Her Private Treasure. Wendy Etherington

run the harbor,” Malina interrupted. “You know when people come and go. When does Rafton usually come and go?”

      “Early morning, sometimes after dinner.”

      “When has he been taking his boat out lately?”

      Duffy sipped his whiskey before answering. “Later.”

      “How much later?”

      “Eleven, maybe twelve at night.”

      “So would you characterize that as unusual?”

      Annoyance lined Duffy’s face. “I guess so.”

      His statement fell in line with what others had said with less reluctance and certainly more grace. Was Albert Duffy simply ornery, or did he have some connection with Rafton that he didn’t want known? With this man, directness seemed to be the only course. “Are you engaging in or helping to cover up illegal activity perpetrated by Jack Rafton?”

      Duffy sputtered so heavily he couldn’t speak.

      “Agent Blair,” Hamilton said, his gaze locking on hers, “that’s inappropriate.”

      But it confirmed her instincts—Duffy was an insulting curmudgeon and likely not a would-be felon.

      “I thought we might get to our goal more quickly with more specific questions,” she said to the men across from her. “And I’m sure Mr. Duffy doesn’t think the FBI engages in random questioning. I wanted to let him know that he’s being watched and any attempt by him to warn Mr. Rafton of the questions I’ve asked would be perceived by me as the act of an accomplice.” She smiled. “Everybody clear now?”

      “What a man does on his own time isn’t any of my bother,” Duffy mumbled.

      Her smile broadened. “Exactly. That’s my job. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Duffy,” she added, rising and turning off the microrecorder. “I’ll forward copies of the interview transcript to your office, Mr. Hamilton. Good night to you both.”

      “You’d do better to learn to cook, honey,” Duffy said as she turned away.

      Facing him, her fingers twitched as she skimmed her hand across the butt of her gun. “Would I?”

      “Yeah.” His gaze defiant, Duffy leaned back in the booth. “Carr here needs a girlfriend. He’s rich, so he could probably even get you lessons.”

      “If only I’d known those options were open to me, I’d have skipped training in Quantico and raced right over to the Julia Child Institute.” Her temper finally breaking, she braced her palm on the table and leaned toward Duffy, meeting his startled gaze with her own furious, narrowed one. “As it happens, I’m a pretty good ass-kicker, so I think I’ll stick with what I know.” She paused briefly, renewing her smile, even though it was significantly cooler. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

      Stalking away, she didn’t dare look at Hamilton, who’d no doubt find a way to warm her icy demeanor.

      Chauvinistic, patronizing men who were threatened by women in general, not just the ones carrying firearms, didn’t warrant any room in her thoughts. And yet, here she was, striding to her car and dwelling on the interview as if she cared whether or not she could boil water.

      If Duffy owned a gun, it was doubtful he’d be able to hit the broad side of a barn with it, even with a sniper’s scope and a GPS. And yet nobody was questioning his ability to be harbormaster. Though what his job had to do with weapons, she couldn’t say. She just—

      She ground to a halt next to her dark blue sedan. Those two didn’t seriously think the investigation of this case would be reduced to gender, did they? Suspected smuggling was serious business that had nothing to do with chromosomes.

      Frankly, she’d expected better from Carr Hamilton.

      He caught up to her in the parking lot, bracing his arm on the hood of her car and standing way too close. “Why did you come here tonight?”

      Again, she was conscious of feeling small. As an agent, the sensation bothered her. As a woman, she couldn’t help inhaling his cologne’s spicy scent and spending a few seconds reveling in the head-spinning that followed.

      She told herself it was important that she stand her ground and resist his advances. If she let him inside, she wasn’t sure how she could stay objective. Stepping back, she rolled her shoulders. “I’m here because this is where Duffy wanted to meet. He’s a complete ass, by the way.”

      “I did advise you to show some leg.”

      Briefly, she closed her eyes to get a better handle on her temper. Was he really just like everybody else? “You don’t honestly believe I’d resort to low-cut dresses or high heels to solve my case,” she said, her gaze boring into his.

      “Sure I do.” He closed the distance she’d created between them. “If it solved your case, you’d do just about anything.”

      His assured tone angered her—or so she tried to convince herself. The fact that his statement was true was irrelevant.

      Hamilton cocked his head. “As far as your personal life, though, I think you’d make a man’s journey just about as difficult as you could.”

      Also true. Though not out of any deliberate issue with men in general—except the chauvinistic, homophobic or idiotic ones. She simply hadn’t met many men worth giving her time to lately. And if she was lonely, she had her job to focus on. The SAC respected her. For now, that would have to be enough to keep the home fires burning.

      She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did they teach you how to be an egomaniac at Yale?”

      Ignoring her defensive stance, he leaned into her. “No, I think that particular quality is inborn.”

      The challenge in his dark eyes hadn’t wavered once since the moment she met him.

      She liked that.

      Truth told, she liked him. But he was intimately involved in her case, and she knew an attraction to him wasn’t wise.

      “Are you sure you didn’t come here to see me?” he asked.

      “I came to interrogate a person of interest in my case.” If she figured the owner of the bar, who she’d learned spent many of his nights in that bar, showed up, well, that was simply a side benefit to a job that had sold her short on positive points so far.

      His gaze roved her face. “And I’m irrelevant?”

      “You’re…distracting,” she admitted, her heart racing with the crazy need that she sensed would always mark any encounter with Carr Hamilton.

      “Then I’m doing my job.”

      She angled her head. “Is that why you followed me out here—to do your job?”

      His tongue moistened his lower lip, and she barely repressed a groan. “No.” He wrapped one arm around her waist. “I have other things on my mind right now.”

      As he lowered his head, she knew she could stop him. Should stop him.

      But there were times when her instincts took over, and while those interludes didn’t always end the way she’d anticipated or desired, she couldn’t deny they always made things interesting.

      She doubted touching Carr Hamilton would be any different.

      His hand cupped her jaw as he laid his mouth over hers. As his fingers gripped the back of her head, his tongue slid between her lips, sending sparks of desire and need shooting through her body. The lustful feelings smoldering inside exploded.

      Their chests met; her nipples tightened.

      Her body wanted him, even if her brain warned of the danger. With a moan of longing, she ignored her conscience. She clutched the front of his shirt as he continued to devour her mouth, seeming determined to absorb every part of