Holt the Interceptor
Rhiannon Neeley
Published 2005
ISBN 1-59578-073-4
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2005, Rhiannon Neeley. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Liquid Silver Books
http://lsbooks.com
Email:
[email protected]
Cover Art
by Jane Sommers
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Dedication
This one’s for Tracey West. A great editor, a good friend.
Chapter One
Ivy Green was sick and tired of rescuing her little sister, Heather. But—she was doing it again. For the umpteenth time. This time though was the worst yet.
Ivy drove along the sand and gravel road that cut through the pine trees as easily as driving on the Interstate except just a bit slower. Michigan back roads were definitely not what she was used to. Ivy liked the city. Chicago. Lived there all of her life. Never wanted to leave. The diversity of the city was her bread and butter. Ivy was a private investigator—specializing in pulling kids out of the deep Goth scene for parents who hadn’t paid attention when the kids were at home, but now that the kids were gone, they wanted them back. Ivy could never understand how anyone could ignore their kid long enough that they couldn’t see what their own kids were into. She’d never do that to one of her own kids. If she had any. Which was very unlikely at this stage of the game. Two failed marriages under her belt and no desire to take a relationship past the third date, kind of left the option of kids and picket fences in limbo.
Ah well, she thought. Could be worse. Of course, not much was worse than chasing after an errant baby sister who wasn’t a baby anymore but acted like one. Heather might as well be Ivy’s kid. Ivy was only three years older than Heather but that didn’t make any difference. Heather was twenty-five going on fifteen and acted accordingly.
“When I get my hands on her,” Ivy said, hands gripping the steering wheel as if it were Heather’s neck. Wishing it was Heather’s neck.
The waning sunlight filtering through the pines cast the road in a greenish light, enhancing the effect of the landscape being so alien to her. The air was nice, the scent fresh and full of pine. Not like the medicinal scent of the pine tree air freshener that hung from the rear-view mirror of her last ‘date’.
Why did it seem like every guy she dated fit the same profile? Too ‘in’, too pale, too boring.
What Ivy really would like to see was tall, dark and dangerous as hell. Sure, you could find that in Chicago but the ‘danger’ part could require a really high price when you moved in the circles that she did. Plus, in the Goth crowd, her twenty-eight years was considered bordering on geriatric. Ivy didn’t want to snag some guy just past his teens.
Give me experience, she thought, flicking her headlights on high beam as she drove thought a mysteriously dark section of woods. Experience beats youth and hard bodies hands down in my book. Yeah. Some well-experienced man who knows how to please a woman. One who isn’t concerned only with himself but likes to hear a woman moan with passion. Like she’d meet a guy like that out here in the Michigan wilderness. Right.
Ivy braked for a stop sign, dimming her lights now. It was a crossroads, the scenery looking the same in every direction. Dammit, she was lost. She dug through the pile of road-trip mess on the passenger seat and pulled out her atlas. Centering it on the steering wheel, she turned on the dome light for a little added brightness and scanned the map of Lower Michigan.
“Well, this says a lot for your talent of investigation, Ivy ole gal,” she grumbled to herself as her finger traced a blue line up the map. “Throw you into the woods and you get lost. Some investigator you are.” Not making any headway with the map—knowing that even looking at the map was a waste of time because this narrow sandy road wouldn’t be on it anyway—Ivy slammed the atlas shut and tossed it back into the passenger seat. She rested her hands on the steering wheel, her fingers tapping. There was something she was missing. Something that would lead her in the right direction. What was it? Ivy narrowed her eyes and scanned the road.
She had been headed for the eastern shoreline of Lake Michigan when she’d got off the Interstate. Heather had left Chicago three days ago. It had taken Ivy a full day to trace one of Heather’s weird friends who knew something about where she had gone. The friend—a creepy little girl who used way too much black eyeliner—had said that Heather had left with Catharine and Elizabeth. When Ivy asked who the hell they were, Little Creep said all she knew was that Catharine and Elizabeth had British accents and lived on a boat. They said they were trying to spread the word about the life and Heather had gone with them. Of course, Ivy went on to ask ‘What do you mean … the life?’ Little Creep had replied ‘Being Sanguinarian’.
Immediately, Ivy had the sickening feeling that Heather had gone too far this time. After doing some additional checking around at some of the underground clubs, she found out that the two women in question were into a form of blood sport that was gaining fans. But these women took it seriously. They were rumored to be true vampires. Not the movie kind—but real blood drinkers. Now Heather was involved with them and Ivy had no idea to what extent. From all of the information she had gleaned in just twenty-four hours, these two women sounded like the Pied Pipers of the Vampire Wannabes. So last night, Ivy had hit the road in search of a cabin cruiser by the name of Bloody Hell carrying at least two women and Heather.
Blood sport was one thing. Living the Sanguinarian lifestyle was another. Heather was known to dive head first into the next new thing that struck her fancy and if she was out there drinking blood, it scared Ivy half to death. Reason being: Ivy didn’t think Heather would stop to ask if her ‘victim’ was clean. As in ‘disease free’. Of course, victim wasn’t the right word. Donor, was. People who were Sanguinarian didn’t take blood by force. At least that’s what Ivy had found while doing her last job tracking down a sixteen-year-old that really thought he was a vampire. Ivy had pretended to want to be a donor to get people to open up to her and allow her access into the lifestyle so she could track down the teen. Sanguines didn’t open up easily. They protected their own. Ivy could see why. Their lifestyle left them open to persecution. She had ferreted out the teen and got him back to his parents while also gaining some knowledge about the culture.
Ivy sighed. The sun was going down and she still hadn’t decided which way to take. She’d been sitting here a good fifteen minutes already. The sun dipped lower, sending shafts of light through the pine boughs. Ivy winced when a bright one struck her directly in the eyes. Duh, she thought. Sun sets in the west. The lake is west of me, otherwise this car would be underwater. She pulled out into the intersection, turning left, toward the setting sun.
The blare of a car horn caused her to swerve, fishtailing in the sand and gravel. Fighting for control, Ivy grit her teeth and waited to hear the crunch of metal. Her car slid off the side of the road, the rear tires burying themselves in soft sand as the front end swung around. Eyes wide in horror, Ivy saw the big black car slew sideways, throwing gravel, heading straight for her. With a sharp intake of breath, she covered her face with her hands and did something that sh
e rarely did.
Ivy prayed.
* * * *
Holt fought the steering wheel, the tires of the Lincoln sliding on the sandy gravel as if it was ice. He had seen the little white car sitting at the stop sign. He’d never thought in a million years that it would pull right out in front of him. The driver had never even looked. He’d laid on the horn and hit the brake. He must have scared her because she lost control and slid into the ditch. Now, he was trying his best not to ram into her. He swung the wheel to the left, barely sliding by the front end of the other car.
Safely around her, Holt shifted back to the right and skidded to a stop.
He took a deep breath, watching the dust cloud swirl and settle.
Rogue broke the silence. “That was some damn good driving there, Holt. Thought you were going to nail her for sure.”
Holt glanced at Rogue. He was calmly sitting in the passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear. Colin sat in the back, not saying a word.
A loud clap against his window caused Holt to jump.
“Uh-oh,” Rogue said, leaning forward. “Company.”
Holt turned to look. Standing outside his car door was a woman. And from the evil look on her face, he could tell she was pissed.
“You going to sit there all day or what?” she said, her voice loud enough to carry easily into the car.
“Oh boy,” Rogue said. “You want me to handle this one, old buddy?” he asked, tapping Holt on the shoulder.
Holt didn’t reply. He opened his door and got out. He closed the car door behind him and turned. Before he knew what hit him, he was slammed back against the car by a two-handed blow to the chest.
“What the hell were you trying to do, scare me to death?” the woman said.
Holt pushed himself off the car and before she could shove him again, he snared her wrists in his hands.
“Let go of me, you…”
Holt said one word. “Stop.”
The woman became utterly still, looked up at him, head tilted. Studying him.
Holt’s heart stuttered for a second when he looked down at the most angelic face he had ever seen. Her eyes were bright, intelligent and the color of warm, melted chocolate with brows that arched daintily above them, accenting the way they tilted up at the corners. Her nose was small and pert. She had a bow of a mouth that only looked more delectable as he watched the tiny pink tip of her tongue peek out to wet her lips. Her skin was smooth and most assuredly creamy beneath a pale ivory makeup. Holt swore he could see the hint of freckles sprinkled across her nose, which she evidently was trying to hide with the pale powder she wore. Her hair was raven black, likely dyed, but it set off her skin so completely that she looked made of alabaster. The effect of her angelic face, combined with her fiery attitude and wild dress only managed to make Holt wonder what it would be like to be in bed with her, with that pretty little face with its pouty mouth hovering above him while she rode him like a wild horse.
Her effect on him shocked him and excited him at the same time. He had to shake it off. He heard the electric sound of a car window lowering.
“Need some help there, Holt?” Colin asked from the back seat.
The woman’s eyes shifted to Colin. “Does he ever need your help?”
Holt heard a laugh issue from inside the car. Rogue, he thought. “I don’t need anything,” Holt said, releasing her wrists.
“O…kay.” The window went back up.
The woman—really just past being a girl—rubbed her wrists. “I see you handle women like you do the road.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like you own it.” She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her ripped jeans.
Pretty defiant for someone who barely comes up to my chest, he thought, forcing himself not to smile at her impishness. “Seems to me you’re the one who thinks she owns the road.”
Her finger came up, swift as a gun drawn, and pointed at him. “You are the one racing down these back roads…”
“You are the one who pulled out in front of me,” Holt said. Suddenly, he had an uncontrollable urge to kiss that feisty mouth. He fought it.
She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her chin higher. “Are you going to help me get my car unstuck?”
“If you’re nice.”
She pursed her lips, hesitating. “Just how nice do I have to be?”
Holt thought for a moment before he spoke. It would be so easy to… He cleared his throat. “Civil.”
“Civil?” She raised one perfect eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
What was she thinking? He wondered. That she would have to do something ‘extra’? It would be nice but… “That’s it,” he said. “Can you manage that?”
“Of course.”
“Fine, then.”
“Fine.” She stood looking at him. “Well?”
Holt shook his head and turned back toward the car. He opened the door, shut the engine off then looked at Rogue and Colin. “Let’s get her car back on the road.”
*
Ivy shoved her hands back in the pockets of her jeans so that tall, dark and dangerous couldn’t see the way they trembled. Not only had the near miss shaken her—his presence rocked her back on her heels. Good grief, talk about being careful what you wish for. She had been thinking about what kind of man could light her fireworks not long before THAT MAN had run her off the road. She had been ‘pure angry’ when she had gotten out of her car, that was why she had shoved him. His chest had felt like solid rock under the palms of her hands and when he fell against the side of his car, she had been amazed that she had been able to move him at all. The top of her head didn’t even come up to his chin.
When he had latched onto her wrists and uttered that one word … ‘stop’ … it had been a command. That’s when she looked up into his eyes and that’s when a tremor passed through her like an earthquake. Pure animal, primal attraction. Thank God, he didn’t seem to notice.
There was nothing about this guy that even whispered weakness. He looked like raw power on a stick. She had actually licked her lips before she could stop herself. It was his eyes that caught her attention. Black as night, she could swear he had to be wearing contacts. His eyes held a sharp intelligence that she’d never seen in a man who dressed like him. He was dressed completely in black, his black hair slicked back and caught in a leather thong at the back of his neck, she had noted when he had turned around. His skin was neither pale nor rosy but there was a definite five o’clock shadow accenting a firm, solid jaw. Her gaze had traveled from his eyes to his mouth. His lips were full and wide, but not too wide. Kissable. Nippable. His hands had held her wrists firmly, heat radiating from them, but she could tell there was even more strength behind that grip. He was holding back. She had been glad because from the size of his biceps, which she had a lovely view of thanks to the tight short sleeves of his black T-shirt, she knew he could crush her wrists like toothpicks. His arms were the size of her thighs. Bigger, even.
Ivy watched him as he bent into the car to shut it off and was pleased with the way his black jeans hugged his firm ass. A damn nice ass. She sighed. Too bad she was on a rescue mission. And too bad there were two more men getting out of his car.
Both of the other men were drop dead gorgeous but neither of them had that certain aura of danger that Tall, Dark and Dangerous did. That presence.
One of the men was slim and blond, with a good build and a look of mischief on his face. The other wasn’t so tall, had wonderful chestnut hair and striking green eyes. They both nodded at her and smiled.
She didn’t smile back. Don’t let your guard down, Ivy told herself. You’re on a deserted road with a car that’s stuck and three very healthy looking strangers. Who knew what they were up to.
“We’ll have you out of the sand in a minute,” the dark God said.
Dang, was he ever … stunning.
“Right,” Ivy said. She walked to the rear
of the black car and leaned a hip against it as the men began to work on solving her little problem.
The blond one got in her car while the other two placed themselves at the back bumper, ready to push.
“Hey, Holt,” Blondie said, leaning out the door, “Forward or reverse?”
“Forward.” The dark God bent down and grasped the back of her car.
So, his name is Holt, Ivy thought. What an odd name.
“Now,” Holt called out.
Blondie floored it.
Holt and the other one sputtered in the cloud of sand thrown up by the spinning tires. Both men almost fell full face forward as the car lurched ahead, then stopped dead. “Rogue! Stop!” Holt yelled, regaining his footing. The one in the driver’s seat hit the brake and leaned out the window.
Ivy turned her back and covered her mouth with her hand. The sleep-deprived giggles were on the edge of overtaking her at the sight of sand-covered Holt. She couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter that she was in one major jam here. The look on his face as he straightened up at the back of her car was priceless.
The once suave, slicked-back, raven colored hair was now a sickly brown gritty mess. His face was sandblasted with dirt and his deliciously tight T-shirt now looked as if he had been dusted with brown sugar. His eyes flashed with closely contained anger, his mouth turned down in a frown as he rounded the back of the car.
Holt, the Dark God, didn’t look so all-powerful at the moment.
Ivy pressed her lips together and took a deep breath, struggling to get control of herself. God she was so tired. ‘Silly’ tired. With a shake of her head, Ivy dropped her hands from her mouth and turned back around.
The three men were in a huddle at the side of her car. This doesn’t look good, she thought. “Well, are you going to get it on the road or not?” she asked as she approached.
Holt was crouched down, eyeing the now half-buried back tires. He looked up at her. “You have a shovel?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? Why would I have a shovel?”
“No reason,” he said, standing up. He brushed the dirt from his hands and walked toward her. “Get what you need out of the car and come on,” he said. Then he walked past her to his car.
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