TailSpin - Catherine Coulter [114]
Jack smiled. “I’ve learned in my years with the FBI that people are never what they seem. We’ll see. Don’t forget, two people carried you down that dock, dumped you into the lake. We only know one of them for sure—Perky.”
He added over his shoulder as he opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a wedge of Parmesan cheese, “Who was the other?”
Rachael pointed to one of the cabinets. “There are crackers on the middle shelf.”
He placed a slice of cheese on a cracker and handed it to her, then made one for himself. He leaned back against the counter. “Savich said all those initials and numbers in Perky’s address book—even MAX can’t crack it. Who knows what it means?”
Rachael bit into a cracker.
“I’ve been thinking, Rachael.”
She said around the cracker, “About what?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, fixed himself another cracker, and ate it.
“What, Jack?”
“Nothing. I’m tired. I think we should both sleep pretty good tonight.”
“What are we going to do tomorrow?”
“I go back to some solid, boring everyday police work, like running in-depth checks on everyone remotely involved in the case, and take another look at Perky and all her merry men.”
She washed and dried her hands. She stood facing the kitchen window, her head bowed.
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled her back against him. “Don’t be stupid. You’ve every right to be freaked out.” He knew it was a mistake, but he did it anyway. He slowly turned her to face him and tugged her into his arms. He hadn’t imagined the shock of her, not only how she felt, but the way she fit against him, like she was made for him, no other guy, only him. But that was plain stupid. He shouldn’t be doing this. He wasn’t thinking right. No, he was simply offering her comfort. She needed comforting, no harm in that. Maybe he needed some comfort, too. He said close to her ear as his hands rubbed up and down her back, “Don’t stiffen up on me. I’m a friend, Rachael, and friends help each other. Remember how you helped me and Timothy when the plane crashed? You didn’t even know at that time what a great guy I am; you just charged right in and saved our bacon.”
She laughed against his neck. Then she kissed his neck, added a little lick, then froze. “Ohmigosh, I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to do that. It just happened. I mean, you’re here to protect me, not get involved. . . .” Her voice fell off a cliff.
Jack said, “I guess not.” He knew she could feel exactly how much he wanted to be involved—actually, totally involved with her that very minute, maybe on that lovely oak kitchen table.
He kissed her, and, bless her heart, she kissed him back. He tasted cracker and Parmesan and something else, something elusive and sweet. Then, just as suddenly, she flattened her palms on his chest, pushed back, and said, “I can’t do this. I can’t lean on you like this, compromise you. You’re an FBI agent. I’ll bet you’ve got rules and regulations regarding people you’re guarding. Right?”
“No.”
He pulled her in close again, leaned his forehead against hers. “Not a single rule except common sense, and common sense isn’t all that great a thing in every single situation, now is it? Hey, you’re not a shrimp. That’s good.”
She said against his neck, “I’m so not a shrimp. I’d be licking your eyebrows if I were wearing heels. No, wait, I didn’t say that, did I?”
She felt the laughter deep in his chest. “Yeah, you did. Anytime you’d like to, lick away.”
She ran her fingers over his cheek, and he felt it in his gut. Jack knew he should release her this very instant, knew it, and knew he wasn’t about to. He lowered his forehead to hers again. “I’m not a teenager with my hormones dive-bombing my brain. You’re right, it isn’t the smartest thing we could do at this point in time.” And he cursed low, ripe, pungent curses. Rather impressive, she thought, and smiled. Uncle Gillette could curse like that. She could see him cursing at the rabbits