FOR HER EYES ONLY Page 7

  Speaking of brothers, David was probably not very amused right now, either. Checking through his pockets, he found and pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number. The line began to ring while he watched Michelle's tiny but firm behind as she walked up the curved drive of Lili's grandparents' house. Nice suburban place. Just around the back, he caught a glimpse of what looked like one of those wood play centers for kids.

  Four rings at the McCoy place and David had yet to pick up. Pops would be in D.C. working. Mitch would be doing something or other around his new horse-breeding operation. He didn't have a due where his sister-in-law Liz would be. At the diner maybe? Or at the office Mitch had built for her in the barn? They hadn't yet had a phone installed there.

  A car passed to his left. Normally, it wouldn't have warranted his attention, except that it slowed. And it was also an exact replica of the one he sat in.

  His co-worker, agent Edgar Mollens had tracked Michelle down faster than he'd expected.

  Dread, thick and gritty, lined his stomach.

  * * *

  Michelle rubbed her damp palms on her slacks for a third time. She glanced at the large double doors, then at Jake's car, wishing she hadn't asked him to stay behind. Just having him near did wonders for her peace of mind. And if there was one thing she needed right now, it was peace.

  Questions, one right after another, swept through her mind. What if the PI had given her a bogus address, just looking for a way to get her out of his office? What if the people who lived here didn't even know Gerald or Lili and called the cops? What if no one was home? Would Jake head for D.C.?

  What if she never saw Lili again?

  Her heart dogging her throat, she watched her hand rap on the door without any conscious knowledge of having sent the order to her tightly coiled muscles.

  Please, please, please…

  A full minute later she heard footsteps on tile then a hand touch the doorknob. She realized the occupant must be looking through the peephole. She squared her shoulders and fought the desire to duck to the right If Lili was there, then Michelle would be the last person Gerald's parents would want to see.

  Another minute passed. Michelle's heart beat so loudly, she barely made out a second pair of footsteps on the other:

  side of the door. Finally, it opened.

  She stared at the neat, fiftyish woman eyeing her openly. She was wearing a navy and gold silk jogging suit and looked as if she'd just come from the beauty parlor. She resembled any one of the hundreds of older, wealthy tourists that crammed Paris streets in the summer.

  This was usually the point where the PI had done the talking. Michelle didn't know how much she'd counted on his presence to break the ice, ask the questions until now. Through Kansas and North Carolina, he'd taken the lead. Now she was on her own.

  "Yes? Can I help you?" the woman asked. She gripped the edge of the door with her pink-neon-tipped fingers as if prepared to close it quickly.

  Michelle cleared her throat and forced herself to speak loudly enough to be heard. "Yes … hello. I'm Michelle Lambert."

  She searched for any sign that the woman recognized her name. There was none.

  "Are you Mrs. Evans?"

  "Why, yes, I am." The fingers tightened. "Should I know you, Ms. Lambert?"

  "I'm looking for my daughter," Michelle blurted.

  The door started to close. "I'm not sure I understand."

  "Your son … his name is Gerald, yes?"

  "Why, yes, it is."

  "Is he here?"

  "Ms. Lambert, I'm not entirely sure why, but this conversation is making me uncomfortable. Do you mind explaining what it is exactly that you want?"

  A man stepped beside Mrs. Evans, and Michelle caught her breath. The resemblance between Gerald and this man was uncanny. She caught a glimpse of exactly what Gerald would look like in twenty or so years. Thinning blond hair, capped teeth, skin the texture of leather from one too many rounds of golf. "Miss, is there something I can help you with?" he asked gruffly. Even his voice was the same.

  Michelle opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  The woman looked at the man. "Leland, I can't say as I like this—"

  "My daughter, Lili … Elizabeth." Her accent grew heavier, and she fought to enunciate each word clearly. "Do you know where she is?"

  The couple looked at each other again, then the man stepped forward, smoothly moving his wife from in front of the door. "The name isn't familiar … Ms. Lambert, isn't it? Neither my wife nor I know anyone with the name Lili. Sorry. Now if you'll excuse us—"

  He began dosing the door.

  "No!" Michelle tried to stop the forward movement.

  Footfalls sounded from the sidewalk behind her. Desperately she turned toward Jake. "Please! You must stop—"

  Her words died in her throat. Jake wasn't the one behind her. Rather, a man in his mid-forties with dark hair and wearing a pea-green polyester suit stared at her as he pulled something from his jacket pocket. "Ms. Lambert, I'm Immigration Agent Edgar Mollens. I am officially taking you into custody for immediate deportation for the violation of the terms of your visa."

  * * *

  Jake scrambled from the car, reflexively reaching for his ID as he strode up the curved drive. Damn, he didn't have his ID. Not that it mattered; Edgar knew who he was. What he should be more concerned with was what Edgar would do once he knew what he'd done. Strangely, though, he couldn't bring himself to care. All he knew was an overwhelming desire to protect Michelle from Edgar, who would send her back.

  "Let me go, you imbecile." Michelle shouted, tugging her arm from Edgar's grip. "I'm not going anywhere until I get Lili."

  Jake came to a stop behind his fellow agent and planted his feet shoulder-width apart. It was all he could do to keep his hands fisted at his sides. What he'd rather do was yank Mollens back by his collar. "Let her go, Edgar," he said evenly.

  The agent swung around quickly, his right hand reaching inside his jacket pocket Jake gave in to the urge to grab him, to prevent him from pulling out the weapon he was surely reaching for.

  "Jake."

  Edgar settled down and dropped his hands to his sides, a loud sigh indicating his relief. Jake released him, thinking he'd feel better if he had his own firearm. It had taken some effort to leave it in its case yesterday morning. After all, a gun might have come in handy on a hiking trip. A nine millimeter was known to stop all sorts of wild animals.

  Jake couldn't say he either liked or disliked the man in front of him. They'd been sent out on a few of the tougher cases together, where backup was required. While he'd disapproved of some of Edgar's personal grooming habits and preferred not to take meals with him, Edgar had scored high on the professional scale. He took his job seriously.

  Perhaps too seriously.

  He grimaced. Too was not a word he would have linked with seriously twenty-four hours ago. After all, how could a man be too serious about his job? But standing here looking down the other end of the barrel, so to speak, he gained a perspective he wasn't sure he liked.

  Edgar finger-combed the wisps that passed for hair on the top of his head. "Flying monkeys, McCoy, you could have gotten yourself shot. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Don't tell me. There was a screw-up in D.C. and you were sent out on the same case."

  Jake shook his head. "No screw-up."

  Edgar's bushy brows drew together. "Then what are you doing here?"

  "The question is, what are you doing here, Edgar?"

  Now that there was no immediate danger. Jake chanced a glance at Michelle. She looked shaken to the bone, her gaze torn between the closed front door and the agent who endangered her freedom to search for Lili. He was filled with a powerful urge to pull her to his side. To block her petite frame from view. To protect her with every ounce of strength he had.

  When he returned his attention to Edgar, he found him frowning. "I'm here to deport one Michelle Lambert, illegal alien, back to France." He glanced at Michelle. "Is
this her?"

  Jake nodded once, curtly.

  "Then I'm afraid I have to take her into immediate custody, Jake."

  Behind Edgar, he saw Michelle ready to bolt.

  The desperate move made his stomach drop down somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. Where would she go? What could she possibly do? He knew she wouldn't get two feet before Edgar would have cuffs slapped on her wrists.

  Edgar's frown deepened. "Are you all right, McCoy? You look a little … odd."

  Jake gave a humorless laugh. Odd about covered it. He felt odd. He didn't have a clue what to do with the unfamiliar emotions swirling inside him. He'd always been one to follow his instincts, but they had always led him in the right direction. Now he couldn't be so sure. But he had to follow them anyway.

  "You can't take her," he said.

  "Okay," Edgar said slowly. "I hear you, Jake."

  An image of the ID he'd lost sprinted through his mind, ID he might never see again.

  "But you're going to have to give me one good reason why I can't. You know, something for the records."

  A reason. Jake searched for one that would stand up to any sort of scrutiny, and somehow he didn't think Edgar would go for the she's-looking-for-her-daughter defense.

  His mind finally locked onto one. Without even considering the consequences to his career, he said, "Because she's my wife."

  * * *

  Michelle sat spellbound in the car next to Jake. That agent, Edgar Mollens, motioned for them to drive away first. Jake waved for him to go. Mollens finally drove off, and Jake switched off the engine.

  She's my wife.

  She didn't know why Jake had said that, but she was mighty glad he had. The agent who had been about to drag her to D.C. had stood in utter shock right along with her for a few moments, then reached out to shake Jake's hand before backing off completely. He'd said something about needing documented proof before the day was out, then got into his car.

  She gazed at the man next to her, nearly getting lost in the deep gray of his eyes. She didn't know why he'd done all that he had. Had stopped trying to figure that out since the night before, when instead of driving her to D.C., he'd checked into a motel. Then this morning, did a one-eighty and headed for Ohio. She'd contented herself with being thankful, and thankful only, determined to get the most out of the generous time she could.

  Only it appeared that it was all for naught. Yes, the name of the couple in the house across the street may be Evans, but she had no reason to think they knew more than what they had said.

  Still, if she had to be taken to D.C., she'd rather Jake do it. Spending any time at all with Edgar Mollens made her insides go cold.

  "Why did you do that? I mean—" She caught herself up short, not wanting to push the issue, not wanting to give him an opportunity to change his mind. But she had to know. "Why did you say I was your wife?"

  Jake's expression was somber as he probed her face. "I figured it was the only way to get Edgar to take a hike." A hint of a smile played around his mouth. "Hey, there's something to be said for flying straight your entire life. People have a tendency to believe you when you say something."

  "Do you think so? Seemed to me you could have knocked Mollens over with a feather."

  "I said he believed me, I didn't say he wasn't shocked. That's one of the drawbacks of being predictable." He trained his gaze out the window. She noted the lines of worry drawn between his brows and felt the incredible urge to reach out and smooth them away. A short time ago, he'd said he was doing what he was because he was at no risk so long as no one knew. What happened now that someone did know? Not only someone, but a man he worked with?

  She wrapped her arms around herself.

  "What did they say?" he asked.

  Michelle blinked at him. "Pardon me?"

  He gestured toward the large house. "Are they Gerald's parents?"

  She nodded.

  "And Lili?"

  Michelle stared at where she twisted her hands in her lap. "They say they've never heard of me … or her."

  He reached for the door handle. "I'll be right back."

  For the second time in as many minutes, Michelle sat dumbstruck as Jake strode toward the Evanses' door. Finally gathering her wits, she clambered out after him, catching up as the door opened to reveal Gerald's father.

  Jake reached in his jacket pocket, then grimaced and reached into another. He held out a business card exactly like the one he'd given her. "I'm Agent Jake McCoy. I need your son Gerald's most recent address."

  The man had to look up to directly address Jake's gaze.

  "You didn't say which agency you're with, Agent McCoy."

  "No, I didn't. It's on the card, sir." Jake met and held his gaze. "The address, Mr. Evans."

  Michelle watched in amazement as the older man gave it to him. Relief threatened to sweep her knees right out from underneath her.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Jake's heart pounded in his chest. He tried to tell himself it was because the mere idea of being married, much less to the sexy woman next to him in the car, was terrifying. Then thoughts of night after night in her arms—between her thighs, hearing her soft cries in French—intruded, and he nearly groaned out loud. It didn't matter that any long-term, relationship was an improbability. No, an impossibility. His body seemed to have other ideas, and every time he looked at her, trembling from her hair to her feet, he got harder than any man had a right to.

  Michelle clutched the piece of paper holding the address for one Gerald Evans in northwest Ohio. "I can't believe this is happening. I don't know what to say…" Her words drifted off, though her lips kept moving.

  He'd be willing to bet that her inability to speak was new to her. Chalk up another first.

  He couldn't help his foolish grin. Despite the mess he'd just made out of his life with those four simple word back there, "because she's my wife," when Michelle looked at him this way—her eyes liquid milk chocolate, her face practically beaming—he felt a hundred feet tall.

  It reminded him of the way he'd felt the first day on the job as an INS agent. He'd been assigned to apprehend an Asian arms dealer who happened to have a taste for a specially ordered type of Chinese herb. He put the only place that sold the herb in New York under surveillance and apprehended the guy. Then he'd watched him go through deportation proceedings and put him on an airplane bound for Peking and the authorities there. It had been one of the most defining moments of his life. He'd felt like he was making a difference, that what he'd accomplished that day not only kept guns off the streets, but told him what he had been put on this earth to do.

  What he felt now was a lot like that, only more intense somehow.

  "Thank-you should do the trick," he suggested, not sure where the light remark had come from, but glad it had come. He was rewarded with her smile. "A joke. You just made a joke."

  He drove unhindered toward northwest Ohio, toward the address in Toledo where Gerald Evans lived. Two and a half hours, the toil guard had told him. "Yeah. I guess I did, didn't I?"

  Michelle slid her hand over his where it rested on the steering wheel. He spread his fingers, and she thread hers through. He gave a tight squeeze. "Thank you," she murmured, her accent thick.

  He glanced to find one-hundred-percent pure gratitude lighting her smile. "You're, um, welcome."

  She shifted until she was sitting flush next to him, her hip against his, her arm against his side. She sat like that for a long time without saying anything, then slipped her hand from his grip and laid it against his thigh. "Why?" she asked. "I mean, why are you doing all this for me, Jake McCoy? We've, um, already established that it isn't about sex. Anyway, no one's that good." Her tiny smile softened her words. "Then you said it was all right so long as no one knew about it, which after what happened at the Evanses' is no longer the case. So … why? Why are you risking so much to help me?"

  That was a question he didn't want to examine
too closely. He considered telling her it was because it made him feel good, only that had come after he'd done what he had.

  He wasn't exactly sure why. One minute he'd been in a pissing contest with Edgar Mollens over who was going to win Michelle's company, the next he was telling his fellow agent he was married to what was now a deportable illegal alien.

  "I wanted to give you this chance to find your daughter," he said. Well, it was part of the reason, so he wasn't exactly lying. He just wasn't telling the complete truth, either, though what that truth was, he couldn't say.

  She rested her temple against his shoulder. Her gaze caressed him as thoroughly as a touch. "Why?"

  He swallowed hard. "I don't know."

  Then, suddenly, he did know. He understood all too clearly why it was he was helping this mother find her daughter. What was more puzzling was that he wanted to tell her. He'd never been much for words. He'd learned early on that an expression, a carefully directed look, could accomplish more than any words. And he'd never felt a need to verbally express himself, at least not to the extent that others did.

  "I … I was raised without my mother," he said quietly, surprised at the ease with which the words flowed. "She, um, died when I was seven years old." It seemed all his life he had avoided speaking the words aloud, as if afraid openly acknowledging what had been a very tragic point in his life would bring back all the pain. Instead, he felt as if an indescribable weight was shifting in his chest. "I know what it means to grow up without a parent. In my case, it was unavoidable. I couldn't exactly go out and find my mother." He glanced at her, finding her expression warm and curious. "In yours… Well, let's just say that sometime this morning I realized I couldn't take you back to D.C. and put you on a plane without first giving you an opportunity to find Lili." His voice dropped to a near murmur. "A little girl. especially, needs her mother."

  She turned, and the look she gave him was direct, so poignant, he felt the strange sensation that she was able to see right through his exterior to what dwelled deep inside.

  "So do little boys."