He flipped it open, studied her driver’s license and typed her address into the car’s GPS system. Neatly tucking it back into her purse, he placed her bag in her lap and drove out of Casa Blanca’s parking lot.
He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke to her. “I’m sure you’re pissed as hell, Miranda, and I don’t blame you. Trust me when I say I’m not usually so high-handed with defenseless women. But this is an unusual situation, and I’m doing the best I can at damage control.” He glanced over.
To see if she was listening? How could she not be? Talk about a captive audience. And she wasn’t defenseless, damn it. She had her brown belt in karate and began a class in tai chi last week. She longed for enough muscle power to flip him off, but her hands barely twitched in her lap when she tried to move them. As remarkably good-looking as he was, she still wanted to plant her fist in his face.
He chuckled as he read her facial expression correctly, minimal as it was. “Yeah, I get that you’d like to kick me in the, uh, privates, Miranda. I’m grateful the shit Hank dosed you with is keeping that urge under control.” He checked the GPS as he muttered to himself, “Idiot.”
They stopped at the four-way intersection, then continued south along the main drag into the older neighborhoods populated with single-story, cinder block and stucco bungalows. A few turns later, he pulled into the driveway next to her house and parked under the carport. He got out and came around to open the door and unbuckle her seatbelt.
The combination of the drug, the drive and the Patron had made her dizzy and nauseous, although she was regaining some strength in her arms and legs. Unfortunately, not enough to prevent her from hurling down the front of her dress when her stomach suddenly decided to empty itself. Yeah, those muscles worked fine. Ah shit, she thought as the spasms wracked her, now I’m pissed off and mortified.
Thor gingerly extracted her keys from her purse. “Wait here. I’ll get a towel or something. Don’t try to stand yet. You’re still too weak to be steady on your feet.”
Miranda simply glared at him for a few seconds, then closed her eyes and prayed for this nightmare to be over.
CHAPTER TWO
Miranda awoke with a splitting headache and a mouth reminiscent of the bottom of her parakeets’ cage. Gah. Her bedroom swam into focus in the crepuscular light bleeding in around the curtains on her sliders. Strange. She always left them open to catch the breeze off the gulf.
She glanced at her alarm clock. 5 a.m. Still the middle of the night in her worldview. She rarely went to bed before midnight and seldom rose before 8 a.m. She briefly debated the merits of treating her pounding head against the pain movement would cause. Since she had to work today, treatment won. She stood gingerly and padded to the bathroom to find some aspirin. Hopefully three tabs taken with a bottle of water plus two more hours of sleep would quiet the mariachi band practicing between her ears by the time she had to get up for work. She must have been well-lit after stopping in Rick’s last night, because she hadn’t even taken her bikinis off when she went to bed. She much preferred sleeping nude, so maybe she’d passed out before …
Miranda frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Then her eyes widened in horror as last evening’s events slowly unfolded in her memory.
The handsome Brit, with the lovely accent.
The rude jerk who interrupted their nice get-acquainted chat and sent him down the bar to another woman, who had huge boobs and wore too much makeup.
The strange weakness that left her helpless to repel the jerk’s nefarious intentions as he practically carried her to his car, rifled through her purse, then drove her home.
The jerk whom she then rewarded with a bird’s-eye view of her Technicolor barf-fest. Oh, God, how embarrassing.
And she didn’t even know his name.
Who the heck was he, anyway? Besides a Thor look-alike. A tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, blue-eyed, blond hunk who, given other circumstances, would have topped her list of men she’d like to know better. Much better.
Guess he got to know about me, since he read my driver’s license, stripped my yucky dress off, dittoed my bra, and tucked me into bed. She narrowed her eyes. That better have been all he’d done. Her brain was pretty cloudy on that point. Okay, she had to take some responsibility for the fog between her ears. But she was more than willing to dump the heavier load on the guy from Valhalla and his dumb but handsome sidekick. Miranda shook her head in disgust. Slowly, so it didn’t fly off. Then she headed for the kitchen and a cold bottle of water.
She rounded the corner and discovered the escapee from Norse mythology standing at the sink drinking a cup of coffee and gazing out the window at her back yard. All the humiliation she’d endured last night came back with a vengeance, heating her temper to nuclear levels. “Just make yourself at home, asshat,” she growled, stalking toward him. She winced at the volume of her own voice.
“Oh, you’re awake. I didn’t think you’d be up so early.” He smiled, then obviously re-thought his response at her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. He sobered. “I wasn’t sure how you’d be feeling, and so I thought it best if I stayed to explain about last night …”
“Yeah? A little late for explanations, don’t you think? But, by all means, don’t let me interrupt your coffee.” She angled her chin up. “I don’t know what kind of game you and your friend Hank were playing last night, but you’re lucky I’m not calling the cops right now.”
“Hey, wait just a minute, Miranda. Hank screwed up, I’ll give you that, but I was only trying to make sure a helpless lady got home safely.” He almost looked down but caught himself. “So maybe you should thank me instead of—”
Not interested in his lecture on manners, she interrupted him. “So here’s the deal. Since you so kindly brought me home, I’m assuming I don’t have to check into the local ER for a rape kit, right?”
Thor looked affronted. “Call me picky, but I’m not in the habit of raping helpless women who’ve puked down the front of their clothes.”
The accurate but unflattering description only added fuel to her inner fire. Miranda took two quick steps and landed a kick to his solar plexus that knocked him on his ass, emptied his lungs of every last molecule of oxygen, and scalded his chest with hot coffee. Yes! Triple play! As he lay gasping on her floor, she crossed her arms and smirked.
“Helpless, huh? Not so helpless when I’m not drugged, am I, hotshot?” The satisfaction of decking a guy a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier soared through her. Wait until I tell Mike. His training has really paid off. Of course, the fact that I’m naked except for my panties may have helped to catch him off-guard. Watching him struggle to keep his focus on my face was almost funny. She uncrossed her arms. No point in trying to cover myself now. He no doubt saw all he wanted to see last night.
Thor regained his feet with surprising grace, put the empty coffee mug in the sink, and stomped toward her.
She refused to back up even an inch when he invaded her personal space. Although she wasn’t willing to admit it on a conscious level, she knew he wouldn’t actually hurt her. He’d already had his chance at that and passed. Still, his reminder of her disgusting state last night, which was totally his fault, kept her anger simmering. “I won’t call 911 if you pick your stuff up and get the hell out of my house in the next two minutes. Otherwise, prepare yourself for a trip to the Naples police station.”
“Fine. Have it your way. I only wanted to stay long enough to explain—”
“I don’t want your explanations. I want your absence. Now.”
He snapped a nod, grabbed his keys from her kitchen table and headed for the door. He yanked it open and glared at her over his shoulder. “Have a nice life, Miranda. My guess is you’ll spend most of it alone.”
He slammed the door behind him before she had a chance to reply to his dig.
Miranda heard the tires squeal as he backed down the driveway and sped away. She was glad he hadn’t waited to see how much his pa
rting shot had hurt.
Quiet descended on her home like a horsehair blanket, rough and irritating. Out of the silence, a cheery voice asked, “Who’s that pretty girl? You are. You’re the pretty girl, awwkk!”
Miranda pulled back the cover on Tinkerbelle’s cage, and the blue and white parakeet ruffled her feathers at the intrusion. Tink’s partner, Icarus, a green and yellow male, barely acknowledged her before he tucked his head under a wing. Definitely the strong, silent type. He never spoke, but Miranda still felt the two birds shared a bond. “No, Tink, you’re the pretty one. Sorry I had to wake you from your beauty sleep.” The bird bobbed her head at the apology, and Miranda let the cover drop back. “See you in the morning, Tinkerbelle.”
“Night, night. Aawwwkk!”
She took a bottle of water from the fridge and downed the aspirin. Sleep was out of the question at this point, so she brewed her own cup of coffee, smirking to herself at the thought of a certain scalded chest, and went back to her bedroom. She probably shouldn’t have been such a bitch to the man—whose name she still didn’t know, damn it! She admitted to herself that her anger was mostly the result of her humiliation at being completely at another person’s mercy. She’d spent a lot of time and energy making sure she could take care of herself, and last night’s episode showed her how easily all of her training, karate, tai chi, and self-defense classes could be overcome in a couple of minutes with a sneakily applied drug patch.
She took her coffee into the bathroom and began to fill the tub. A nice hot soak would ease the muscle aches that drug had left behind. Today, after work, she’d start doing some research to find out just what that stuff was.
And she’d find out Thor’s real name, too.
That was priority number one.
~~~
Talk about a total clusterfuck! Mark would get an early morning phone call as soon as Owen could drive to Mike and Kelly’s condo and let himself in. The FBI agent could find another sucker to babysit Hank. He was out.
Owen managed to get a leash on his temper and slow down before whatever law enforcement that patrolled Mimosa Key pulled him over for reckless driving. Normally he prided himself on maintaining a cool head in tense situations, but the slender spitfire who’d just kicked his ass had managed to irritate the hell out of him.
Not that he blamed her for her reaction. If some guy had slipped him a muscle-melter, and then another had tagged-teamed him and hustled him into a car while he’d been unable to defend himself, he’d be pretty pissed, too.
And she was only a woman.
Wait. Hold that. She was a woman, for sure. No only about it. Gorgeous face. Fantastic body. Which he’d had a good look at as he helped her out of her ruined dress and skimpy bra. She was about five foot five and couldn’t weigh more than one-ten. Most men would describe her figure as boyish, but they’d be wrong. Her breasts weren’t melon-size, true, but the firm, round handfuls didn’t need that bra she wore, and he’d bet there was less than three percent fat on her trim, taut, body. There were curves in all the right places, and he’d even noticed the faint outline of a six-pack on her torso. Not exactly a bodybuilder, but the word fit didn’t do her justice, either.
No wonder she freaked at the “helpless” tag he’d hung on her. As she so smugly pointed out, when she wasn’t drugged, she was anything but helpless. That high, fast kick to his solar plexus had major muscle power behind it. If he’d been expecting an attack, he could have grabbed that foot and flipped her onto her back, but standing there with a cup of coffee, trying hard not to let his gaze drop below the level of her chin, he was totally unprepared.
Guess that meant he wasn’t cut out to do FBI work either.
Miranda Leighton was no shrinking violet. If he went with a flower analogy, he’d label her a snapdragon.
Too bad she was too angry to listen to his explanation, although he wasn’t sure what exactly he should tell her. No doubt Mark wouldn’t want him to read her in on the real reason behind Hank’s come-on. But once her fury subsided, she was bound to be curious. Owen hated the thought that she’d only remember him as some jerk whose friend had effed up.
Owen entered the quiet condo and tossed his keys on the hall table. The driveway had been empty, so no doubt Mike and Kelly had already left for the gym over in Naples. A lot of early birds liked to get their exercise before they clocked in to their day jobs. It would normally be his preference, too, but lately his schedule was so haphazard, he got his workout in whenever he had a few spare moments.
He headed for the guest bedroom on the first floor and decided a hot shower was more urgent than filling Mark Rossman’s ear full of cold rage. The agent’s cell phone had gone straight to voicemail, so Owen would have to nail him as soon as the man arrived at his office.
The hot water made him wince when it hit the scalded area on his chest. The pain didn’t prevent him from fantasizing about the woman who’d drop-kicked him in her kitchen, though. He’d like another go at undressing her, this time with her full consent and enthusiastic participation as his hands coasted over her smooth, supple skin and memorized every dip and curve. He’d bet all of her muscles would give him the satisfaction that his soapy hand was a poor substitute for this morning.
~~~
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ziegfeld, but Agent Rossman called in earlier and said he’d be out of the office this morning. Can I give him a message? I’m sure he’ll call in later this afternoon.”
“Just tell him I need to speak with him ASAP, please.There were a few bumps in the road yesterday.” Owen dragged his hand through his still-damp hair in frustration. Great. Perfect. The more he thought about last night’s festivities, the more he was sure that Miranda was not going to just forget about that disaster. He’d have to call her later. And tell her … what? He needed to talk to Mark first, so naturally, the man would be incommunicado, which left Owen swinging in the breeze. Damn it!
He slipped his light blue linen jacket on over a white dress shirt and navy slacks. He’d skip the tie this morning and hope Mrs. Walker wouldn’t think him too casual. He hated ties. It was bad enough he had to wear one when he flew a charter. They reminded him too much of his dress uniform from the Air Force. His last assignment was a chunk of his life he’d be more than happy to forget. Flying jets was a kick in the pants, so he had to thank the Air Force for giving him a job that was the most fun a man could have—out of bed. He was an addict now. If he spent longer than a week on the ground, he got antsy to see the top side of some clouds.
He drove to the resort and presented himself at the registration desk. The young lady behind it nearly blinded him with her smile.
“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, miss. I’m Owen Ziegfeld and I have an appointment with Mrs. Walker. Would you let her know I’m here, please?”
“No need, Mr. Ziegfeld. Mrs. Walker instructed me to bring you back to her office as soon as you arrived. Follow me, please?”
Owen had to hand it to Lacey Walker. She kept this place running like a well-oiled machine. Quiet elegance and first-rate service, given with a smile, was noticeable everywhere.
The receptionist tapped on her boss’s door and opened it. “Go right in, sir.” She smiled and hurried back to her post.
Mrs. Walker came from behind her desk and met him as he crossed the threshold, her hand outstretched. “How nice to meet you, Owen. Kelly and Sky have both told me wonderful things about you.”
“They may have a somewhat biased opinion, Mrs. Walker, but I’ll take all the good publicity I can get.”
“Call me Lacey, please. We try to keep a relaxed attitude around here.” She pointed to a chair as she closed the door.
Owen stopped abruptly when he noticed Mark Rossman already seated in the opposite chair.
“Good morning, Owen. I understand you had an interesting evening yesterday.”
Not sure why Mark would bring last night’s fiasco up in front of Lacey Walker, Owen managed to keep his irri
tation at Hank’s fumbled mission under wraps. “You could say that. We’ll have to talk about it later. There is some cleanup that will need to be taken care of, but it can wait until I convince Lacey that Argosy Charter service would be well worth cross-promoting with the illustrious Casa Blanca Resort & Spa.”
“I’ve already gone over the brochures and other paperwork you sent me, Owen, so you won’t need to do a lot of fancy salesmanship to get me on board. And now that Mark has explained his involvement with you, I’m even more interested in helping to nip this potential criminal activity in the bud.”
Owen shot Mark a surprised glance, then hastened to clarify his position. “Actually, Mark isn’t as much involved with me as he may have led you to believe. In fact, he was the one who tracked me down and strong-armed me into helping out with his … investigation. I’ve tried to keep a low profile and stay out of his way as much as possible.”
“I see,” Lacey said, a glimmer of humor quickly quenched by the seriousness of the situation. “My head of security will be here in a few moments. His name is Luke McBain.”
“We met last Thanksgiving when Kelly’s mother went missing. His assistance was invaluable in helping us find her before anything bad happened.”
Mark nodded. “I look forward to meeting Mr. McBain, then, Lacey. Once I read him in on the threat your resort is facing, most of the burden will be off Owen—much to his relief.” He grinned.
“Good. You know I hate being in this position, and after last night, I’m even more interested in putting you and your bungling agent in my prop-wash. I’ll still have to give that young woman some kind of explanation. Or maybe I should drop the whole mess in your lap and let you deal with her.”
Lacey pressed the button on her intercom. “Judy, would you ask Miranda to join us here, please? Thanks.”
“Miranda works here?” Owen closed his eyes briefly and swore under his breath. “Crap. Of course she does.”
Flight Risk Page 2
