Taking the briefcase with her, she stooped to scoop everything back into her purse. But she’d only managed to retrieve her small leather journal and a few other items from the floor before the tips of Harry’s buffed shoes appeared in her field of vision. Annie glanced up.
Harry’s gaze took in the strewn condom packets before settling on her face. He grinned. “Changed your mind, did you?” He shifted his attention to the case in her hand and the grin disappeared. His smooth, pointed chin jutted out like a dagger, sharp and firm and uncompromising. “What are you up to?”
Crushing her purse against her stomach with her free hand, Annie stood, then darted for the opposite side of the desk—her only clear pathway to the door.
Harry grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged. “That’s my briefcase, you bi—”
Annie swung the case across her body, over her shoulder. It connected with something solid—Harry’s mouth, she supposed, since a strangled grunt replaced his words. He released her hair and she turned and hit him again.
Harry reached between the lapels of the coat and grabbed the scooped neckline of her satin blouse. She heard a rip, felt the fabric give way. His nail scraped her skin. He slammed her against the credenza, wrapped his long slender fingers around her neck and squeezed.
Pressure filled Annie’s head, panic fluttered in her chest. She tried to gasp but couldn’t find any air. Channeling all her fear and adrenaline into the movement, she jammed her knee up hard into Harry’s groin.
Harry recoiled.
Annie ran.
JOE’S HEAD ACHED and his eyelids sagged as he stared at the lobby door of the building across the street. When it swung open, he sat up straight.
A woman ran out, wobbling on classy high-heeled boots. She wore a long fur coat, clutched a purse in one hand, a briefcase in the other. Wind blew long blond hair across her face. Car horns blared and tires screeched as she darted across the street. Caught in a blur of headlights and swirling snow, she dodged and staggered but kept on moving.
Joe tugged the iPod plugs from his ears and tossed them aside. She was headed straight for him. He started the engine.
Behind the blonde at the building’s entrance, a skinny little man in a garish gold suit and a Santa hat stumbled through the same door she’d exited. Doubled over, the man paused for a beat, looked left then right then into the street. Spotting the woman, he yelled something and pursued, one hand covering his crotch.
Joe rolled his window down. “Hey!” he shouted to the blonde as he threw the cab into gear. “Get in!”
She crammed her purse under her arm, almost tore the back door from the hinges, slid inside, shut it.
Mere seconds later, Santa reached the back window and slammed his fist against the glass.
Joe hit the locks.
“Go!” the woman shrieked as her pursuer shouted obscenities and continued to pummel the rear windshield. “Go, go, get out of here. Hurry!”
Joe jammed his foot down on the accelerator. The cab shot away from the curb. Tires squealed and horns blasted as he swerved into traffic. When they were a safe distance away, he glanced into the rearview mirror. The little guy in the gold suit stood at the edge of the street, one fist raised high, the other still guarding his crotch.
The woman turned and looked back, too.
“Friend of yours?” Joe asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
“Boss,” the lady said, then turned back around. For several moments, her fast, staggered breaths were the only sounds in the cab.
“You show up late for work, or what?”
“You might say I cleaned up his office a little.” A short hysteria-laced laugh sounded from the back seat. “How was I supposed to know he likes things dirty?”
Thanks to the quick dose of adrenaline their fast getaway had shot into his bloodstream, Joe was wide-awake now, but his head pounded even worse than before. He drew a long, deep, nerve-settling breath.
City lights reflected off the snow, illuminating the cab’s interior. Stopping at a red light, he cast a quick peek over one shoulder at his passenger. Her briefcase lay in her lap, her purse on the seat beside her. She gripped the case with one hand, the edge of the seat with the other as she twisted again to look out the back window.
“Relax. He’s long gone,” Joe said. He didn’t require a second inspection of the photograph on the folded newspaper beside him to know that the woman in his back seat was the socialite he’d been hired to follow. Annabelle Macy—Annie, her father had called her. Heiress from one of the wealthiest families in the state of Georgia. Hell, probably in the nation. Owner of that pair of troubled eyes that had haunted him all day. He opened the glove box, slipped the newspaper inside, latched it again.
Her slow drawl had caught him off guard, though he wasn’t sure why. The money-dripping accent only confirmed what he’d suspected when he saw the newspaper photo. She sounded like she spent her days sitting on a plantation porch, sipping mint juleps and fanning her face while a staff of servants hovered around her.
Joe felt a sneer coming on. He had no patience for simpering Junior League types who fainted away when things got too hot. He should be shot for taking this case. He had better things to do than babysit a reckless, flighty, full-grown woman who liked to play games. Like take three aspirin and bury his throbbing head beneath a pillow.
Joe faced the street again. The light turned green. He started across the intersection, then adjusted the rearview mirror and caught another glimpse of his back seat passenger. Whoa. Full-grown was right. Miss Macy had turned away from the rear window. Her coat had fallen off one shoulder; the blouse beneath was torn, revealing the lacy top edge of a black bra and a nasty red scratch on the smooth swell of breast just above it. She slid down in the seat far enough to rest her head against it, closed her eyes. Wind-blown hair swept her shoulders in pale waves.
Well. Well. Things were definitely looking up. One glance at her had managed to do what his heavy leather jacket had failed to accomplish all night. Joe turned the heater down a notch. Where was the pretty, reserved ice princess from the newspaper? He smiled to himself. This lousy job came with a couple of perks. Who knew? Whether it led to Reno or not, maybe he could bear this side trip away from his usual routine. At least the scenery was nice. And a whole lot wilder than he’d expected.
A subtle scent of perfume drifted up to him; he heard each fast, erratic breath she drew. Joe thought over what she’d said about Harry Landau liking things “dirty.” Now that was a loaded statement. He wondered if he could coax Miss Magnolia Blossom to talk, to narrow down the options for him. It wouldn’t be easy. He doubted she’d willingly open up to a cab driver.
“Where to?” he asked, and she recited an address, her address. The one Milford Macy had given him over the phone. Joe had driven by a few times today.
“No, wait.” She bolted upright in the seat. “Don’t go there. Not yet. Just drive around.”
He peeked at her again. She was staring out the window, worried eyes blinking, pretty brows puckered. Wincing, she shifted and looked down at the scratch on her breast then licked a fingertip and wiped away a smear of blood. Joe’s pulse jumped, and when her eyes met his and narrowed, he jumped, too.
Glaring at him, she jerked the coat across her chest. “Do you mind?”
Not at all, Joe thought and looked back at the road just in time to slam on the brake and miss ramming the car ahead of them. His knee hit the underside of the steering column and he cursed, then muttered, “Sorry.”
Turning the heater down another notch, he shifted lanes to pass the slow-moving car ahead of him. Boy, did this one have her daddy fooled. Milford Macy had painted a picture of his daughter as a naïve innocent.
Yeah right. And Joe was Pope Benedict.
He reminded himself he worked for Milford Macy, which meant hands off. Don’t even think about it. But as long as he looked at Annabelle Macy, there was little chance he could think of anything else. She looked like sex,
and he hadn’t had any in so long he wasn’t sure he’d remember how. He readjusted the mirror so he couldn’t see her reflection without straining his neck.
“There’s a police station around the next corner,” he said.
“Police? I don’t need the police.”
“After that little incident with Santa I thought you might be in some kind of trouble.” He tried to resist his impulses, failed, craned his neck to see into the mirror.
“I’m not in trouble.” She tugged the briefcase closer to her body, looked down at it, met his gaze in the mirror.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked, wondering what was in that case.
“It’s really none of your business, is it? I’m paying you to drive, not ask me twenty questions or give me advice.”
The sneer returned. His head pounded harder. So did his knee. She might look good, but the woman was a spoiled witch with a capital B. “It’s my business if you’ve made me an accomplice to something illegal. Like theft, maybe?”
“You’re the one who pulled up and told me to get in.”
“You want to tell me what’s in that briefcase?”
“No, I don’t. Do you always butt into the personal affairs of your passengers?”
Snooty-ass brat. Joe pressed down on the accelerator and picked up speed. If she wouldn’t wise up and go to the police about whatever monkey business she was up to, maybe he’d just bring the cops to her. “Lady, I’m pretty sure I saved your prissy butt back there.”
“You have a lot of nerve speaking to me like that.”
“Your boss looked to me like he was ready to strangle you. If I were you—”
“Well, you aren’t me.” She reached up and braced her hands against the headrest in front of her. “Slow down. You’re going to get us killed. In fact, pull over at that coffee shop. I want out.”
Joe whipped to the curb alongside a meter and screeched to a stop. Good riddance, he thought, then damn. Nothing would please him more than to say so long to Miss Sweet Tea. Nothing except the big fat wad of money her daddy owed him if he stuck this out for the next few days. And then there was the chance of finding out something about Reno he could use, though he’d pretty much written off that possibility.
Joe drew a breath, another, then asked, “Do you want me to wait?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had all the fun I can stand. How much do I owe you?”
She didn’t owe him a dime since Daddy was footing the bill. Still, Joe looked at the meter and quoted her a price.
With a sigh, she opened her purse, her head down. “Thank you,” she muttered in a grudging tone. “You did save my butt, as you so crudely pointed out. But it’s not prissy.”
Prove it, Joe thought, wishing she would ditch that huge piece of animal hide she wore so he could decide for himself. He reined in that thought before it could turn into a full-fledged fantasy.
“I know you probably think I’m rude,” she continued, digging through the purse now. “I’m not. Not usually, anyway. It’s just that I’m sick and tired of people telling me what I should do.” She paused, then said, “Oh, no. My billfold…it must’ve fallen out when I—” She sighed. “My cell phone’s not here, either.” Her gaze shot up to the mirror, then down at her lap. “I can’t pay you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I should probably pay you for the entertainment.”
She gathered her purse, grabbed the briefcase. “Thanks, again.” The door opened. She climbed out, shut it.
Joe watched her hurry toward the brightly lit coffee shop, push through the door and go inside. He wondered how she thought she was going to get home without any money to pay another cab. Or how she planned to buy a cup of coffee, for that matter. Maybe she thought she would call her father and dollar bills would magically appear in her pocket like they had all her life.
Seconds later, the door to the coffee shop opened again and Miss Macy ran out waving at him, still clutching the briefcase with her other arm like she was afraid Harry Landau might jump out and grab it. Joe lowered his window and she bent down and thrust something at him.
“Oh, good. I caught you. I found this in my pocket.” She held two dollar bills.
Joe almost blurted a laugh. Maybe her daddy was magic; the man didn’t even require a phone call.
“Or I guess I should say my boss’s pocket. Ex boss,” she corrected. “This is his coat.”
“How nice of Santa to leave you a present.”
She surprised him with a laugh. “I know it doesn’t cover the fare but at least it’s something.”
He waved the bills away. “Buy yourself a cup of coffee. Or half a cup. These days I’m not sure a couple of bucks will buy you a full one.”
She gave him a look that was a little guilty, a little smug. “I found five dollars in the coat. I kept three for myself.”
He took the bills.
“Well…” She offered a half-assed smile, more out of manners than gratitude, Joe decided. Then, without another word, she turned and ran back inside.
Joe prepared himself for a wait. He hated to turn off the car and the heat along with it, but he couldn’t afford to waste gas. He twisted the key and the hot air coming from the vents ceased to blow. He yawned. Shivered. Studied the plate glass window across the coffee shop’s front. The place looked bright and warm and inviting. Miss Macy came into view. She placed a mug on a table and sat down. What the hell. He might as well join her. Since it was long past ten o’clock, he wouldn’t need to feed the meter.
When he pushed through the door, she looked up and annoyance flickered in her eyes. She cradled the steaming mug between her hands, the briefcase and her purse lay in her lap.
Joe nodded at her before heading to the counter. They were the only customers in the place. He ordered a cup, black, then gave the kid working the register the two bucks Annie had paid him.
Seconds later, Joe carried his mug to a table across the small room from his client’s daughter and sat facing her. Blowing on his coffee, he breathed in the aroma, feigned interest in the television mounted at one corner of the ceiling where Jessica Simpson jerked and swayed. All the while, he felt Miss Macy watching him, and whenever he looked, her gaze skittered away. Joe stared at her a full minute just to ruffle her feathers.
She squirmed, then said, “Are you following me?”
“Nope. Just taking a break.” He smiled.
She bumped her mug and coffee sloshed over the rim. Pulling a napkin from the metal holder on the table, she sopped up the spill. “Leave me alone or I’ll call the police.”
“I thought you were avoiding the cops?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snapped.
Okay, Joe decided. He’d toyed with her enough. He even managed to feel a little guilty. She wasn’t the one who’d signed him up for this gig. She didn’t want to be watched any more than he wanted to watch her. “Look,” he said. “Believe it or not, I’m a nice guy. I happen to know you don’t have any money for a cab. No phone. And it’s the middle of the night.” He nodded toward the door. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home for free. Or wherever you want to go.”
She seemed to weigh her options, though he couldn’t imagine what they were since as far as he could see she didn’t have any. Finally she said, “Thanks, but I live close by. I think I’ll walk.”
That was a lie; she lived miles away from here. “Your choice,” Joe said. Case closed. I’m done. This was a waste of time. He stood and crossed to the door, pausing for one last look at her over his shoulder before he exited into the falling snow. He’d call her old man now and break the deal. He was starting to feel like a stalker, he was beat, his head and knee throbbed, and pissing her off had lost all amusement. Besides, she wasn’t willing to talk; he’d been a fool to think he might get some information on Reno.
Climbing behind the wheel of the cab, Joe started the engine and turned on the headlights. He fished his phone from his pocket, his focus on the coffee shop door. Before he could punch in Mr. M’
s number, Annie stepped out onto the sidewalk. She pretended not to see him as she turned and started down the sidewalk.
“Damn it,” Joe muttered, and scrubbed a hand across his face. It was dark as pitch out, snot-freezing cold. The neighborhood was one even he wouldn’t feel safe striking out across on foot at night. The woman was stubborn and willful and just plain out of her mind. He cursed again as he pressed down on the horn, assuring himself he was only giving her one last chance because he needed the money. Then he rolled down the window, and when she paused and turned, stuck out his hand to wave her over.
CHAPTER 4
Annie squinted into the glow of the cab’s headlights. The snow was mixed with sleet now. It blew into her face, pricking her cheeks like a million tiny needles. Her toes were numb and her hair was getting damp.
But she wasn’t trembling because of the cold. She didn’t know what to do, where to go, or how to safely get there. Harry had her address; her apartment was the first place he’d look. She had no money for a hotel, no credit cards. And as much as she dreaded walking anywhere in this neighborhood after midnight, she wasn’t sure that the cab—or the man in it—would be any safer.
Annie blinked. She knew the rude, exasperating cabbie could see her plain as day, while the lights in her face kept her from seeing him at all. She imagined the cocky expression on his face. Who did he think he was? Since picking her up outside of Landau’s, he’d treated her as if he didn’t have any patience for her, like she was a silly, despicable little girl he wished he’d left behind.
Annie shielded her eyes from the glaring headlight beams as images raced through her mind. Tearing out of Landau’s…the cab appearing out of nowhere like a galloping white stallion just before Harry caught up to her…the driver yelling for her to “get in” like a gallant rescuing knight from an action B movie, ready to sweep her to safety.
Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper Page 4
