Tag, You're It!

by Penny McCall

  “It’s not the vehicles, it’s the cost. Equipment like that takes a lot of capital to keep up. Nobody is going to put all those resources behind a project they don’t think is going to pay off. And on that scale they’re expecting a big one.”

  Tag stuffed his hands in his pockets and swallowed his anger. If Junior’s sideshow was what it took to convince her, so be it. “Now all we have to do is get hold of the map.”

  “We?” Alex said. “Why do I need you?”

  “I think I answered that question about an hour ago. In the alley.”

  ———

  ALEX WOKE UP, BLEARY-EYED, FUZZY-BRAINED, TAKING a while to comprehend that something was different than it had been when she’d hit the sheets—she raised her head and looked at the clock—a scant two hours before. And then it came to her, right about the time she dropped her head and it didn’t hit the pillow. Instead there was something firm, and warm, and slightly hairy under her cheek. She was lying on her left side, and there was something bony and warm and hairy under her left arm and leg, too.

  She tried to ease away, and that was when she noticed something hard and warm—and slightly hairy—around her waist, because it tightened, rasping across the bare skin between her T-shirt and panties.

  “Stop moving around, I’m trying to sleep,” Tag grumbled, his breath warm on her forehead, his body heat wrapping around her like a blanket—no, Tag was more like a cashmere sweater, warm, extravagant, and very, very sensual against the skin. Except she’d never gotten this kind of a rush from a sweater.

  “You were supposed to be sleeping in the chair,” she reminded him—and herself.

  “Too uncomfortable.”

  “Too bad.”

  He opened one eye, peered down at her. “Everything was fine until you decided you liked my side of the bed better than yours.”

  “Did not,” Alex protested, and then she realized he was right. She was plastered against him, and they were definitely not on the half of the bed she’d started the night out on. “If you’d stayed put, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Right, it has nothing to do with your lack of self-control.”

  “I can control myself just fine.” She tried to roll away, but his arm tightened again.

  His hand splayed low across her belly, shooting heat into parts of her that had no business being hot. And then the warmth turned to need, and the need to something that wound inside her, tighter and tighter until it was nearly impossible to resist. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, how it would be if she gave in and let herself sample all that hardness she felt against her, to have his mouth on hers and his hands on her body. She shifted and stretched, restless, trying to ease the tightness and at the same time savoring it.

  “If you don’t stop that neither one of us is getting any more sleep tonight.”

  “You started it.”

  “And I’m more than willing to finish it. You’re the one who’s afraid.”

  “Afraid!” She reared up, braced her hands on his chest, and knew immediately that she’d played right into his hands—among other body parts.

  He slipped a knee between her thighs and up, until his leg was pressed against her. The pressure felt so good her eyes fluttered closed and her breath sighed out, and all she could think was more. So she kissed him, and she liked that so much she let her body get into the act. Tag seemed to be enjoying it, too, right up to the moment he jerked away from her, rolling onto his back and letting out a huge breath.

  For a minute she was simply stunned, then she said, “Who’s afraid?”

  “Not me.” And he was obviously still willing, but he wasn’t doing anything about it.

  Neither could she, after he’d rejected her. If one of them was going to initiate the action again, it was going to have to be him.

  “The chair is over there,” she said.

  Tag lifted up and looked in the corner. “Yep,” he said, “there’s the chair.”

  “We agreed you were going to sleep in it.”

  “True. Problem is, I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t get any sleep last night, either, and that’s no good. Not if I want to get through tomorrow in one piece. Exhaustion causes mistakes, and there isn’t any room for error in this.”

  “Fine. You need the bed, it’s yours.” She threw the covers back and got out of bed before her body could change her mind. Tag reached for her but she slipped away and went into the bathroom to cool off. And get over her embarrassment.

  Before this he’d been the one making all the advances, and she’d been the one fending him off. She didn’t like having the tables turned, especially the part where he put on the brakes. Sure, if he hadn’t put on the brakes they’d have had sex, and she really wouldn’t have liked that— okay she’d have liked it during, but after, there would have been regrets. Major regrets.

  She probably should have thanked Tag for saving her from the regrets, but she was still stinging from the rejection.

  “Alex?” Tag said through the door.

  “Yeah.”

  “You staying in there the rest of the night?”

  “I might. It’s nice to have indoor plumbing. I think I should take my time and really appreciate it while I can.”

  He laughed, sounding relaxed and sexy. The jerk.

  “I think you should go,” she said.

  And while she was fighting the urge to call him back she heard the window open and close and she knew he’d snuck out. It was part of the agreement they’d made before they’d turned in; an agreement that didn’t involve the exchange of bodily fluids. She’d violated that arrangement, not to mention him, by sticking her tongue in his mouth. But she was blaming it on Tag; he’d agreed to sleep in the chair, so he’d broken the agreement first.

  But she was too honest with herself to ignore the truth. The two things didn’t equate—his climbing into her bed and her kissing him. The difference was, sleeping in the chair was an inconvenience, sneaking out got him closer to the Lost Spaniard, and having sex with her might be more trouble than it was worth.

  The only important question was, would he live up to the rest of the pact they’d made?

  Chapter Nine

  ALEX TRIED TO GET BACK TO SLEEP AFTER TAG LEFT.

  By six a.m. she decided it was a lost cause, so she dragged herself upright, stumbled into the shower, and came out to find a pale, hollow-eyed woman staring back at her from the mirror. Her leg was sore, her ego was bruised, and she was exhausted. And she was blaming all of it on Tag.

  The night had started off okay—after the attempted kidnapping, and the attempted murder. She’d floated off to sleep on a haze of beer and aspirin, and okay, having Tag close by had contributed to her peace of mind. As long as he’d stayed on his side of the room. Climbing into bed with her, that was crossing boundaries. Getting her all worked up, then leaving her with an itch there was no way to cure? That was cruel, and the only remedy she had was to take her mind off it and hope her body would follow suit.

  She went to see Jackass, and the quiet of the stable was soothing—if she ignored the way he looked at her. Reproachful was how she’d describe it, like he knew she’d been an idiot last night and he was disappointed.

  “I didn’t go through with it,” she said to him, choosing not to mention that Tag had been the rational one.

  Jackass didn’t look completely mollified, but he let her take him out for a long walk in the prairie across the river. Her thigh hurt, but by the time they got back to town she felt better, almost back to her pre-Tag self.

  It didn’t last long. Part of it was reality sinking in. She had a mission to accomplish that morning, an unpleasant mission. Casteel was the other downer.

  The town was wall-to-wall people, all four square miles of it. People asking questions, people staring and whispering, people acting loony. Not that loony was all that unusual for Casteel, it was just that the craziness had always been on the periphery of her life. Now it was hitting her right in t
he face. Full frontal craziness.

  She worked her way from one end of town to the other, fending people off with a glare when she could, a brusque “I don’t know” when a visual put-down didn’t cut it.

  She’d have given her left arm to see one normal human being—and she didn’t mean Tag, she thought, rolling her eyes when she realized his was the face she’d been searching the crowd for. Normal was the last adjective she’d use to describe Tag Donovan. Irritating. There was a word for him. Untrustworthy, confusing. Fraud.

  She didn’t really know who Tag was, but she knew he was using her. So what the hell had she been thinking, jumping him like that? Sure she’d wanted him, but that had been more along the lines of… repayment than personal interaction. She was entitled to some instant gratification. After everything she’d lost because of him, he owed her that much. And she ought to have her head examined.

  If she had any sense she’d get out of town, but that would be running away, and dammit if she couldn’t hear Tag saying “I told you so” with that stupid smirk on his face because she was thinking of bolting, just like she’d done the last time her life got a little rough.

  She was a target, and if she wasn’t going to run away she needed to pick a side. Between Tag and Junior, there really wasn’t a choice. Of course, she could always go off and find the treasure on her own.

  “Hey, Alex.” Rusty Hale halted directly in front of her so she had no choice but to stop. She blamed Tag for that, too. If she’d been paying attention to something besides the way he’d felt wrapped around her in bed—

  “That’s some limp you got there.” Rusty said.

  —her idiot radar would have gone off in time.

  “I seen you take that city feller up to your room last night,” the idiot said. “Boy howdy, you must have put a smile on his face.”

  Then again… “You were at the inn last night?”

  “Me and half the town.”

  “Any of the guys from the SUVs in there?”

  “Nope, they pretty much stay to themselves. I heard old man Winston moved in with his daughter and rented his place out to that French guy and his crew.”

  She already knew that. Tag had told her last night. “You’re sure one of Dussaud’s men wasn’t sitting in a corner somewhere?”

  “Positive. The whole town is jacked up because they’re being so standoffish.”

  Alex let her breath out, rolling her shoulders to work out some of the tension. “I guess they think they’re too good for us.”

  “Some folks say that about you,” Rusty said, “but I ain’t one of ‘em.” He smiled and sidled a step closer. He probably thought he was being charming. Alex was fighting her gag reflex. “A woman as pretty as you can afford to be choosy, that’s all.”

  “Choosy, as in I don’t date married men.”

  “What if I told you I was separated?”

  That made her laugh. “Last time you tried to pick me up you said you were divorced.”

  “I was probably drunk when I told you that. Guess I should keep better track of my stories.”

  The look Alex gave him said it all. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the message.

  “Maybe we could have a friendly drink later. If you’re still gonna be in town.”

  “Sure, bring your wife along. I imagine Verna would like to get out of the house.”

  “That ain’t funny.”

  No, it wasn’t funny, but she needed the comic relief or she might pop Rusty in the mouth.

  “I heard you were burned out of your cabin,” he said. “Where you gonna go?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t stay at the hotel indefinitely, so I guess I’ll have to camp out this season.”

  “The weather is finally warming up, but it’s still pretty unpredictable,” Rusty reminded her.

  “That’ll give me time to pick up the gear I’ll need.”

  Rusty slid his hands into his back pockets, which was apparently his thinking position. “Be awfully convenient to look for the treasure while you’re camping out.”

  “It sure would be. If I had any idea where to look.”

  Rusty snorted. “If you didn’t know before, I’ll bet that Donovan character told you last night.”

  Now she really wanted to pop him one. In fact her fist was already clenched and moving before she stopped herself. Nothing said “you’re right” quite like a violent denial. “What I do and who I do it with is none of your concern,” she said, injecting ice into the words.

  “Now Alex, don’t go getting all indignant on me. I was only hoping you’d cut me in. For old times’ sake.”

  “We don’t have any ‘old times.’” He was just trying to ferret out her plans, although rat would have been a more appropriate rodent. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask Tag if he wants to cut you in, and if he says it’s all right—”

  “Now, there’s no need for that. He’s liable to get the wrong impression.”

  “What impression? That you think I’m trying to screw him out of the Spaniard’s location? Or that you’re trying to screw us both?”

  Rusty had the good grace to flush. “I, uh, oughtta get home for lunch,” he muttered, brushing by her and hotfootit down the sidewalk.

  Probably afraid she’d beat him home and tell his wife. Tempting, but if Verna didn’t know she was married to a philandering idiot, Alex wasn’t going to break the news. And anyway, she had shorter fish to fry.

  She headed in the opposite direction and hung a left at the last crossroad before the end of town. Willow Street ran parallel to the main drag and one block north. She made a right, and another block brought her to old man Winston’s small frame house.

  The place across the street boasted a gated arbor covered with winter-browned ivy and clematis. It provided precious little camouflage, but standing inside it made Alex feel marginally less exposed. At least physically. In every other respect she might as well be bare-assed in the wind.

  She couldn’t trust Tag Donovan, and she couldn’t trust Junior. She was broke, homeless, and people were trying to kill her because they thought she was after the Lost Spaniard. Solution? She needed that treasure map. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she actually managed to get her hands on it, but adapting to circumstances seemed to have worked so far.

  Present circumstances, however, weren’t all that flexible. The way she saw it there were two options. Option One involved knocking on the front door of old man Winhouse and having personal interaction with Junior— translation, ego stroking. Not one of her better developed skills. Option Two would entail black clothing and a total disregard for law and order.

  Faced with those choices, Alex thought she could psych herself up for armed robbery. She’d gotten pretty good at stealth working with mountain lions. But there was a guy stationed at the front of the house and she’d caught a glimpse of another pacing along the back, and it wasn’t a very big place. She’d never get away with it, and knowing the local cop wouldn’t be any help whatsoever. If she got caught she probably wouldn’t have to worry about currying favor or cooling her heels—unless it was in an actual cooler. And she was wearing a toe tag…

  Okay, so there was really only one choice. She took a deep breath and walked across the street before she could change her mind. The goon out front tracked her with his eyes, but otherwise he could have been a gargoyle standing in the shadows at the corner of the house. A particularly ugly gargoyle.

  The front door was opened before she could knock— which explained why the gargoyle hadn’t tried to intercept her.

  “Mademoiselle Scott,” Junior said, the epitome of Frenchness, smooth, charming, more than a little creepy. Marquis de Sade in miniature, with some Casanova thrown in just to make things even more uncomfortable. Okay, Casanova was Italian, but it was the best she could come up with.

  “I am so happy you have come to call.” Junior stood back, smiling wide, inviting her in with a sweep of his arm.

  Alex accepted his invitation, trying to ignore
the tingle between her shoulder blades when the door shut behind her. It took some doing, but her knees didn’t knock, and as long as she kept breathing she wouldn’t pass out. The thought of being unconscious and helpless in enemy territory scared her enough to make her gulp in some air.

  “This is an unexpected pleasure,” Junior said. “I was delighted to see you at my front door, but at the risk of being unforgivably rude, I must ask what brings you here after you so decidedly refused me in the street yesterday?”

  And embarrassed him. She didn’t miss the accusation in his voice, or delude herself that he wanted to make her suffer for it. “Call me Alex,” she said, deciding to dispense with the groveling right off the bat; the sooner it was behind her, the sooner she could do what she’d come to do and get the hell out of there. “I guess I owe you an apology, Mr. Dussaud. It seems I forgot to pay my last insurance premium.”

  “So you are, how do you say, up a creek? And you are wondering if my offer is still open.”

  And this is where it got really tricky. “I’m just… exploring my options.”

  “Let us be honest with each other, Alex. You would not be here if you had other options.”

  “Not true,” she shot back, tired of everyone telling her she was helpless without some big strong man at her side. Or a really short one who had big strong men on his payroll. “I have other resources. Professional associates, professors and advisors from college.”

  “You have not mentioned family.”

  She looked down, going for pathetic, but she was watching him through her lashes to see if he bought it. When she saw him smile she knew she had him. Tag wasn’t the only one who could manipulate.

  “You pretend to be rough around the edges,” Junior said, “but you have failed to completely rub off the polish of your upbringing. And you would rather not go home a failure, I think.”

  She gave him a level stare so he could have a moment to congratulate himself on his insight. Not that he was wrong, but she’d never tried to rub anything off. She was who she was, and she didn’t apologize for it. “You wanted plain? Here’s plain. I didn’t lose everything. I still have a responsibility to fulfill the terms of my grant. If I don’t, my reputation will be ruined and I’ll never work in my field again. I need to make some money. Fast.”