Linda Johnston - Operation - Reunited

His curiosity had seemed unbridled as he had tossed questions to Vane’s guests. Vane had noticed, which wasn’t good. John had also been kind to work with the couple at his table, teaching them English.

John O’Rourke, surprisingly sexy home improvements salesman, was a man of many facets.

Eventually, they were finished with the dishes. “Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime.” He went to the shelves where she kept seasonings, and eyed them. “Looks like you’re partial to hot stuff.”

“The hotter the better,” she said.

It was his turn to look at her in surprise. He leered, then laughed. “A woman after my own heart,” he said, then left the kitchen.

ALEXA TOOK HER TIME putting the mounds of cookware away, making lists of dishes for the next day’s meals and ensuring she had the ingredients…ordinary activities. Or activities that would have been ordinary had the circumstances been normal.

The truth was, she was trapped here, at her own bed-and-breakfast. She knew Vane was involved in something at best illegal, at worst malevolent. The guests—possibly terrorists—had all been invited by him…except one. And that guest was a puzzle, too.

Surrounded by people, Alexa was alone. She could trust no one. She could rely only on herself.

When she couldn’t think of further excuses to stay in the kitchen, she released Phantom from behind the gate. She knelt to give the cute, intense puppy a big hug, then rose. “Come on,” she said, leading him out.

She hadn’t intended to go into the parlor. She did not want to mingle with the people Vane had brought here. But she spied John in a hard-backed seat in the midst of them. They were grouped on the overstuffed sofa and assortment of chairs, all turned to face one wall so they could watch television—all the better to perfect their use of U.S. customs and language, she surmised. They congregated together like this a lot.

For just a moment, she leaned on the doorjamb to observe—because she was curious, she told herself, and not because she had any interest in studying John. Phantom lay at her feet. The crowd had the TV tuned to a quiz show, something called “Millions on Your Mind”—a clone of several other popular programs. Cheers and cat-calls erupted from the small crowd of viewers in her house. What were they up to?

“It’s koa wood,” cried John, his large frame raised from the chair. “From Hawaii. That’s the answer.” He lifted his hands and swatted the air, as if he were somehow tossing his knowledge to the contestant on the TV screen.

“Are you certain?” asked Jill, who sat beside him—of course. “Ko-a?”

“Yes. It’s a great shade of golden red when it’s polished, and has a unique grain. That’s definitely it.”

Alexa felt the chile rellenos that she had hurriedly downed in the kitchen begin to churn in her stomach. Koa wood. Wood.

Cole Rappaport had been an expert on trees. When they had come here to Skytop Lake, he had pointed out the various types of pine trees, including ponderosa, Coulter and white, plus some of the most common deciduous trees—Pacific dogwood, white alder, California black oak. He had been able to tell them apart by their size and shape, their bark, their leaves. Plus, he had described what their grain was like inside.

Cole would have known the answer to this quiz show question, too. Cole knew everything about trees.

An icy shiver passed through Alexa. She studied John once more. Yes, she still saw some resemblance to Cole, but it was all superficial—height, build. And handsome? Oh, yes. Definitely. Incredibly. But he didn’t look like Cole.

And Cole, whether she could accept it or not, was dead.

ALEXA COULDN’T SLEEP that night. Instead, she stood outside her bedroom, on the balcony at the rear that ran the width of the B & B’s second story and matched the one at the front of the house. She did not bother to flip on its light, preferring to stay in the dark.

Preferring not to advertise her presence, for she did not want any uninvited company—namely Vane.

She knew she lost money by not making available to guests one of the few bedrooms that opened onto the balcony, with its lake view. Vane had argued with her about it from the very first. But she had been firm. Keeping it to herself was worth any cost…especially now.

It gave her peace, or at least as much peace as possible during this incredibly difficult time.

She leaned on the rail and watched lights from surrounding residences play along the patches of rippling water visible through the trees. The air was fragrant with the scent of pine blowing in the mountaintop breeze. She shivered a little in the coolness, gathering her long terry-cloth robe more closely about her.

“Beautiful view,” said a deep masculine voice, startling her.

She pivoted. John O’Rourke had just come through the door to the center hallway of the B & B’s upper floor. He was still dressed in the clothing he’d worn at supper.

And he was looking at her, not the lake.

Alexa pretended not to notice. “Yes, it is.”

Her blessed solitude had been abruptly terminated. But to her surprise, she didn’t mind.

He joined her at the rail, clasping his hands together and leaning on his arms. She was aware of his closeness. The warmth from his body radiated toward her—or was it her own sexual awareness of this gorgeous, sensual man that caused her to burn?

She was also aware of how he stared deeply into the darkness, as if trying to see into the myriad shadows between the trees and the house. What was he looking for?

“You can’t sleep?” he asked without looking at her. Another of his many questions.

She shook her head. “I’ve a lot on my mind. And you?”

“The same.” He glanced at her, but only momentarily. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.”

“Tell you what?” She felt suddenly jittery. What did he want to know? And why did he stare at the neighborhood like that, as if expecting to see something that didn’t belong?

“Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

She made herself laugh. Attempting to regain the teasing familiarity they had shared as they had worked on the dinner dishes, she answered flippantly, “A guilty conscience.”

John turned to her so abruptly that she took a step backward, her hands up for protection. In the faint light from the neighboring properties, she had no trouble making out the sharpness to his glare.

“And just why would that be?” His wide lips softened just a bit at the edges, as if he struggled to smile, to soften the harshness of his question.

Her attempt at levity so obviously unsuccessful, Alexa shrugged beneath her robe. She lowered her hands and looked out again over the shimmering water of the lake. “Just a figure of speech,” she replied softly.

Why had he gotten so upset?

John suddenly grasped Alexa’s arms, turning her to face him. His grip was firm, insistent, just short of hurting her. His hands released her quickly, but his gaze didn’t. His eyes seemed to glow in the faint light on the balcony, as if they had a source of illumination of their own.

“Alexa,” he said in a surprisingly soft and sympathetic voice, “I…I sense something here. Something not quite right. If you’d like to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”

“You’re imagining things,” she said quickly.

“Am I?”

For a brief, crazy moment, she considered blurting out everything. What had happened two years ago. How the terrors of the past had somehow been resurrected right here, at the haven she had turned to in an attempt to put it all behind her.

How she feared what Vane was up to. How alone she felt, how responsible and scared.

How badly she missed Cole Rappaport.