Straight Shooter

by Samantha Keith

  He gulped down a mouthful of coffee and placed the empty cup in the cupholder. Where the hell was she? His phone buzzed in the seat beside him and he read the number: Brock.

  He picked up the device and answered it. “Hey, man, how’re things?”

  “Not bad. I heard things are interesting for you in the Keys right now.” Brock didn’t even try to hide the devilish tone in his singsong voice.

  “Who’ve you been talking to?” Before he admitted anything, he needed to find out what exactly Brock thought he knew.

  Rhett hung his wrist on the bottom of the steering wheel and watched as a young family exited the hotel. If Peyton didn’t come out soon, he’d have to stretch his legs, which could be dangerous—she might see him.

  “Never mind that. I’m just glad you’re getting some spice in your life.”

  Rhett guffawed. “You know nothing about the spice in my life, but I can assure you last night was free of it.” He hadn’t intended for dryness to seep into his words, yet there it was. “Cut the shit and tell me what Dani said.”

  “Not much.” Some of the laughter left Brock’s voice. “Just that you bumped into Priss—Peyton Risk, I mean—while she was on a job.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Really, that’s it? I thought something sparked between you two.”

  Rhett’s antennae sprang to life, and he sat forward. Wiping his hand over his mouth, he forced himself to pause before responding. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

  “Always,” he said, though confusion twined with the statement. “But I thought there was more to it for you. Dani said Peyton sounded kind of hung up—ow! Shit.”

  Dani’s verbal assault on Brock hammered the earpiece.

  “One sec,” Brock said. “Sorry, babe. How was I supposed to know it was a secret?”

  “I told you in confidence, that’s how!”

  Rhett rolled his eyes and focused his gaze on the hotel’s entrance again. Strawberry-blonde hair caught the sunlight, followed by the fluttery material of a pink dress. His heart lurched in his chest, and he tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

  “Gotta go, Brock. Call you later.” He hung up, pocketed his phone, and watched as Peyton stormed out of the hotel, pausing only to glance left then right. Red tinted her cheeks, and the skin beneath the blotches was pasty white. Her wild eyes darted every which way before she rushed into the flow of pedestrians.

  “Shit.” He got out of the car and waited for traffic to slow. Why was Peyton running? And why the hell did she look as if she’d just seen a ghost? A flash of movement caught his eye. Dark suit, bald head . . .

  No.

  Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he bolted into the street. A horn blared, and Rhett jumped out of the way of a taxi. A bus came to a screeching halt as he crossed the eastbound lane. Reaching the sidewalk, still running, he scanned the bobbing heads. No sign of Peyton or Beanie.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  Taking a chance, he turned down an alleyway. Garbage bags were piled high beside dumpsters, and the rancid scent of rotting food in the morning heat hit his face. His T-shirt clung to his back, and the weapon at the waistband of his pants jostled against his tailbone. The screech of sirens filled the air, raising his hackles. He picked up the pace.

  Please, don’t let me miss them.

  The end of the alley loomed before him, and he rounded the corner. A frantic body slammed into his chest. Strawberry-blonde hair whacked him in the eye, and Peyton’s sweet scent overpowered the odor of garbage. She let out a squeak and shoved at his chest.

  “Peyton, it’s me!”

  She stopped trying to escape and searched his face. Relief clouded her eyes. “He’s right behind me,” she said on a gasp.

  Snagging her shoulders, he dragged her into the alley and pushed her back against the wall, pressing his body into hers. Then he pulled the gun from his back and held it at his side, ready to fire.

  “Did he see which way you went?”

  She wet her lips. Her breasts brushed his chest with their every rise and fall. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I think I lost him at the intersection. He’s been chasing me since I saw him on my floor.”

  He snapped his attention to her face. “How’d you get away?”

  “I ran. He got off the elevator as I was walking down the hall, so I took the stairs.”

  “From the eighteenth floor?” His voice rose an octave.

  Satisfaction touched her lips briefly. “I’m not a stranger to exercise, but I’ll admit it was intense. Beanie was struggling to keep up, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he stopped.” Her hand fluttered to his side and gripped his shirt.

  “That’s why there’s sirens?” he asked, speaking over the now-piercing whine.

  She nodded and chewed her plump bottom lip. “He shot at me in the stairwell. He had a silencer, but it still made quite a bit of noise. By the time we reached the lobby people were scared. I screamed at them to run and left the hotel.” She shivered despite the climbing temperature, and he rubbed his free hand up and down her bare arm. The satiny texture of her skin calmed his nerves.

  Peeling himself away from her, he poked his head around the side of the brick building. People strolled down the sidewalk. Many had phones pressed to their ears or were looking at devices in their palms. No one disturbed the crowd.

  Peyton’s body inched closer to his, and her hands loosely circled his midsection. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to touch her, to be close to her. Brock’s words drifted through his mind. I thought something sparked between you two.

  A “spark” was a pathetic description of the electrical current that ran through his veins when she was near.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “The sirens probably scared him off. We should get out of here while we can.”

  She nodded and pressed her cheek to his chest. The contact left him immobile. He smoothed his hand over the top of her head and caught her neck in his grasp. She’d been through so much in the last day. He never should have left her alone. Staying the night in the same room as Peyton would have brought a whole new meaning to the word torture, but at least he would have been there when Beanie arrived. He could have put a stop to this shit then and there.

  “Rhett,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here, near my hotel?”

  He closed his eyes for a beat. He couldn’t tell her he was spying on her, but he couldn’t lie either. When he didn’t answer, she tilted her head back and puckered her brow, but she didn’t pull away from his embrace.

  He flashed her a half-smile because it was all he could muster. “You aren’t happy to see me?”

  Her eyelids lowered. “You’re watching me, aren’t you?”

  He caught a few locks of her hair in his grasp and toyed with the iridescent strands. This close, he could see the dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her eyelashes were several shades darker than her hair, and the smooth arches of her eyebrows illustrated every ounce of her displeasure—or interest.

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  Guilt pinched his gut. “It’s not that.”

  “Then tell me, Rhett—why are you watching me?”

  Rather than lie, he caught her elbow. “Let’s talk about it later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

  She made a face but let him escort her down the alley. He knew two things for certain: the conversation wasn’t over, and from here on out, he’d trust his instinct not to leave her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Peyton pressed her hand to her thumping chest and nestled back in the passenger seat. One glance at the bandage showed a stain of red, but not enough to be concerning. She pushed the stinging sensation away from her mind. What the hell was Rhett doing loitering around her hotel? She gave him mega brownie points for not lying, but he hadn’t told her the truth either. He hadn’t given her an explanation at all, and despite the fact that she was unsettlingly happy to see
him—she’d almost fainted with relief when she realized it was him in the alleyway—she wanted answers.

  Where she came from, a federal agent in your backyard didn’t bode well for your future. Was he trying to catch her on something else? Was he listening to her calls?

  She couldn’t think about it right now. Rhett drove away from downtown, and Max’s street flashed by her window. Crap. There was no way she could ask Rhett to kindly wait while she paid her business partner a visit. By the time she got off the elevator he’d have figured out who she was seeing, and Max would be livid if she led a federal agent to his door. Meeting with her old friend would have to wait a few hours.

  “Where are we going?” Sunlight heated the car despite the cool air pumping tirelessly through the vents. Palm trees lined the streets, and the old Southern charm of the plantation-style houses with bright shutters shoved her back in time several decades.

  “I’ve got a place not far from here.” He glanced at her, and the dusky depths of his eyes made her core tighten. “If that’s okay with you?” He turned his attention back to the road.

  The memory of his naked, chiseled chest against hers blipped in her mind. Her throat thickened as desire climbed up from her belly. He looked at her again, and she forced down the saliva that had gathered in her mouth.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I mean, for now.”

  He flicked her knee. “I wasn’t suggesting permanence, Priss.”

  The nickname rolled off his tongue as easily as if he’d said it every day for the last ten years. It had annoyed her for half her life, but the nickname had a sexy ring to it when it came from his lips.

  She tilted her head and surveyed him from the corner of her eye. “Who said you could call me that?”

  He winked. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.” He slowed to a stop at a red light. “Do you mind?”

  She shrugged and looked back at the window. Staring at the scruff on his jaw only made her fingers ache to drag through it. Funny, facial hair on men never turned her on before, but now . . .

  “It doesn’t bother me that much.”

  The light turned green and he accelerated. “I don’t want to use it if it bothers you at all.”

  Interesting. Most people would throw a nickname around without caring how the other person felt about it. At least that had been her experience. “I’ll let you know if it bugs me.”

  He chuckled. The scenery had changed. Now, thick brushes spaced out the houses. The bald cypress trees lining the street bathed white porches in shadows. The large two-story homes with raised foundations seemed to have more windows than siding.

  “It’s beautiful here.”

  Rhett leaned forward and gazed through the windshield. “I used to spend the summers here as a kid. I have a lot of memories of hot summers, sweet tea, and swimming in the ocean.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Lucky kid to spend your summers in paradise.”

  He chuckled and threw his wrist over the steering wheel. “Yeah, well. You didn’t know my granny. If I didn’t spend 90 percent of the day out of the house, she put me to work.” A fond grin turned up the corners of his eyes. “She’d get pissed at me for sneaking food and then running off with my friends and avoiding my chores.”

  The image of Rhett being a carefree, wild child made her press her knuckles to her teeth. She snorted.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing, it’s just . . .”

  He nudged her arm with his elbow. “Say it.”

  “Picturing you as a kid getting into trouble is . . . cute.” She wrinkled her nose. “And hard to imagine.”

  He tossed his head back, and laughter rolled from his lips. “You think because I’m an FBI agent I didn’t get into trouble as a kid? I bet my childhood put yours to shame.” The smile fell from his face as soon as the words were out.

  She kept her smile screwed into place, but unease bubbled in her stomach. He might not have been a perfect kid, but she’d bet the envelope sitting in her bra that he hadn’t stolen CDs at the age of seven. Nor had he lain awake at night wondering if his foster parents would feed him the next day, or if he’d get backhanded for sitting in the wrong seat. He hadn’t had to steal food, trade clothes, and learn the hard way that no one in the world would take care of him but himself. By his standards, she was a criminal, but she could have turned out far worse. She didn’t want to think about what road she’d be on if she hadn’t met Dani.

  Silence sucked the light mood out of the car. Her brain worked to fill it, but nothing suitable came out.

  Then Rhett reached across the console and pulled her hand into his. His palm was rough, and its meatiness was warm and comforting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “What do you know about my childhood?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing. That’s why I’m apologizing.” He squeezed her hand and pulled away.

  She dragged her fingers back onto her knee and ached with the lack of his touch. He might not know anything about her childhood, but he was a fed—it wouldn’t be hard for him to determine that her career choice meant she’d been raised by wolves. She nodded at the scenery. “Is she still here? Your grandma, I mean?”

  “She passed away ten years ago.” His voice lowered, and he kept his focus on the road. “I haven’t been back since.”

  She placed her hand on his elbow. His heat radiated through her palm, and moisture collected on her skin. The need for touch flared deep inside her. Rhett was easy to be around, and even easier to talk to, and that should have had her running in the other direction—not toward him. “I’m sorry. She sounds really wonderful.”

  He moved his far hand from the steering wheel and smoothed it over her fingers. The gesture screamed intimacy, and bells of longing rang in her head. “She had hair like yours and a temper much worse, believe it or not.”

  She choked back a laugh and slid her fingers away from his grip, which didn’t seem to want to part with hers. Trepidation pounded against her ribcage. She surely had rocks for brains. As much as he turned her on, Rhett also turned on something deeper inside her, something lost and buried—need. Need for companionship, connection, and affection. How had she gone so many years completely starved of intimacy? He did something to her. Something insane and wild and . . . forbidden.

  Despite the things that Rhett brought to life inside her, she couldn’t forget that any other day, any other place, he’d be her enemy.

  * * *

  Rhett parked under the thick foliage of the trees that nearly overtook the brick driveway. He watched as Priss—now that she’d indulged him in using the nickname, he didn’t want to stop—stepped out of the rented Honda. She tilted her face to the sun.

  “This is adorable,” she said, gesturing at the light-blue siding and yellow shutters.

  He grinned, rattled the keys in his pocket, and met her at the doorstep. “I thought so. Check out the inside.” He fit the key in the lock and shoved the door, holding it open for her.

  As she crossed the threshold, her shoulder brushed the inside of his arm. Her soft intake of breath sent warmth through him. The house wasn’t much, but it had been in his family for generations. His cousin had kept a lot of the original character, but updated floors, ceiling fans, and furniture gave it new-world charm.

  “I love this.” She bustled through the entryway, past the hardwood staircase, and to the galley kitchen. “I never would have thought the FBI would provide such sweet accommodation.”

  Rhett pulled out a bottle of sweet tea from the fridge and motioned to it. “Want some?”

  “Please.”

  He set out two glasses on the blue and white checkered countertop and poured. “The bureau didn’t provide this place. It was my grandma’s.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she smoothed her hand over the countertop. Her lips rolled together, back and forth, back and forth. Moisture collected briefly at her lashes, and she swallowed.

  “Sorry,” she said, and sipped the tea. “It�
�s incredible that you have something of hers. I don’t have anything that ties me to my family.” She shrugged exaggeratedly, as if to demonstrate nonchalance that she didn’t feel. “I barely even remember my parents anymore.” Her lip trembled, and she stared down at the amber liquid.

  His gut clenched, and he curled his hand around the glass. Jesus, what could he say to that? Pain swallowed his heart as he thought about Priss as a child. Wild, no doubt, and lost and starving for love and connection. His questions stalled at the back of his throat—the last thing he wanted to do was upset her further. Had she been adopted? Taken in by relatives?

  “What happened to them?” The need to know what she’d endured overtook his tongue. He hoped to god she hadn’t been alone.

  She flashed him a tight smile. “They’re alive—I think. The most vivid memory I have is when my dad beat my mom half to death. I ran to the neighbor’s house crying and they called the cops. Before I knew it, I was whisked into child protective services and sent to a foster home. If either of them ever tried to find me I never knew it.”

  The pain in his heart sent a quake throughout his body. Christ. Hot anger flashed in his blood at the thought of her being alone and scared when her parents should have protected her. “How old were you?”

  “Seven.”

  At seven he’d been playing with cars, and digging in his backyard for worms. His homelife had been solid and secure with two loving parents—exactly what Peyton should’ve had. The urge to trade his upbringing for hers burned a hole through his chest, but there was nothing he could do for the little girl of Peyton’s past.