Paula Graves - Forbidden Touch

She tried to read even a hint of the violent emotion she'd sensed in that brief contact, but his expression was placid. Had she mistaken someone else's feelings for Tahir's?

Maddox approached with an appletini. He set it in front of Andrea. His gaze met Iris's, concern in his blue-gray eyes, "Can I get anything for you, ma'am?"

"I'd like a glass of water." she answered, surprised to hear her voice shake.

His brow furrowed, but he headed toward the kitchen.

Tahir leaned toward her, but thankfully he didn't touch her again. "Are you unwell?"

"You do look a bit pale." Andrea agreed, her tone a little too eager. Obviously, she wouldn't mind if Iris left her alone with Tahir Mahmoud.

At this point. Iris wouldn't mind it, either. What she'd just learned from Andrea could explain Sandrine's disappearance. She needed to find someone who could confirm the theory for her.

She glanced across the room, where pretty, red-haired Sharon Phelps from Minnesota sat at the reception table, talking to the older lady who'd been her companion all night. Maybe Sharon knew something about the special focus group.

"I think I'll make this an early night." Iris said, rising from the table. "Please give the waiter my apologies."

Tahir rose with her, bowing. "Delightful meeting you, Miss Browning. I hope to see you at the conference tomorrow."

She smiled but didn't make any promises. If Andrea was right, then all her worries about Sandrine might be unfounded, and she could relax and enjoy her island vacation.

She stopped at the reception table on her way out. Sharon smiled as she approached. "You're not leaving so soon, are you?" she asked brightly.

"I've been fighting off a headache all day" Iris ribbed. "I have a quick question before I go. What do you know about a focus group formed during yesterday's session? I believe a Dr.Grinko may have selected the participants."

"Dr.Grinkov." Sharon corrected with a smile. "Boris Grinkov. Brilliant man. He did a lot of early pioneering in parapsychology in Russia before the end of the Cold War. He's a bit of a psychic himself."

"Dr.Grinkov." Iris corrected herself. "Do you know anything about that group?"

"Dr.Grinkov sometimes takes special interest in certain people and their abilities. He has some theories about synchronized paranormality that are totally fascinating." Sharon's face glowed as she spoke of Dr.Grinkov, reminding Iris of a teenager waxing rhapsodic about a hot new boy band.

"So he might have selected some members of the seminar for a special experiment?" Iris didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed by the idea.

"I'll be happy to ask the organizers for you. Let me see what I can find out tonight and get back to you tomorrow at the conference. If I forget, look for me, yeah? I'll be around."

"Thank you." Sharon's exuberant friendliness was beginning to wear Iris out, so she took her leave and headed for the exit.

"Your water." Maddox's voice stopped her midstep.

She turned to find him holding a bottle of water, "Thanks." She lowered her voice. "I have some information"

"Me, too. I'll tell you about it later." He handed her a bottle of cold water. "Who's the sheikh?"

There was an odd tone to Maddox's voice, a guardedness that she hadn't heard from him before. She glanced back at the table, where Tahir Mahmoud was taking his leave from Andrea Barksdale. "His name is Tahir Mahmoud. He's from Kaziristan."

A sudden jolt of darkness roiled through her, making her legs grow wobbly. She reached for Maddox's arm to steady herself, but touching him only intensified the feeling. She pulled back, gripping the nearby door frame.

"Are you okay?" Maddox started toward her.

She put up her hand to stop him, "Just lost my balance on these darned shoes."

His gaze dropped to her low-heeled pumps. He looked back up at her, his expression guarded. "Go rest. I'll check on you when the party's over."

She should tell him not to bother. She was tired. She had a killer headache starting to form at the base of her skull. Her feet still ached from feeling the pinch of Andrea Baiksdale's spike heels, and the double shot of black emotion from both Tahir and Maddox lingered like nausea.

But when she spoke, she said. "Thanks, I'll wait up." And kicked herself for it all the way back to her room.

Maddox handed the last empty tray to Darlene in the kitchen. "The last folks are leaving. Need help cleaning up?"

She waved him away. "You know they'll kill me dead if I put a waiter on the cleanup. They don't wanna pay you the extra. Maddox."

"I'll do it under the table." he said, his sly grin rendering the offer risqué.

She grinned saucily. "Go on with your naughty self, I know better than to do the cha-cha with a fella like you."

He changed back into his street clothes in the employee bathroom and headed out the back to check on his Harley. It was still sitting, intact, in the parking lot.

But knowing he was living on borrowed time, he flagged down the night shift security guard passing by on his rounds and slipped him a twenty to watch over the bike for the next few hours.He rounded the side of the hotel, heading for the front, but stopped when he heard a familiar voice around the comer.

"It is not a good idea." Tahir Mahmoud's soft, clipped accent carried through the clear night air.

"I have no plausible reason to remain silent" The second speaker was also male, his voice pitched a few tones higher than Mahmoud's. He had a strong Russian accent. "What shall I say?"

"Nothing. I will take care of it." Tahir's voice grew softer, as if he was moving away.

Maddox turned the corner and spotted the Kaziristani and his Russian-accented companion, an older, rail-thin man in his fifties, walking up the steps to the hotel entrance. Maddox stayed in the shadows, watching them disappear inside. He released a slow, unsteady breath.

A Kaziristani. Here. What were the odds?

He made himself keep moving, slowed his racing heartbeat to match the steady cadence of his footfalls on the granite steps of the hotel entrance. Inside, a blast of cool air dried the pearls of perspiration dotting his forehead.

Several guests milled about the lobby, some checking in, others taking advantage of the hotel lounge, Tahir Malinioud and the Russian man were nowhere to be seen. Maddox's heartbeat slowed further. The blackness filling his chest and gut began to recede.

Three years ago, he reminded himself A lifetime.

It felt more like three minutes.

Iris threw the pencil on the desk and flexed her hands and wrists, gazing at the sketch of the bearded man with a critical eye. It was a good likeness, she decided, though it lacked something-the essence of who he was inside, perhaps, since she'd read almost nothing from him but emptiness during their brief encounter.

Still, anyone who had seen him would recognize him from the sketch. She'd show it around at the seminar in the morning, see if anyone knew who he was. A sudden chill washed over her sending goose bumps along her arms and legs. The cold slowly faded, replaced by a strange, jittery sensation that fluttered like a frantic moth.

A knock on her door made her jump. She padded to the door and peered through the security lens. It was Maddox.

She unlatched the security chain and opened the door. Maddox stood with one hand on the door frame, his eyes hooded by his furrowed brow. "I'm not sure I should be here."

The raw honesty in his voice was a surprise. She was used to his glib, sexy-devil side. "Are you all right?"

He straightened slowly. Within the span of a second, the Southern bad boy was back. "Just a bad mood, sugar. I get that way when a bunch of suits order me around all night. Why don't I catch you in the morning?"

She touched his arm, steeling herself against the darkness she knew lurked inside him. "Why don't you come in for a minute and let me tell you what I learned?"