Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"No, stay." Emily pushed back her chair. "I'm through. I'll go to my room and finish packing." She glanced at Garrett. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." He was frowning as he got up, crossed the room, and stood gazing after her until she reached her door a few yards away. "I'll come and get you."

Lord, he was being careful, she thought. But she wasn't complain¬ing. Even though this morning the sun was shining brightly, and Staunton seemed far away, she still was feeling that sense of threat just around the next corner.

"00 I DETECT A LITTLE TENSION between you?" Dardon asked, as Garrett closed the door and came back into the room. "Should I have gotten someone other than Pauley? I could have pulled Les Mobler in. He's not as good as Pauley, but he's real ugly."

"Very funny," Garrett said. "She's too smart to be taken in by sheer good looks." But he had been surprised that Emily had seemed to be drawn to Pauley. Surprised and irritated. It probably shouldn't have bothered him. Emily was a woman, and every day she was emerging more from that stunned, numb condition that had enveloped her since he had taken her away from Staunton. Women were attracted to Pauley, and he should probably be grateful that she was behaving nor¬mally.

He wasn't grateful. He had felt a flash of possessiveness and jealousy that had come out of nowhere and was primitive as hell.

And on some level Emily had recognized it and reacted with defi¬ance. The mood between them in those last few minutes had been explosive.

"I've never seen you like this." Dardon was staring at him specula¬tively. "She's not your property, Garrett."

"I know that." But he felt as if she belonged to him. Every minute they were growing closer, he was learning more about her, the bond was growing. "I wouldn't want to own any woman."

Not consciously but that primitive instinct was there.

Get over it. It was probably purely sexual, and as soon as they came together, it would fade.

And they would come together. To hell with patience.

And to hell with that pretty boy Mark Pauley.

"DID YOU GET THEM? IT T 0 0 K you long enough." Emily asked as she saw Garrett come across the marble lobby of the courthouse. "No problem?"

"No problem." He gestured to the file in his hand as he opened the door leading to the parking lot. "I copied everything I could get my hands on. They had to have everything Mikhail Zelov wrote translated into English for the court case. And there were all kinds of documents verifying the authenticity and accuracy of the translations."

"I still don't understand why the family didn't lock the records down as confidential."

"I do. As long as the records didn't give out any information that they didn't want leaked, it was better for their image. It was a defensive move. They could prove to the world that Mikhail was nuts and that they weren't greedy bloodsuckers." He opened the passenger door of the car for her. "Which means we probably aren't going to find any¬thing vitally important in the transcripts."

"It's a start. We'll get to know Mikhail Zelov and the way he thinks. It could become important later." She asked, "How long will it take us to get to the airport?"

"About fifteen minutes. It's not far from here." Garrett's phone rang as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Dardon." He listened, then said, "Okay, whatever it takes." He hung up. "Pauley hasn't completed the job. He's coming with us. He's at the airport with Dardon."

"He didn't think he would finish." She glanced at him. "And you said that he could be valuable, didn't you?"

"That's what I said." He looked straight ahead, negotiating the traffic. "It's amazing that, considering all the laws in the U.S., traffic still remains a major problem."

She didn't let him skate away from the issue. "Well, is Pauley valu¬able or not?"

"He's valuable," he said flatly.

"Then why don't you want him to go?"

He looked directly at her. "I'm jealous. I don't like to be jealous. It's childish and primitive. I'd rather avoid feeling either."

"Oh." She hadn't expected that degree of frankness. "Like Dar¬don? Because Pauley's so bright?"

"No," he said crisply. "Because I want to jump into bed with you, and I don't like the idea of his doing it. Or you even contemplating sex with our Adonis of the Internet."

She could feel the heat in her cheeks. "I wasn't contemplating any such-"

"Good. Then we won't talk about it. You wanted to probe about Pauley. I was honest and let you know the problem. Now we'll forget it until one of us decides to deal with it."

She was silent a moment. "Yes, we'll forget it." Then she burst out, "But you made me feel awkward as hell. How am I going to look at Pauley without remembering what you said?"

"Exactly." He was entering the freeway. "I might have had that in mind, too."

Clever. She felt that flash of irritation again. She smoldered for a moment, then shrugged. "I can handle it. Of course, it will make me much more aware of him." She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. Good. "And I've never slept with an Adonis of the Internet. You've made me wonder what it would-"

"You little devil." He was smiling faintly and shaking his head. "I think we'd better go back to talking about the traffic."

That would be safer, she thought. She had no idea why she had been tempted into goading him. She had never been a tease, and yet she had taken a sly enjoyment out of teasing Garrett. It might be be¬cause it held an element of danger. He was very sophisticated and had learned control in the trenches, but you were always aware that it was control and that darkness and violence lay waiting beneath.

But what was amazing was that she could even feel or think of anything besides Staunton and the search for the hammer. No, Irana had said she was coming back to life. Sex and emotion and all the other facets of living were gradually coming back to her. She should reach out to them. It was a way of proving to herself that Staunton had not permanently damaged her.

Reach out to Garrett? The cure might be worse than the sickness.

"Traffic," she repeated. "I don't think this traffic is so bad. At least we Americans respect the law. It's only occasional assholes that think they own the road."

"You still consider yourself an American? You've batted around so many countries, I wondered if you had lost your attachment."

She shook her head. "I'm not a citizen of the world. I'm a down-to-earth, flag-waving American. I always will be. I had to go to other countries for my job, but this is home. When I stop roaming, I want to get a nice house on the beach down in North Carolina."

"Why North Carolina?"

"My father grew up near the coast there and he loved it. Some of the best times of my childhood were the weeks we spent together there. I want to be near the ocean and the woods so that I can dig out my camera and take pictures of wildlife like my father. I'll go to foot¬ball games and have cookouts and every Fourth of July I'll send up fireworks. I can understand Mikhail Zelov wanting to remind his family of their roots. It's important." She looked at him. "What about you? Irana said your father was an American."

His lips lifted in a sardonic smile. "He never inspired me to any sense of patriotism. If anything, I wondered what kind of country could produce a man like him. I never visited the U.S. until I was in my twenties, and by that time it was too late to put down roots."

"Where do you have roots?"

He shrugged. "Nowhere. I guess the closest I've come is Mykala Island."

"That's not good."

He smiled. "It's life, Emily. We all can't have everything you re¬gard as important."

But she wanted Garrett to have it. It hurt her somehow that he hadn't had the solid start that her father had given her. She hadn't real¬ized until after her father had died how important and valuable those years with him had been. "Then you should set out and make sure you put down roots yourself so that your children will have them."