by Mallory Kane
Sean placed one hot hand at the curve of her hip and turned her palm up with the other, examining it as he guided her back toward the Weddings Your Way building.
“You’re not totally okay, are you?”
Her knees and palms were scraped, her shoulder and elbow throbbed, and her heart was stuck at the back of her throat. She’d been hurt much worse; these were minor injuries. But no one knew that and after all this time, she doubted anyone ever would.
“Go inside and get someone to check you out. I’m going to talk to Montoya.”
She looked back at the bag, still sitting under the sign. “What was that all about? They didn’t stop.”
Sean shook his head, his mouth grim. “I don’t know. I’m not sure they ever intended to pick up the money.”
“Wait.” She reached for his arm. His skin was hot against her scraped palms. “What do you mean? Then why did they shoot at me?”
“I think this was a test. They agreed awfully easily to our choice of location.”
“A test? To see if we called in the police?”
Sean shrugged as gravel crunched behind them. It was Rafe.
“Soph, you okay?”
She nodded as Rafe touched her shoulder in a protective gesture. Confidential’s chief of security took his job seriously.
“I’m fine. What’s happening?”
Rafe’s black eyes appraised her quickly, then he faced Sean. “Go on inside, Sophie. Majors and I have a couple of things to straighten out.”
BACK INSIDE, Sophie sat at the kitchen table on the second floor. She arched her shoulder. “I hit the ground on my right shoulder, and my palms and knees are scraped.” She looked down and saw the shredded stockings. “Dammit.” She tried to tug her skirt down, but it was too short.
Isabelle hurried in with the first-aid kit just as Rafe and Sean stepped into the room.
Rafe eyed Sophie but spoke to Isabelle. “She’s okay?”
“I told you, Rafe, I’m fine,” Sophie said.
“What’d you see?”
“I never saw the car until it was right on me. I tried to follow Sean’s instructions not to look back. I don’t think the car had a license plate, but I can’t be sure.”
“There was no license plate,” Sean said.
Rafe scowled as he dialed a number and listened. “Okay, guys. Good job. Bring in the videos. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
He put away his two-way radio. “Right. No plate, glass too dark to see through. You didn’t get a look at the shooter, did you?”
Sophie shook her head. “Sorry. I saw the reflection of sunlight on metal and dove instinctively.”
Isabelle dampened a square of gauze in alcohol and dabbed at Sophie’s knee through her shredded stocking.
Sophie waved her away. “Don’t,” she said. “I’ll run home and change. That will be the easiest thing.”
She heard the muted desperation in her voice and hoped everyone would chalk it up to reaction to being shot at. She had to get out of these ruined clothes and stockings, and she didn’t want anyone watching her.
She looked at her pin-striped skirt in regret. It was frayed at her hip where she’d hit the ground and damp from Sean Majors’s sweat. As she brushed her hand over the back of her skirt she felt Sean’s eyes on her.
Sean was all gritty primal male, with his bare, sweat-streaked arms, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. His eyes were stormy as he looked her over.
“That was a pretty good duck and cover you managed out there.”
Sophie stiffened. “Self-defense course,” she muttered.
Isabelle quickly stood, gathering up the first-aid paraphernalia. “Come on, Sophie. Let’s go into the dressing room and I’ll take care of those scratches and scrapes.
Sophie shook her head. “Nope. I’m going home.” She reached for her purse, and winced at her scraped palms. For some strange reason, she began to shiver. “I’m—I’m fine. I just need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll drive you,” Sean said.
Sophie stared up at him in surprise. She’d have bet he wouldn’t have left the scene until he’d gone over every square inch of it.
“After all, it was my fault you were out there getting shot at.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Rafe muttered.
Sean stiffened. “At least it was a plan.”
Sophie rushed to defuse the animosity between the two. “All right, please. Drive me to my apartment. I’ll change and we can come back here to discuss our next move.”
Rafe caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She needed to watch what she said.
Sure enough, Sean picked up on the remark. “Our next move?”
She stood and nodded. “Sure. Your next move.”
“Montoya, how long before I can see those tapes, and interview your men? Mr. Botero is going to want to know exactly what happened.”
“Any time you want. While you’re chauffeuring Sophie, I’ll take a look at them.”
Surprised at how shaky she still felt, Sophie directed Sean to her car, a late-model BMW convertible.
He stopped. “Maybe we should go in the pickup. I’m liable to get your car dirty.”
She looked him over, moistening her lips as her gaze lingered on his dust-streaked hair, the T-shirt that hung loose over his jeans, the mud-caked work boots.
Then she looked down at herself. “I’m as covered with dirt and dust as you are.”
“Okay.” He reached to open the passenger door for her and the muscles in his arm rippled. She knew how good that arm had felt, curved protectively around her head. No one had ever put themselves in harm’s way for her. Never. It was a new feeling. A warm and disturbing feeling.
Her body gave a little shudder as she moved in front of him and stepped into the car. Her tight skirt rode up, drawing a glance and a scowl from Sean before he slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He dug a cell phone out of his pocket before he climbed in and buckled his seat belt.
As he pulled away, avoiding the section of the driveway where the kidnappers’ car had spun around, reaction to her near miss clutched at Sophie.
Her job with the CIA had been as a graphics expert. She’d spent most of her time forging documents, identifying and duplicating inks and dyes used in water-marks and aging paper. She’d never had any field experience, although she’d gone through all the training and kept her firearms proficiency up to date.
She sat stiffly, her knees together, her hands clasped in her lap, their palms stinging. Her body shook. She pressed back into the seat.
“So, did nearly getting shot turn you on?”
Sean’s gruff voice held open hostility. He really didn’t like her. But then, she’d gone out of her way to make sure he thought she just wanted some thrills. And better he think that than know the truth. She was bound by her loyalty to Rachel and Miami Confidential not to reveal her true interest in the ransom drop.
“Not as much as—” Not as much as your hot body lying on top of me. She cleared her throat and forced herself to remember that she was playing a part. “As I’d hoped it would.”
“I didn’t think so.”
She gave a little laugh. “Maybe if I hadn’t ruined my new skirt and blouse.”
He kept his eyes on the road, his clenched jaw and his silence telegraphing his disapproval of her.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” she asked, watching him. He was so different today than he had been the last time she’d seen him. Then he’d been all business, the epitome of the young, stylish executive.
Today, dressed like a yard man, he was even sexier than she’d believed a man could be. The custom-fitted suit had hinted at a good body, but—Sophie moistened her lips and cursed herself for her weakness. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was muscular and lean, and his thighs, wrapped in the faded denim, were awesome.
His eyelashes were light brown and ridiculously long. She’d already noticed the unique color of his
eyes. His mouth was slightly crooked, which made his smile look as mischievous as a boy’s.
Just the kind of guy she never wanted to get involved with again.
“I really don’t have much of an opinion of you at all,” he said, pressing a button on his cell phone.
That was a lie. Just the fact that he was working so hard to sound unconcerned told her that. And oddly, even though she’d never admit it, it thrilled her that he was affected by her.
“Javier, let me speak to Carlos.”
Sophie pretended to look out the window as she listened to his conversation.
“No, don’t wake him. Just tell him I called.” He paused. “Nope. Nothing. Yeah, it’s going to be hard on him. Stay with him. If you think it would be better, I’ll drive over before I go home tonight and tell him in person. Thanks.”
He disconnected and dropped the phone into his lap. Sophie had to use a lot of strength not to look at it.
“Sonya’s father?” Sophie asked. “How’s he doing?”
Sean’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Not well. He’s sharp. His mind hasn’t been affected by the strokes, but his body…” He shook his head. “That’s another story. I don’t know if he’ll survive if Sonya isn’t found.”
“We’ll find her.”
Sean sent her a curious glance, and she realized what she’d said. She covered quickly. “I know how good Rafe is, and today you risked your life for mine.”
She shrugged and glanced at him sidelong. “Why would you do any less for your boss’s daughter?”
AT HER APARTMENT, Sophie had no choice but to invite Sean in while she changed. As she turned the key, she tried to remember if there was anything incriminating lying around. She’d brought copies of all the police files home with her to study, but they were in her bedroom on her bedside table.
Her framed CIA badge and certificate were in the bottom of her underwear drawer. Thank God she’d had sense enough to hide it from casual visitors’ eyes. Not that she actually had visitors, casual or otherwise.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes. Please make yourself at home. There’s water and juice in the refrigerator.”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked irritated and impatient. She wondered why he’d offered to drive her.
“I should have driven myself. There was no need for you to put yourself out.”
“Stop apologizing and get cleaned up. We need to look at your knees. I assume you have a first-aid kit.”
“And first-aid training,” she shot back. “I can apply antibiotic ointment and manipulate a bandage. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Sean watched Sophie walk away. Her skirt was twisted, the rip in her sleeve gaped, and a couple of blades of grass clung to the messy strands of her hair where it had nearly escaped its barrette. He couldn’t believe how lovely she was.
He took off his cap and ran his forearm across his forehead, then folded the cap lengthwise along the brim and stuck it in his back pocket. He heard the shower start as he headed to her kitchen for a bottle of water.
The ringing of his cell phone jerked his mind away from an unwanted vision of her standing naked under the hot spray. A glance told him the caller was Carlos. He compressed his lips, then blew out a breath. Damn, he hated to tell him there was no news about his daughter.
He answered. “Mr. Botero.”
“Sean, Javier told me you called.”
The old man’s slow speech told Sean that Javier had sedated him.
“What has happened? Did the kidnappers pick up the money?”
“No, sir. It appears that something spooked them. They drove up to the scheduled drop point in an unidentifiable Town Car and fired two gunshots at the woman who left the suitcase.”
“¡Dios mío! ¿Está viva? Was she hurt?”
“No, just a few scratches. She was shaken up. It was an employee of Weddings Your Way.” Sean paced.
“No news of my Sonya?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry.”
“Sonya, mi corazón. ¡Tráemela!”
Sean heard the deep sadness and grief in the old man’s voice. “We’re doing everything we can to find her, sir. But the shots they fired were a warning. The car was much too close to Sophie for them to miss her if they’d wanted to kill her.”
His body still carried the imprint of her trembling form beneath him as he’d tried to shield her. He’d expected to feel a bullet biting into his back at any second, but all that hit him was gravel as the car had peeled away.
The length of the living room wasn’t enough for his long strides. He stalked down the hall and into Sophie’s bedroom. “Mr. Botero, try not to worry. The money has been placed in Weddings Your Way’s safe, and we’ll hear from them again soon.”
A manila folder lying on Sophie’s bedside table caught his eye. He glanced back at the bathroom door, then walked over and flipped the folder open. It was the police file on Sonya Botero.
“I’d like to let the police know what happened.”
“¡No llames a la policía! The kidnappers will kill my daughter.” Carlos began to cough, and Javier took the phone. He told Sean he was going to give Carlos a sedative.
Sean thanked Javier, feeling helpless in the face of his employer’s grief. He pocketed his phone, then rifled through a few pages of reports. They were copies of the same information she’d given him.
He frowned. Why would an employee of Weddings Your Way be interested in police reports as bedtime reading? That was going pretty far beyond the line of duty for a designer of wedding invitations. Had she wanted to make sure she was knowledgeable about the case before working with him on the ransom drop?
How conscientious of her.
A change in the background noise told him she’d turned off the shower. He carefully closed the folder and backed out of her room, taking with him an impression of a snowy white coverlet with bright pink and yellow and pale green pillows.
He made it past the bathroom door before it opened with a puff of steam.
Sophie emerged, wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe with her hair wet and combed back from her face. She clutched the collar of her robe with one hand and held a first-aid kit in the other.
She stared at him with those wide blue eyes that seemed even wider without makeup.
His gaze traveled down the length of the robe to her feet. They were bare and damp, the toenails painted bright pink. He felt himself grow hard against the confining denim of his jeans.
Damn it. He didn’t have the time or the desire for a casual relationship—indeed, a relationship of any kind. Certainly not with this woman. Even though he’d been attracted to her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her long silk-clad legs in the lobby of Weddings Your Way.
But her remark about excitement and danger had turned him off emotionally. He clenched his teeth as his body quickly reminded him that, physically, she still affected him. But that was lust, plain and simple. And the fact that he’d let it influence him pissed him off.
He wasn’t even interested in the prim-and-proper Miss Sophie Brooks. Her cool demeanor obviously hid a wild side that rivaled his ex-wife’s.
Her remark about being turned on by danger had sounded exactly like something Cindy would say. Only Cindy had taken her excitement with a side order of drugs.
The thought of his ex-wife destroyed the spell of desire that had taken hold of him like a face full of cold water.
“I’ll be dressed in a few minutes,” Sophie said.
Sean looked up. “Good. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Sophie winced, and he felt a brief regret for his rude response. But it was too late. He’d said it. He couldn’t take it back.
“Of course.” She turned and walked stiffly down the hall. At the door to her room, she stopped. “Feel free to wash up.” Then she disappeared through the door to her room, closing it firmly.
Hell, he might as well. She’d probably be another half-hour, if he were lucky. He went into
the bathroom and shut the door. Steam still lingered in the air and a heady aroma of something sweet and soft filled his nostrils. His body stirred as he recognized the scent. She carried it on her skin. It had filled his head as he’d shielded her from the rifle shots with his face buried in her hair.
He picked up a damp towel to wipe the mirror and found himself bringing it to his nose. With a curse, he checked the movement and quickly swiped at the mirror, trying to wipe his brain clear of the image of Sophie rubbing that towel on her naked body in this room.
She wasn’t worth his time. In fact, he’d about decided no woman was. Not right now. He had little enough of that precious commodity, and every second that wasn’t devoted to his job belonged to his daughter.
Turning on the water in the sink, he dragged the sleeveless T-shirt over his head and splashed his grimy face, then quickly soaped and rinsed his upper torso. Luckily, she had antibacterial hand soap on the sink, so he didn’t have to end up smelling like her.
He dried off with the damp towel, then ran it over his hair, feeling a slightly mean satisfaction that her pristine white towel now carried a few streaks of his dust.
The impromptu bath made him feel much better. Unfortunately, he had to put on the same T-shirt again. But it wouldn’t be for long. He checked his watch. Five minutes.
At least twenty-five to go before she was ready. He ground his fist into his palm in impatience as he returned to the living room and gulped down the rest of his bottle of water.
He started pacing again. He was in a hurry to get back to Weddings Your Way and learn what Rafe Montoya had unearthed in the videotapes. He wanted to be sure they had checked the ground for spent rifle cartridges, as well as any glass or auto paint chips from Rafe’s men’s return fire.
He’d acted on impulse when he’d offered to drive Sophie home, the result of seeing her standing out there in the middle of the turnaround, looking small and vulnerable as the car sped toward her and the rifle shot rang out.
Hell and damnation. His protective instinct had kicked in the instant he’d heard the shots. Then, to his utter shock, he’d watched her instinctive response to the sound of gunfire. She looked like a perfect lady, but she’d ducked and rolled like a pro.
