Too Hot to Handle

by Nancy Warren

  “This is not negotiable.”

  A glint of humor softened the hard planes of his face. “Are you in a position to negotiate?”

  At that moment all she knew was she had to protect her friend and she’d do whatever she had to. “I think so. I will do everything I can to get out of here, and I’m a pretty resourceful woman. You’ll either have to tie me and lock me up, keep me drugged 24/7 or give me one phone call.”

  “We’re in the mountains. Miles from Aspen. You don’t even know what direction it’s in.”

  “Like I said, I’m resourceful. Do you really want to keep chasing me down?” She was gambling, she knew, but a man who didn’t lock her door, and who made such good omelets didn’t strike her as a guy who was going to be happy dressing her in duct tape the entire time she was here.

  “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “I didn’t ask to be here.”

  He squinted up at the sky as though the answer might be written there. Finally he said, “And if I give you that one phone call you’ll cooperate?”

  “I want to get the people who tried to kill me as much as you do.”

  “Come on.” He turned on his heel and headed back for the house. For a moment she hesitated. She could have the Jeep going in less than five minutes without keys, thirty seconds with, but she didn’t know the area, the roads, she had nothing with her, not a cell phone, money, not even shoes.

  Reluctantly she turned and followed Pendegraff. Seemed one phone call was her only option.

  For now.

  The phone was, predictably she supposed, a satellite phone, so the call would be untraceable.

  Before he handed it to her, he said, “How easy would it be for an outsider to connect you with your dad?”

  “Not easy.” She hadn’t thought until this second that her father could be in danger because of her and the missing emeralds. She’d never been more thankful they had different names. “My great-grandfather changed his Polish surname, Dabrowski to Drake. He figured it would be easier for the kids to fit in. My dad was a Drake and so was I, but when I was a kid he went through some kind of Polish identity crisis and wanted to go back to his roots.” She found herself smiling, amazed she could. “We took one memorable family holiday back to the old country, saw the town where his people came from, looked up a couple of cousins who didn’t speak any more English than we spoke Polish.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fifteen, I think. It was pretty cool and my mom made him take us to Paris as well, so I had a great time. After we got home he decided to change his name back to Dabrowski. He wanted us all to be Dabrowskis but my mother refused. She said I already had a name, and I wasn’t getting another one until I got married. So, my Dad’s Dabrowski and I’m Drake.”

  “Even so, you’d better warn him to keep his guard up. I’m guessing Grayson will stop at nothing to get these jewels back. We have to be smarter than they are. Call your dad at the station. If he’s not there, don’t leave a message. Keep calling back until you get him.”

  “Okay.”

  She placed the call; for some reason her fingers weren’t quite steady. What if she was wrong? What if somehow Grayson, or whoever was behind this, had made the connection between her and her father? Even as the phone was ringing she began to panic.

  “Dabrowski,” the familiar tone barked, sounding clipped and somehow toneless.

  Relief washed over her and the familiar voice was so comforting to hear that she wanted to crawl into his lap and make all the ugly stuff disappear. “Oh, thank God. Dad, it’s me.”

  For a second there was total silence.

  “Dad? It’s me, Lexy.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re alive.”

  “Yeah. I had to call when I saw the news. I knew you’d be worried sick.”

  “I gotta sit down.” She heard fumbling and then he was back. “Where the hell are you? Your place burned, it’s trashed, I thought you were dead.” He sounded aggressive and angry, but also like he had a bad cold. She knew he was fighting back tears and her own eyes filled.

  “I’m so sorry you were worried.” She wrapped her hand tighter around the phone as though it were her father’s hand. “It’s a long story, and I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m all right. I need you to do something for me.”

  “I’ll come and get you is what I’ll do. You seen what happened to your place?”

  “Yes. I saw the news. Please just listen. I think I might be in danger.”

  “Then you get your ass back here so I can protect you.”

  “It’s not that simple. Dad, if the people who burned down my place and killed that woman figure out you’re my father, you could be in danger, too.”

  “What the hell is going on? Who’s they? What are you involved in?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but it involves some jewelry I was working on.”

  Pendegraff was making wind-it-up motions with his hand. “I don’t have much time, but it’s really important you not go to the media or do anything that would make a connection between us. And watch your back, okay? You’re all I’ve got.”

  “It’s not my back I’m worried about. Honey, I need you to come home.”

  “I can’t. Not until I figure out what’s going on. Is there any ID yet on the body?”

  “Too soon. Everybody still thinks it’s you. Once they rule you out, then we start trying to figure out who the Jane Doe is.”

  “I might be able to help. There’s a woman named Tiffany Starr…no idea what her real name is. We think it might be her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m sorry, Dad, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you again soon.”

  “Wait. Who’s we? Who are you with?”

  “I can’t tell you that, but I promise I’m safe. I’ll call again as soon as I can. Don’t worry.”

  She hung up before he could get started on the worried rant she could feel building.

  He was so concerned for her that she doubted he’d think for a second about his own safety, despite her warning.

  And what was the point of her being stuck out here in the middle of Colorado when people she cared about were in danger? “I have to go back to New York,” she said.

  “Oh, I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, thank God. When can we leave?”

  “Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Why, do you have a dental appointment?”

  He sent her one of his “James Bond superspy everything’s a secret and women adore me anyway” looks that were really starting to piss her off. “A social engagement.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but he continued, “And you’re coming with me.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “What size do you wear?” He looked her up and down like he was Vera Wang’s personal assistant. “Four?”

  And he’d have made a good one. “I buy my own clothes.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure there are plenty of choices. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” He turned away and took a step.

  “You’re going to rob your own house?” she asked sweetly.

  He turned back. “I’m a legitimate business person now. Mostly.”

  “Wait. You can’t leave me here with nothing to do.”

  “I’ve got books, satellite TV, make yourself at home.”

  “To make myself feel at home, I’d have to torch the place,” she snapped.

  “I know this is hard for you, but I am trying to figure this thing out.”

  “By watching your stock portfolio and planning parties?”

  “Oh, this is a very special party. A charity gala event in Manhattan. The Diamond Ball. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Something about his tone had her narrowing her eyes, amazed at how stupid she’d been. “Grayson’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

  “You bet your sweet ass he’ll be there. Since he and his
wife are hosting the party, he can hardly avoid showing up.”

  “It’s too bad I don’t have any of my own jewelry with me. I could display my wares in front of New York’s glamour crowd.”

  “Never mind. I’ve got a very nice set of emeralds you can borrow for the evening.”

  She swallowed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. If Grayson’s as obsessed with those jewels as I think he is, he’ll go crazy when he sees them on you. And in public.”

  “Won’t he try to get them back?”

  “Oh, I hope so. But he can’t do anything in the middle of a social gathering with hundreds of very well connected guests, now can he?”

  “I don’t know. The guy probably killed his ex-mistress, he tried to kill you and me, destroyed my home and business. I really don’t think he’d stop at much.”

  “When are you going to start trusting me?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Probably when you stop holding me against my will.”

  He took a step closer. There was a glint in his eyes that made her want to take a step back, but naturally she held her ground. She had her pride. “From now on, I’ll try not to do anything against your will.”

  There he went again, with his annoying sexual innuendos, which were so corny she should be rolling her eyes. Except that when he gazed at her in a certain way and his voice took on that deeper timbre, she responded in some deep and utterly female part of her that didn’t care all that much about kidnapping or inappropriate behavior or sexual innuendo. That was the part of her that lit up like a rocket when he got close.

  Heaven help her if he ever stopped teasing and actually made a physical move on her.

  Of course, she’d drop him like a stone. Gun-wielding wasn’t her only self-defense tool.

  At least, she thought she’d drop him like a stone, but she hoped she wasn’t going to be tested since she had a teensy feeling that the one doing the dropping might be her. Right onto her back.

  He was looking at her mouth, the way a man looks at a woman’s mouth when he’s thinking about kissing her.

  Her own lips started to tingle in anticipation as he drew closer, even as her brain was clamoring at her to stop acting like a fool. What, did she have Stockholm syndrome after one day of captivity that she should be thinking of locking lips with her kidnapper?

  While she was trying to think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t kiss the guy—and there were plenty—the decision was taken out of her hands. His mouth closed over hers. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, then he raised his head, rested his hands on the wall above her head.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you.”

  She was so surprised she could barely believe what had happened. The man stole everything, even kisses.

  “What about Penelope?”

  He was still staring at her lips so his voice was a little vague as he said, “Penelope?”

  “Your fiancée?” She was pretty sure he’d made Penelope up, but she needed every defense she could muster against a man she found dangerously attractive.

  “Oh. Right. Penelope.” He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “We broke up.”

  He kissed her again.

  He wasn’t the only one having trouble focusing. She could barely form words. “When? When did you break up with Penelope your fiancée?”

  “Right after I met you.”

  He was such a liar. He nibbled her lower lip. Good kisser, though.

  “How did she take it?”

  “Like a champ. You have the most kissable mouth I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you.” He placed another series of kisses on her lips, then tilted her chin so he could kiss his way down her neck. She’d never noticed how sensitive her skin was there.

  “Sounds like she was glad to get rid of you.”

  He nipped her lightly when he reached her shoulder. “She was brokenhearted, naturally, but she understood that I could never marry her if I was obsessed with kissing you.”

  “That would be awkward.” She put her arms around his neck, looked up at him through her lashes. “So, do I look like her at all?”

  “No. Totally different.”

  “She’s tall?”

  “A little taller than you. Not much.”

  “And she’s blonde?”

  “Redhead. And what they say about the temper is true, by the way.” He came back for one more kiss on her mouth. “But to give Penelope credit, she never pulled a gun on me.”

  She didn’t like remembering how easily he’d wrested that gun away from her. She was going to have to seriously get back in shape when she got home, and rev-up the self-defense lessons.

  He straightened. “That was definitely worth waiting for. But, much as I’d like to stay here and make out all day, I’ve got to get to work. My office is back there if you need me,” he said, gesturing to a hallway running to the rear of the house. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

  As she watched him walk away she thought he was too late.

  She licked her lips slowly; seemed she was already in trouble. Deep trouble.

  6

  HEALEY’S ELBOW WAS JAMMED into a tree branch; he was pretty sure he’d ripped out the knee in his black trousers and something was crawling on the exposed skin of his leg. Something that felt like an ant.

  He didn’t care too much about any of that. Or the way his body was unnaturally folded into one of the ornamental trees that lined the block, the young leaves filling out the branches. What he cared about was feeling like a pervert. Looking through a window at a hot chick undressing would be great if the girl knew you were looking and wanted you there. But that wasn’t the case.

  He was doing a job because Pendegraff told him to and that was how he got paid. But when he’d crawled up here to check that Alexandra Drake’s assistant, Amanda, was home, he hadn’t imagined she’d be undressing.

  Or that the tree would be so perfectly reflected in her dressing-table mirror. If he squinted, he could make out a darker shadow within the rustling leaves that was his own bulk. So long as he stayed still, she’d never clue in that he was here. But if he moved, she’d make him instantly.

  So, acutely embarrassed, he stayed.

  Amanda Sanford. That was her name. The assistant in Alexandra Drake’s jewelry studio. A pretty small fish, but if Charlie was right, the same goons who’d torched the jewelry studio might well come after the only person who might know where Lexy was.

  Of course, she didn’t know her boss was alive, never mind where she was. Hopefully the two women would be reunited if he could keep Amanda alive and Charlie could do the same for Lexy.

  Amanda was changing her clothes, which wasn’t good news on a whole bunch of levels. First, it meant she was going out when he’d hoped she’d stay tucked in safe and tight. Second, she was taking her sweet time about the changing part and hadn’t even bothered to pull the blind. Any fool with a pair of eyes could watch her.

  A diamond stud glinted in her nose and when she turned the light caught the ring in her eyebrow.

  A black shirt came off first. Her skin was tawny, and she had a long, lean torso. Her bra was one of those why-even-bother affairs that do more to show off than to hide the assets in question.

  He dropped his gaze with determination. He couldn’t shirk his duty, but he could for damn sure look away instead of staring at her like a Peeping Tom.

  Resolutely he let his gaze slide, unable to help himself from noticing the tattoo of a sailboat on her left shoulder blade. He’d seen tatts on girls before, usually running to flowers or birds, or those tough-girl barbed-wire rings around the bicep, but he’d never seen a sailboat.

  She put her hands to her waistband to undo her jeans and he forced himself to look even farther down. Her feet were bare. The jeans bagged at the bottom as she pulled them off, then stepped out of them.

  And he thought she had the prettiest ankles and calves he’d ever seen. Ankles? What the hell was the matter wi
th him? He didn’t have a thing for ankles. Never even noticed them before.

  She turned, walked a few steps and he noticed another tatt. This one on her ankle. An anchor. Again, an odd choice for a woman and definitely at odds with the sailboat on her shoulder. From his peripheral vision, he could see her body moving, reaching into a closet but he kept his focus firmly on her feet and lower legs.

  To his enormous relief he watched her step into a dress and pull it up over her hips. Giving her time to get the top part on, he waited a moment before raising his gaze. Her dress was short and floated around her. Feminine.

  She opened a narrow drawer in the dresser and stared down into it for a long time. Then she drew out a necklace. She touched it as though it were an heirloom, running her finger along the edges of a chunky-looking design of gold and some other metals. In the mirror he watched her face crumple and tears started to fall. He wished he could reach out and wipe them away, tell her her friend and employer wasn’t dead at all but alive and safe.

  Naturally he couldn’t, so he watched as she carefully fastened the necklace around her neck, then swiped her hands over her face. She walked out of sight, and returned a few minutes later, her face looking freshly washed. Her bangs clung damply to her forehead.

  Without the heavy makeup she appeared much younger and vulnerable. Her eyes were shadowed by lack of sleep and, he suspected, shock and grief.

  She’d lost both her employer and her job in a pretty dramatic fashion when the studio burned to the ground and a woman’s body had been found in the building.

  He watched as she pulled herself together, touching the necklace from time to time as she lined her eyes with black pencil, smudged some other stuff in a complicated arrangement and then laid on the mascara brush. She left her face plain and merely added a swipe of glossy lip stuff.

  He watched as she sat on her bed and yanked on black stockings with big diamond-shaped holes, and then stuck her feet into tough-guy black boots.

  He kind of liked the mix of softly feminine with kick-ass toughness. Wondered if her personality reflected her clothing style and wished he had the luxury of finding out.

  At last she grabbed a bag with a chain that she slung over her shoulder, and left. He looked carefully around before lowering himself from the tree but the side street was momentarily deserted. As he hit the ground, he noticed that it wasn’t, in fact, deserted. An elderly woman walking a tiny dog jumped when he landed on the ground a few feet away. He hadn’t seen her before because an arrangement of branches had hidden her. Damn. She was eyeing him as though she were about to whack him with her purse.