” she said. “Who are these famous Ericksons anyway?”

  Jer jumped at the chance. “Let me tell you the story...”

  “Oh, come on,” I said.

  “I’ll make it short,” Jer promised.

  “Jer here wanted to be a filmmaker when he was a child,” I said. “But Dad made him promise he’d be an engineer. Storytelling is his way to avenge too many hours of calculus.”

  “Please?” Her little pout struck me as extremely provocative. “Let him tell his story.”

  How could I resist those lips or the smile that reshaped them? Jer nodded eagerly. Two against one. I’d lost this one. I inclined my head in defeat.

  “Our great-grandfather landed in Alaska in 1902, following rumors of gold,” Jer began. “He found little gold, but he prospered, acquiring lots of land in the bargain. His only son, my grandfather, Olav Erickson, turned twenty in 1950 and needed a proper Norwegian wife. So he sent for one. Take one: my grandmother Astrid arrives in Alaska.”

  I propped my chin in my hand. “This is going to take a while.”

  “Fast-forward to 1959,” Jer said. “Alaska becomes a state and Olav and Astrid have two strapping sons, Arthur and Benjamin. Entrepreneurs at heart, they start their own construction company early on. Foreseeing the growth coming to Alaska, they began to acquire land and build infrastructure. When the oil companies arrived and the pipeline was built in the ‘70s, they needed services, food, lumber, construction crews, t
he works. Take two, Arthur and Benjamin’s partnership grows into an immensely profitable venture.”

  “Spill it,” Summer said. “Which of the brothers is your father?”

  Jer smiled cryptically. “All will be revealed in time.”

  “You’ll be an old lady by the time you find out,” I put in. “I’ll be a fucking corpse.”

  “In 1976,” Jer continued, “Arthur goes to New York on a business trip.”

  I huffed. “Are you really going to tell that part of the story?”

  “It’s the best part,” Jer said. “While in New York, Arthur meets a shrewd investment banker. ‘You know how to make money,’ he’s told. ‘But you know squat about making money off your money.’ The irreverent investment banker has ideas about multiplying the brothers’ cash holdings. Most importantly, the banker has other important assets.”

  “Assets?” Summer frowned.

  “Assets.” Jer outlined a twin set of curves in the air, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Ooh.” Summer grinned.

  “You see,” Jer said, “Arthur Erickson is smitten with none other than the brilliant Alice Hallis, a trailblazer investment banker. Take three: Alice marries Arthur and gives birth to three fantastic kids: Seth, the amazing Jeremy, and Ally.”

  “So Arthur is you father?” Summer said.

  Jer’s smile wavered. “Was.”

  “Oh.” Summer looked to me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But before we get to that,” Jer said. “Arthur and Alice became inseparable. Together with Benjamin, they cemented the Erickson fortune and diversified the company. Unfortunately, Benjamin didn’t have much luck in the love department. He favored gold diggers, married three times, and had ten children. The oldest of these is Alexander. He’s Seth’s age. Have you heard about Alex?”

  Summer flashed me a curious look. “Only a little.”

  “Let’s not talk about Alex in my house,” I said, drawing the line.

  “Okay,” Jer said, “Mum on Alex, who’s a son of a bitch. Take four: the year’s 2001. Arthur, Alice, and Benjamin are in a meeting at the E&E’s headquarters at the World Trade Center in New York. The date is September eleventh.”