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There she sat, flirting with his father at the bar. Long mahogany hair down to here, short black skirt up to there. His dad’s eyeballs bugged out to…hell. The woman clearly wasn’t here to gamble.
Seth had long since given up on the idea of his parents ever getting back together—and he knew his mother was far better off without Austin Cartwright. Messing with the ladies had never been his dad’s problem. But he had other weaknesses that an opportunist like Rebecca Page wouldn’t hesitate to exploit if it meant getting her story.
And the story brewing beneath the surface of the Riverboat was too big to allow an ambitious reporter to break it before his mission here was accomplished.
If he could still accomplish it.
Seth had been out of the office in an instant, knowing this entire undercover operation could be lost with one wrong word by that woman. He couldn’t get to the bar fast enough. Couldn’t risk asking his father about what they’d discussed when he’d dashed past him and Melissa in the lobby. He’d been blinded by the same surge of adrenaline he’d felt when their paths had crossed in the past. Rebecca Page had to go.
Her resistance renewed once he got her out the door. No surprise there. This time she tried to reason with him. She flipped the hem of her apron at him. “I have a job here, you know.”
“Where’s the rest of your uniform?”
“I just started.”
He got her across the gangplank. “Then you’re fired.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me. Where are you parked?” He remembered the flashy red Mustang from their last encounter when she’d had the gall to stalk his mother to her home to bug her about the Baby Jane Doe murder investigation. Sure, that case had since been solved with the help of his new stepfather, and his mother’s position as acting commissioner of police had become a permanent job since they’d put the killer behind bars.
But he figured once a pest, always a pest. In another profession, he might have admired Rebecca’s persistence. But it was a reporter’s job to make headlines. Reveal secrets. Expose facts that could do more harm than good if they became common knowledge.
Therefore, the lady with the diehard curiosity had to go before she opened her mouth.
“Give me your keys,” Seth ordered, as they approached the Mustang, moving farther away from the lights and crowd of the casino. Instincts honed by months of learning to spot trouble before it spotted him had Seth checking between and underneath the vehicles before he led her to the door of her car. He snapped his fingers when he saw she wasn’t complying. “The keys.”
Out of sight from the front doors and beyond the hearing of other customers, she was done pretending to cooperate. She stuck her purse out at arm’s length and tried to play keep-away. “Can’t you ever just ask nicely when you want something?”
The role he’d been forced to play since taking this assignment didn’t involve making nice. People who asked got trampled on in this business.
So he grabbed her outstretched arm, spun her around and backed her against the car while he snatched the black bag from her grasp.
“Damn you. Give me that!” Her fingers tangled in the lapels of his jacket as she tried to push him away and retrieve her purse.
“Stop.” Seth leaned in half a step closer, pinning her hips and thighs in a mockery of intimacy, warning her she couldn’t win this particular battle. Her struggles stilled with a startled gasp. But if she hadn’t made the sharp sound of surprise, he would have. Her lips hovered at eye-level, painted red and parted, breathing little puffs of tantalizing warmth across his cheek, reminding him how long it had been since he’d risked being with a woman. How long it had been since he’d risked feeling anything beyond the job.
The imprint of her feminine shape was an unexpected shock to his system. Blood surged through his veins and things awoke. Control and denial had sustained him for months. But here he stood, caught unawares in the middle of the night, wanting something he shouldn’t—needing something too dangerous even to put a name to.
Damning that weakness inside him, Seth opened her purse and fished out the keys. While she watched in mute condemnation, he removed the tape from her recorder and dropped it in the pocket of his jacket.
“That’s stealing,” she accused, drawing her hands from his chest and crossing her arms between them.
He’d done worse recently. “I call it a security precaution.”
A cool breeze off the river blew a long, curly tendril over her flushed cheek, but didn’t do a thing to soothe the fever rising in his body. He tested his restraint by refusing to move away, by denying the urge to sweep away that lock of hair that had caught at the corner of her mouth. He denied the urge to sample that corner with his tongue to find out if she was as rich and fiery to the taste as she was to the eye.
He forced Rebecca to be the one to retreat. She obliged by leaning back against the sweet lines of the car to ease a whisper of space between them.
“You are a son of a bitch,” she accused, jamming the tempting strand of hair behind one ear. The husky softness of her voice was a direct contrast to the darts targeting him from those golden eyes.
He didn’t argue the point. He didn’t say anything as he returned her purse and slipped the key into the lock.
“Did they boot you off the force for being a jerk?” She was determined to get the upper hand he wouldn’t allow.
“It is my right and responsibility to escort anyone off the premises whom I deem a threat.”
“A threat to what?” She snatched at his sleeve and demanded he look at her. “This is about your mother, isn’t it. If she and I can share a civil conversation now, then you—”
“Leave my mother out of this.” Seth could do the in-your-face thing, too. “I don’t want you snooping around here.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You don’t know how to do anything else.” He opened the door and pushed her inside, instinctively taking care to protect the back of her head, just as he would load up any of the suspects he’d once pulled off the streets. “Did you tell anyone here you work for the Journal? Or were you recording conversations illegally?”
“What? No. That tape is still blank.” Seth climbed in right beside her and closed the door, forcing her to scramble over the console onto the passenger seat. “Hey. Get out!”
For a split second, her backward crab crawl exposed a smooth tanned thigh all the way up to a line of black silk panty. Sheesh. Hormones lurched in a base male response to all that bare skin and he slapped his hands around the steering wheel before he reached for something he shouldn’t. Rebecca Page was the enemy here. She fired his temper, not his lust.
She threatened his mission, not his conscience.
Tender feelings like guilt or concern had no place in the world of power and intimidation in which he’d immersed himself.
And he was too smart to forget that.
He wisely averted his gaze while she hastily sat up in her seat and righted her skirt and the apron she wore. He went on the attack before he did something foolish, like ask if he’d been too rough with her. “Why are you here? What story are you working on?”
She tucked the heavy charm at the end of her necklace back inside the front of her dress. “I’m here to make friends and earn some extra money with a part-time job.”
“Liar.”
“Ass.”
With a noisy huff, she folded her arms and stared out the windshield into the fog off the river.
Seth breathed deeply, right along with her, waiting for a response. The carefully preserved interior of the small vintage car was tinged with the scents of leather polish and Rebecca’s own spicy perfume. Frustrated with her stubborn silence, he raked his fingers through the careless spikes of his short blond hair. His focus should be back on the Riverboat and proving that Teddy Wolfe was just as deviant and dangerous as Interpol and KCPD suspected him to be. He shouldn’t be sitting here, noticing the Mustang’s fine details. And he damn well shouldn’t be noticing anything about the car’s owner.
“Well?” he prodded.
“You said you weren’t a cop anymore. I don’t have to talk.”
Enough of this battle of wills. He needed to win this argument more than she could ever understand.
Seth fitted into Teddy Wolfe’s world all too well. He released the steering wheel and leaned over the center console, bracing one hand on the dashboard and the other on the seat behind her head. “You’ll talk to me.”
Chapter Three
Whatever advantage Rebecca had over Seth Cartwright when they were standing vanished when they sat side by side. Now he loomed over her, and those massive shoulders and beefy chest filled up the tight space inside her car.
She smelled the dampness from the air outside that clung to his suit and golden hair. She heard his deep, even breathing over the alarming staccato of her own pulse in her ears.
He wore a classic suit over a tight charcoal-gray T-shirt. But no amount of tailored wool or self-restraint could completely civilize the hard edge that lined his square jaw, or temper the danger that lurked in the depths of his gray-green eyes.
It couldn’t hide the black shoulder holster that peeked out from inside his jacket, either. Right next to the pocket with her confiscated tape. Okay, so she hadn’t recorded anything on it yet, but still, he’d taken it from her. Just like that, he’d put her at a disadvantage. All that muscle intruding into her personal space made her rethink the shrimp-size memory she’d mistakenly had of the man. His sharp eye and suspicious mind made him more of a formidable opponent than the pesky annoyance she remembered. And the gun…? Oh, hell. She knew she’d be taking a risk by going undercover at the Riverboat. But she hadn’t really known.
She’d expected close calls and the need to think on her feet. She’d reviewed her arsenal of fast talk and coy come-ons. She’d even been prepared for threats if her true purpose was found out. She’d made note of where the nearest exit in each room was located, and had her can of pepper spray within reach on her keychain. But she hadn’t expected this palpable sense of mistrust, this antagonism, this isolation.
She hadn’t expected to feel like the enemy herself.
The fuse on Seth Cartwright’s temper, however, was every bit as short as she remembered, his inability to listen to reason just as frustrating. No wonder she didn’t like cops. Or ex-cops. Or whatever kind of man rated a dubious title like Chief of Security at the place where her father had been murdered.
She’d been willing enough to leave the Riverboat with him to keep him from blabbing to everyone on board that she was a reporter for the Journal. But she had no intention of giving up on her quest.
She wasn’t the bad guy here.
If finding Reuben Page’s killer meant finding a way to deal with Seth Cartwright, then she’d swallow her pride and frustration—and ignore that little frisson of nervous awareness that made her heart beat faster. Give me strength, Dad. And then she asked for the practically impossible. Give me patience.
“You want to talk?” She bit down on a sarcastic desire to remind him how close-mouthed he’d been with her. “How about this? I am looking for a story.”
“And?”
If he could be a smug know-it-all, then she could tell a little white lie. “I’m writing an article on the history of the Commodore. From its days as a cruise ship and dance-hall club on the Missouri River through its rusty demise as a floating eyesore to its reincarnation as a casino. I’m talking to owners, staff and passengers who’ve known the Commodore in all its stages, from the time it was built in the late thirties to the present.”
He settled back behind the wheel. But his heat and scent—and mistrust—remained. “History? That’s not your usual beat.”
“I’ve always loved research. Between jazz and baseball and the westward expansion of our country there’s so much history in Kansas City that there’s always something more to learn.” Those statements were completely true. The first story she’d written for her high-school paper had been a piece on the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro Baseball League. She’d only turned to crime investigation after her father’s death. “Who knows? If I can piece together enough facts and firsthand accounts, I could write a series of articles—or put together a book.”
“I don’t care if you’re writing haiku poetry. I don’t need you asking questions and stirring up trouble at the Riverboat.”
“Afraid I’m a security risk you can’t handle?”
His eyes darkened like storm clouds in the shadows of the car. The bastard didn’t even blink. “I can handle you just fine, Miss Page.”
Easing any smart remark aside on a soft, drawn-out breath, she tried to keep the rare line of communication open. “You should probably call me Rebecca. I didn’t tell anyone my full name tonight. I don’t want them to know who I am and what I do. It could taint their responses to me.” She added the latter as a plausible explanation of her need for anonymity. “It’s not like I’m a television reporter with my face plastered all over the news. The Journal doesn’t even publish a picture with my byline. I was going to use my mother’s maiden name if I needed to.”
He shook his head. “A decent background check would point out that deception in an instant.”
“Good to know,” she conceded. “Then I’ll use another one. Tom Sawyer’s named after a character in a book. I can come up with something at least as believable.”
“You’ve been talking to Sawyer?”
“Just enough to get offered a job. And to make me wonder if he’s the guy who got too rough with Melissa.”
Seth swore. One pithy word that told her he’d noticed the abuse, too. “You have been a busy lady.”
“I’m trained to be observant.”
His answering silence lasted so long that Rebecca thought the conversation was over.
She jerked in her seat when he swung around to face her again. “If you really are concerned about Melissa, could I appeal to your kinder side?” The hard line of his mouth quirked at one corner, in something that could almost be construed as a smile. Almost. “You do have a kinder side, don’t you?”
Ha. Ha. But the quiet depth of his voice kept her sarcasm in check. It stung to think his question was halfway serious. “I care very deeply about a lot of things.”
He nodded, taking her statement at face value. “These aren’t all nice people around here. Asking the wrong question to the wrong person could get you into trouble.”
“I’m not afraid of ruffling someone’s feathers.”
“No need to state the obvious.” He pulled her keys from his pocket and dropped them into her lap. Concession? Or dismissal? “Just know, that if you do ruffle somebody’s feathers, I may not be there to bail you out.”
“I never asked you to. I don’t ask anyone for anything except the truth.”
“There are some truths that could get you killed.”
His stark warning filled all the empty spaces inside in the car. And, despite the warmth of the night, Rebecca felt goose bumps crawling across her skin.
But he couldn’t have said anything that would make her more determined than ever to stay to find her father’s killer.
“Look…Seth.” Why was that word so hard to push through her lips? Had she never called him by name before? “I don’t care about whatever descent into the dark side you’re on. If tossing cheats and rowdy drunks out of the casino gives you the same thrill that arresting bad guys and harassing innocent reporters used to, then that’s your business. I appreciate the words of caution, but you’re not going to stop me from taking care of my business.”
“You are the single most stubborn woman I have ever met. I’m trying to give you a fair—” A blast of static from beneath his coat cut him off. He reached inside and pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Cartwright.”
The static cleared and another man’s voice reported in. “Mr. Wolfe is leaving the building to make a bank deposit. He says he’ll be staying at the penthouse downtown instead of his suite on the ship tonight.”
Seth checked his watch. “What about Kelleher?”
“He’s staying late to work some numbers in his office.”
“Post a man outside the accounting office. Tell Mr. Wolfe I’ll be right there to escort the money.”
Escort the money? Big money? Illegal money? What numbers was Daniel Kelleher working on? Probing questions danced on the end of Rebecca’s tongue, but she pressed her lips together to keep them quiet. She didn’t need Seth Cartwright’s blessing to investigate Wolfe International and the Riverboat, but she did need him to stay out of her way and keep the whole reporter thing secret.
He hooked the phone back on his belt and adjusted his suit coat to mask his shoulders and gun. “You think you could earn Melissa’s trust?”
What? He was asking her for a favor? But the subject was too serious for Rebecca to gloat. “I have some contacts who counsel abused women. I can call them to get ideas on the best way I…we…could help her.”
“Good. You can stay. For Melissa.” He pointed a finger in warning. “But if I hear one word out of your mouth that isn’t related to the history of the ship or becoming her friend, you’re out of here.”
Then she wouldn’t let him hear anything else. Rebecca stuck out her hand. “Deal,” she lied.
Maybe he sensed the false promise there. Or maybe he could hear the traitorous anticipation of his touch pounding through her veins. Seth looked down at the outstretched offering, looked up into her eyes. He looked deep enough inside her that Rebecca felt compelled to curl her fingers into her palm and cross her arms in front of her again.
“I have to go,” he said. Seth dismissed her, climbed out of her car and disappeared into the night.
REBECCA SAT in the passenger seat several moments longer, hugging herself, trying to instill the warmth that victory over Seth Cartwright should have given her. She’d just negotiated her way around the biggest obstacle standing in the path of her investigation. She should be high-fiving herself, not clinging to her father’s ring and wondering why the air inside her car seemed flat and cool in the wake of her charged confrontation with Seth.
Rousing herself from that disturbingly fanciful thought, Rebecca unlocked the glove compartment. She pulled out her father’s notebook and turned to a new page where she jotted some notes about tonight’s events and what her next step should be.
DBD-Dani Ballard Disk was her best guess for that clue.
