by Debra Webb
He studied her a moment with those emerald eyes. “Do I know you?”
Despite the spirited music blaring in the background, the uncommonly deep sound of his voice made Casey shiver as if the night air had somehow cut through the warmth of the room and splashed chill bumps across her skin. She shook it off. Focus. What kind of game was he playing?
“If you don’t,” she warned, “you’re about to become intimately acquainted.”
He smiled. Just a smile. Wide, open and fiercely attractive. Casey ordered herself to breathe.
“Why don’t you join me?” He indicated the vacant chair at his table.
Fury whiplashed Casey, booting her from amateur land. What the heck was wrong with her? Maybe the place and the music or the ridiculous concept that she was still furious at her ex and revenge was baiting her with the idea that this guy was nothing short of hot.
“Outside.” She didn’t wait to see if he intended to follow the order. Seriously ticked off at herself and his intrusion into her mission, she executed an about-face, worked her way through the crowd and out the door.
Too many eyes and ears in the courtyard, she observed. Beyond the arched entry that welcomed guests and patrons to the hotel grounds, the street was empty. Good. He was behind her. Not that he made a sound; his movements were remarkably soundless. She could feel him.
The street corner would work. As she approached that mark, Casey reached under her skirt and snatched the .22 from its holster, then wheeled to face the annoying glitch in her plan. Rather than meeting his green eyes beneath the moonlight, her gaze locked on the business end of a sleek 9mm.
Well, well. She would have thought of this if she hadn’t been so busy analyzing his eyes and smile. What a stupid mistake!
“Who’re you?” he demanded.
“Ladies first,” Casey fired back. “Who are you and why are you following me?” She tightened her grip on the .22 and widened her stance. Shooting him on the street like this wasn’t exactly how she’d planned her evening but she could be flexible when the need arose.
His gaze narrowed. “Who said I was following you? I just arrived in Pozos today. If you mean now, you invited me.”
Yeah, right. “Do you always vacation armed?”
“What makes you think I’m on vacation?”
He had her there. “Lower your weapon and I’ll lower mine.”
The hesitation was understandable but his next move surprised her.
He lowered his weapon.
She almost laughed out loud. Now he was being stupid. Bad move.
Casey kicked the weapon from his hand and moved in. “Who are you?” she demanded, the muzzle of her .22 rammed into the underside of his chin.
“Let me introduce you.” The male voice came from behind her.
Casey’s brain analyzed and identified the voice a split second after recognizing the sensation of a steel barrel boring into the back of her skull.
“Get his weapon,” Fernandez ordered as he claimed Casey’s .22. “Ensure that he carries no others.”
“Hands up, pendejo,” the sidekick with Fernandez ordered as he poked the emerald-eyed stranger in the back with enough force to have him stumbling forward, face-first into her.
Absorbing the impact of his body with a grunt, Casey backed into Fernandez who nudged her with the weapon as a reminder that he had the upper hand. “We had a deal,” she said over her shoulder. Was there no honor at all among his kind?
“I,” he said as he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back, “have a deal that supersedes yours, chiquita.”
That certainly explained everything. “I’ll pay you double whatever he is paying you.” Whoever Green Eyes was, he wasn’t about to one-up Casey Manning. She didn’t care if he had made his deal first.
“Triple,” Green Eyes countered, his gaze glued to Casey’s, his hands in the air while Fernandez’s cohort frisked him.
Who the hell was this guy? Ignoring the muzzle biting into her scalp, Casey twisted to face Fernandez. His ruthless grip tightened in her hair. She gritted her teeth to restrain a wince. “You double-cross me and you won’t live to regret it, my friend.” Anger, mostly at herself, scorched away any trace of common sense she had left. Kicking this guy’s butt was going to feel so good. Even if it kills you? Her uncle’s voice echoed in her ears.
Fernandez snorted. “Perhaps you are the one who will not live to regret it.”
“Watch out!” Green Eyes shouted a split second before a blow rattled Casey’s brain.
Pain shattered her skull. Her mind willed her to strike back but the blackness swallowed her too fast.
She was down.
Chapter Three
She wasn’t dead.
That was good.
Maybe. Levi wasn’t so sure. So far this woman appeared as much an enemy as the guys driving the truck but since she and Levi were in the same predicament he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
The pickup bumped over the rutted road, tossing him against the woman. He tried to roll away from her but with his hands and feet bound, he had little control over his movements.
He had no idea who she was. Fernandez had refused to give her name when he and Levi had conducted their first on-site meeting. Levi had tried getting a shot of her with his cell phone to send to Victoria at the agency for possible identification but this chick was too smart for that. She stayed meshed with her surroundings, limiting photo ops. He couldn’t exactly send the description that best suited her. Long, silky blond hair and radiant blue eyes, and a body that made her hard to ignore. Lean but with just the slightest gentle curves in all the right places. The woman was striking, there was no denying. Levi savored a deep breath of her scent. And she smelled like flowers right after a rain. Not a gaudy, cloying scent. A delicate, honeyed fragrance that had him leaning closer when he knew better.
As good as she smelled that didn’t mean she wasn’t as thorny as the award-winning roses his mother nurtured in her garden back in Tallahassee.
Another bounce of the truck and Levi rolled against her, a little harder this time. She groaned and her eyes fluttered open. It took a second or two for her to assess the situation before he felt the tension ripple through her. She started to squirm. Not exactly an unpleasant thing but definitely a dangerous one.
“Hey, hey!” he whispered, infusing as much urgency as possible into his tone. “Take it easy.” If she started screaming the driver would likely stop to shut her up. For good this time. With his hands tied behind his back Levi couldn’t stop her from yelling if she decided to go for it. “Don’t scream, okay?” He held his breath, braced for the worst.
She stilled. No screaming, thankfully. He dared to breathe.
“I don’t know where they’re taking us,” he explained, “but I’m reasonably certain they intend this moonlight drive to be our last ride.”
There wasn’t enough light to read her expression much less her eyes as she analyzed his warning for a beat or two. “Who are you?”
Persistent, wasn’t she? They really didn’t have time for this but if it would gain her cooperation for now it would be worth the inconvenience. “I’m a private detective. I believe we’re looking for the same person.” She started to squirm again. “I’m not your enemy,” he reassured her. She ignored him and kept wiggling. She was going to get them killed earlier than already scheduled.
“If you draw their attention—”
Before he finished the warning she had fidgeted around until her bound hands were behind her bent knees. With some soft swearing and more struggling she worked until she slipped her right leg free of the loop her arms made, then she did the same with her left.
No way could he achieve that move.
Before he had stopped marveling at her spectacular physical feat, she rummaged around beneath her skirt. There was a metal clunk, more scrambling with her hands, and finally a distinct click he recognized. That could be trouble. For him.
“Turn over.”
> His full attention fixed on the knife in her hand.
“Turn over,” she repeated.
Levi rolled onto his right side. If he was lucky she was about to cut him loose. If he wasn’t, she might be about to bury the blade to the hilt. The decision required little weighing. He would take his chances with her any day over the hombres in the cab. At the very least she would be easier to subdue. Maybe. The sawing action against the ropes constricting his wrists permitted a fraction of relief.
“Now do me.”
That was an invitation he would gladly accept now and later. Levi had to remind himself that, from what he knew, the lady was as likely to shoot him as she was to do anything else. She’d drawn her weapon first back there. She might not be as easy to subdue as she looked. She had acted quite fearless.
Exiling those concerns for now, he rolled back to his left and accepted the small switchblade. Waiting through a couple of bucks of the pickup was necessary before sliding the blade between her tightly bound wrists. The instant she was free she rubbed at the chafed skin. Levi quickly cut through the bindings around his ankles then reached for hers. She trembled when he touched her.
Soft. Her skin was soft and smooth as if she’d carefully shaved her legs then massaged them with lotion in anticipation of him touching her.
Did he really just think that?
The desert’s night air had obviously drugged him. Or maybe it was that subtle sweet scent of hers.
Another crazy notion. Okay, Stark, get it together. He sliced through the ropes, then closed the switchblade.
“I’ll hang on to that.” She took the knife from him and prepared to sit up.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Before his mush for brains could form a coherent thought and stop him, he’d grabbed her and pulled her back down beside him.
She jerked free of his hold. “You grab me like that again and I’ll—”
“They have guns,” he warned in case she didn’t recall. “If we move around or try to jump out and they notice—which they will—they’ll shoot.”
“You’re suggesting we just lie here and wait for them to take us wherever they want?”
Sounded lame when she put it that way. “I’m suggesting we maintain the element of surprise. They won’t expect us to have gotten loose or to have a weapon. When they stop and come back for us, we’ll make the first strike.” Speaking of which… “Are you going to be able to use that knife when the time comes?” Fair question.
She laughed. If it hadn’t annoyed the devil out of him he might have liked the throaty, honest sound of it.
“Look, mister, I don’t know who you are—”
“Levi Stark.” He hadn’t gotten to his name before. She had a way of cutting him off like that. “My name is Levi Stark and I’m well trained in the use of weapons.” The Colby Agency ensured top-notch training before turning investigators loose in the field.
“Glad to hear it, Stark.” She slumped onto her back. “But I’ll take my chances with my own training.”
It was her switchblade; the choice was hers. “You didn’t tell me your name.” If they were about to fight or die together, perhaps both, knowing her name would make the circumstances a bit more civil.
“Casey,” she said with a long look in his direction. “Casey Manning.”
Nice name. “We can check the bed of the truck, moving around as little as possible, and see if we can find anything usable as a weapon.”
“Stellar idea.”
At least they agreed on one thing.
Keeping their movements as controlled and minimal as possible, each searched one side of the truck bed from cab to tailgate. The truck was old and there was plenty of filth, but not much else. Finally Levi’s fingers encountered cold steel. They curled around the object and he grinned. Just what he’d hoped for. He scooted back to Casey, swaying with the jarring ride.
When he was close enough, she said, “I found a whole lot of nothing. You?”
“Tire iron.” He was looking forward to using it after the way those two locos had whacked Casey. A frown tugged at his lips. He hadn’t even asked about that. “How’s your head?” Chances were she had a colossal headache and a nice lump to show for her lack of cooperation.
“Hurts.” She rubbed at the back of her head. “No real damage.”
“Good.” He had to wonder at her training. Arguing with an armed man, especially when the muzzle was right in your face, was not a smart move.
“There’s a sizeable hole in your strategy, Stark.”
“What hole?” His plan was markedly better than jumping from a moving vehicle in the dark or informing the bad guys that they’d gotten loose. If she had a better one, she should speak up.
“When they realize we’re not secured, the element of surprise will no longer be ours. I estimate that’ll take about three seconds.”
She had him there. “Good point.” He considered a way around that strategic error. “I guess we’ll just have to tie each other up again.”
“I’ll take care of our feet.”
Before he could offer to do it, she scooted down to handle the task. If she had noticed his fascination with her ankles he doubted she wanted him in that position again. It was bad enough he recognized his own idiocy, he’d prefer not to show it off.
“We can hold the ropes around our wrists.” She settled in next to him once more. “Did you overhear anything about where they’re taking us?”
Levi stared out at the passing landscape. The stars and moon were helpful but nothing about the dark, desolate terrain gave him a clue as to where they were headed. And his command of the Spanish language wasn’t that noteworthy. “The best I could understand, the destination is an abandoned mine.”
“That could be anywhere around here,” she muttered, clearly annoyed. “They’re all over the place.”
The truck slowed, then turned to the left. Tension screwed tighter inside him. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.” He tucked the tire iron into his waistband at his side and hoped the jacket would cover it sufficiently and that it wouldn’t fall out.
“One question.”
He turned to her, tried to read her face in the moonlight. “What’s that?”
“If we overtake these guys, what’s to keep you from overtaking me? Or trying anyway?” she added with a note of challenge that didn’t quite rise to the occasion.
Was that vulnerability he heard in her voice? “You have the knife,” he reminded her. His protective instincts stirred though he felt reasonably certain she could take care of herself.
“You have the tire iron,” she countered.
“Wanna trade?” he offered. It wasn’t the time to be joking around and she was a stranger. Competition, it seemed. But he was pretty sure they both needed a break in the tension.
“I’ll stick with the knife.” She released a breathy sound, almost a laugh. “No pun intended.”
The truck rocked to a stop.
“Showtime,” she murmured.
The engine remained idling but the men’s raised voices were audible above the rumble. Levi tried to make out some part of the conversation. Now he wished he had taken the time to master Spanish years ago. It didn’t take a linguist, however, to recognize the two were in strict disagreement.
“The driver wants the other guy to do this while he waits in the truck.”
He shouldn’t have been, but Levi was impressed. Another expedient skill of hers. The passenger side door creaking open prevented him from offering a compliment and sticking his foot deeper into his mouth. This woman, Casey Manning, was his rival first and foremost. Caution was advisable.
The tailgate flopped open.
Casey stiffened next to him.
The guy, in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, said something in Spanish. Didn’t sound positive. That it was the guy in the sweatshirt rather than the other one was preferable. The driver, the one in the striped shirt, seemed to be in charge and had apparently garnered that position with an extra measure o
f ruthlessness.
The man in the sweatshirt grabbed Casey by the ankles and dragged her forward. She screamed as if she were frightened. Levi was relatively certain she wasn’t quite that scared. She wanted her captor off guard. The man cut the rope around her ankles and yanked her to her feet. She staggered away from him. He waved the pistol in his other hand and told her not to move. That part Levi understood perfectly. Casey froze as ordered.
Levi was next. When his feet hit the ground, he backed up to stand near Casey. Another string of Spanish accompanied by a magnanimous gesture had Casey moving away from the truck and road. Levi followed. A flashlight clicked on, its beam cutting through the darkness. Cactus scrub and eroded sandy landscape stretched out before them, interrupted occasionally by crumbling stone and brick ruins. A low-slung moon showcased the Sierra Gorda Mountains and the foothills that stretched toward them. They kept walking. The pickup was a couple hundred yards behind them now but still visible.
Casey suddenly stumbled and fell to her knees on the ground. Levi squeezed his hands into fists to prevent releasing the ropes and reaching for her. The timing had to be right.
The bastard in the sweatshirt kicked at her. Levi locked his jaw. She wailed as if she were seriously injured and couldn’t get up. Shouting a mixture of Spanish and English profanities, the jerk shoved the flashlight under his arm and grabbed her. He had put his knife into his pocket as soon as he’d freed their feet in the truck, but he still held a gun.
Levi made his move. He grabbed the guy in a choke hold and snatched at the gun with his free hand. Got it. The man twisted and squirmed and tried to grab at Levi. The flashlight dropped to the ground, its beam bouncing to a stop. Thirty seconds more and the pressure on the man’s throat rendered him unconscious. Levi let go and he crumpled to the ground.
“Why didn’t you just hit him?” Casey grumbled as she grabbed the flashlight.
