White Heat by Cherry Adair Page A

approaching a bull, cape flying.
    “Besides,” she said briskly. “I have the code to get in.”
    She headed for the entry keypad beside the double front doors.
    Emily, as Daniel’s friend and protégé, had full access to the villa. Max had to have intel get him the address. He hadn’t known nor cared for the specifics before today. He’d been given the access code, as well as the security code for the alarm located just inside the front door.
I’m here, you old bastard. “Hang back a second,” he told her, Glock in hand.
    “I have to turn off the alarm inside first.”
    She didn’t move out of the way, so he had to brush her body to get close enough to the pad on the wall. The scent of her reminded him of sun-warmed sheets, rain, and roses. Fragrances that always conjured memories of the Sunday they’d spent making love in her big, soft bed. And on the sofa. And on the floor. And in the bathtub …
    “I’ve got it.” He tried not to breathe too deeply as he stabbed n the code on the keypad. 11—21—19—72. Ironically, his birthday.
    Emily frowned. “How do you know the codes?”
    “I know people.” With other pertinent intel, Daniel’s security codes, as well as Emily’s, had been sent to him before the T-FLAC team touched down at the Amerigo Vespucci airport at one this morning. And if his people assured him the death had been murder, not suicide, then there was no doubt in Max’s mind.
    The front door unlatched with a muted click. Weapon ready, he brought a finger to his lips, then held up his palm for her to stay put. Eyes wide, she nodded. Stepping around her, he opened the heavy door. He was relatively sure the house was empty It had been swept by a local T-FLAC team in the last fifteen minutes. His cell phone had vibrated in his back pocket with the all clear code LS they’d approached the front gate.
    Still, Max had a bad feeling he couldn’t shake.
    When his team’s lives, and his own, depended on him making the right split-second judgment calls, he trusted his intuition. That and experience, which had been honed and proven on countless missions. Shit happened.
    He didn’t want shit happening when Emily was involved.
    So, even though the villa and extensive grounds had been given the all clear, he’d do his own sweep before he’d relax for what was left of the night. Which wasn’t much. The sun was making a valiant attempt to rise. He needed at least a couple of hours of sleep to function on all cylinders. And Emily was clearly at the end of her emotional rope as she leaned against the door jamb, waiting for him to tell her the alarm system had been disarmed.
    He found the sophisticated security system keypad just inside the door, and started disarming it.
    “You only have twenty seconds.”
    It took him five. “Come in and close the door so I can activate it again.” His voice was just loud enough to carry the few feet to where she stood. As soon as she was in, front door locked behind her, he instructed, “Wait here. I’m going to look around.”
    Four
    IS IT OKAY IF I TURN ON SOME LIGHTS?” SHE WHISPERED. HE saw the nervous shift of her eyes. She was justifiably scared, but she wasn’t making a production out of it. He had to admire her grit.
    Lights on or off weren’t going to matter if there was a determined killer in the house whose eyes had already adjusted to the dark. “Sure.”
    Emily turned on the lights, illuminating a big, ostentatious foyer. The domed ceiling was frescoed, and enormous gilt-framed paintings lined the walls above while spindly antique tables and airs hugged the walls below.
    Place was ornate as hell. Max hated it.
    It was also cold, and smelled of stale air. Max couldn’t picture his warm hearted mother ever living here. It had all the cozy warmth of a sterile museum.
    Utilizing his “cell phone” as a thermal monitor, he quickly— the term relative considering the size of the place—searched the villa bottom to top. It was a ridiculously