скачать книгу бесплатно
Four weeks later, feeling silly in her formfitting flight suit with its howling wolf logo stitched over her left breast, with her licensed weapon tucked almost as an embarrassment under the seat of her Bell Long Ranger, she set down in Las Vegas to pick up her first assignment. Newly trained in firearms skills, hand-to-hand, surveillance and the legal ins and outs of employing any of those methods under the guise of a bodyguard she felt strong and confident in her new role. Until she got her first look at her client.
Xander Caufield, an insurance specialist carrying a fortune in rare stamps to an exhibit/trade show in Reno. That didn’t sound too dangerous. Or exciting. She was to ferry him wherever he wanted to go and keep him and the contents of his locked case safe. Not exactly shuttling military secrets. Old stamps were about as thrilling as the envelopes she’d tossed into the waste can. She couldn’t imagine any high-level intrigue going on there. But it was her first sizable paycheck, slotted to cover her fuel bill, and she would take it as seriously as the number of zeroes ahead of the decimal point.
She waited in the broil of the midday Nevada sun as a sleek limo approached, fighting the impulse to shade her eyes to get a better look at the man stepping out of that big backseat toting a metal courier case and a garment bag. With the glare off the hardtop, all she could discern were polished shoes and an immaculate suit. The first thing that impressed her, because she couldn’t see his features, was the way he moved. He had a quick, aggressive step implying no hesitation in wherever he was going. An all business stride. Together with the expensive suit, that got her hot-guy Geiger counter ticking away at a brisk pace. Then he crossed into the shade of the Ranger and the needle went off the charts.
He was Maxim gorgeous. Dark, styled, but in no way soft. Chiseled masculine features, a heavy slash of brows, uncompromising mouth and a direct stare that could probably bend steel bars. She caught herself before wetting her lips but allowed an inner rowl-rowl. His gaze touched on her briefly as she came forward to greet him, her hand extended to take his bag.
“Mr. Caufield, I’m Mel Par—”
“Let’s go. I’m in a hurry.”
She rocked back on her heels as he strode by, her brows lifting slightly. Aware that her hand still hung in midair, she scrubbed it against the other one and let both fall to her sides. “All righty then. Welcome aboard, buckle up and we’ll get airborne.”
He climbed up into the copter, giving her a glimpse of a monumentally nice butt. But since he was acting like one, her interest cooled considerably. Sometimes good looks just couldn’t overcome bad manners. A shame.
He settled into the back, draping his suit bag over one seat, strapping into the other. Situating the case between his elegantly clad feet, he looked purposefully out the window. Dismissing her as if she were invisible.
Great. See if she’d offer the in-flight movie.
After a quick preflight check and a chat with the tower, she had them up and off the flat Vegas desert.
The flight was silent and uneventful. Easy money. Because small talk with her coldly gorgeous passenger was off the table, she fiddled with the radio, trying to pick up chatter on the latest blaze chewing its way through remote California forest land, heading for her back door. So far, they were trying to contain it with backfires and burnouts, but it was proving to be a tricky beast. Dry conditions and high winds had it skipping and shifting one step ahead of their best efforts to suppress it.
Listening to the dispatcher and the back-and-forth banter, a fierce longing to be in the thick of it had her clenching her teeth and calling down all manner of ills upon Quinn Naylor. It didn’t matter that she had a job, that her time was well paid for by her arrogant passenger in back. If she thought there was the slightest chance she could zip over the state line and be toting hand crews and hotshots from dawn until dusk, she’d have pushed Mr. Xander I’mtoo-damned-important-to-give-you-a-polite-nod Caufield out the back door to let his glacial attitude warm a bit out in the sun and sand. But that wasn’t going to happen and Caufield’s comfy ride was guaranteed for the moment.
And it didn’t hurt that he was so easy on the eyes.
She settled back in her seat and tried to calm her mood toward her meal ticket.
Mel appreciated affluent men…from afar. She enjoyed fantasizing about those almost too pretty glam boys in the designer suits who attended the theater and drove cars with unpronounceable names. The ones who wore silky scarves or pastel sweaters draped around their necks for no apparent reason and had their nails done. After a long day in the air, after sharing raucous laughs and longnecks with the crew, she found herself imagining what it would be like spending the evening with a man who didn’t smell of smoke and sweat, who didn’t pepper his sentences with profanity and fire acronyms, who could talk about something other than weather systems, fuel management and the closest available waitress with big hooters. A man who didn’t live from season to season on a puny GS rate that hardly covered the bets laid down at the pool table. One who could take her to a restaurant that didn’t serve hot wings as the main entrée.
The men she knew were her drinking buddies, her coworkers, and not the stuff of romantic dreams. In the air and on the ground, they were heroes. Up close, they tended to be petulant, obnoxious, controlling or just plain more trouble than they were worth. She didn’t actually know what she’d do with one of those swanky cover boys if he stepped off his pedestal and into her rather grimy check-to-check existence. But she did like ogling them. And Caufield was worth a long, long look.
She glanced back at him in her mirror. He was staring straight at her, and from the furrowed concentration of his brows, apparently had been for some time. That intense and not quite flattering study gave her a sudden chill. She wasn’t unfamiliar with men’s attention. She’d had them stare at her in lust, in anger, in warm camaraderie. But this was none of those things. His look was as sharp and precise as a surgeon’s blade and her pulse jumped in alarm. What on earth had she done to deserve a slashing tribute from a man she’d never met, didn’t know and had no intention of getting to know better? Maybe he didn’t like to fly. Maybe he didn’t like women who flew. Maybe he didn’t like women. Whatever his problem was, it was giving her the creeps.
Reaching up, she snagged the curtain that separated the cockpit from the back and jerked it closed. Still, she felt the prickle of his stare and was glad to crest the mountains to see the soup bowl of Reno below with its handful of resort hotels sticking up from the desert floor like dominoes. Great. Her first assignment and she was stuck shuttling some weirdo with an attitude and issues. And a great butt.
A car was waiting. She had to jog to get ahead of her client to efficiently open the door. He didn’t look at her, merely tossed his bag in first before sliding into the cool, dark interior. He paid her no attention until she climbed in to take the opposite seat. His surprise was evident in the widening of his eyes. Hazel eyes, with mysterious hints of green. They were gorgeous, too.
“Door-to-door service,” she explained. “Part of the job.”
“You don’t really need—”
“Yes, I do.”
She pulled the door shut, ending any further protest. When push came to shove, she could be rude and undiplomatic, too.
He smelled good.
It was a short hop to the hotel, which bordered the airport. In those brief minutes, the chilly limo filled with the faint scent of whatever exotic cologne he was wearing. It had her nose twitching and her meter ticking again. Because there was nowhere else to look, she found herself studying his hands. Clean, long fingered with neat nails. Not pale as she would have expected from a high-rise type, but lightly bronzed. Probably the tanner rather than the true outdoors. No wedding ring or sign that he’d ever worn one.
She felt his stare and slowly let her gaze lift to meet it. His directness unnerved her, and she was sure he knew it, but she matched it unflinchingly for a long silent minute. Then, feeling rather silly with their stare down, she broke the stalemate.
“Will you be needing me again tonight?”
“No. I’ll see you have an itinerary in the morning.”
She nodded. How frigidly professional of him. He had a nice voice, clipped but low, soft and a little gruff around the edges. In other circumstances, sexy as hell. Who was she kidding? Everything about him was sexy as hell. Except his attitude.
They pulled into the hotel circle, and again he gave her a questioning look when she climbed out with him. She relieved him of the need to ask.
“As long as you have that case, consider us Siamese twins.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t betray any displeasure. She began to wonder if he had a pulse.
She stood slightly behind him at the check-in desk, aware, without being distracted by the surrounding chaos of the casino behind them, of everyone within snatch-and-grab range. She didn’t offer to hold his bags. She wasn’t there to be his porter. She was there to protect his butt. A delicious duty had there been a little shorter stick up it.
When he had his key card in hand, she walked close to his elbow as they wound through the game floor. The noise and lights and mill of gamblers made her edgy. Nervously, she went over all that Chaney and his instructors had taught her about being ready and vigilant and…damn. She’d left her pistol under the seat of the Ranger. A lot of good it would do there if some collector-stamp junkie leaped on them from behind the nickel slots. Feeling sheepish, she adjusted her walk into ultra tough chick mode, hoping that would be enough to discourage anyone from a tussle. It must have worked, because no one approached them. Or it could have been the arctic blast exuded by Caufield.
The elavator doors closed and up they went. Just as she started to relax, she could see him give her a quick once over in the reflective strip above the door. Nothing flattering about it.
“Tomorrow, do you think you could wear something a little less…obvious?”
She didn’t turn. Instead, she met his gaze in the polished bronze. Her teeth bared in what he couldn’t mistake as a smile. “Whatever you like, Mr. Caufield. Would you prefer business casual or escort service?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly, she wanted to see his smile. She bet it would do glorious things to the sharp bone structure of his face. But no such luck.
“I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”
She marched him down to his room and slipped in first to give it a brief but thorough check, acting as if she’d performed this task with countless clients more important than himself. At her nod of all clear, he entered, hanging his garment bag in the closet and tossing the case on the bed. It gave a slight bounce on the taut spread and Mel wondered in wildly unprofessional and inappropriate curiosity how it would feel to take a similar bounce on that bed beneath Xander Caufield. Like being pressed between an iron and ironing board, she assumed, dismissing the fleeting fantasy with a grim smile.
“If you need me—”
“I have your cell number.”
He was levering out of his shiny shoes, peeling his socks off with them. As his bare toes curled into the nap of the carpet, a purely salacious chill raced through her. He was staring at her again, this time with slight impatience.
“Good night, Ms. Parrish.”
There was no reason to linger.
He latched the door behind her and released his pent-up breath. Slipping out of his jacket, Xander let it drop carelessly over the back of the desk chair before he settled on the edge of the bed. He snapped the catches on the case and pulled out the contents he’d brought with him. A fat insurance file and the real reason he was in Reno.
It wasn’t about stamps.
Chapter 2
Sipping the bottled water that came with his delivered meal, Xander leaned back on the bank of pillows he’d wedged against the backboard of his bed. He was wearing only his suit pants, needing the chill of the climate-controlled air against his bare chest and feet to keep his weary senses sharp. He opened his file and spread the reports across the bedspread to give them closer study. He had them memorized, but there was always the chance that he’d missed something. The way he had that afternoon.
His pilot wasn’t what he’d expected and he didn’t like to be surprised. Mel Parrish should have been a man. When she’d told him her name, he’d been knocked off balance, with all his preconceptions askew. The quick glimpse he’d dared take of her while scrambling for his composure revealed the worst. Young, attractive, female. How had those facts gotten under his radar? Need-to-know facts to a man who prided himself on details.
Her being a woman opened up a whole different avenue upon which to discover what he needed to know. But it didn’t change the facts in the file.
He was tracking an arsonist for hire. One who lit a torch for the insurance money. One who either used or created fires to cover his fraudulent activity. In the past seven years, Western Mutual Insurance had paid out in the billions for properties that went up in smoke. The policy owners all had something in common—a serious financial glitch that was solved by the influx of cash. Cash handed over by Western Mutual because they couldn’t prove any wrongdoing. And that made them decidedly displeased.
That’s where Xander came in.
He was the best there was at what he did. Meticulous, relentless, ruthless. He’d made his reputation on those three things. And upon his track record of always uncovering the truth. That’s how he could demand the price he did. A sometimes hard-to-swallow percentage of the policy payout. Money they would otherwise kiss goodbye. Money that didn’t really matter to him. It was the process and the end result that he enjoyed. He liked the challenge and he had to win. That’s why the companies came to him with the cases they couldn’t solve themselves.
For five years, he’d immersed himself in the minds and means of those who thought to cheat the system. He’d start with the obvious. Who had the most to gain? Then he’d follow the money. He didn’t work in an office, not after the first phase of investigation. He excelled in the field. Blending into the lives of those who thought to get away with a payout they didn’t deserve. He’d get close, he’d become their friend, their partner, their confidant and sooner or later, every time, they’d slip up and he’d have them. Infinite patience was its own reward.
Only in this case, the reward wasn’t his hefty fee.
Restless with his lack of progress, he set aside his handwritten notes and made a call on his cell. He made it a practice of never using traceable land lines. There wasn’t much he trusted, except the person who answered his call of “I’m in.” And the response was the one he’d been waiting to hear.
“Got another e-mail. We’re talking money. It’s showtime.”
Xander smiled thinly, trying not to react to the sudden lunge of anticipation. The chase was on. “Don’t be stingy, but don’t be too eager. We don’t want to scare him off.”
“Hey, don’t tell me how to deal with criminals, pal. It’s what I do.”
Kyle D’Angelo was a security expert. They’d gone to prep school then college together. He was the one friend Xander could claim with no strings attached, with no what’s-in-it-for-me agenda. He was the one person who’d suffered him as a fool, who’d seen him at his lowest and hadn’t turned away. Money couldn’t sway him. Hard times hadn’t discouraged him. During the wild years, he wasn’t the one Xander called to bail him out of a tight spot. Because Kyle would be there seated at his side saying, “Damn, that was fun.” He was the closest thing Xander had left to family. And it was Kyle who’d brought him the precious lead he’d been searching for for five frustrating years.
His call came out of the blue. Always happy to hear from him, Xander hadn’t expected the reason to be business. Cut-right-to-the-soul-of-him business. Kyle was installing security in Lake Tahoe at a posh resort/casino whose owners had gotten a little too lean in the pocket to complete the astronomical renovations they’d started. They’d been contacted a month ago. A terse e-mail from an undisclosed sender. The message was brief.
I can make your money troubles go away.
At the first hint at rising from the ashes with the insurance money, Kyle had placed the call that he knew would mean everything to his best friend. Then he had used his resources to help Xander get next to his prime suspect.
“You just let me know when you’re ready to set the trap.”
“Not just yet. I need some time to make sure we’re stalking the right game.” A discomforting truth. For the first time, when the stakes were their highest, he was going on the hunt woefully unprepared. He had only the rudimentary research done, and while that told him he was using the right bait, he didn’t know what he was going to catch. He was after a trophy. Something he could tack up on his wall with an infinite satisfaction. But the catch wasn’t the reward he was after. Not even close.
“I’ll be waiting,” D’Angelo promised. “Your call.”
A cold linear sense of purpose shivered through Xander the way the air-conditioning hadn’t been able to. Just a few short steps left to take. To be sure. This one he couldn’t let escape because he’d taken shortcuts. And the payoff would be sweet revenge.
And thinking of sweet derailed his train of thought.
“Why didn’t you tell me Mel Parrish was a woman?”
There was a pause, then D’Angelo gave a nonplussed laugh. “I didn’t think it would make a difference. Does it?”
Xander drew up a mental picture of Mel Parrish in the enticingly curved flight suit, of her boldly angular face, flashing dark eyes and sassy mouth. And that untamed mass of red hair. He shut his eyes, canceling out the image.
“No, of course not.”
Kyle D’Angelo chuckled. “She’s hot—she must be, to rattle a monk like you.”
How could D’Angelo tell he was rattled from that one concise sentence? But then Kyle knew him better than he knew himself. And, unfortunately, he was right. Xander tightened down the screws on the press of his emotions and vowed, “It won’t matter.”
“I’m sure it won’t. Not with that gift you’ve got.”
Because it sounded like some kind of unpleasant disease, Xander frowned. “What gift is that?”
“You have an amazing gift of blankness, my friend. Slick. Smooth. Nonabsorbing. Nothing gets to you with your nonstick coating. It just slides right off. I don’t know if I envy that or not. It makes you kind of a scary guy.”
Xander tried to laugh it off but couldn’t. Was that what he was? Was that what he’d become?
“Thanks a hell of a lot, Kyle.”
And because D’Angelo knew him so well, he caught the hint of something unexpected behind that mocking sentiment. He’d somehow managed to wound his usually stoic friend.
“It was a compliment. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“No danger of that since apparently I don’t have any.”
He could picture D’Angelo’s grin at having provoked the cynical response. And his own dark mood gave a notch as he managed a small smile.
“Thought you might have lost your sense of humor there for a minute.”
“Misplaced it, perhaps.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the tension headache that was building from a distant rumbling to fearsome thunderheads. “I had to pack light for this trip. It wasn’t a must-have item.”
“Don’t leave home without it, bud. It’s the all-purpose Rx.” Predictably, Kyle shifted into life counselor mode to offer his one prescription for everything. “When was the last time you kicked your shoes off?”
He wiggled his bare toes. “They’re off right now.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. You need to get a life, bud. All work and no play.”
“Makes Xander a scary guy. I know.”
“And I know the remedy. Leave everything to Dr. D’Angelo. What say we just take the weekend off. Zip up to Colorado to your mom’s condo. Hit the clubs, jump in a hot tub with some lonely lovelies, cigars and a fifth of your choice and enjoy a total hedonistic orgy. How does that sound?”
“Like we were frat boys again.” He was smiling, imagining it. Kyle drew lonely ladies and hedonistic good times like a bacchanalian magnet.
“Tell me you’re not tempted.”
Tempted, yes. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a break. He’d been wound so tight for so long, he wasn’t sure he could loosen up the notch it would take to be a suitable companion for fun. Not because he didn’t need it, but because he didn’t deserve it. Especially now.
“I’ll have to pass,” he said softly, without true regret. “Maybe when this is over.”
He heard Kyle’s resigned sigh, knowing his friend hadn’t really expected any other answer. “It’s never over with you.”
“If this pans out, it will be.”
Then maybe he could take a breather. Now, it was hard to even think of having a good time when he knew others didn’t have the luxury. For some, there were no breaks, no willing ladies, no hot tubs. That’s why he had to work harder and stay focused. Kyle may not like it, but he did understand it. Because he knew why his friend was a scary guy.
“Keep in touch, bud. Be careful. We’ll nail this one down for you. Anything I can do, anything, you let me know.”
