Feeling The Heat

by Rhonda Nelson

  So could she tag along?

  Hell no.

  Besides, he had too many other things to worry about at the moment—True Blue American Bail Bonds being at the top of his list. The frisky new company had opened up a few doors down on Poplar Street, and had promptly embarked on a heavy ad campaign, which had, unfortunately, cut a sizable chunk out of their profits. Martin and Cade had been discussing the problem one day while Linc was out picking up a skip and had elected him to take care of it. Typical, he thought, smothering a snort. Just exactly what the hell he was supposed to do remained to be seen, but he’d think of something.

  Provided he could spend a little less time dodging Georgia Hart and more time in the office.

  “You really won’t reconsider?” Marlene asked, her expression hopeful on the wedding planner’s behalf. A romantic softie, their secretary had immediately been sympathetic to Georgia’s plight. “She just wants to do something proactive. You gotta respect that, right?”

  Linc wadded his sandwich wrapper into a ball and lobbed it toward the trash can. “It’s not about respect, Marlene. It’s business. And that’s not how we do business.” He stood. “Hand me some of those cookies out of the filing cabinet, would you? I’ve got to go find Carter freakin’ Watkins.” Linc grimaced.

  Preferably before Georgia Hart found him again.

  2

  “GEEZ, GOD, WOMAN. You again?” Linc Stone muttered irritably, passing a hand over his perpetually shadowed jaw.

  As Georgia had expected, he wasn’t happy to see her on his doorstep, but it could have been avoided if he would have kindly returned her calls.

  He didn’t, thus she was here. On the threshold of his lair.

  Ignoring the wild thump of her pulse, Georgia rolled her eyes and pushed past a disturbingly shirtless and too sexy Linc Stone, bounty hunter extraordinaire and all-around pain in the ass. “Is your phone broken?” she asked.

  She scanned his downtown Memphis loft apartment, surprised to discover it wasn’t littered with empty pizza boxes and beer bottles, but instead housed a clean combination of beat-up antiques, modern art and eclectic pottery. In fact, Georgia thought, studying a bowl on his coffee table, she suspected she had some pieces from the very same artist. An acoustic guitar which had a well-loved and used air about it stood against the wall and a hint of patchouli hung in the air, the exotic scent seemingly as out of place as she felt. She frowned, unable to make the decor match its obvious occupant.

  Perpetually disheveled and irreverent, with dark green eyes that were equally somnolent and sharp, and tousled espresso curls that were in desperate need of a trim, she’d pegged Linc Stone for a Peter Pan eternal frat boy kind of guy, not the hip urban professional who evidently lived here. In fact, the only thing she could say actually matched Linc to the apartment was the location. Just a stone’s throw from Beale Street; the moody, bluesy area matched his personality perfectly. Like the infamous area, he was smooth and soulful with a hint of wicked and untold secrets.

  Furthermore, Linc fully clothed made her pulse purr—Linc half-naked made it roar. Inconvenient? Insane? Ridiculous?

  All of the above, but that didn’t change the fact that when she looked at him, she wanted to lick him from head to toe. Very slowly.

  “No, my phone’s not broken,” he growled, then shot her a mocking half grin which showcased his perfectly even teeth. “By all means, come on in.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly just to antagonize him. “I think I will.”

  He shut the door and padded barefoot behind her into the living room. Heaven help her, even his feet were sexy, Georgia thought dimly. “I’m leaving soon, so you’ll have to make this quick. What made you think my phone was broken?”

  He probably had a dinner date with someone equally gorgeous, Georgia decided, ignoring the little pinprick of misplaced disappointment which landed in her chest. With more bravado that she actually possessed, she settled herself into a comfy armchair near the stacked stone fireplace and stared up at him. To her dismay, another tingle of unwanted heat curled through her middle, forcing her to clear her throat. “You never returned my calls.”

  Linc bared his teeth in a grin she found strangely thrilling. “That’s because I have nothing more to say to you.” He shoved his fingers into his loose curls, clearly exasperated. “Why do you keep hounding me?”

  Trying to ignore the dark line of hair which bisected his impressive belly and disappeared beneath the waistband of his low-slung jeans, Georgia soldiered on. She was here to get his cooperation and she didn’t plan to leave until she had it. If there was a silver lining to him having a date—and that was a big if—it would be that he’d be pressed for time. “Look, I’ve simply asked you to let me help you find a certain FTA you’re looking for.” Carter Failing To Appear in court—thus his status as an FTA—actually worked to her advantage. It meant she wasn’t the only person looking for the sonofabitch. “It’s not like I’ve asked you for an arm, for pity’s sake.”

  Feigning bewilderment, Linc scratched his admittedly beautiful head and stared at her. “I distinctly remember telling you that it was out of the question.”

  “Faulty memory,” she quipped, sinking farther into the chair. “There’s an herbal supplement for that.”

  He scowled. “I don’t need a damned herbal supplement, Ms. Hart. I need you to take no for an answer.”

  Georgia smiled and shook her head, silently wishing it were that simple. “Sorry. It’s not going to happen.”

  Every hint of humor vanished from his face. “Neither is you tagging along with me while I try to find your ex-boyfriend.”

  Georgia squelched the rising sense of panic in her chest and conjured a smile. “I never said I wanted to ‘tag along.’ I’ve offered to help.” You beautiful, thickheaded moron, she added silently. “There’s a difference. Besides, I don’t think you understand. I—”

  “No, Ms. Hart,” he interrupted, his voice a low, frustrated growl. “I think you’re the one with the communication problem. You made a request. I said no. It’s as simple as that.” He suddenly grimaced, as though a thought had just struck. “Who gave you my address?”

  “Your father. He’s a nice man.”

  “With a death wish,” Linc muttered, passing a hand over his face. “Look, when I find Carter Watkins, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I don’t want to be the first to know—I want to be first on the scene.” I want to tackle him to the ground and throttle the whereabouts of my mother’s ring from his freakishly small neck. I want to unleash every bit of heartache, anger and frustration his theft has wrought upon my nerves. I want to slug him for duping me and making me feel stupid. I want to rub his face in goose shit and—

  “Ms. Hart?” Linc said questioningly, interrupting her beating-the-crap-out-of-Carter fantasy.

  Georgia blinked. “Call me Georgia, please. After all,” she insisted doggedly, “we’re going to be working together.”

  He pulled in a deep beleaguered breath as though summoning patience from a higher source. “For the last time, the answer is no. I will call you when I find him. I’m looking for him. It’s only a matter of time.” A touch of unexpected sympathy softened his gaze. “You know that it’s probably gone, right? Finding him doesn’t mean you’ll find your mother’s ring.”

  So he remembered, Georgia thought, slightly heartened. She’d thought everything she’d said had merely gone in one beautiful ear and out the other. Still…

  “I know the odds are against me, yes,” she told him. “But that’s not going to stop me. I have to find that ring, and I won’t quit until I do.”

  “I don’t understand,” Linc said, shooting her a measuring look that made the back of her neck burn. “I thought you said the ring was worthless.”

  “No, I said that it didn’t have much monetary value. But it’s far from w-worthless.” A lump formed in her throat and she silently swore, determined not to cry. In the first place, crying wouldn’t put
her any closer to her goal, and in the second place, crying in front of Linc Stone was out of the question. It would only solidify her place as a liability.

  As a wedding planner, Georgia had the type A tendency down to a science. She was good at organizing, seeing a mess and figuring out the best way to organize the chaos. She could soothe a nervous bride, solve any catering snafu and mend a busted seam at a moment’s notice.

  In fact, she was so good at what she did she was a bride’s best friend and a potential boyfriend’s worst nightmare. Had she stepped on a few toes? Certainly. But she’d never hurt anyone. Still, she…intimidated people. She knew that. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was always looking for the quickest way to streamline any problem—point A to point B in the most efficient manner.

  In this case, while she could look for Carter on her own—and no doubt find him—hooking up with someone else who had a vested interest in locating her kleptomaniac ex-boyfriend—namely the bond-enforcement agent who’d posted bail for the thieving bastard—offered the best-case scenario for expediting the matter and resolving the issue at hand.

  In short, she needed Linc Stone.

  Linc’s company had posted bond for Carter after his arrest—the fool had been caught shoplifting a bottle of cologne at a local drugstore. Vain bastard, Georgia thought. Though her knowledge of bounty hunting was pretty vague, Georgia had basic understanding of how it worked. Linc’s company posted bond so that Carter could leave jail until his scheduled court date. When Carter missed the court date, the bond was forfeited…which meant Linc’s family was stuck holding the bag until they could get Carter’s miserable ass back in front of the judge. Personally, after meeting Linc and his father, she wouldn’t want to be on their bad side.

  Linc inclined his head. “Sentimental value isn’t worth jack at a pawn shop, sweetheart, which is more than likely where he’s taken it.”

  “Precisely,” Georgia said, straightening her sleeve, a pathetic attempt to regain her composure. “I’ve already been to every pawn shop in a fifty-mile radius and found his usual haunts. Bill at Sam’s Pawn on Hollister distinctly remembers the ring. He offered Carter twenty bucks for it and Carter got pissed off and wouldn’t sell it. That was last Thursday,” Georgia pointed out.

  His gaze sharpened. “The day before he skipped.”

  “Right. Which means he’s still got it. He’s holding out for a better offer.”

  “Why does he think it’s worth more?”

  Georgia released a heavy sigh. “It’s a big stone, but it’s hopelessly flawed. It looks impressive until it’s put under a loupe.”

  Linc grimaced. “If that’s the case, he’d be better off selling it to some Joe on the street.”

  Dare she hope they were on the same page? Georgia stood and took a step forward. “Which is exactly why finding him immediately is imperative. If he sells it to some Joe on the street, I’m never going to find it.”

  “What makes you think he’s still in the area?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The idiot couldn’t even post bond,” she said, disgusted once again at her own stupidity. Why hadn’t she heeded her instincts? She’d known—known—that something had been off about him. “How the hell is he going to scrape up the money to leave town?”

  Linc nodded, seemingly impressed. “His last known address was a motel out by the airport. Was that where he was living when you were seeing him?”

  Georgia felt her cheeks burn and looked away. “He was always in a different motel when I was seeing him,” she admitted. She cleared her throat, preparing for humiliation. “He told me that he was an adjustor for a national car-insurance chain and this was part of his district, that he was based out of Nashville. His car had the s-sticker,” she finished lamely, darting him a look. “I just thought—Look, we only dated for a month. By the time I realized my mother’s ring was missing, we’d been over for a couple of weeks.” No doubt they would have been over that night whether she’d slept with him or not, Georgia thought, eternally thankful that she’d had sense enough to kick his ass to the curb before that had happened.

  Linc considered her with those intense green eyes, inadvertently making another jolt of longing lodge in her belly. “What made you suspect him?”

  She could tell the truth, that he was the only man who’d been in her new house and therefore she knew it had to be him, but it seemed too pathetic to share. “I read about his arrest in the paper,” Georgia improvised, which wasn’t a complete lie. She had read about it in the paper. Carter had been dubbed “The Brut Bandit” by the local media. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, wishing she hadn’t taken her hair down before she’d come over here. Between the plump cheeks and cursed curls, she looked like a supersize Shirley Temple. “It didn’t take much to put it together.”

  He nodded, though his skeptical expression told her that he doubted her story. Let him doubt, Georgia thought, lifting her chin. So long as he didn’t know the truth, the less foolish she would feel.

  And considering that she felt like the biggest moron in the northern hemisphere, she’d take it where she could get it.

  Linc shoved a hand through his hair, pushing the dark locks off his forehead. “I still don’t understand why this is so important to you,” he said. “Why can’t you chalk it up to a bad mistake and move on?”

  Even if she were wired that way—which she wasn’t—letting this go simply wasn’t an option. What if her father had had that attitude? Georgia thought. No. It just wasn’t even a possibility. The ring, and what it stood for to her and her family’s history, was simply too important.

  She strolled over to his fireplace and inspected a few photos on the antique Victorian mantel. A picture of what must have been his mother and father stood in the middle, flanked by various snapshots of Linc, his brother, Cade, and his sister, Gracie. Having worked on the same weddings from time to time, Georgia had actually met Linc’s little sister. She was a very talented florist—one of the best in the area in Georgia’s opinion—fun, a bit in-your-face, but she’d liked her all the same. Linc and Cade shared their father’s good looks—the same bold brow, large build and strong jaw. Gracie was the petite image of their mother, a blue-eyed blonde with the same mischievous twinkle in her eye. A beautiful family, she thought.

  She had a brother and some distant cousins around town, but other than that, she was on her own. She and Jack shared the family property, but Jack, being the oldest and at the helm of Hart Diversified Industries, had moved into their parents’ house on their farm in Germantown after they’d passed away. Sadly, they’d both drowned while on vacation in the Bahamas. Her mother had been caught in a riptide and her father, ever the gallant hero, had gone in to save her. Neither one of them had survived. Better they’d died together than apart, though, Georgia always thought. They would have been miserable had it been any other way.

  Having always been close to Jack, but in need of her own place—particularly because living together wasn’t conducive to either one of their love lives, though admittedly Jack’s was more active than hers—Georgia had ultimately built on the family property. A strong sentimental streak and a love of old houses had propelled her to build a replica of the Sears Roebuck kit house her grandparents had built in the early nineteen-twenties. Back then the entire house was shipped via railcar and everything was included, right down to the several hundred pounds of nails it would take to put it together.

  The house was called The Chelsea, a two-story beauty with a big front porch and large airy rooms. Originally the house had only one bathroom, so Georgia had amended the plan to accommodate a more modern lifestyle. At some point—and her maternal clock was definitely ticking a little louder of late—she wanted to raise a family there.

  But first things first, Georgia thought, pulling in a bracing breath. “Have you ever heard of Crater of Diamonds State Park?”

  Linc nodded. “It sounds familiar.”

  “It’s over in Arkansas. It’s a keep-what-you-find min
ing park. My father’s parents were farmers, Mr. Stone. My mother’s father was a successful banker,” she said wryly. “To say that they weren’t happy that their daughter had fallen in love with a ‘dirt-poor farm boy’ would be a mild understatement. When my father went to my grandfather and asked for my mother’s hand in marriage, my grandfather laughed at him and said, ‘I tell you what, boy. When you can put a two-carat stone on my daughter’s hand, I’ll give you my blessing.’”

  Linc’s eyes lit with intrigue and he nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  A fond smile turned Georgia’s lips as she remembered. “Well, you can imagine how my dad felt. He was working at a local factory—one he would eventually own, by the way,” she added proudly. “But a two-carat stone was out of the question. He knew that he couldn’t afford it. But my dad…” Georgia sighed. “Dad was resourceful and, more importantly, he loved my mother. So every weekend for a year and a half he went over to the park and he dug and sifted and screened through dirt until he found a two-carat stone.” Georgia pulled a shrug. “Was it worth anything? Nah,” she said, shaking her head. “Like I said, it was flawed. But it didn’t matter. Grandpa hadn’t said the stone had to be perfect, he’d merely indicated the size. And ultimately, he was a man of his word.”

  Linc leaned a shoulder against the wall. “That’s quite a story.”

  Georgia looked out window, gazed unseeingly at the various lights illuminating the darkness and let go a small breath. “They were quite a pair,” she said quietly. “Years later, Dad gave Mom a ring that was twice as big and perfect, but she rarely wore it. She said her original engagement ring might not have the first four C’s—cut, clarity, color and carat—but it had one that was far more important. It had character.” She felt her eyes mist once again and muttered a hot curse. “And I lost it.”