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SWEET STRANGERS
UNDER COVER ANTHOLOGY
By
MaryJanice Davidson
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
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Chapter One
^ »
Renee dashed into the middle of the busy street Leaping like an ungainly brunette gazelle, she managed to avoid death three times before she got to the curb, taking the angry shriek of the bus's airbrakes as a musician takes applause. She didn't slow, but did take time to snatch a look over one shoulder… yep. Still about twenty yards behind her. They hadn't gotten a good look at her face.
She darted into the hotel and was momentarily dazzled by the brightly lit chandeliers and the ferocious grin of the concierge. The guy had a hundred teeth. Where to go where to go wheretogo?
She heard the plaintive ding! of the elevator, and cruised in that direction. She had to get off the floor. After that… well, she'd worry about the rest later. Improvisation was her specialty. The bad news—like she needed more—the elevator was one of those glass cages. Everyone would see her going up.
She saw a few guests amble out, snug and smug in their dark autumn colors, with doubtless nothing more pressing on their minds than where to have dinner. She wanted to choke them and cry on their shoulders at the same time.
As the elevator emptied, a lone businessman walked in, his nose buried in a newspaper. A daring, reckless, and ultimately insane plan popped into her brain and, as usual, was approved by management.
They don't know my face very well; the picture they have is truly terrible, she reminded herself, putting on a burst of speed as the elevator doors started to close. Plus, they're looking for a woman alone. So…
Renee skidded along the tile and slid into the elevator, almost smashing into the far wall. Darned new shoes; she knew better than to wear unscuffed soles to work. Errr… on the run from work.
The businessman blinked at her over his Wall Street Journal, then raised his eyebrows as she snatched the paper out of his hands and flung her arms around his neck. "Sorry I'm late!" she panted, then mashed her lips down on his.
This was business, not pleasure. Or was it the other way around? The man was a stone fox, and that was a fact Thick, wavy brown hair fell almost to his shoulders, an interesting contrast to the so-sober black suit, sky blue oxford shirt, and blue tie with black stripes. She saw that his eyes, in the moment before she sexually assaulted him, were the same blue as his shirt His hair felt like coarse silk.
Far from shoving her away, or smacking her with his briefcase, the businessman kissed her back enthusiastically and hungrily. She felt her feet leave the ground and realized he'd picked her up, the better to snuggle her into his embrace. Oh, to be snuggled! It had been such a long time. Since—er—what year was it? She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take her mouth again and again.
Ding!
Sure, she'd been having a rotten day. Week. Month. And yes, the bad guys… okay, good guys, she was the bad guy… were definitely hot on her trail. And she had no money and no place to stay. And if anyone figured out what she'd taken, her life wouldn't be worth spit on a sidewalk. At the very least, she'd never get a job in the industry again.
Ding!
But this man, this amazing man… his hands were all over her, big and warm, his mouth was kissing and nibbling, his aftershave smelled like a sunny apple orchard, and—
Ding!
The elevator had stopped.
With deep, deep regret, she managed to wrench herself free and put her feet on the floor. It was hard to get a deep breath. All that running, probably. Followed by the finest kiss of her life. Meanwhile, the businessman had thrust his hands in his pockets and was looking her over very carefully. He didn't smile.
"It's all right," he said at last, as she backed out of the elevator.
"What's all right?" She tried not to wheeze. What floor were they on? Who cared?
"Being late. You said, 'Sorry I'm late.' " His voice was a pleasant baritone. His gaze never left her face. To her surprise, he followed her out of the elevator, leaving his briefcase behind. "It's all right."
"Er… thanks. Gotta go."
His hand reached out and closed over her elbow. She briefly considered breaking his wrist, then decided against it She had bigger things to worry about than assaulting Mr. Hottie. Again, anyway.
"Have lunch with me."
"I can't. I have to…" Go. Run. Hide. Figure out what to do with PaceIC. Cry myself to sleep. Jump off a ledge. Kiss you again, then jump off a ledge. "I have to go."
He chuckled, but still he didn't smile. "You misunderstand. I wasn't asking… Renee." She nearly fainted as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge. "You've got some explaining to do. And you can do it over lunch."
You can do it, dude. First day on the job—shoot, Minneapolis is Hicksville compared to back home. You can do it.
He approached the couple. Mighty cute, both of them, she with reddish brown hair and pretty brown eyes and rosy cheeks, and he with that butch longish dark hair and Paul Newman eyes. He looked like a million bucks in his suit, but she was way underdressed—leggings, a knockoff purse, and a sweatshirt with the logo "Free Martha."
"Hi, I'm Rod and I'll be your server today."
The woman blinked up at him. "Hi, Rod, I'm here against my will."
"Can I tempt you with the specials? Today we're featuring sautéed sea bass served over a bed of grilled radicchio—"
She set down her water glass, hard. Water slopped over the side and spattered the tablecloth, which made her companion sigh. "Rod, you're not listening. I'm having lunch under duress. This goon here—"
"Oh, now, I object to 'goon,' " the dude with her said mildly. He was pretty blank-faced, but Rod, with the instincts of an experienced waiter, had the strong sense the guy was enjoying himself immensely.
"—assaulted me—"
"Excuse me?" Blue-eyed dude's eyebrows climbed up so high, they nearly dropped off his forehead. "Who assaulted whom?"
"—and dragged me here and is forcing me to eat." The gal finished this absurd tale in triumph, and drained her water glass in three gulps. She belched lightly, which brought another sigh from her date. "Man, all that running made me pretty thirsty. Could I get a refill? Um, like three of them?"
"Right away, ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am. You're my age, I bet."
He plunged ahead, thinking, Of course, I'm gonna get the nuts on my first day. It's like a law or something. "Then we have just a lovely lobster tail which has been brushed with a teriyaki sauce and grilled, which we're serving with wild mushroom risotto."
The woman peered up at him. "You're from New York, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma—uh, yes."
"I recognize the breed," she said to her companion. "Nothing fazes them. I could be on fire and he'd still recite the specials."
True, but I'd hand you a bucket of water while I recited them. "Finally, we have a top sirloin which has been rubbed with pink peppercorns, ser
ved with a lovely Bernaise sauce."
"As opposed to a nasty Bernaise sauce?"
"Be nice," her date said coolly.
"Listen, Gestapo Boy, I won't stand for—you know, that last one sounded good, I'll have that."
"I will have the same, but hold the peppercorns," Gestapo Boy said. "And a martini." He looked across the table at the gal and nearly shuddered. "Keep them coming."
"Oh, I like that. Who kidnapped who?"
"Whom."
"Right! What?"
Rod was walking away by then, but he heard the dude say a very strange thing. "I can't believe there's a seven-figure price on your head. Your head."
"I can't believe I didn't knee you in the gonads when I had the chance."
Maybe they were rehearsing a play.
* * *
Chapter Two
« ^ »
"So." He sliced off a corner of his steak, forked it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Excellent. "Where is it?"
"I'm not telling you shit," she said with her mouth full, lightly spraying him with breadcrumbs. "As soon as the meal is done, I'm outta here."
"I don't think so."
"I can't believe I kissed you."
"Nor could I. It certainly livened up what had promised to be a dull day. But," he continued cheerfully, "what's done is done. And now we're here."
"We aren't anything. I'm having a nice lunch and letting you sit at my table."
"And pick up the check."
"Well, yeah. I can't—" She stopped talking and took a monster-size gulp of her frozen mud slide.
"You can't draw on your bank funds or use your credit cards, because you'll be caught."
She shrugged sullenly.
"Oh, Renee, really. Just give me the vial and this will all be over."
"Ha!"
"What, ha? It will. I could even talk to your boss, Mr.—"
"The Jackal? He won't listen to you. He'd see me hanged if he could."
"Now, that's a bit melodramatic," he said mildly.
"Pal, have you been chased the last two days?"
"Ah… no."
"Right Keep your trap shut, then."
"I'd best, or you might stick your tongue into it again."
Her eyes widened and actually bulged, and he had to stomp on the chuckle that wanted to get out, stomp on it and make it gone. If he laughed at her, he could count on getting a face full of frozen mud slide.
"Never mind," he said quickly, hoping to head off the outburst. "Uncalled for and all that. But, Renee, surely you realize you can't keep running and running. Besides, you're not the victim here. You've stolen—"
"I didn't steal anything!" Then, startlingly, she burst into tears, put her head down on her plate, and sobbed into her Bernaise sauce.
Within minutes he had settled the bill and brought her up to his suite. She had curled into his side like a weepy shrimp, and he glared at everyone who stared.
Once in the room, he patted her ineffectually until her sobs tapered to hiccups. She felt unbelievably good in his arms, soft where she should be, and lean and denned in other places. Well, she was in security. It made sense that she kept in shape. Yes, perfect sense. And she was kind of perfect, too, so lush and sweet-smelling and—
Will you focus, idiot?
"I don't know your name," she said into his collar.
"It's Eric. Eric Axelrod."
"I'm Renee Jardin."
"Yes, I know. You have Bernaise sauce in your hair."
She jerked away from him and her brows rushed together in a glare. "I didn't steal anything."
"So you said. Enlighten me."
"No." She wiped the tears away with her palms. "I need to use the bathroom. Be right out, okay?"
When the door clicked—and locked—behind her, he realized his wallet was gone.
He slammed his hand against the door. "Oh, very nice!" he shouted into the wood. "When did you pick my pocket, you little harridan?"
"I don't know what that is, but it's probably not very nice, so say bye-bye to your driver's license." He heard the toilet flush and ground his teeth. Then, in an outraged squawk, "You work for the National Security Agency?"
Rats. She'd found his old ID. "Not anymore," he said quickly. "As of last week, I am a freelancer. Private eye, and all that."
"Private dick is more like it. And now you're looking for me."
He made a split-second decision and fervently hoped he wouldn't regret it. "No," he lied, "it was just a coincidence. Your company has given your picture to several law enforcement agencies, along with an interesting tale. Apparently you work for bioterrorists—"
An outraged scream: "What?"
"—and have stolen something highly unstable and have violent intentions."
He'd heard this absurd tale from Anodyne, and had gotten her file via fax that morning. The NSA couldn't officially become involved—they were codebreakers, not cops—thus he had taken the case. If he turned her in, it would be a tremendous boost to his fledgling career. And if he didn't…
Best not to think about that.
He remembered memorizing her file, being struck by her good looks, and thinking that she looked more like Miss Dairy than Miss Terrorist.
It had been the purest—and sweetest!—of coincidences that she had leaped into the elevator and kissed him. What the poor thing hadn't realized was there was a law enforcement convention just down the street, to which he'd flown in for networking. Of course, getting an assignment in the same city as the convention had been pure gravy.
He'd recognized her at once, of course, in that blurred moment before she'd jumped into his arms. The grainy faxed picture didn't do her justice. And it did nothing to showcase her amazing charisma. He could almost see the energy crackling around her when she spoke, moved. Kissed.
Every thought had gone out of his head when those soft, sweet lips met his. And when he'd followed her out of the elevator, he'd nearly staggered. Renee Jardin was an amazing woman, and he was a big believer in love at first sight.
Now, anyway.
When his head cleared, he realized if Renee had gone one more block, she would have been in the middle of five hundred law enforcement officers, most of whom had heard of her. Anodyne was desperate to get her—and her cargo—back. They were spreading their net as widely as they could. So he had instantly stalled her departure with an invitation to lunch. And when she wept, he wanted to leave the table, find her tormentors, and methodically break their fingers.
All this flashed through his mind in half a second. "I really don't work for your boss," he said through the door. "But I would like to help you. I certainly don't blame you for being paranoid, because everyone is out to get you. But I'm sure we can discuss this like adults. Won't you come out?"
Silence. Then… flush.
"Now you're just being childish. If you come out, we can discuss this like rational adults and come up with a plan of action. And—you know, Renee, it's quite difficult to have this conversation with a bathroom door."
Silence.
"Renee? If you come out, I'll buy you another steak."
Silence.
"Renee?"
Blast the woman! He raised a leg and kicked; the flimsy lock broke at once and the door swung open.
Into an empty room.
* * *
Chapter Three
« ^ »
Renee chortled to herself as she opened the sliding doors to the deck. What luck that the suite connected to another room—through the bathroom! And what luck that Eric hadn't known. It had been child's play to pick the lock. She'd cut her teeth on bicycle locks as a kid, and this one was only slightly more complicated.
But now what? She couldn't go back down to the lobby. Eric might beat her there. The guy looked like he was in pretty good shape. He sure felt like it, anyway. Worse, she didn't know where the goons had gotten to. For all she knew, they could be waiting in the lobby, too.
If she could get into the skyway system, she co
uld lose everybody. There were skyways throughout downtown Minneapolis, and she could get some distance away and think—for the first time in hours and hours—really think about her position, and what to do, and where to go.
OK You need to get to the skyway, and you need to do it fast, because Eric isn't going to chat with the bathroom door much longer.
She looked at the street from the suite's balcony. Yup. There it was.
Renee, you're crazy.
"Quiet, inner voice," she muttered. Insanity was the word of the day, and that was for sure.
Silently, she blessed her parents for suggesting she take up gymnastics in addition to karate and aikido, and climbed over the balcony. The skyway was barely fifteen feet down, and only a few feet to the right. She could do dais. She was in good shape, and a fall from that height was totally survivable. People did it all the time.
Besides, the alternative was unthinkable.
Eric was gorgeous, Eric was a great kisser, and Eric was the enemy. She wanted to believe in him, trust him, and that made him more dangerous than the Jackal. At least she knew the Jackal was bad news. With Eric, she had absolutely no idea. And she was too busy staring at his mouth to be interested in finding out.
Why had he left the National Security Agency? Was it on his own, or had he been bounced? He was awfully young—thirty-six, if his license was right—to retire and go into the Pee Eye biz. What was he doing in town? How had he known her so quickly?
No, best to get clear of him. In particular, his hands and mouth.
She let her hands slide down the bars of the balcony—thank goodness it was fall, instead of winter! She dangled for a moment and screwed up her courage. Then she started to swing her body to build momentum. At the height of her swing, she let go and lunged sideways.
And dropped. And dropped. And hit the roof of the sky-way… and skidded over the edge. She made a wild clutch and caught the edge of the roof before she plunged over.
MaryJanice Davidson - UC Anthology - Sweet Strangers Page 1
