Simon Says Die

by LENA DIAZ,

  Some of them, like Mr. MacGuffin, had been polite, even concerned about her. Others had been outright hostile. She had business cards from two lawyers in her purse, and the verbal threats to go along with them.

  She went inside the bed-and-breakfast. Twenty minutes later, with the bed-and-breakfast just as much a bust as she’d expected, she stepped outside and marked it off her list. She shoved the list in her purse, then looked up, directly into Pierce Buchanan’s dark eyes.

  His Pontiac GTO was parked on the curb. He was leaning back against the door, his arms crossed and his long legs stretched out in front of him. For a moment it was as if the past few months had never happened. She remembered their first couple of dates in the Panhandle, when he was still helping her brother wrap up the loose ends of the case they’d solved together. After the third or fourth date, she’d decided not to see him anymore. Everything was too good, too perfect, which scared her. She’d gone her own way, but that had only lasted a few weeks.

  She’d missed him, was desperate to see him again. She’d gone to Jacksonville, and he’d welcomed her with open arms. They’d spent evenings going to the beach, or floating down the St. Johns River on a boat they rented for the day, watching barges go by on their way to the port.

  Everything had been so wonderful, until a jewelry store called while he was at work and left a message on the answering machine. The engagement ring he’d ordered was ready to be picked up. The walls had begun to close in on her. The thought of getting married again made her sick with fear, and she could barely catch her breath.

  When he came home, she’d told him a cruel lie, because she didn’t want him wasting his life hoping she’d change her mind and come back. She’d told him the one thing that she knew would make him let her go: “I don’t love you. I’m ready to move on.”

  Madison ruthlessly pushed the past out of her mind. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He straightened and opened the passenger door. “That was the last place on your list, right? Let’s grab a late lunch, my treat.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, that’s the last place on my list?”

  “You mark a name off that piece of paper every time you come out of a building. It looked like this bed-and-breakfast was at the bottom of the piece of paper, so I thought you were done for the day.”

  “What list?” she repeated. Had he actually followed her today, and she hadn’t known? That thought had her both irritated and alarmed. If he could follow her so easily, who else could? She glanced around, rubbing the arms of her coat as she searched for a familiar silhouette in the shadows.

  Damon.

  “The list you shoved into your purse,” Pierce answered.

  She looked back at him and crossed her arms. “You’ve been following me all day?”

  “Technically, no. Another agent followed you until I could wrap up a few loose ends. Then I followed you.”

  Her face flushed, and she whirled around. She strode past his open car door and headed down the sidewalk.

  “Coward.” His insult echoed up the block.

  She stiffened but kept walking.

  The sound of a powerful engine revving up spurred her to walk faster. Pierce’s GTO whipped into a parking spot on the curb ahead. As he got out of his car, she hurried around the corner onto Congress Street.

  She heard his footsteps right before his arm clamped around her shoulders. He pulled her to a halt, facing the building in front of them.

  “Molly MacPherson’s Scottish Pub and Grill.” He read the sign over the door. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but it’ll work. Let’s get a beer, Mads.” He anchored her against his side, in spite of her attempts to pull away.

  She raised her elbow, bluffing, because she would never really hit him in his bruised ribs.

  He grabbed her arm. “Do it, and I’ll have you locked up for assaulting a federal officer. Don’t think I won’t.”

  She tried to twist away, irritated that he’d believed her bluff so easily. This time he let her go.

  “This is twice you’ve kidnapped me. Isn’t that a felony or something?”

  His face tightened into angry lines. “You and I are going to talk. We can do it here, or at the police station. I’m sure I can convince Lieutenant Hamilton to arrest you for something.” He cocked a brow. “Like carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.”

  Madison sucked in a breath and moved her purse to her other side, away from him.

  The hostess approached them and asked about their seating preference.

  Madison tamped down her irritation and smiled. “A booth please.”

  “Away from everyone else,” Pierce added.

  The hostess nodded, grabbed napkin-wrapped silverware and some menus, and led the way toward the back corner of the restaurant.

  Molly MacPherson’s wasn’t the kind of place Madison would normally pay more than a passing glance. She preferred smaller places with local flavor, without all the tourists. Judging by the Savannah T-shirts most of the diners were wearing, and the shopping bags cluttering the floor beneath their tables, just about everyone in this place was a tourist. The folk music piping out of the speakers was also a bit loud, but the beat gave the place a happy atmosphere, and she could feel her mood lifting already.

  When she passed a kilt-wearing waiter, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. Wasn’t there a rumor about what men wore beneath their kilts—or rather—what they didn’t wear? The waiter, noticing her interest, gave her a playful leer and a wink. Madison grinned, winked back, and stopped to ask about his kilt.

  As if guessing her intent, Pierce shook his head and grabbed her around the waist, steering her to their booth.

  Madison frowned at him, her mood sinking again as she slid into the seat with the wall at her back. She glanced toward the entrance, reassuring herself that Damon wasn’t standing there. She had no reason to believe he’d followed her today, but if an FBI agent had followed without her knowing, anything was possible.

  Instead of sitting on the other side of the table, Pierce slid in next to her. Since he didn’t seem to be watching the door like her, she assumed he just wanted to be able to discuss Damon without anyone overhearing them. She also noticed he sat with his injured ribs facing away from her as if he still didn’t trust her. She blew out a frustrated breath.

  Her mood soured even further, until she began to notice how warm and cozy it was sitting close to him. This wasn’t the first time they’d sat beside each other in a booth. When they’d gone out to restaurants together in the past, they’d often sit next to each other instead of across from each other, so they could hold hands beneath the table, or exchange a more intimate touch—a kiss on the nape of her neck, the brush of his breath against her ear, her hand on his thigh.

  She shivered at the memory. Pierce glanced at her in question, and she looked away.

  The waitress arrived and took their drink orders. They sat in silence until their drinks arrived, along with an order of potato scones the waitress had recommended.

  Madison took a bite of one of the scones, but she barely tasted the almonds and raspberry preserves. She kept trying to close her mind to the memories that swirled around her, so she could focus on whatever questions he might ask her, but sitting this close to him was playing havoc with her concentration.

  It was all she could do not to bury her nose in his shoulder and breathe in that intoxicating blend of soap and cologne that she always associated with him. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed him, or how much she cared about him until she’d seen him jump in front of a bullet for her.

  She drew a shaky breath.

  In spite of his earlier quip about getting a beer, Pierce had ordered water. He took a sip and turned slightly toward her as if he were about to ask her something.

  Madison took another bite.

  “You can stall all you want,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere until we talk.”

  The scone sat like sand
in her throat. She chased it down with a generous sip of Diet Coke and shoved the plate away. “There’s really no need for another inquisition. As you can see, no one took any shots at me today. No one followed me.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, except for the FBI. Other than that, no one followed me.” She couldn’t help glancing at the door again. But she realized that was a mistake when he looked toward the door too. The frown on his face when he looked back at her told her he knew exactly why she’d looked toward the entrance.

  “I’m still a little jittery from yesterday,” she said in explanation. “And tired. But other than that, I’m fine. You have no further obligations to my brother. You can go back to Tammy and forget all about me.”

  He sighed heavily. “Tessa. Her name is Tessa. And we shared that house for undercover work.”

  Jealousy slammed into her so hard her eyesight blurred. “How much undercover work did you two do?”

  He rolled his eyes and ignored her question. “Speaking of houses, it’s too dangerous for you to stay in yours. Until we know whether the gunman is coming back or not, you need to stay somewhere else.”

  She clutched the edge of the table so hard she was surprised the wood didn’t crack. She wasn’t about to let another man order her around. She rested her hand on Pierce’s thigh beneath the table and batted her lashes as she leaned against him. “You don’t think Terry will mind if I stay with you two, do you?”

  He glanced down where her breast was pressed against his arm, before he met her gaze. “Careful, Mads. I’m more than capable of finishing anything you start.”

  The waitress stopped to see if they were ready to order.

  Madison flashed her teeth in a false smile and rubbed her hand up the front of Pierce’s shirt. “I’m not hungry anymore, darling,” she said, mimicking the tone and endearment she’d heard Tessa use.

  Pierce captured her hand in his and gifted the waitress with one of his sexy smiles. He put his other arm around Madison’s shoulders and hauled her up against his side. “Please ignore my bride’s poor manners. She’s just ticked that I dragged her out of bed. I told her we have to keep up our strength.” He winked and the waitress blushed fire red.

  Madison kept her smile in place while she ground the heel of her sneaker into the top of his shoe. His pained grimace was extremely satisfying.

  “We had to leave the room anyway,” she said, in the same sexy, flirty tone he’d just used. “We had to get some more of those little blue pills.” She cupped her hand conspiratorially. “You know, for his little . . . problem.”

  The waitress blinked like an owl and her mouth fell open.

  Pierce slid his hand down the side of Madison’s arm.

  And pinched her.

  She let out a yelp and jerked away from his hand, throwing herself against his side.

  “Whoa, honey,” he said. “Let’s save that for the motel. And don’t you worry. I brought plenty of batteries to power those toys you love so much.” He winked at her gasp of outrage.

  Madison ducked under his arm and sprang from the booth, leaving him to settle the bill. She stalked outside and marched down the sidewalk, her face so hot she barely noticed the cold air. When he fell into step beside her a few moments later, she stopped and faced him with her hands on her hips. “Batteries? Toys?”

  “Blue pills? My little problem? Did you think I would let something like that go?”

  “You deserved it after that comment about dragging me out of bed.”

  He let out a short laugh, without a trace of humor. “You started this, hanging all over me back there. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  “Ha, jealous? Of who?”

  “Oh, let me see. Theresa, Terry, or was it Tammy?”

  She turned around, but he stepped right back in front of her. She tried to take a step back, but he grasped her shoulders and held her in a firm grip.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “Not until you answer me.”

  “I don’t remember you asking a question.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Why would I be jealous of . . .” her voice trailed off. She was about to make up another “T” name but she didn’t want to give him more ammunition. “Why would I be jealous of Tessa?”

  He frowned. “Good question. Why would you? May I remind you, you were the dumper. I was the dumpee.”

  She poked him in the stomach, careful to avoid his ribs. “I did not dump you. It was just . . . over. We were finished with each other.”

  He grabbed her hand in his, his blazing eyes inches from hers. “You might have been finished, baby, but I was only getting started.”

  She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms. She tugged him against the wall of the building beside them, and kissed him back as fiercely as he was kissing her.

  It had been so long, too long, since she’d felt this way. Heat coiled deep inside her, and she wiggled her hips, cuddling against him. She slid her fingers into the waistband of his pants, trying to free his shirt so she could feel his skin against hers.

  He made a choking sound and broke the kiss, grabbing her roving hands. He took a deep, shaky breath as he forced her back. “Stop,” he rasped.

  She frowned and stepped closer, tugging her hands out of his grasp. “Why?”

  He drew another deep breath. “For one thing, we’re on a public sidewalk.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked around at the small audience they’d gained—an elderly couple shaking their heads as they walked by, two teenaged boys grinning and whispering a few feet away, making no attempt to hide their interest.

  She shrugged. The delicious heat he’d awakened still curled through her. She’d missed this. She’d missed him. She ran her fingers down the front of his shirt. “Then let’s go to my house where we can be alone.”

  He grabbed her hands and firmly removed them from his chest. “What about your husband? If your stalker is who you think he is, you’re still married.”

  She twisted her fingers beneath his until she was holding his hands. “We’re not married. I divorced Damon.”

  He stilled. “What did you say?”

  She pulled a hand free and reached up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other for a couple of hours, like old times.”

  He grabbed her hand again. “That’s not going to happen. Play your games with someone else. I’m not getting back on that merry-go-round.” He pulled her toward his car and yanked the passenger door open. “Get in.”

  She plopped down on the seat, blinking against the unexpected moisture in her eyes at his merry-go-round comment. She’d definitely met her goal of making sure he didn’t try to stop her when she broke up with him. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried quite so hard.

  He slammed her door shut and crossed around the front of the car to the driver’s side. He got in, but instead of starting the engine, he grabbed her purse.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” She tried to grab her purse back, but he held it out of her reach.

  “I’m trying to keep you out of jail, but you’re making it extremely difficult.” He took out her .357 Magnum and shook his head as he shoved the gun under his seat. “Are you hiding any more weapons I should know about?”

  She glared at him. “Why don’t you search me and find out?”

  His jaw tightened as he tossed the purse in her lap. He turned the key, making the engine roar.

  “Where are we going?” she demanded.

  He slammed the gas pedal, throwing her back in her seat. “Neutral territory.”

  MADISON STOPPED IN front of the sign, “October 9, 1779. In Memory of Those Who Fought Here.” Beside her, Pierce stared across the expanse of brownish-green grass that spanned Battlefield Park.

  “How is this neutral territory?” Madison asked.

  “No cops.” Pierce glanced down at her. “No guns. Just you an
d me, on a battlefield. Seems appropriate. We’re about to do battle. And we’re not leaving until one of us wins.”

  With that ominous statement, he grabbed her hand and hauled her to a bench that looked out over the grassy fort. She reluctantly sat beside him and tugged her hand out of his grasp. The man was far too bossy.

  And far too appealing.

  How could she want to hit him and kiss him at the same time?

  He leaned back and propped his arm behind her. “We need to talk.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he sighed heavily and pulled his arm back, then twisted to face her. “Please.”

  That one little word, spoken so softly, was her undoing. The man had taken a bullet for her. The least she could do was try to answer his questions, or at least, she’d answer what she could without revealing too much. That bitter taste was already coming back in her mouth because of the lies she knew she would have to tell.

  “WHY DID YOU go to MacGuffin’s?” Pierce asked. “The place wasn’t even open.”

  Madison’s eyes widened, and Pierce saw a flash of panic cross her face. He could practically see the gears spinning in her mind, searching and sifting for that elusive answer, the lie she would tell to get him to leave her alone.

  Tough. She could lie to him all day, and it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t going to leave her alone until he got the truth.

  “MacGuffin’s,” he repeated.

  She stared out over the battlefield. “Damon . . . mentioned the place a few times. I thought someone there might remember him, that maybe they’d spoken to him and might know where he’s staying.”

  “You thought the man that you think is trying to kill you might hang around that place, so it was a good idea to go there?”

  She winced. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound like a very good idea. But I always keep a gun with me.” She frowned at him. “Or at least, I did.”

  He wanted to shake some sense into her. Thank goodness Casey had sent an agent to keep an eye on her. The agent had later told Pierce he spoke to her right outside the FBI building, that she had claimed to have a headache and seemed upset. Right now, Pierce was the one with a headache.