The Favor

by Cara Summers

That wouldn’t be a problem, Sierra thought. She had a feeling that phone sex was going to be a tough act to follow. She raised her umbrella and stepped out into the rain.

  “Wait. I have a favor to ask you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m supposed to meet a friend at the Blue Pepper at 5:00, and I’m going to be late. He’s a tall blond, in his early thirties, good-looking in a rich-boy, prep-school kind of way. His name is Mark Anderson. George, the bartender, knows him. Could you keep an eye out for him and tell him I’m delayed and I want him to wait for me?”

  “Sure. I’ll tell George to send him to my table.”

  “Thanks. It was very nice speed dating you, Dr. Gibbs.”

  “I…enjoyed it, too.” Sierra quickened her pace when the Blue Pepper came into view.

  “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Just so you know, this was my first attempt at phone sex. Normally, I like my sex up close and very hands-on. And I have this feeling, kind of like a theory, that you and I are going to have some very good sex.”

  Sierra barely kept herself from stumbling right into the glass door of the Blue Pepper. Impossible or not, she had the same feeling. And as a theory, she was very much afraid that she wanted to put his theory to the test.

  THE RAIN had just let up as he reached the Vietnam Memorial. He’d chosen this spot for his meeting because he’d been sure that it would be fairly private. And he’d been right. Only a few tourists were standing in front of the wall, hardy souls who didn’t mind the thunderstorm that had just passed over the DC area.

  He moved quickly to one particular section of the wall and scanned the names until he found the one he was looking for.

  Brian James McElroy, the source of all of his problems. A wave of anger moved through him. He had to clench his hands into fists and take several deep breaths to control it. Brian McElroy was dead. He hadn’t been an MIA. He’d died when his platoon had been almost wiped out thirty-five years ago.

  He was dead and he should have stayed dead. He would have if it weren’t for that reporter. Now two men were threatening everything he’d worked for—his dreams, his future. And the future of the country. He had to put a stop to it.

  Another burst of anger surged through him, and he wished for the brandy that he kept in the bottom drawer of his office. A sip of that would have settled him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man approaching and he turned abruptly away from the wall to intercept him and steer him away from the Memorial.

  “Have you eliminated the problem yet?” he asked the man when he was sure that they were totally alone.

  “We searched his apartment, but there was nothing in his computer about the name you were interested in.”

  He kept his curses silent and asked instead, “He’s probably carrying the file with him. You should have had him by now.”

  The three beats of silence spoke volumes. He found himself clamping down on both anger and impatience. The matter had to be handled quickly, and incompetence was something he had a great deal of trouble tolerating.

  “He’s been moving around,” the man said. “I’ll have him tonight. The calls on his cell have been monitored. He’s due at the—”

  “No names.”

  “He’s due at this bistro in Georgetown for a meeting at 5:00.”

  “He’s meeting with someone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “We weren’t able to pick that up. He hung up before—”

  “Spare me the excuses.” He waited, breathing in and out until the fresh bout of fury ebbed. He had to keep his mind clear. Stopping short on the path, he considered for a moment. “You’ll have to pick up whomever he’s meeting with also.”

  “Now wait. The deal we made was that I would deliver the journalist. The B…bistro is a popular place. How am I supposed to snatch two people?”

  “Deals change. Hire some extra help. If the story leaks to anyone…”

  He nodded reluctantly. “All right. I’ll handle it.”

  “I’ll expect a successful report by midnight.”

  “Here?”

  He shook his head. “The parking garage near the mall on 7th Street. Top level.”

  “What should I do with this extra person?”

  Leaning closer to his companion, he pitched his voice very low. “The same thing you’re going to do with the journalist. Erase the problem.”

  4

  “IF I WERE a body of water, what kind would I be?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Ocean, lake or river?” Sierra struggled against a yawn as she studied the man across the table from her. He’d introduced himself as Richard Parker, and if she’d had to choose one word to describe him it would be cautious. He was the polar opposite of Ryder Kane.

  In the silence that stretched between them at the table, Sierra could hear the band starting to play on the patio. The tune had a rhythmic Latin beat. Not a Beatles song. She bit back a sigh. No matter how hard she tried to stay focused, her mind kept returning to the phone conversation she’d had with Ryder. She couldn’t get him out of her mind.

  Rad blew two sharp notes on his whistle, signaling that five minutes had elapsed, and Sierra returned her attention to the man sitting in front of her. Richard Parker had used four of those minutes deciding whether he was a guitar or a keyboard. In the end, he hadn’t been able to decide—which meant that he was a perfect match for her in terms of a musical instrument. She’d wavered between the guitar and the keyboard also.

  “Hmmm.” Richard frowned as he laced his fingers together in front of him. “This is a trick question, right?”

  “There’s no right or wrong answer.”

  “That depends on what you hope to gain by asking it. Tell me again what the purpose of this little quiz is.”

  “To see whether or not our sexual styles mesh.”

  “Right. I’m going to need a little time for this one.”

  Surprise. Surprise. Tamping down on the urge to tap her fingers on the table, Sierra nodded. “Go ahead. Take all the time you need.”

  Richard had identified himself as an attorney at a law firm with four stuffy names in its title. She figured that was why he needed time to analyze and think every question through. Not that she could fault him for taking his time. In fact, she sympathized with him. When she’d given herself the little quiz, she’d thought and rethought her answers for nearly half an hour. Caution was something she and Richard Parker had in common.

  Neither one of them would ever have Ryder Kane’s impulsive nature. Richard was not a man who would grab a woman and kiss her senseless in a bar before he’d even been introduced to her. She studied his serious expression. This was a man who would never make her giggle.

  Focus, she scolded herself. Richard Parker was the best-looking of the seven men she’d speed dated so far—if you liked fair-haired men with smooth palms and bronzed skin that came from a tanning salon. Up until yesterday, Sierra would have thought that slender, blond men were her cup of tea. But somehow her taste had switched to dark-haired men with callused fingers.

  Richard Parker and Ryder Kane were different in other ways too. She could picture Richard quite easily in a courtroom where his careful, meticulous manner would impress a jury. He was smooth, sophisticated-looking, and she didn’t doubt that he could order the perfect bottle of wine to go with a meal. And Richard would perform each activity with that serious expression on his face.

  On the other hand, Ryder Kane was a man she could picture in a multitude of settings—in a boardroom or a dark alley, in the city or the country, on the deck of a ship or behind the wheel of a very sleek, fast sports car. Sometimes he would have that glint of humor in his eyes. Other times, he would have a hint of danger. And ever since their phone conversation, she’d been picturing his face above hers and imagining what it might feel like to have their bodies pressed together, moving in tandem. Each time the image filled her mind, a sharp arrow of pleasure sho
t through her.

  “Sierra?”

  She blinked and brought her wandering mind back to the man sitting in front of her. Richard Parker, she reminded herself. The cautious attorney. “Yes?”

  “I seem to recall that there’s erotic symbolism associated with water.”

  Sierra felt color rise in her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Can you elaborate on that or would that be against the rules?”

  Sierra’s fingers tightened on the blue note card. Ryder would never have asked such a polite question. He would probably have just given an accurate guess as to what the three bodies of water symbolized. And she imagined his answer to the question would be all three. The thought made her smile.

  Richard frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” Sierra cleared her throat. “But I can’t elaborate. That would be against the rules.”

  Richard nodded. “Then I’m going to go with the lake. I think that’s my safest choice.”

  Exactly, Sierra thought. The lake had been her choice too. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that making love with Richard Jensen would be safe and thoroughly predictable. She would find none of the danger and mystery that the ocean suggested, and certainly none of the speed and adventure, the headlong rush to pleasure that a “river” might offer.

  And that Ryder Kane might provide.

  Even without finishing the quiz, she was certain that the man sitting across from her would fit her profile perfectly just as Bradley Winthrop had. But she was also suddenly quite certain that she didn’t want to be a lake anymore. Nor did she want to have an affair with a man who would offer her the safe, the predictable and the dull.

  Had a chance meeting and a speed date with Ryder Kane spoiled any chance she had of finding a lover?

  Unless it was him?

  A flood of feelings washed through her—panic, excitement, anticipation. Was she actually thinking of asking a man like Ryder Kane to be her lover?

  No. The whole idea was ridiculous. She wasn’t his type. He wouldn’t agree.

  Rad blew three sharp blasts on his whistle—a two-minute warning. Ruthlessly, Sierra pushed Ryder out of her mind and put all of her efforts into focusing on Richard Parker. She smiled. “We’re not going to have time to finish the quiz.”

  “Did I do well enough that we could finish it the next time we meet?”

  Sierra drew in a deep breath. “No. There’s no need to finish it. You did just fine.”

  He frowned slightly. “But you aren’t going to agree to meet with me again, are you?”

  “No, I’m not going to meet with you again,” she said.

  He nodded, the same sober expression on his face. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

  Tell me you’re going to kiss me and make my lips vibrate when you do. But Richard Parker would do neither of those things. So she shook her head. “No.”

  As she watched him rise and walk away, she realized she might as well be watching herself. With the exception of her academic work, she’d gone through life always taking no for an answer.

  Ryder would never take no for an answer. They were so different—worlds apart. Was that why she was so attracted to him?

  She was about to get up when a man sat down in the chair opposite hers.

  “Are you Sierra Gibbs?” His voice was breathless, his face tense.

  “Yes.” She held out her hand. Rad hadn’t blown the whistle yet, and she’d thought Richard was her last date. “And you’re…?”

  He gripped her hand hard. “Mark Anderson. The bartender said that you had a message for me.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She’d completely forgotten the favor that Ryder had asked of her. “From Ryder Kane. He got caught in traffic on the beltway. He wants you to wait.”

  “How long?” Mark’s gaze shifted to the bar, and he suddenly stiffened.

  Sierra realized in that instant that it was fear fueling his tension. She could feel it in the hand still clenching hers and see it in his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  “I can’t wait. I was followed. I thought I’d lost them. But they’re here, and if they see me talking to Ryder, they’ll be after him, too.”

  Sierra reached into her bag. “Let me call the police. My sister is—”

  “No. I can’t talk to the police. Not yet. Too many people will be affected if what I’ve discovered leaks out. That’s why I called Ryder. He’s a straight thinker, and I can trust him.” His gaze darted again to the bar as he leaned closer. “I need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I’m going to leave something on the chair. Promise me you’ll see that Kane gets it. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Of course, but—” Sierra let the sentence trail off when Mark rose and dashed toward the stairs. Rising, she stepped around the table and saw that he’d left a large book on the chair. While she stuffed it into her canvas bag, she kept her eyes on the entrance to the restaurant until she finally spotted Mark pushing his way through to the street.

  He’ll be all right, she told herself. This was Georgetown after all.

  A second later, she saw another man leave the restaurant and turn purposefully in the same direction Mark had taken. Coincidence?

  She had to make sure. That was the only clear thought in her mind as she hurried toward the stairs.

  TO HIS RELIEF, Ryder squeezed his car into the mini-sized parking space on the first try. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out his gun, and tucked it into the back of his waistband. The same intuition that told him Mark Anderson was in trouble was telling him that he might need to be armed. Levering himself out of the car, he indulged in a quick stretch, then locked up and headed toward the corner.

  He was a mere two and a half blocks away from the Blue Pepper, so perhaps his luck was changing. Frustrating was the one word that had summed up his trip into DC. Even after the traffic had finally cleared, it had taken him nearly an hour to break free of the logjam that the pile-up had caused.

  And thanks to his conversation with Dr. Sierra Gibbs, the wait had been damned uncomfortable. He was looking forward to seeing her again. This was the first time he’d ignored his intuition where a woman was concerned. But hell, he thrived on danger in his professional life. Wasn’t that why he did favors for a fee and carried a gun? Perhaps it was time that he took a risk in his personal life too.

  After reaching the corner, Ryder turned right. Now that the rain had stopped, people were spilling out of restaurants and bars to fill the outside tables. He moved toward the edge of the sidewalk and picked up his pace. His interest in Sierra Gibbs was only one reason why he was hurrying. Deep in his gut, he had a very bad feeling about Mark Anderson. As he approached the Blue Pepper, he caught the strains of music coming from the bistro—something with a Latin beat. The type of music playing the night he’d met Sierra.

  He was remembering his first glimpse of her when he saw the man push through the doors of the Blue Pepper and run up the street. And instant later recognition flashed through him. Mark Anderson—and he looked as though he was fleeing for his life.

  Ryder broke into a run. A block away, tires squealed as a dark-colored van turned the corner Mark was headed for, and two men leaped out. Both were built like linebackers. Another man was closing in on Mark from behind.

  Dodging his way around a pair of lovers holding hands, Ryder pulled out all the stops. He was almost directly across the street from the Blue Pepper when two things happened at once. Sierra burst through the door and started running toward the corner, and one of the muscle-bound guys dragged Mark Anderson into the van.

  “Sierra!” Ryder shouted the word, but he was sure the music drowned out the sound.

  One of the men turned toward Sierra just as another tough-looking character burst out of the restaurant and started up the street in her direction.

  She was nearly to the van. Fear streaked through him as he dashed between two parked cars and then barely missed an oncoming car. Tires screech
ed and horns blared. Ryder vaulted over the hood of a sporty convertible parked at the curb and sprinted toward the corner.

  Seconds mattered and the gap was widening. Even if he took out the man who was following her, she was no match for the thug still waiting for her at the van.

  Ryder’d never been a great believer in ESP, but he willed Sierra to turn. She did. But the men were too close. He was still too far away.

  He wasn’t going to make it in time.

  “WAIT,” Sierra shouted. “You can’t—” She stopped short the moment the heavyset man turned toward her. He was bald and built like a tank. And his pal had just shoved Mark Anderson into the van.

  “I want to see Mr. Anderson,” she said.

  He held out his hand and motioned her forward.

  Staying right where she was, she tried to see inside the van. “Mr. Anderson?”

  There was no answer. Not a good sign. The heavyset man took a step toward her.

  She took a step back.

  A screech of tires and the blast of a horn had her glancing over her shoulder. Fear trembled in her throat when she saw the other man walking toward her. She swallowed hard. They’d boxed her in.

  Her mind emptied. There was no time to weigh options or calculate odds. She whirled away from the van, but it was too late. A hard tug on her jacket slowed her momentum. Then when the fabric ripped, she shot forward like a stone released from a slingshot.

  “I’ve got her.”

  The other man had adjusted his path to intercept her. She was headed straight toward him. For one second, fear became so bright that it nearly blinded her. Buildings blocked her on one side, parked cars on the other. Both men were getting closer. Acting on pure instinct, she used the only weapon she had and swung her canvas bag with all her might into the oncoming man’s face.

  He howled with pain and stumbled. She dodged to his right and raced past him.

  Another man was racing towards her. An instant later, he grabbed her and she felt the breath leave her body as they hit the cement.

  THE SECOND his arms clamped around her, Ryder swiveled his body so that he took the impact when they hit the sidewalk. Then he rolled with her into the shelter of a glass-fronted store entrance.