Trick Me, Treat Me Page 12

  Though things had changed—Gwen had changed— ?Hildy still, on occasion, talked about her past. The family had kept their secret well, so the only one she had to talk to was her niece. Most of the stories still intrigued Gwen. But the idea that her aunt had been at the real Little Bohemia Inn a mere hour before the infamous Dillinger shootout of April, 1934, always made her shiver.

  That was another reason Gwen had tried to dissuade Hildy from this gangster inn idea, considering the elderly woman’s fragile mental state. The doctors believed Hildy was strong enough to embrace that part of her past and that Gwen should let her. So far, Hildy had enjoyed the chance to blend her teen years with her golden ones, never getting the two mixed up in her mind. And she’d finally found a place where she seemed at home. Ghosts and all. Gwen had never seen her aunt as happy as she’d been since they’d moved here last year. Which made it all worthwhile.

  “You do look tired,” Hildy said after the two of them shared a moment of silence. Then she added, “Yet there’s a sparkle in your eye that I haven’t seen in a long time.” The old woman didn’t sound inquisitive, or titillated. Instead, she looked at Gwen with an expression of genuine love. That look told Gwen—more than words might have—how worried Hildy had been about her.

  “I’ve been rather unpleasant to be around, haven’t I?”

  Hildy shook her head. “No, honey-cakes. Not unpleasant. Just so darned unhappy.”

  “I’m not unhappy.” She liked her new life, liked Derryville, liked her home and the friends she’d made.

  “That was the wrong word,” Hildy admitted with a frown. “You’ve been…spiritless. Unadventurous. Taking life as it comes instead of taking it by the…”

  “I get the picture,” Gwen interrupted with a soft laugh. “Which doesn’t endear you to a person, does it?”

  Hildy shook her head in disgust. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Aunt Hildy, maybe I don’t want a life of intrigue, danger and adventure.” But even as she said the words, she questioned them. The past twenty-four hours had been among the most exciting of her life. Meeting Miles, getting caught up in the danger and the thrill…and, oh Lord, the passion. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt more alive.

  She knew it couldn’t last. A future with the dashing spy was completely impossible. But, for once, she was going to take what she could get for as long as she could have it. Somehow, being certain they had no tomorrow was giving her the strength to run full tilt into a wild, sensual adventure today. It was as if by already preparing for the moment he left, she could enjoy the time she had. Half-trying to convince herself, she added, “Excitement’s fine, but there’s something to be said for a quiet, safe existence.”

  Hildy pursed her lips. “A quiet, safe existence. Like the one your parents lived.” Her voice shook as she added, “That was supposed to enable them to grow old together, wasn’t it?”

  Gwen knew what Hildy meant. The moisture in her fine old eyes and the audible catch in her voice said more than her words ever could. Hildy had truly loved her only nephew—Gwen’s dad. And she’d loved Gwen’s mother, too. Hildy had been every bit as crushed by their untimely death as Gwen.

  Gwen’s parents had been the epitome of safe, conservative Boston traditionalists. Loving, quiet, restrained. They’d been surprised by Gwen’s arrival, their “change of life baby” they’d called her. But they’d never made her feel unwanted in any way.

  They should never have died because of something as foolish as a buckled railroad tie and a high-speed derailment. Now, she was able to acknowledge that a part of her had died with them that day two years ago. Without a doubt, it had been the part that had been most like Great-aunt Hildy.

  “Point taken,” she murmured.

  “What I’m saying, sugar lips,” Hildy continued, “is that you don’t have to live dangerously to find excitement in this world. And living carefully and quietly isn’t a guarantee of safety and happiness.” Hildy glanced out the window, obviously lost in thought. “A person can find thrills in a regular day-to-day life. It doesn’t always have to be about physical danger. Taking an emotional risk can sometimes be much more potent.”

  Gwen knew what she meant. She was even able to admit that Aunt Hildy was right. Gwen had not allowed herself to take an emotional risk in a long time…not since her engagement. Even then, part of her had always known she hadn’t given her whole heart away to her ex-fiancé.

  So, truthfully, the biggest risk she’d taken in years had happened right in this house. Last night. Whew, when she got back into the risk-taking game, she got back in with a vengeance.

  “Of course, there’s something to be said for physical risks.” The older woman grinned as she shook her head in disbelief, still gazing at something in the backyard. “Sometimes they can be just plain fun.” She glanced at Gwen, then tilted her head toward the window, silently ordering her to look out. “Nothing like rescuing a honey of a man dangling from a third-floor ledge to get the blood pumping.”

  Not sure what Hildy was talking about, and almost afraid to find out, Gwen followed her stare. Seeing a flash of something black against the light gray paint on the side of the house, she leaped to her feet and hurried to the window. The dining room was in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped building, and she had an unobstructed view of both wings of the house. All was normal on the east side. But on the west…

  Her jaw dropped. “Good God!”

  A black-clad figure dangled off a third-story window ledge. She recognized him easily, particularly since those taut legs had been tangled with hers a few hours before. Her fingers still tingled from holding tight to that gorgeous hard body of his.

  A gorgeous hard body that now hung perilously a good twenty-five feet or so above the ground.

  Miles Stone.

  “OKAY, GENIUS, mental note. Not a great idea to try climbing up the side of a building without knowing whether or not you have a problem with heights.”

  He kept a tight grip on the decorative, wrought-iron grate covering the third-story window, willing himself not to look down. Looking down meant acknowledging just how frigging high up he was. Staring straight ahead—counting the miniscule cracks in the gray wood siding—kept him focused and able to pretend he was dangling only two feet above the ground. Not two dozen.

  “All you have to do is swing left, back into the tree,” he told himself yet again. Easier said than done. The branch he’d climbed over on was now above him—he’d had to bend low to grab the grating. It’d mean a leap to try to reach it. Or else he could jump down and try to land on one that was farther away.

  Jeez, it had seemed so simple. Someone had slipped a note under his door, saying the man he was seeking was staying in the room directly above his. It said to be discreet about his investigation, and that his contact would meet him in the gardener’s shed at noon.

  He’d planned to stay put, in his room, trying to relax his brain enough to get some sleep and to get his memories back. But the note had filled him with adrenaline. He could no more just stay quiet, waiting for Gwen to return with his breakfast, than he could have stopped himself from making love to her the previous night. Some situations demanded action, not thought.

  Right now, however, thought wasn’t sounding so bad.

  “Moron. You couldn’t just stick to the stairs, wait the suspect out, then sneak in after he’d left,” he muttered.

  He’d tried that option first. But since he had heard the man moving around behind his closed door, he’d crept back downstairs and formulated another plan. The huge oak tree right outside his window extended almost to the roof of the house. It had seemed like such a simple thing—climb out on one limb, go up a few yards, get in close to the window to see what the perp was doing. Wait for him to leave, then jimmy the window lock, climb in and snoop.

  The plan had worked well at first. He’d hugged the tree as he’d scaled it. Focused only on the third-floor window, he’d spent a few minutes watching the portly, nearly bald gentleman ty
ping away on a laptop computer. He ached to get at that computer, to check the files, run through the hard drive for any incriminating data.

  When the man had left, closing his door behind him, Miles had made his move. Climbing up one more branch, he’d maneuvered over and lowered himself to the window ledge.

  Then he’d looked down.

  Bi-i-i-i-g mistake. Huge. Gigantic mistake. Error of epic proportions here.

  Overwhelmed by the spinning sensation of vertigo, he’d lost his concentration. His foot had slipped off the ledge, and he’d barely managed to catch himself on the grating. Luckily, it appeared he worked out in his real life—his arms were strong. They had to be, because he was probably going to be hanging here for hours, until he figured out what the hell he was going to do.

  After a minute or two, he’d thought to feel around with his feet and found a bit of a toehold on the ledge above the window below. That relieved some of the pressure on his arms, but it sure didn’t get him out of his predicament.

  So, here he hung, frozen like an ancient statue, waiting to fall or get caught. He hadn’t decided which he preferred when he heard a screech of metal from below.

  “Miles, hold on!”

  Like he had a choice?

  “I’m coming.”

  He recognized the voice. Hmm…if he wasn’t mistaken, Gwen Compton had said something very much along those lines, though under different circumstances, just a few hours ago. In her bed.

  He much preferred that connotation of the sentence.

  Turning his head, he watched as the end of a metal extension ladder came into view, right beside his shoulders. Something whizzed through his brain, a mostly faded image of a disappearing ladder, but the thought was gone before he could grab it.

  “Okay, I’m holding the ladder steady. All you have to do is swing on to it,” she said from below, her voice a loud whisper that cut through the silence of the morning.

  “It appears I don’t care for heights,” he replied, taking deep, even breaths.

  “You said something about that last night.”

  “Thanks for mentioning it.” After a brief pause, he heard a squeak of metal and knew she was on the ladder. “Gwen, don’t.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I mean it, don’t climb up here!”

  Within just a few seconds, he looked over and saw the top of her head, not far from his thigh.

  “Too late. I did,” she said. “Now, all you have to do is move your leg over and I’ll make sure you plant it directly on the rung. Then we’ll ease back down together, okay?”

  “Gwen,” he bit out, “who’s holding the damn ladder?”

  She flushed. Before he could warn her not to look down, her head turned, her eyes shifted. And she turned to stone.

  “Shit,” he muttered, recognizing the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. It probably matched his own. “ow we’re both stuck.”

  They stayed that way for a full minute…Gwen looking down, him watching her. Finally, she lifted her eyes as she tightened her arms around the metal extension ladder in a death grip. “Uh, Miles, have any bright ideas?”

  “I was going to suggest that you go through the house, come up to this room, open that window and give me your hand.”

  She nibbled her lip. “I guess that won’t work now.”

  “Guess not.”

  Smiling, she said, “My Aunt Hildy knows where we are.”

  “Oh, great. Perfect. We’ll have the eighty-five-year-old up here with us in a minute. Maybe she’ll bring a few guests along—breakfast on the roof, anyone?”

  Her smile faded. “Okay, nix the idea of Hildy helping us.” Then she shot him an accusing look. “You’re a secret agent, aren’t you supposed to have emergency gear for any contingency? James Bond always did.”

  He raised a brow. “What do you expect? A helicopter in my hat, a parachute under my trench coat?”

  In spite of the perilous situation, she grinned. “That’s Inspector Gadget, not James Bond.” Her grin turned into a giggle, then a laugh. “I was talking about a rope or something.”

  Miles was unable to resist her bright smile, the way the sunshine caught the gold in her long braid and turned her eyes into pure, molten amber. Those beautiful eyes were wide, still showing a hint of fear, but now also sparkling with excitement.

  He finally began to laugh, too. “No rope. And since I’m not wearing a hat or a trench coat, there’s no helicopter or parachute, either. Any other ideas, bright eyes? My arms are getting tired.”

  She shifted her gaze, staring at his arms and his straining shoulders, then she licked her lips in a blatantly appreciative reaction. “I figured you must work out. Now I’m sure of it.” Her voice sounded decidedly reminiscent.

  “Stop staring at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she asked, all innocence.

  “Like you want to gobble me up.”

  “I do.”

  He shook his head as a rush of heat descended from his brain to his groin. “Do you know how difficult it is to hold on here? The last thing I need is a hard-on pushing me that much farther away from the damn wall.”

  Her laughter rang out, echoing in the quiet, partially enclosed corner of the house. Then she got serious. “Well, if I remember correctly,” she lowered her gaze to stare at his hips, “And I do…” She wagged her eyebrows suggestively. “You are in danger of being pushed a lo-o-o-ng way from the wall.”

  “Knock it off,” he said with a husky laugh. “I need to concentrate.”

  “Concentrate on what?” she asked, her voice still dreamy, as if she’d forgotten where they were, what was happening, and could only think of the intimacies they’d shared in her bed the night before. He was having difficulty not focusing on the same things.

  “Concentrate on what I’m going to do to you after we get down from here.”

  “What’s that?” Her question held a note of suggestiveness that hinted at what she’d like him to do.

  “First I’m gonna spank you for putting yourself in danger.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Then I’m going to make love to you until you don’t have the energy to get yourself into any more trouble.”

  “Look who’s talking about getting into trouble.”

  “Touché.”

  “But I do like the second part of the plan.” Then she gave him the kind of warm look that could turn any man into a drooling moron. “Is it crazy for me to say I’m so glad I met you, Miles Stone?”

  He shook his head. “It somehow makes sense to me.”

  “I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time.”

  “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  She chuckled.

  “Okay,” he said, realizing that during their short conversation, he’d somehow gained some calm and was able to assess the situation rationally. As long as he didn’t look down again, he might be all right and be able to get them both out of this mess. “I’m going to try to pull myself up onto the ledge and see if I can get the window open.”

  She looked nervous, watching with wide eyes and practically chewing a hole in her lip. It took a little effort, and some luck in finding additional footholds for his toes, but he was able to do it. Once he’d pulled himself to a standing position on the thin ledge, he unfastened the grate, stepping aside to ease it open.

  Holding his breath, he pushed on the window. It moved. Thank God the criminal was the trusting sort. “We’re set.”

  Within a minute, the two of them were standing in the empty room. As soon as her feet hit the floor, Gwen threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you. I’ll never get on a ladder again.”

  “You’re just saying that to get out of the spanking.”

  She leaned close, nibbling on his earlobe and blowing lightly on his neck. “Maybe I’d like it….”

  Naughty girl. Judging by her tone of voice, and the pounding of her heart which he could feel against his own chest, she was every bit as keyed up, as tu
rned on and charged with adrenaline as he was. God, what a rush.

  “So where do we start?” she asked, stepping away from him to look around the room. “I saw Mr. Mysterious coming downstairs as I was racing to get the ladder to save you.”

  He crossed his arms, raising a brow. “Who saved whom?”

  She blew out an impatient breath. “Details, details. Come on, what do we have to do? Toss the room? Plant a bug?”

  He didn’t know precisely what she was talking about. Come to think of it, he really had no idea what he was supposed to do. Getting into the room had been the objective. He hadn’t thought much beyond that. Then he spied the computer. “I want to check out his hard drive. I saw him typing while I was in the tree.”

  “Good plan. You do that, I’ll search his stuff.”

  It was the thrill in her voice that really made him stop and watch her. Gwen positively sparkled. Gone was the quiet, reserved woman who’d tried to resist telling him the truth last night. The innkeeper had not merely dropped her self-protective shell, she’d erupted out of it and gone full tilt into an adventure.

  He liked that about her. Hell, he liked everything about her. For a second, he wondered if he were an emotionally impulsive kind of guy in his real life, because, as crazy as it sounded considering they’d only known each other a day, he could very easily picture being in love with this woman. “Gwen?”

  She looked over as she reached for the door to the closet.

  “Whatever happens when I get my memory back…” He paused, unsure how to say what he was feeling. Asking her to stick around, to see if they might have a shot at something permanent, seemed awfully dangerous considering he didn’t even know where he lived. Or if he had a terminal disease or something.

  “Yes?”

  Before he could continue, he heard something that made him freeze. Voices. In the hall. Right outside the door.

  They were about to be caught red-handed.

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