“Careful.” Hunter kept his eyes trained on the guy’s face, watching his eyes. “Leave her alone or she’ll call the police. You don’t want to get in trouble in Mexico, pal.”
“I just want to give her a ride!” he wailed.
“Go back to your hotel. Catch a cab.”
“I’m staying at this hotel!” he declared.
Wouldn’t you know, Hunter thought, as the bozo swiveled around and headed back inside the hotel bar, muttering obscenities under his breath. What a piece of work. Turning, he saw that Jenny had continued walking rapidly down the street. He debated on following after her, but then decided against it. The last thing she needed was to be approached again, even by him. She was done with would-be Romeos for the night. Sighing, he headed back to his Jeep, careful to keep one eye on her disappearing form. He could still see her as he slipped inside the Wrangler. She was attempting to hail a cab, but she was competing with a lot of tourists as the night wore on, and no one stopped. Rethinking his plan, he jerked the vehicle in gear and cruised up beside her. Initially she tried to ignore him, finally shooting him a grim look. Then she recognized him.
“At the risk of being rejected, would you like a lift?” Hunter asked her.
“Oh!” She hesitated a moment, then yanked open the passenger door before Hunter could even offer help. “I really would, as a matter of fact. Thanks.”
“He wasn’t taking no for an answer.” This time he eased the Jeep into gear and moved smoothly into the stream of traffic.
“No kidding.” She sighed and half smiled, dropping her head against the headrest. “Why is that? Is it alcohol? Or was he just a thick-headed guy?”
“Combination, I’d say.”
“I couldn’t get a cab to save my soul.”
“One would have come along.”
“I’m glad you were there, all the same.”
Hunter wished, suddenly, that he had a cigarette. Not that he’d ever been much of a smoker. He’d given it up altogether upon becoming a cop. It was just too much trouble to bother with, he’d felt, though his friends on the force felt differently. But now, for reasons that troubled him at a level he didn’t feel like exploring, he could damn well use a smoke.
They bumped across the uneven stone road, then onto the highway, then up the broken rock roads that would flood so badly during the rainy season it was like trying to drive up a waterfall. Her villa was perched precariously on the edge of the hillside, as most of them were, and Hunter pulled over onto the curb to get off the road.
“Thanks,” she said, reaching for the door once again before he could offer help.
He nodded, glimpsing the curve of her calf and trim bones of her ankle before she managed to drop to the ground. The tightening he felt inside was part sexual response, part recognition of potential danger.
He cursed himself. That sense of impending doom was stronger than ever.
Jenny leaned inside, hands on the edge of the door frame. “Are you staying long in Puerto Vallarta?”
“I’ll be here awhile.”
“Maybe we’ll run into each other again?” She sounded hopeful.
“I’m at the Hotel Rosa.”
“You are?” She was surprised. “You didn’t have to leave to bring me home.”
“No problem. I wasn’t eager to run into our mutual friend, now that I know he’s one of the guests.”
“Maybe he’ll find another female at the bar. Of course, then you’ll be called into service again, saving damsels in distress.”
“Not my best role.” He smiled with an effort. Why was she getting to him? He couldn’t understand it, and he knew it was going to screw up his plans if he didn’t set the ground rules fast.
“Really? Seems like a natural to me.”
She glanced toward the front door of the villa, filled with indecision. He suspected suddenly that she might throw caution to the winds and invite him inside. Quickly, he suggested, “Come by the hotel bar tomorrow evening. I’ll buy you a margarita and some free tortilla chips.”
She laughed then, relieved the decision had been made for her. “All right, I’ll be there, Hunter Calgary. Thanks again.” With that she turned and walked to the moonlit door and the image burned on Hunter’s brain was of long, silky legs walking away from him. He waited until she was safely inside, turned the Jeep around and drove away. A simmering, unwelcome heat had taken him over. Sex. Ordinarily he would have thrilled at the return of feeling but Jenny Holloway was off-limits for many, many reasons. He’d be better off to pour a cold beer in his crotch than entertain any thoughts about what and where and how they could do things together.
The idea had merit. But as he walked through the bar on his way to his room, he saw the bozo again, hunkered at the bar and hoping for a second chance. The man glowered at Hunter who hooked a beer and threw his head back, pouring the liquid down his throat, dousing the flames of sexual desire from the inside out. It worked, too, until he went upstairs and flung himself on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling fan overhead, watching its blades turn in a desultory circle which barely moved the thick air.
Kathryn had gotten to him the same way. Long limbs, perfect breasts, unconscious sex appeal—or so he’d thought until he’d gotten to know her and learned too late how calculating she could be. He’d listened to his cock instead of his brain; and when he learned that lovemaking with Kathryn was as wonderful as he’d envisioned, he’d married her.
What a mistake.
Just thinking about it constricted his chest to this day. Life with Kathryn had been pure, unadulterated hell. He’d learned right away that those wonderful nights of sex had been a conscious trap on her part. She had no serious interest in him, but she sure as hell could act! She was also exacting, spoiled, used to being treated like a princess, and determined to change him from an LA. police detective to a real estate investor and decorative piece of arm candy. He’d left her after six months, divorced her a year and a half later. She’d never forgiven him and still called whenever her latest relationship fell apart and she was lonely. He’d never gone back, however, not even for a taste. And he’d congratulated himself on climbing out of the trap and recognizing the pitfalls ever since.
But Jenny was different…
Closing his eyes he groaned softly. Was it all in his imagination, this sexual chemistry? Maybe she didn’t feel the same way. Maybe she’d just been grateful for the ride and that was as far as it went.
He was floating in this state of pain and pleasure when the phone rang. Instantly alert, he picked up the receiver, listening a moment before answering. “Yes?” he asked cautiously.
“How’s my girl?” Allen Holloway asked. “Have you found her yet?”
The man’s voice was like an avalanche of ice on his sexual thoughts. This was why he couldn’t even dream about Jenny. She was a job. A paycheck. And a means to an end.
“Yep.” It bugged him that Holloway had called him.
“She’s with those fools the Montgomerys?”
No wonder she objected to her father’s interference. Allen Holloway was opinionated as hell and felt no compunction to keep his thoughts to himself. “She’s at Villa Buena Vista.”
“No sign of Russell?”
“None that I’ve seen.” Not that he’d been looking. Not that he’d been able to do much but envision Jenny without that sundress on.
“Good. Keep an eye out.”
“Don’t call here again,” Hunter answered. “I don’t want any link between us. Let me call you.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“Yes,” Hunter answered truthfully. “If you want to get your money’s worth.”
That stopped him. Holloway would have liked to argue, but he also wanted results. “I want a full report as soon as you’re back in the states.”
“Have you heard anything more from him?” Hunter asked.
“From Russell? No.”
“Even if you do, don’t call me. Wait.”
The A
llen Holloways of the world did not like being told what to do. Hunter could hear the man’s deep breathing—almost a growl—before he muttered something about wanting Hunter to give him full and timely reports. With a grunt that meant “maybe,” Hunter hung up the phone. Lust had faded from his thoughts with Allen’s call.
Now, staring at the ceiling, all he could envision was Troy Russell’s cold eyes and characterless face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Charm. That’s all it took. Good looks helped, but he’d seen even the ugliest men in the world get what they wanted with a little charm. And women were suckers for it. They’d open their legs and their pocketbooks for it. He should know. Charm was his stock in trade.
Troy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his rented Ford sedan. It was that color usually called “champagne,” which really meant the metal was a nondescript light goldish-brown no one looked at twice. He’d picked it for its blandness. Bland was the order of the day when one had to be invisible. Bland was what kept Jenny from looking over her shoulder once too often.
He’d had a bad moment the other night at the restaurant. She’d been skittish as a colt, and he’d had to actually slide down on the sedan’s seat and stay there until he heard her engine slip into gear and her wheels move away. Her head had been turning from the moment she stepped out the back door of the restaurant and he’d dropped down instantly. She’d sat in her car quite a while and he’d wondered if she’d seen him, but then she’d pulled out. He’d waited, then followed slowly. She’d actually driven past her apartment building an extra mile, then circled around and cruised back. He’d had to stay a long way behind, but since he knew where she was going it had been a cinch. Still, her little safety precautions amused him. Little did she know they weren’t going to do a damn thing for her. Not if she was protecting herself from him.
He laughed silently to himself. Stupid bitch. They were all stupid bitches. Sluts at heart, even the seemingly good ones like dear old Jenny. All of them secretly panting for a guy to rip off their clothes and give it to them hard. He hadn’t known that quite as clearly when he’d been with Jenny. He’d learned a thing or two over the years, and he was red-hot and ready to give her the benefit of his education.
He hadn’t actually been inside her place … yet. But he’d calculated which room was hers and which was the boy’s. The kid looked to be about thirteen, gangly and awkward and on the verge of rebellion. Troy remembered those days, although he’d been in a very different situation. Whose kid was he? he wondered, feeling really pissed that Jenny had gone out and got herself pregnant almost the moment Troy left. Allen Holloway had been anxious to throw him some cash in those days. Anything to keep his wicked son-in-law away from his precious little girl.
So, who’d knocked her up? Allen hadn’t mentioned the boy at their meeting. Come to that, Allen hadn’t mentioned anything much. He’d demanded, that’s what he’d done. Demanded and demanded, while his lips twitched in an effort to fight back an emotion Troy understood implicitly: fear. Holloway was afraid of him.
“Good,” he said now, meaning it. He glanced at the wrought iron gates that led to the Holloway grounds. A mansion. The old guy lived there with his beautiful wife—a woman who was as vacant as an empty lot. Troy had learned her habits, too. He’d managed to run into her at one of those pricey stores that sold all natural stuff. She had been examining some kind of nitratefree bacon, and he brushed his shoulder against hers, apologizing profusely. Natalie. That was her name. He wondered if she would recognize him. They hadn’t had a lot of contact in those faraway days. She’d been at the wedding reception Allen had insisted upon when he and Jenny got back from their elopement, but she’d been so involved with her own appearance that he’d be surprised if she even remembered what Jenny looked like. And then she’d got drunk on champagne and Allen had paid someone to take her home. Troy hadn’t really seen her after that. Holloway wasn’t in the habit of inviting his daughter and her new husband to the house. Still …
But no. Natalie hadn’t made the connection at all. She accepted his apology and smiled in that vacant way of hers, as if her mind were elsewhere. Another time Troy might have considered it a challenge. Turn on the old charm and see if he could rustle up some sexual interest. But he had other things in mind, and Natalie Holloway wasn’t one of them.
Jenny was.
She was where the money was.
He’d told Allen he wanted to make amends for the past. What a joke. Who the hell ever wanted to make amends unless they wanted money or found God, and Troy Russell sure as hell hadn’t got religion all of a sudden. But he could act like a man who’d seen the light. Acting was easy. It was just a facet of charm.
“What do you want?” Holloway had demanded. “Why are you really here?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think things over. I just want to make things right.”
“I paid you to stay away from Jenny. I paid you a lot of money.”
“And that was a lot of years ago,” Troy conceded. “I’m here to make amends.”
“You come near her, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
Ultimatums were a coward’s stock in trade. Lots of talk, talk, talk. Words thrown out like spears, but nothing to back it up. Troy had learned not to let them bother him and he kept his own anger easily under control. Holloway was a skinflint who kept all his money in stocks and real estate. He hadn’t apparently lavished tons of the green stuff on his daughter since she was slaving away in a restaurant and living in a dumpy apartment. Maybe Holloway detested the boy’s father even more than he detested Troy.
But it didn’t matter. Jenny would get the entire estate upon the death of the father. Natalie was nothing. An ornament. A hefty chunk of change and she was on her way. Jenny was the true heir.
Troy grimaced. He’d really blown the sweet deal he had with Jenny, because he’d been too young to realize how to play the game. He’d let his anger get in the way. He knew that now. And now, if he was furious, he found other outlets to let the steam escape. It was so fuckin’ easy to fool people.
Smiling, he pulled out a pack of gum, folding a stick in his mouth. He’d given up smoking. Smoking didn’t win you the skinny, rich women with hot pussies. They could sure as hell smoke, but they wanted their studs Lysol clean. He liked doing them, but one eye was always on their pocketbooks. Sometimes he got them drunk and stole their cash on his way out. But not often. Mostly he used them to learn the names of their friends, and their friends, and so on. Twice he’d seriously caught a wealthy one who wanted to shower him with all her riches, but both times there had been a wedge. The same wedge. Michelle Calgary. Just thinking about her sent Troy into a cold fury. Gotten herself pregnant and crying all the time. He couldn’t take it. Just couldn’t take it.
And now he’d been in a long, dry spell. Oh, there was Patricia, but her money wasn’t enough. He wanted his fair share, but that took millions upon millions. He showed up now and again and gave her what she wanted, but he’d peeked at her finances and they weren’t at the level of Allen Holloway. Tough luck for Pat. He just didn’t come that cheap.
Putting the Ford into gear, he slid into traffic and drove toward Jenny’s apartment. It was dark. Again. Had been for the last couple of days. She was on a trip, he realized suddenly, furiously.
Allen must have warned her about him.
His anger swept over him in such a cold wave that he white-knuckled the steering wheel. He yanked the car back toward Holloway’s mansion, then changed his mind a few moments later, turning instead in the direction of her restaurant. He practically jumped out of the car before it came to a halt.
“Fucking bastard,” he said through his teeth. He was going to kill Holloway. As surely as there would be a tomorrow, he was going to kill him.
“Welcome to Riccardo’s. Table for one?” the pert receptionist asked him.
Fuck you, he thought, but the smile that crept across his face was a purposely sexy one. “Unless you’d care to joi
n me … ?”
She grinned slyly and led him to a table by a rock wall, the votive candle sending up flickering shadows against the rugged, gray stones. She sashayed away, showing him some sweet cheeks.
Charm, he reminded himself as he watched for the waitress who’d talked to Jenny as if they were the best of friends. He’d watched them from a corner table and then left before Jenny actually spotted him. He’d thought Jenny wasn’t working that night, then had been surprised when she’d walked by within ten yards of his table. He’d slipped out after leaving enough money on the table to cover his drink plus a nice tip. Didn’t want people remembering the man who dined and dashed. Gotta keep it bland.
There she was. Friendly as hell. When he realized he hadn’t been seated in her section, he simply moved. Let them work it out. “Hi, there,” she said with a jaunty smile. “Weren’t you here a few days ago?”
“Can’t seem to stay away.”
“Uh-huh.” She leaned back on one hip, surveying him with twinkling eyes. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”
“What would you recommend?”
“It’s all wonderful. And if you like pasta, you’ve come to the right place.”
He finally settled on ziti in a marinara sauce with calamari and clams. She brought it to him with a glass of chianti and then she gave him his second jolt of the evening, “She’s not here tonight,” she said in a stage whisper. “Vacation.”
So, she knew he’d been watching Jenny. He was infuriated with his sloppiness. “She take her son with her?”
“Rawley? I think so. No, maybe not. Do you know her?” She sounded confused, like she hadn’t expected it.
Following her lead, Troy chose his words carefully. “Just by seeing her around here.”
“Well, you’d better make your move when she gets back, because it’s only going to be for a few days. She’s moving, you know. I’m not even sure she’s coming back to the restaurant before she goes.”
Troy’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table. “Oh, that’s right. Last time I talked to her she was talking about getting out of Houston. Where’s she going again?”
In Too Deep Page 7
