Edge of Sight

by Roxanne St Claire

  “That’s what the concierge said.”

  He seized on that. “You don’t know?”

  She shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure it’s Thursday. It’s two more miles to the turn to Ballyclare. You know, I just like saying that, such an Irish word. Have you noticed how different the accent is up here? More British than brogue, don’t you think?” She toyed with that strand of hair again, catching his gaze. “What?”

  “You don’t want to talk about yourself, Devyn, do you?”

  She shook her head a little.

  “Why’s that? Oh, wait, I know. Private, not secretive.”

  “And someone as charming and gracious as you, Marc, would respect that and stop asking questions.”

  He nodded, threading some cars to the exit, sliding onto the more countrified road that headed toward the haze hanging over the coastline. “Why don’t we make a deal, then?”

  “A deal. Okay. What do you propose?”

  He reached over and took her hand, which was as warm as when he’d touched her before, slender and soft and feminine, the feel of her skin giving him a tug of attraction.

  Making his suggestion the most natural thing in the world. “Every time you don’t want to answer, kiss me.”

  “Kiss you?” She half choked.

  “Yeah, it’s Ireland. Blarney Stone and all that. Everyone kisses here, don’t they?”

  Her chuckle was low, and a little sexy. “I don’t know about that…”

  “Doesn’t have to be on the lips, Devyn. Just… like this.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and barely breathed a kiss on her knuckles. “Then I’ll know that you don’t want to answer me, for whatever secret, er, I mean, private reason.”

  “But you’ll just keep asking.” She didn’t slide her hand out of his.

  “You can answer, or you can kiss. In the investment business, we call that a win-win situation.”

  “In some businesses, they call it a bait and switch.”

  “What business are you in?” he asked.

  She leaned over the console, a soft whiff of something floral preceding a whisper of her lips against his unshaven face. “That’s private.”

  He just smiled. She wasn’t going to be easy, but sticking by Devyn’s side was going to be fun. Maybe too much fun.

  Want more sizzling romance

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  FACE OF DANGER

  Available in May 2011.

  When Vivi Angelino closed her mouth over a wide straw and sucked hard enough to hollow her delicate cheeks, Colton Lang almost got a boner.

  Almost.

  The state of damn-near-hard was status quo around this woman, so in the few months he’d been sending consulting jobs to her firm, Colt had learned a couple of tricks to ensure that almost didn’t become obvious.

  He would focus on her outlandish black hair, made even more so today by the helmet and what appeared to be yesterday’s hair gel. Or he’d let his gaze settle on the diamond dot in the side of her nose, concentrating on how much that puncture had to hurt instead of how it would feel to… lick it.

  Or he’d simply remind himself that this skateboard-riding, sneaker-wearing, guitar-playing tomboy happened to have some of the best investigative instincts around, and he wanted to keep the Guardian Angelinos in his back pocket for certain jobs, so acting on a mindless surge of blood to his dick would be unprofessional and stupid.

  That was usually enough to quell the erection. Sometimes. Today, finding her in this skate park with a little sheen of perspiration making her pixie-like features glisten and her coffee-bean-brown eyes sparking with unexpected interest, the boner might win this battle.

  But look at that outfit, Colt. A long-sleeved cotton T-shirt that dangled off her narrow frame and faded green cargo pants frayed at the cuffs. He could never be attracted to a woman who cared so little about herself she rolled around Boston dressed like a teenage delinquent.

  He preferred a woman who looked like a woman, who wore a little makeup, had hair falling to her shoulders, and maybe strolled—not rolled—through a park in a pretty sundress. He’d bet his bottom dollar she didn’t own a dress.

  “All right, I’ll tell you,” she said after swallowing. “But I swear to God, Lang, don’t try to talk me out of it, because I want this job.”

  “What job?”

  “You’ve heard about the Red Carpet Killer, of course.”

  He held his Coke, frozen midway to his mouth. “You don’t buy that malarkey, do you?”

  She smiled. “Lang, malarkey hasn’t been sold for forty years. Can you get with this century? And two Oscar-winning actresses in a row are killed in two consecutive years, weeks after winning? You really think that’s a coincidence?”

  “Accidents, both of them. But I do know there’s an FBI task force out of L.A. with an eye on the possibility of a copycat killer.”

  “Exactly.” She pointed at him. “Even if the first two deaths are mere coincidence, there are five women in Hollywood who are scared spitless right now. They are ramping up security like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “You think they’re going to hire your firm for protection?” He tried not to scoff, he really did. But it was ludicrous. “A brand-new firm made up of an extended family of renegade Angelinos and Rossi cousins?”

  No surprise, her espresso eyes narrowed in disgust. “We are not renegades, for God’s sake. I’m a former investigative journalist, in case you forgot, so getting a PI license was a natural move. Zach’s thriving in management, which frankly shocks the shit out of me after all those years as an Army Ranger. And, yeah, our core employee base happens to be a few cousins my brother and I were raised with—”

  “Don’t forget Uncle Nino, providing pasta and daily encouragement.”

  “Don’t knock my Nino,” she shot back. “And, for your information, we’re interviewing protection and security specialists, including some top-notch bodyguards. The Guardian Angelinos are in a growth spurt.”

  He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “I know that, Vivi, especially since I keep throwing FBI consulting jobs at you. I just think the actresses who are worried about being victims of a curse or a killer will hire the biggest and best in the protection industry.”

  “Maybe.” She took another drink, her eyes dancing with some untold secret. “What do you think of Cara Ferrari?”

  “I think I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.”

  She looked skyward with a loud tsk. “I meant of her chances to win.”

  “I don’t follow Hollywood too closely, but I did see that remake of Now, Voyager. She couldn’t touch Bette Davis’s original, in my opinion.”

  “Fortunately, your opinion doesn’t matter. She’s got a chance.” She gave him a slow smile, revealing that tiny chip on her front tooth. He’d thought about licking that, too. “So I think I do, too.”

  He just shook his head, not following, but maybe because his body was betraying him again.

  “Look at me,” she demanded, leaning back to plop her hands on her hips and cock her head to one side.

  “I’m looking.” That was the problem. She was so damn cute he forgot what they were talking about.

  “Look, Lang.”

  At what? The way her position pulled the T-shirt just tight enough to outline her breasts? They weren’t big but perky and sweet, just as spunky as she was, and, well, even on Vivi some things were feminine. Is that what she wanted him to look at? Because, if he eyed them any longer, his hard-on was poised to make a reappearance.

  “Don’t you see the resemblance?” She turned her face to give him a profile, lifting her chin, closing her eyes, and easing her head back in a classic movie star pose. His gaze dropped over her throat, which was… just another fucking thing he wanted to lick.

  Jesus, Colt.
Get a grip.

  She whipped her face around, and for one insane second he thought she’d read his mind.

  “I look exactly like Cara Ferrari,” she insisted.

  He let out a soft hoot of laughter. “Are you as stoned as half these other skaters?”

  She scowled at him. “Real skaters don’t get high, posers do. And look at this face,” she demanded, pointing to her cheeks with two index fingers. “Is this not Cara Ferrari’s twin sister?”

  He just laughed softly. “Speaking of posers.”

  “Lang, damn it.” Frustration heightened her color, making her even cuter. “Everyone says I look like her. I mean if my hair were longer and I, you know, had some makeup on.”

  “Like a truckload.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

  “I get stopped and asked if I’m Cara Ferrari all the time,” she insisted.

  “And you believe what drunks say to you in bars?”

  “Jeez, you’re as bad as my cousins. Quit teasing me and take this seriously.”

  He worked his face into the most humorless expression he had, and he had many. “Cara Ferrari is a movie star, Vivi.”

  “So?”

  How deep was she going to let him dig himself? “I mean, she’s a gorgeous icon…”

  Deep.

  “Not that you’re not really attractive in your own way…” This was getting worse, but on he went. “It’s just that she’s all glitz and glamour and gloss and you’re…” Not.

  “I can glam up.”

  Now, that he’d like to see. “All right,” he relented, not wanting to hurt her. He squinted at her, and made a camera viewing box with his fingers. “Yeah, I can see the similarity. You both have dark hair and dark eyes.”

  She swiped his hands down. “Never mind, Lang. I should know better than to hope you could think outside the box. I should expect you to be all linear, trapped by your rules and the way things are supposed to be done. I shouldn’t ever dream that you might approach something creatively. That would just be asking too much from your structured, formulaic, uninspired brain.”

  All right, he deserved that after the insults he’d just heaped on her, but something was really off in this conversation, even for them. “What the hell are you getting at, Vivi? What creative thinking are you looking for?”

  “A body double.”

  This time he just stared at her, a slow realization dawning. “You’re not serious.”

  She let out a grunt of frustration. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “C’mon, Lang, it’s the oldest form of security in the world. Put a fake—a professional fake—in her shoes until the killer is caught. Bait the killer with the body double and you—”

  “Stop it,” he said, his voice low and harsh, not having to pretend seriousness at all now. “For one thing, all kidding aside, you’d need an extreme makeover to pass as Cara Ferrari.”

  “Not from a distance.”

  “Second, if a decoy or bait was used, the job would go to a trained professional, not an outside consultant, ever. And third, good luck getting to Cara Ferrari. It’s easier to get an appointment with the president.”

  A flicker of arrogance crossed her face. “Maybe I already have.”

  “What? How?”

  She shrugged. “What do they say, everyone is six degrees of separation from someone.”

  “You are not six degrees of anything from Cara Ferrari.” Was she?

  She picked up her drink and then set it down again. “Forget it, Lang. You’re right; she sucked in that role. She should stick to the trashy stuff that made her real money.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Like the one where she played the pole dancer. I liked that.”

  “Of course you did. What man doesn’t love the raw acting talent it takes for a woman to be able to unzip thigh-high boots with her teeth while giving a lap dance?”

  He laughed softly. “You have to admit that was a memorable scene.”

  “It didn’t get her an Oscar nomination.”

  “But think how many college boys she made happy.”

  “Were you one of them, Lang?”

  “I was already through the FBI Academy when that movie came out, but…” He fought a smile. “It was a pretty sexy move.”

  She blew out a breath. “Yeah, whatever. And can we just forget we had this conversation? It’s moot anyway. They say Kimberly Horne has the Oscar in the bag.”

  He relaxed a little as she accepted the truth. “Vivi, you don’t seriously think you could convince Cara Ferrari to let you be her for however long it takes to trap a killer, who, by the way, greater minds than yours don’t think exists. So I think you should forget this cockamamie idea of yours.”

  She snorted softly and grabbed her drink. “Cockamamie, Lang? Who says that?”

  “I do.”

  She sucked the straw again, this time looking up at him with wide eyes as her mouth closed as if she were looking up from a blow job.

  God damn his dancing dick.

  “Just forget it,” he said, as much to his disobedient organ as to his sexy little consultant. “It’s a cute idea, but—”

  “Fuck you, Lang,” she shot back.

  “Sorry, I know you hate anything cute.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  Evidently not. “Get what?”

  “What I’m trying to do with this business my brother and I started.”

  “How can you say that?” He pushed his drink aside to get closer. “I’ve given your firm more business than any other outside consultant the FBI Boston office uses. If I’m not careful, my boss is going to start questioning just why you guys have had, what, four or five assignments in as many months? We’re supposed to spread the outsourcing wealth, not focus on one firm.”

  She just shook her head. “This isn’t about you and your office. This is about me and my office.”

  “Seriously, Vivi. You only started this business last fall. What do you expect?”

  “Greatness,” she replied without pause. “There are companies doing what mine does and making millions. They’ve got multiple offices and hundreds of investigators and bodyguards and security specialists on their payroll.”

  “And that’s what you want?” Somehow, the dream of big business just didn’t fit this skater girl. Like so many things about Vivi, it surprised him.

  “I always want to be the best,” she told him. “I don’t like to do things half-assed.”

  “I respect that. But you’re not starting with Cara and your body-double idea.” He underscored that with the look that had gotten him to a supervisory level at thirty-eight years old and placed both his hands over hers, damning the electrical charge he got every time his skin made contact with hers.

  “Give me one good reason why not.” She slid her hands out from under his, evidently immune to the electricity and the look.

  He laughed softly. “The debate’s never over with you, is it?”

  “Not until I win. One good reason, Lang.” She put up both hands to stop him before he spoke. “Other than the fact that I don’t look like a movie star, as you’ve pointed out with great relish and ruthless candor.”

  “It’s dangerous.”

  “My job is dangerous,” she replied. “Your job is dangerous. Where’s the fun if there’s no danger? If we get the job, Zach’s found three top-notch bodyguards who’ll come stay with me twenty-four seven.”

  Three guys with her twenty-four seven? Something unfamiliar rolled through him, stunning him. Jealousy. “Doesn’t matter. With all those nutcases out there, it’s too risky.”

  She pushed back with a disgusted breath. “You are so… careful.”

  “You say that like it’s a detriment. I’m an FBI agent, Vivi. Cautious is my middle name. And if you’re going to make it in the security consulting business, you’d do well to adopt the same one.”

  “Well, my middle name is Belladonna,” she informed him.


  “A poison.”

  “A beautiful woman in Italian,” she corrected him, and held up her hand to halt any response. “Don’t. You’ve dinged me enough for one day. My point is cautious doesn’t always work in business, Lang.”

  “It does in the security business.” Three big bodyguards? Shit, he hated that.

  “Nobody gets ahead being safe. It’s like that half-pipe over there.” She tipped her head to a big cement bowl where skaters spun and rolled and flipped. And fell on their asses. “You gotta go big and go wild or go down.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve gone big and wild, and went down hard.” No, he hadn’t gone down. The one and only woman he’d ever loved had gone down. All the way down. Six feet under down.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Just don’t take crazy risks, Vivi.”

  “Too late. I live for crazy risks.”

  And that right there was why he should squelch every thought he ever had about her, including the ones that gave him a goddamn erection.

  Vivi got up, kicked her board out from under the table, and hopped on it. “See ya, Special Agent in Charge Colton Cautious Lang.”

  “Bye, Private Investigator Viviana Poison Angelino.”

  She rolled a little, tugging on her helmet and sliding him a rueful look. “Thanks for the slurpee and the vote of confidence.”

  She zipped off, giving him a perfect shot of her ass as she kicked into high speed.

  There went his cock again.

  To make the blood flow north to his brain, he forced himself to think about her stupid, foolish, crazy idea. Okay, shit. It wasn’t entirely stupid, but the last time he took a risk like that, he lost everything. Which was why that would also be the last time he let a boner get in the way of his work.

  Never again, not to either one.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I have a legion of amazing individuals ready and willing to help make sure my books are as close to accurate as possible. My research sources are generous and patient, so if there are errors on these pages, it’s my fault, not theirs.