Hot Pursuit (To Catch a Thief Book 1)

by Kay Marie

  “And I’m letting them.” Jo shrugged. “I’m not the innocent girl you’ve made me out to be, Nate. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  He put his fingers under her chin, lifting her face so she had no choice but to look into the deep pools of his eyes. “Do you?”

  No.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “Yes.”

  They both knew she was lying.

  The waver in her voice was unmistakable.

  But when she wrenched her arm to the side, Nate let her go. And when she turned to walk away, he didn’t try to follow.

  Instead, he said, “Think about it, Jo.”

  She didn’t comment.

  “Think about it. And maybe tonight, you’ll have a different answer.”

  Like hell I will.

  But no roaring retort rose to her lips—her throat was too tight and burned too much to let one through. And as much as she wanted to storm off, not gracing Nate Parker with another millisecond of her time, all she did for the rest of the day was think about those questions he’d asked her, and the totally assured, totally confident tone he’d used.

  As she sat in a chair at the hair salon.

  As she got her nails painted.

  As she got makeup applied.

  As she returned to her room and changed into that red lace lingerie she had, in fact, bought for the evening.

  As she slipped a black ball gown over her shoulders.

  As she poked two emerald studs through her ears.

  As she carefully arranged the items in her purse.

  She thought about Nate.

  And Thad.

  And her father.

  And what in the hell it could possibly all mean.

  - 18 -

  Nate

  The fight went down exactly as he’d planned. The second Nate had sat on that bench, he’d recognized the Russian operative watching from fifteen feet away. A member of the American branch of the Russian mob. A hitman. A murderer. A man Jo clearly hadn’t recognized, though he had been eying her closely—too closely. Nate had known he would need to make a splash to convince their audience he was shooting in the dark trying to turn Jo, so he pushed all the right buttons and didn’t stop pushing until she walked away. But if he knew her at all, and by now he was beginning to think he did, his words had planted doubts. Doubts that would spin in the back of her mind all day like a strengthening hurricane. Doubts he would capitalize on at the gala later tonight.

  Assuming he actually managed to find a tuxedo in time.

  Black tie. Why the hell does it have to be black tie?

  Nate fumed for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon as he scoured the clearance section for a tuxedo that wouldn’t cost him an entire month’s salary. Tried and failed. He’d been to three department stores and four rental places, but it was too late to rent and all the cheap tuxes available for purchase didn’t fit his tall, broad frame. He’d never hated his shoulders so much in his life.

  A tuxedo!

  After all this, a damn tuxedo is going to be my undoing!

  Not the Russian mob.

  Not Robert Carter.

  Not Ryder.

  Not Jo.

  But a friggin’ tuxedo.

  The only possibility Leo and Nate hadn’t accounted for was one where they’d be watching the gala from the inside. In all the months they’d been prepping for this mission, the plan had always been surveillance. One team on the gala. One on the auction house. One on the museum. Split into three, sitting outside in cars, maybe an undercover agent or two on the inside, but Nate was never supposed to be that person. Then Jo came along and changed all the plans.

  She changed everything.

  “I’m here, I’m here.” Leo’s out-of-breath voice interrupted Nate’s ruminations. He’d been staring absently at the same rack of miscellaneous black jackets for the past twenty minutes.

  Nate turned. “Took you long enough.”

  His partner snorted. “Fashion emergencies weren’t exactly part of the training, Parker. Lucky for you my mom worked in a department store for most of my childhood, so I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  “Tricks to make a tux appear out of thin air?”

  Leo grabbed Nate by the shoulders, turned him toward the escalator, and gave him a shove. “Get out of here, cut your damn hair, and let me handle this.”

  “Wait—” Nate dug his heels into the polished concrete floor, glancing over his shoulder. “How were things going with Ryder?”

  Leo drew his brows together. “Something’s going down. For a slippery bastard, he’s been surprisingly easy to trail all day. When I left, he was making his way to the auction house, not a care in the world. A little too nonchalant.”

  Nate scowled. “Nothing I hate more than a carefree criminal.”

  “Unless she happens to be five-nine with red hair and piercing green eyes?” Leo asked innocently. Before Nate could bite back, his partner nudged him again. “There’s a barbershop across the street. Give me half an hour, get yourself cleaned up for the event, and by the time you get back, I’ll have a tux in hand.”

  “How—”

  “Don’t question it, Parker. Just go.”

  Leo grinned.

  Nate grumbled.

  But he left. And sat in a chair for thirty minutes, his leg bouncing the entire time, as the barber repeatedly and politely asked him to stay still. When it was done, he gave the guy a hefty tip and practically ran back across the street. Leo greeted him at a dressing room with a tux in hand. Black. Right size. Right cut. His partner slid two shoes under the door, polished but not too shiny, and then hung a bow tie and matching cummerbund over the side, slate gray and sharp.

  Nate glanced in the mirror.

  Not bad.

  “How much will it cost me?” Nate asked.

  “Bring it back in one piece tomorrow, and nothing,” Leo drawled.

  Nate yanked the door open, meeting Leo’s smug face with a look of pure doubt. “Are you serious?”

  “Like I said, my mom used to work in a department store. I knew the right people to kiss up to. But lunch is on you tomorrow, Parker.”

  “Hell, throw in breakfast too. Did you find cufflinks?”

  “Here.” Leo pulled a small bag from his pocket. “One of the guys has a wedding next weekend. He’s flying right there from New York, so we have to get these back to him tomorrow too.”

  “Done.”

  Leo crossed his arms and gave Nate a once-over. “For a stubborn asshole, you shape up pretty nicely, Parker.”

  He arched a brow. “For a haughty jerkoff, you give a mean compliment, Alvarez.”

  “Got your comm?”

  Nate pulled the earpiece out from beneath his collar and slid it on. “Got it.”

  “Mic?”

  “On,” he said, tugging his sleeve up an inch.

  “Gun?”

  “Tucked in my cummerbund.”

  “Now, there’s something you don’t hear every day,” Leo remarked with a smile. “Badge?”

  Nate patted his chest.

  Leo spread his arms wide. “Then my work here is done. Off to the ball with you, Cinderfella.”

  “So what does that make you?” Nate scoffed. “My fairy godfather.”

  “I prefer suave, charming, underrated sidekick, who steals the show and goes on to star in a spin-off that makes three times as much money as the original.”

  Nate closed his eyes and shook his head. “What?”

  Leo gave him a light shove. “Just go. Before the clock strikes twelve and dear little Jolene Carter gives us the slip again. Go get your princess, Parker.”

  “She’s not—”

  “Whatever, I don’t need to know and I don’t care. Do what you have to do to nail these bastards, because we’ve tried everything else and none of it’s worked.”

  Nate let the protest die on his lips. “Will do.”

  “And Nate?” Leo asked, voice softe
r than usual.

  He turned to his partner, taking in the somber features. “What, Leo?”

  “Between us,” he said, leaning in and using his palm to cover the mic attached to his collar, “if your comm happens to go dark, I’ll say it was part of the plan.”

  Nate flinched, not sure what his partner was implying. “Leo, I—”

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying…” Leo lowered his chin, giving Nate a pointed look. “If it happens, for any reason. I’ll back you up. Okay?”

  The grooves in his face all smoothed as his muscles went slack. With gratitude. With trust. With something he wasn’t sure he wanted to understand as a little knot in his chest loosened, making his stiff muscles relax.

  Nate nodded. “Okay.”

  As they walked out of the store, Leo tossed a charming smile in the direction of a certain saleswoman who’d been staring at them. She offered them each a little wave as they slipped through the door. Around the corner, a black car waited. Leo took the front while Nate slipped into the back, a spot that was totally unfamiliar to him. But while he was inside, Ben, another agent, would be acting partner with Leo.

  They made their way to the gala, reviewing the plan during the drive. Leo and Ben would work surveillance from the outside, letting Nate know if they noticed any issues with the security system, recognized any other attendees to the party, or saw anything out of the ordinary. Nate would be inside doing his best to convince Jo that whatever she was plotting wasn’t worth it, that turning herself over to the authorities was her best option, and most of all, that he could save her.

  “Boss, you there? We’ve arrived at the gala,” Leo spoke into the comm. “Are the other teams in place, sir?”

  “Everyone is good,” the boss responded. “Ryder has been at the auction for about an hour and a half. We’ve seen him take two laps around the items. No bids. No clues yet. But we have eyes on the inside and a team out back. The museum has been quiet. Let us know as soon as you get something.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  “And Parker?”

  Nate lifted his mic to his lips. “Yes, sir?”

  “We’re counting on you.”

  Nate heard the rest of that sentence loud and clear, without needing the boss to finish. Your father is counting on you.

  His legacy.

  His work.

  His life’s meaning.

  All of it sat heavy on Nate’s shoulders. All of it would be decided tonight.

  He straightened his spine and took a deep breath, quietly adding, I’m counting on myself. Then he pushed away his thoughts, his reservations too, and focused on the task ahead. “Yes, sir.”

  Nate got out of the car and made for the townhouse across the street, where he stood in line with all the other guests decked out in fine garb, waiting to be let inside. He skipped the photo opportunity and handed over his invitation, the one they’d gotten at the last minute after speaking with the charity event planners the day before. One mention of a thief in their midst was enough to have the organization bending over backward to let the Feds inside. They’d put a subtle watermark on his card, not so obvious any of the guests could see, but obvious enough for a woman to step over and take his arm as soon as he presented it at the door.

  “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know,” she murmured, guiding him past the tables at the entrance and into the meat of the party.

  “Will do,” Nate affirmed.

  “I’ll let security know who you are. If you need help from us, all you have to do is ask.” Her tone was very serious and completely earnest. It took everything Nate had to keep his expression controlled. The Feds wouldn’t need help from her security team—he was sure that whatever measures they’d put in place had already been subverted by Jo, but he didn’t want to scare the poor woman.

  “Will do,” he repeated, trying to ease the nerves so clearly written across her face.

  She squeezed his forearm. “Thank god you’re here. If anything happens, if anything—”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he soothed, offering a charming smile. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  He didn’t.

  Far from it.

  Jo was as much of a wild card as ever, but this woman didn’t need to know that.

  “Thank you.” Her shoulders hunched as her tension broke. “Thank you.”

  Nate released her with a firm nod, the action more assured than he felt, and spun, taking in the room. The house looked as if it were torn out of a textbook on the Gilded Age—the definition of opulence. Gilt moldings. Detailed woodwork. Crystal chandeliers. Heavy silk drapes. Clawfoot settees and carved mahogany tables. The formal living room led to a formal dining room to a dark, cozy library. Each room held scattered objects from the silent auction, and he skimmed as he walked by, but nothing stood out. Nothing screamed Robert Carter. Not until he crested the steps to the ballroom on the second floor and saw a painting hanging over the fireplace that hadn’t been in any of his files and the woman standing before it.

  Ballerinas, clearly by Degas.

  And Jolene Carter.

  There was no question as to which was more beautiful in Nate’s eyes. Jo’s hair was piled high on her head, revealing the elegant arc of her neck and the supple curve of her spine, on display in a low-back dress that hugged her every angle. As though sensing his arrival, she turned. Their eyes met, and the room seemed to fade. The job. The operation. The reason they were here. All of it fell away as he held her gaze, for one second, then two. Neither of them turned away. There was no surprise in her expression, but the longer he looked, the more he thought he saw a bit of joy, a brilliant little spark of something bright and burning beneath her skin. And though he couldn’t remember a single word he’d planned to say, Nate found himself striding across the room, steps quick and confident, as though pulled by something outside of his control.

  - 19 -

  Jo

  Every thought in her head seemed to flee as Nate approached, a hunter on the prowl, sauntering toward his prey, slow, determined, and absolutely controlled. Jo was frozen in place, unable to break the mysterious hold he had on her, unable to look away. Her pulse sped, making her heart thunder in her chest, but she managed to keep a coy little smile across her lips. He’d never looked more handsome than he did in that black tuxedo with an ash bow tie bringing out the brightness of his eyes. But he’d never looked so menacing either, so very capable of being her undoing.

  A waiter walked by, and Nate grabbed two glasses of champagne from a tray, then closed the small distance between them, offering her one.

  “Drink?”

  Was his voice deeper than usual? The sensual sound made her stomach muscles clench as she lifted her hand. Her fingers grazed against his as she took the flute, a shock to her system, but she managed to find her voice long enough to tease, “I didn’t realize the agency allowed drinking on the job. Have I managed to rub off on you, Nate?”

  “There’s no specific rule one way or the other.” The edge of his lip twitched with a smile as he raised the glass to his mouth and tip his head, taking a long sip.

  Jo did the same. The bubbles sprinkled down her throat, spreading warmth and lightness to the center of her chest and the tips of her fingers. Her tension eased away. She breathed deeply, trying to focus on why she was there and what she was supposed to be doing, but as her eyes met Nate’s over the rims of their glasses and a giggle spilled from her lips, all thoughts of work fled.

  “I needed that,” he joked.

  “Me too.”

  They both looked away, perhaps because they both wanted to run from the big question hovering between their words—why?

  Why was the air so charged?

  Why were the stakes rising higher and higher?

  Why did tonight feel different?

  More intense.

  More important.

  More real.

  Jo’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  Nate’s mus
t have risen to the wall, because a moment later, he asked, “Degas?”

  A flare of heat spiked down her spine. But she kept her face blank. “I think so.”

  “Suddenly, it all becomes clear,” he mused darkly.

  Jo looked up, finding those baby-blues already fixed on her, the hottest part of the flame. Ignorance. Feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”

  “Jo,” Nate said, a hint of disappointment in his tone that she’d gone the route of playing dumb. “I’ve been wondering for weeks why the gala, what was so important here? We scoured the auction list, researched each item, brought in art experts to see if there was a hidden gem. But no, all this time, it’s been about the house itself, not the event. The event was just a way inside. A way to get to this.” He nudged his chin toward the painting. “I can’t believe we didn’t know it was here.”

  You didn’t know because the homeowner lent the painting to a museum and conveniently forgot to mention to the FBI that it would be returned in time for the gala. A simple slip of the mind—at least, that’s what he’ll say if questioned. Oh, and that I must have hacked his private emails because there’s no other way I could’ve known his plans. Of course, she couldn’t tell Nate that. Instead, Jo raised her brows and held up her hands, mocking the truth he’d uncovered. “You got me. Sound the alarms. Bring in the handcuffs. Arrest me, if you’re so sure.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the blasé tone. “Why else would you be here?”

  “Did you happen to see the name of the charity hosting the event?”

  Jo could see the wheels turning in the backs of his eyes. “The American Cancer Alliance.”

  “Ding, ding, ding,” she chimed. “And in all your efforts, did the FBI happen to notice that I was invited to this event, plain and simple? I never hacked my way in. I didn’t have to.”

  “Your father is a donor,” he said, eyes widening.

  Jo’s chest tightened. Why was the truth so easy to spin? “He has been for ten years. Under a false name, of course. Though I have to admit, I’m surprised the agency never managed to crack his code. Campbell was my mother’s maiden name.”