Meet Your Mate

by Donna Michaels

"You didn't answer my question,” he called from behind.

  "I know.” Brielle smiled as she walked back into the Gathering Room.

  Chapter Three

  Jack Anderson knew trouble when he saw it. And the sexy brunette swaying from him as she left the study was five-foot-eight-inches of bedlam with a capital B.

  Brielle Bennett was the most exasperating female he'd ever met. Jamming his fists into his pockets, he followed her from the room and debated what held more appeal—throttling the woman or ravishing her until she begged for mercy.

  He jerked the study door closed behind him. Definitely the latter.

  A bevy of hopeful Mrs. Andersons surrounded Matthew, each laughing and batting their eyelashes as they vied for his attention in the middle of the Gathering Room. Jack wedged his fists back into his pockets and refrained from shaking his head. He hoped Matthew knew what he was doing.

  In a crazy sort of way, he understood why his brother sought a companion through this extreme means. Like him, Matthew had never lacked for women, but he always seemed to pick the wrong type. Jack's gaze bounced from one female to the next. He was beginning to think there was no right type.

  Poor Matthew attracted gold-diggers like glitter to glue, while Jack tended to attract clinging vines. They twisted into his world so tightly, they stifled the breath from him until his life was no longer his own.

  Sighing, he steered clear of the circle and walked to the fireplace. It'd been years since he'd had a serious relationship. They were a thing of the past, thank goodness. He'd had his share of pain and refused to go down that road again. A bitter taste overtook his mouth. He grimaced.

  Careful when it came to women, he knew which ones to avoid. If they looked to him to slay their dragons or had a need to smother him, he ignored their advances and continued with his safe, controlled, solitary life.

  That's the way he liked it, but no, not Matthew. His brother still believed the right woman was out there for him, and he'd decided that this screwball of a show was the perfect way to meet his mate.

  Jack straightened his shoulders and surveyed the contestants again. He'd be damned if he'd allow Matthew to choose unwisely or, worse, end up dead.

  Captain Jack “Dodger” Anderson—the nickname his platoon had given him due to the number of bullets he'd dodged during the Gulf War—was used to adversity. Capable of surviving off the land and killing a human in more ways than he cared to admit, he'd been in many harrowing situations much worse than this.

  But this mission was different. It was personal. And he knew it would prove to be his toughest yet. Solving this case before someone got hurt or the show ended and the culprit got away would be the ultimate test.

  He'd thought working undercover on the home-invasion case with the LAPD last year had been tough. He frowned. Actually, that had been the one and only time he'd ever considered crossing the line and fraternizing with a suspect.

  Ariel.

  Jack swallowed. Man, that woman could dance. She'd inspired many thoughts that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with his pent-up libido. She'd had it stretched so thin it was a miracle he hadn't snapped in two. Luckily, and to his profound disappointment, Ariel had always been scarce after her show. And once the case had been solved, with the help of some mysterious insider, the dancer had vanished. He'd often wondered what'd happened to her.

  His gaze drifted to an equally perplexing female.

  Brielle.

  Her brown eyes pulled him in and played havoc with his pulse, while her sexy laughter tickled his ears and sent a hot spike to his groin.

  Cursing his body's reaction, he straightened his suit jacket to use for camouflage. Damn her. No woman had the right to be so vibrant, sexy, confident and full of life. She seemed to have the total package. He cocked his head. Total package of chaos.

  Instinct warned him Brielle was no clinging vine. No. She was much more dangerous. Like old dynamite wrapped around a hidden claymore, both ready to explode with the slightest touch. His groin tightened at the thought, but he pushed his desire down, determined to keep his brother's welfare uppermost in his mind. This was the most important mission of Jack's life, and he needed his wits about him.

  Matthew was his principal—the person he was guarding—not some stranger or paying client. His brother. He tried to talk the idiot into leaving this show. Why couldn't Matthew see the extreme danger Meet Your Mate threw him into? High risk. High profile. Highly stupid! He was only antagonizing this stalker. But his brother insisted the risk was worth the chance to find his mate. He hoped Matthew was right.

  Pulling in a breath, he fought to keep the grimace from his lips. Whoever was threatening his brother was going to go down hard.

  Tearing his gaze from Brielle to eye the other contestants, he told himself he didn't miss the heat. One of these women had a secret. In fact, he noted as his gaze traveled from one suspect to the next, they all had something to hide.

  Even Brielle.

  * * * *

  "This is your suite, Miss Bennett,” Bill stated, ushering her into the room at the top of the bachelorette mansion's gleaming, white staircase. “You have my number if you need something. Good night."

  "Thank y—"

  He disappeared before she had the chance to finish. She dropped her suitcase and closed the door. “Alone at last."

  Considering the events of the past few hours, she felt she'd held up surprisingly well and congratulated herself on getting through the first night.

  Coming face-to-face with Dodger could've been a complete disaster but instead, she'd managed to remain unrecognized. Now, if only her body understood Jack was a suspect and not to be trusted, life would be good. She sighed. “Pigs will fly to the frozen south before that happens."

  Well, at least her job got a little easier tonight with the elimination of another contestant. Uncle Franco would keep an eye on Stacy, who—much to the long-legged brunette's dismay—had been cut along with the two actresses. That left Brielle with only three women to investigate: Danni, Carla and Mandy.

  Before she and the remaining hopefuls could finish their celebratory flutes of champagne, they bid the Anderson brothers a goodnight and the producer had them carted off to their mansion. On the drive over, she'd learned from the other girls that their temporary home was a huge, two-story, twenty-room house, complete with pool, sauna and hot tub.

  Uncle Franco had explained not all the rooms were under camera. None of the contestants’ rooms or bathrooms housed a device. “Good for my privacy, bad for the case,” she said with a frown. Too bad. The camera might've caught the culprit writing the notes.

  She eyed her posh room. Cherry furniture, queen-size four-poster bed, sitting area with fireplace, private balcony, and full bath with sunken tub—who were they expecting? I'm the queen of investigation, not England. Although, I suppose, one could get used to luxury if necessary.

  "Nice,” she said, before pushing from the door. “Time to unpack and explore this house."

  She hoped to get into one or more of the contestant's rooms tonight, provided they kept up the downstairs party she'd declined to join.

  Tossing her nightgown and undergarments in a drawer, she hung the remainder of her meager wardrobe in the massive walk-in closet. Her clothes only took up a speck. “What is this? A closet or a garage?” She kicked off her heels and whistled. “I could park my car in here with room to spare."

  Shaking her head, she rushed back to the bed and unpacked her laptop and cell phone. “Now, where can I hide you?” She looked around the room.

  The contestants weren't allowed any contact with the outside world. That meant no laptops or phones of any kind. Bill knew she had both, but warned her to hide them.

  "Right there,” she said, eyeing the vent near the ceiling.

  Chair pushed to the wall, she climbed on and used her Swiss army knife to unscrew the vent. Dust met her hand as she felt around. Should be big enough. Devices turned off, she placed them inside, the
n secured the cover and stepped down.

  "Now, it's time to explore.” Rubbing her palms together, she headed to the hall. This part of an investigation always intrigued Brielle. Energy warmed her blood, as the challenge of finding a clue everyone else had missed, rushed through her body.

  Gripping the railing, she looked down into the opened living room. Her three housemates sat chatting with wine coolers in their hands. Danni was the first to spot her. She set her cooler down, then stood.

  "There you are.” The teacher smiled. “Is everything okay?"

  "Yes, fine, thank you."

  "Wow, Brielle. You're done already? It took me two hours to unpack when I arrived.” Mandy placed her bottle on the table next to Danni's, then sprang from the couch.

  "That's because you brought three trunks,” Carla said, bringing her drink to her lips.

  "Well, that would explain it. I only had one suitcase.” Brielle smiled, making for the steps.

  "Don't bother coming down for our sakes. It's been a long day and we're beat.” Carla finished her wine cooler before she stood and joined the duo headed for the stairs.

  Brielle glanced at her watch and frowned. Odd, she hadn't expected them to turn in this early. Disappointed that searching their rooms would have to wait until the next day, she switched gears. She'd investigate the rest of the house. “So soon? Well, I'm going to give myself a tour and get acclimated."

  The girls nodded and disappeared into their rooms.

  Three frustrating hours later, having found nothing to help the case, she returned to her room and locked the door.

  "That was a complete waste of time.” Her breath hissed into the quiet space. The only thing she'd discovered was Jack had done a great job creating a safe environment. He'd flooded the house with the latest high-tech security devices. It would be hard for the culprit to move about without leaving clues.

  So why hasn't he or she been caught yet?

  Shaking her head, she retrieved her phone and walked into her bathroom. Shower on for noise cover, she phoned her uncle.

  "Hello, hon. I heard you did very well,” he said with a smile in his voice. “How's the investigation going? Have you spotted any of the notepads?"

  She snorted. “Yeah. I've spotted five of them so far, including the one in my room. All of the contestants had access to them."

  "Shoot, that doesn't help.” He sounded tired. “Have you gotten any of your hunches yet?"

  She sighed and turned to face the mirror above the sink. “Only that they're all hiding something. And, well, I know you said you check the crew but..."

  "But what?"

  "Matthew's cameraman, Phil. Are you sure he checked out?” She chewed her lower lip.

  "Yes. Honest, hon. Phil is fine. Why, what did he do?"

  "Nothing. It was just a hunch.” Her shoulders dropped. She was usually right. What if none of her hunches panned out on this case?

  "Maybe it was just first day jitters.” His suggestion filled her with little hope.

  "Maybe."

  "Did you get to talk to Matthew?"

  "Yes. We had a private talk, and we're on the same page.” She nodded to her reflection.

  "How did your meeting go with Jack? I know you don't like deceiving him."

  "You're right, Uncle Franco. I don't.” She frowned, unclipping her hair. “But it seemed to go well.” Except when I almost failed his test. She'd been so close to kissing him. Thank goodness common sense had kicked in and overridden her hormones.

  "That's pretty much what he told me a few minutes ago."

  Her hands stilled. “You talked to him?"

  "Yes. We discuss our findings every night so I had to question him about the new girl."

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “What did he say about me?"

  "He said you seemed all right for the moment, but he wants to feel you out further."

  The clip dropped from her fingers and clanked in the sink. “What?"

  "You know, talk to you some more."

  "I see.” She closed her eyes, cursing her misconception, and ordered her pulse to slow down.

  "You might as well get some sleep. I told Jack the same thing,” Uncle Franco said.

  Her eyes snapped open, and the image of a naked Jack, covered from the waist down by a thin sheet, faded in the room's light. She swallowed and then said in a strained voice, “I'll find a way to search the girls’ rooms, tomorrow."

  "Be careful,” her uncle said before the line went dead.

  She sneered at her reflection. “What's wrong with you? Haven't you learned anything? No involvement with anyone on this show. None.” She pointed a finger at the mirror. “You made that mistake before and it'd nearly cost you everything. None,” she repeated, then turned off the shower and re-hid her phone.

  Fifteen minutes later, she fell asleep to the image of smiling blue eyes and a baseball cap.

  * * * *

  Her first day at the mansion dawned bright and sunny. Morning rays sliced through the gap in her drawn curtains and spread a glowing line across Brielle's bed. She stretched and sent up a silent prayer that breakfast would keep the contestants occupied long enough to allow her to investigate their rooms.

  Since when did things go her way?

  She'd just stepped out the shower and was towel-drying her hair when a knock sounded at her door.

  "Coming,” she called, slipping into her blue silk robe before opening the door.

  Carla leaned against the doorframe, looking bored. Danni clutched an apron and her teeth to keep from grinning, while Mandy held something behind her back. Brielle frowned. Was it a frying pan? Her heartbeats quickened. The girl wasn't stupid enough to attack her in front of the others or on camera, was she? Camera? Adrenaline cooled as her mind rejected this visit as an attack.

  "Okay, what gives?” She glanced at the trio of cameramen behind the girls and tightened her sash.

  "You do,” Carla spoke up, thrusting a spatula at her. “New girl gets to cook breakfast today."

  Brielle raised a brow. “Is that right?"

  "Yep,” Danni and Mandy agreed, handing her the apron and pan. “I can't wait to see what you cook up."

  The threesome ushered her down the stairs and into the kitchen. When she turned to ask them what they'd like, a swinging door met her gaze.

  "Okay, western omelets it is.” She examined the contents of the massive stainless steel refrigerator, its steady hum and the ticking wall clock the only sounds to keep her company. “So much for my morning exploration.” She began chopping peppers and onions, and tried to ignore the cameraman standing in the corner.

  "Mmm ... smells good in here.” Mandy breezed into the room and dropped Brielle's mic-pack on the table. “I brought your microphone down. Bill hates it when we forget to put them on.” She rushed to the door. “I've got to finish getting ready. See you in a few.” The room grew quiet upon the blonde's departure.

  She set the knife down and walked to the table. “Heaven forbid the world doesn't catch all my words of wisdom.” She rolled her eyes at the smiling cameraman, then attached the pack to her belt and the microphone to her lapel. “Welcome back to cooking with Brielle. I apologize for the silence, but we were experiencing technical difficulties."

  As she removed the last of the omelets from the stove, the trio of fully dressed suspects waltzed into the kitchen, along with their cameramen. Thank goodness the kitchen was huge.

  "You girls have great timing,” she said, placing the egg-filled platter on the table.

  "Yeah, we're good.” Mandy smiled, spreading cream cheese on a bagel before loading an omelet onto her dish.

  "And capable of many things.” Carla exchanged a glance with the others before reaching for a piece of fresh fruit with her red-tipped fingers.

  Brielle's investigative nature kicked in. Grilling the suspects through small talk could provide her with some insight.

  "Now why doesn't that surprise me?” She smoothed her robe over her hips before she
sat on a stool.

  Everyone laughed.

  Loading toast, omelet and fruit onto her plate, she began. “Okay, you all know what I do and how I got on the show. What about each of you?” She lifted her gaze.

  "I'm a teacher from Virginia who hopes to one day become a principal,” Danni answered first, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I know it's not as glamorous as these two, but I'm happy."

  Brielle took in the woman's simple white short-sleeved blouse and tan capris and thought she looked conservative but seasonal—like a teacher.

  "I'd hardly consider Mandy's profession glamorous. She just has to keep her hands still.” Carla smirked before spooning grapefruit past her red lips.

  "A hand model is, too, glamorous. There's lights, and cameras, and sometimes I get to wear diamond rings and bracelets.” Mandy stiffened her aqua-cashmere and white gauchos-wearing form. “And it gets hot under those lights. When I'm done with a shoot, I have to go straight to my favorite spa in Arizona. I'm looking forward to returning there when this show is over. They have the best mud-baths and massages.” She sighed and picked up her discarded bagel, her annoyance with Carla apparently forgotten.

  Brielle transferred her gaze to the conflict-loving contestant. Dressed in an ivory halter-style sundress, Carla regarded her lazily. “What do you want to know, ballerina?"

  Her brow rose at the dance reference. If the chick were trying to bait her, she'd have to come up with something much better than that. “I know you're a porno star."

  Mandy laughed.

  Carla's gaze never left Brielle's face, but it did narrow. “Adult film actress."

  "Sorry, my mistake.” She nodded, biting into her toast.

  "I don't see what's so funny, Handy Mandy. Once I make enough money, I plan to open my own production company; then I can get on the other side of the camera.” Carla transferred her gaze to the blonde. “What are you going to do? Take mime lessons?"

  "Oh, I always wanted to do that.” Mandy jumped off her stool to pretend she was trapped in an invisible box.

  Brielle and Danni laughed outright, while Carla shook her head and continued to dig at her grapefruit.