The Favor

by Cara Summers

  “No.” Reaching back, she tried to get a grip on his hip. “Don’t stop.”

  “Then hang on. It’s going to be a hard ride.”

  Bracing her arms against the wall, Sierra rode with him. His thrusts were long and hard, and she met each one with greed, clenching her muscles around him to keep him inside for as long as she could. But it wasn’t quite enough. “Faster,” she urged.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, he increased the pace. At the same time, he moved one hand from her hip to just the right spot between her legs. When he sank his teeth into her shoulder, the climax ripped through her. Before she let it sweep her up, she said, “Come with me, Ryder. Come with me.”

  Even as the world spun away, she felt him tighten his hold on her and thrust one last time.

  “NICE SCARF TRICK,” Ryder said when he could. He was sitting on the floor, and Sierra was on his lap, her head resting again in the crook of his shoulder. And he had no desire to move.

  “I have more,” Sierra told him.

  “Good to know,” Ryder said. “We probably shouldn’t try them out here though.”

  “No. Of course not.” She lifted her head and started to rise. “We have Mark Anderson to think of.”

  He gripped her hand and met her eyes. “We’re going to solve this thing, Doc.”

  She nodded.

  “And we’re going to use that scarf again.” He grinned at her. “I have some ideas of my own. In the meantime, intuition has struck.” He took her hand and helped her rise. “Here’s my escape plan. Step one, we change clothes.”

  Sierra put on the blue silk suit he tossed her along with pearl earrings, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he handed her a pair of sling-backs with two-inch heels.

  “Wear the sunglasses again.”

  When she turned to glance at him, she blinked and stared. He was wearing linen pants with an unstructured navy jacket. The shirt was silk, open at the collar, and he had a gold and diamond ring on his pinky. But the most significant change in his appearance was the wig. It was blond and meticulously styled.

  “If I passed you on the street, I wouldn’t recognize you.”

  “That’s the whole idea. The man who tried the door may or may not have been one of those goons who chased us. But we’re going to proceed on the theory that they’re out there still looking for us. They’ll have someone at your car in case we try to use it.”

  “So what is step two?” Sierra asked.

  He grinned at her. “We use a pay phone to call a taxi, and then we’re going into DC. Our first stop is the Esquire Health and Fitness Club.”

  11

  WHO WAS the real Sierra Gibbs?

  Sierra pondered the question as she stood in the lobby of one of DC’s posh chain hotels. Their exit from the shopping mall had been without incident, thanks to Ryder. But when their taxi had pulled up at the Esquire Health and Fitness Club, they hadn’t gone in. Instead, Ryder had steered her across the street and into the crowded lobby of the hotel, saying, “I have some phone calls to make. I want to arrange a meeting this evening with your sister and Ramsey, and I don’t dare use my cell.”

  Now she stood a few feet from where Ryder was making his calls, and she was studying her image in the glass wall of the lobby gift shop. The image was different than the one she’d seen in the dressing room. Then she’d looked like Britney Spears. In the blue suit, she looked sophisticated and sexy—a Hitchcock heroine. She kind of liked the look. Ryder would say that the woman staring back at her was a part of her, too, and she was almost coming to believe that.

  What part of her would she see when she wore the red dress? she wondered.

  The other question that she was occupying herself with while she waited for Ryder to finish his calls was—who was Ryder Kane?

  Narrowing her eyes, Sierra turned and studied the suave-looking man standing just a few feet away and talking on the phone. She’d told him the truth in the utility closet. If she hadn’t known who he was, she might never have recognized him. With his sunglasses, neatly arranged blond wig and designer clothes, he was a far cry from the man she’d first met in the Blue Pepper. This man was ultra smooth, a classy dresser, and he looked as if he frequented both a gym and a salon. A metrosexual. It occurred to Sierra that he would fit right in with the movers and shakers in the nation’s Capitol.

  Ryder Kane wouldn’t ever fit into that crowd. Unless he wanted to.

  She continued to study him as he dropped another quarter into the pay phone. Everything about the disguise he was wearing shouted class and money. Everything about the Ryder Kane who’d first kissed her in the Blue Pepper shouted danger and excitement.

  She couldn’t imagine the man currently in front of her pulling a gun, but Ryder looked perfectly natural when he held one. There was a dark, ruthless streak in him. But there was a rock-solid kindness too. Ryder Kane was a man who did favors for his friends. She thought of Mark Anderson and Jed Calhoun. And those friends turned to Ryder when they needed help.

  There were so many facets to him. She wondered if she would ever get to know them all.

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the man with the designer clothes and worldly airs who hung up the phone and turned toward her was someone who was much closer to her world. He’d probably come close to matching her sexual profile. But there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she preferred the real Ryder Kane to this smooth sophisticate.

  What did that say about Sierra Gibbs? She’d always thought of herself as rational and sensible. But a rational, sensible woman would never have made love with a man in a utility closet.

  “Ready?” Ryder asked as he took her arm.

  “For what?”

  He shot her a grin. “More fun.”

  Her brows shot up. “Tell me it won’t involve running away from those two thugs who chased us through the mall.”

  “No. I think we’ve taken care of them for the moment. Your sister and Detective Ramsey are leaving for that shopping mall as we speak. If our friends are still there, they will be picked up for questioning and charged in the kidnapping of Mark Anderson.”

  “How is Mark?”

  Ryder’s grin faded. “No change. He’s in a coma, but his parents are there, talking to him. The doctors say that there’s hope. The guy who shot at you is in intensive care. Your sister and Ramsey have a man stationed outside his room so that he can be questioned as soon as he regains consciousness. According to Ramsey, Mark’s editor can’t confirm that he was out of town on Monday or Tuesday. One of my men is still checking plane, bus and train passenger lists.”

  They were nearly at the revolving doors leading to the street when she remembered to ask, “So what’s your plan when we get to the Esquire Club?”

  “We’re going to test your theory that Mark left something for me in a locker there.”

  “I know that.” She pulled him out of the stream of traffic. “Details might be nice.”

  He drew a finger along her jawline. “There’s that haughty, sarcastic tone again. You know there’s something very provocative about it—like you’re issuing a challenge.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t. I won’t know how to play it until I actually get in there.”

  “I’m not good at improvising.”

  His eyes darkened. “You did pretty well in that utility closet.”

  She had. They had. Sierra felt heat stream through her body. For a moment, all she was aware of was Ryder. He was close, their only point of contact his hand on her arm, but she felt the pull. And she was almost sure he was going to kiss her.

  At the last moment, he pulled back and then drew her toward the revolving doors. “You’re a very distracting woman, Doc.”

  When they stepped out onto the street, the humidity enveloped them again. As they paused to wait for the traffic to clear, he said, “You know, with those sunglasses and the stylish suit, you’ve got a kind of prima-donna thing goi
ng. I think we can play with that.”

  “Play with that? What is that supposed to mean?” she asked as they crossed the street.

  “First time I saw you, I thought of Audrey Hepburn. Remember her in Charade?”

  “Yeah, and what I remember most is that Cary Grant lied his head off in that movie.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Great flick.”

  They reached the other side of the street. “You’re not helping me much here.”

  “When Jack Nicholson played the Joker in the first Batman movie, he said he let the costume do the work. I think that’s the way to go here.”

  Exasperated, Sierra took a calming breath and thought of her inhaler. But she clamped down on the urge. She was done with that.

  “Here we go,” Ryder said they as approached the glass doors of the Esquire Health and Fitness Club.

  Even as a mix of panic and anticipation streamed through her, an idea popped into her mind in a flash. “Did you ever see the movie The Pelican Brief?”

  “Sure. Denzel Washington and Julia Roberts—two of the most beautiful people in Hollywood in a John Grisham thriller. Hell of a way to kill a couple of hours.”

  “Remember the scene when they visited the sanitarium to question that young law student?”

  “Sure.”

  “You distract the manager, and I’ll look for the notebook.” The moment the words were out, Sierra couldn’t believe she’d said them. She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t even have a first step in mind.

  Ryder looked at her as he pushed through the doors of the club. “You sure you want to do this?”

  He was giving her a way out. But the trust she saw in his eyes did a lot to help her combat the panic bubbling up in her stomach. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded.

  He squeezed her hand. “Pick up the cues I give you and run with them.”

  Cues? As Ryder drew her toward the reception desk, she struggled against the second thoughts flooding her mind. Everyone was staring at her, from the fresh-faced young man behind the health-drink bar to the muscle-bound man behind the reception desk.

  “See. The prima-donna thing is working already,” Ryder said in a tone that only she could hear. Then he drew her forward.

  “I’m Richard Moore, the manager. May I help you?” A well-turned out man in impeccably neat clothes had joined Mr. Muscle behind the reception desk. He could have passed for a proper British butler.

  “I believe I have an appointment to discuss a membership in the club,” Ryder said.

  Sierra blinked. He was speaking with a French accent. Would he expect her to do the same? Even as she reminded herself to breathe, Richard said, “What time was your appointment?”

  Ryder glanced at his watch. “Three o’clock. We’re a few minutes late. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “No.” He was scanning a leather-bound book with a faint frown. “The problem is that I have no record of your appointment.” He leaned forward a little and pitched his voice low. “And this is a men’s club. We do not allow women.”

  Ryder turned and spoke in French to her, and she had no idea what he’d said. She’d studied Russian and Spanish in school. This time her panic must have shown on her face because he took her hands and squeezed them. Before she could even decide what to do, he turned back to Richard. “My fiancée doesn’t speak English. I don’t want to turn her out on the street alone. If you could please make an exception. She can sit over at the health bar while we talk.”

  Richard’s frown was deepening. “I suppose we could do that, but that still leaves one problem. I have no record of an appointment at three, Mister…?”

  “Ranier. Charles Ranier. Senator Hayworth’s secretary called and made the appointment.”

  Richard was beginning to look nervous as he scanned a message pad. “We have no record of the call.”

  Ryder turned to her again and spoke in rapid French.

  With adrenaline zipping through her, Sierra found herself putting a hand on his arm, praying that she wouldn’t blow his little charade.

  “But I can easily check with the senator.”

  Ryder’s smile was sad as he turned back to Antoine. “I’d rather you didn’t. His secretary is getting on in age. Over breakfast Donny was saying that he was afraid he’d have to let her go. I don’t want to be the one to worry him even more or to push him to that decision. Please, I want your word that you won’t disturb the senator.”

  “Very well.”

  Ryder glanced at his watch. “We’re relocating here to DC at the embassy. I wanted to get this settled before the move. Donny insisted that I join. Perhaps on my next visit we could talk?”

  “The senator is a very special member,” Richard said. “Why don’t we step into my office and I can go over the membership benefits?”

  “Merci,” Ryder said. Then he took Sierra’s arm and drew her toward the health bar.

  “How did you know to drop Senator Hayworth’s name?” she said under her breath.

  “His picture is in the foyer. He’s on the board. I told you something would occur to me.” After ordering her a bottled water, he pressed the key into her hand and spoke so only she could hear. “While I keep Richard occupied, see what you can find out.”

  Sierra felt another rush of adrenaline and fear as she watched Ryder walk away and join Richard in his private office. What in the world was she going to do? And why in the world had she thought she could do this? Mr. Muscle and Mr. Boy-next-door were both looking at her. And she could hardly sweet-talk either of them into giving her a tour when she wasn’t supposed to be able to speak English.

  But Ryder seemed to trust her to think of something. Her only other choice would be to be a coward and sit on a stool until he came out of the office.

  That was not an option. She’d jumped off a roof, and she’d outrun some men who were trying to shoot her. She was not going back to sitting on the sidelines and watching life go by.

  Taking a deep breath, she surveyed her surroundings. Beyond the health bar was a wall of windows that looked down into the actual gym. The men working out were mainly in their mid-fifties to late seventies, and each seemed to be in the company of a younger man wearing a T-shirt with the letters EHC on the back. The music flowing through the speakers was Chopin if she wasn’t mistaken. Very dignified.

  Ryder had said that Mark Anderson wasn’t a member. Whose guest had he been?

  Tucked between the entrance to the gym and the bar, she could see an open archway with a flight of stairs leading downward. To the locker rooms? A white-T-shirted man came up the steps and exited through a door to the gym proper.

  She waited until Mr. Muscle was occupied with a member, and the young man behind the bar picked up the phone. Then she eased off her stool and slipped through the archway.

  Her heart was racing by the time she reached the foot of the stairs. It was a locker room all right. The scent of chlorine was strong in the air and she could hear the faint sound of water splashing as she turned and walked past the first few rows. There were padlocks on the locker doors. And then she saw the discreet sign on the final row that read Guests. Rounding the corner, she saw keys sticking out of several lockers. And there it was, number 123.

  When she heard the sound of footsteps, Sierra dropped the key, and while she bent to retrieve it, the steps grew closer. Taking a deep breath, she quickly inserted the key and pulled the door open. There it was—a spiral stenographer’s notebook. Too big for the purse that Ryder had given her. She certainly couldn’t just carry it out with her.

  The footsteps paused. Grabbing the notebook, she stuffed it into the front of her skirt and pulled her suit jacket down over it before she turned.

  The man stood only a few feet away wearing nothing but a towel. He was large, and the expression on his face was anything but happy. “If you’re a thief, you’ve picked the wrong place.”

  12

  SIERRA DREW IN a deep breath and prayed for inspiration. What would Ryder do in this
situation? What would Julia Roberts do? She quickly decided that pretending not to speak English was not an option. “I’m not a thief.”

  “I just saw you take something out of that locker, and you’re not a member or a guest because they don’t allow women here. That spells thief to me.” He inserted a key in a locker and pulled out a cell phone.

  “Please,” she said. “Don’t call anyone. I can explain.” She hoped. Thinking on her feet had never been her strength.

  He paused, cell phone in hand. “You can explain to the club manager.”

  “No, I can’t.” In her mind, she tried to recall exactly what Julia Roberts had done in The Pelican Brief. For starters, she’d lied through her teeth. Sierra drew in a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Please don’t call him. I convinced the young man at the desk to let me run down here, and I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  The man paused to study her.

  Her heart was pounding so hard that he had to hear it. And she was very much afraid that she was flushing the way she did whenever she lied.

  “Even if I believe that, it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “My boss was a guest here a few days ago, and he sent me to get something he left in his locker. He gave me the key.” Smiling, she held out her palm with the key in it. “You can see that I didn’t break in.”

  The man frowned. “Why didn’t he come himself?”

  “He’s Mark Anderson of The Washington Post. You may have seen him here.”

  “Sure. He’s a frequent guest. I saw him here on Wednesday. He plays a mean game of racket ball. Jack Gracie didn’t look happy when the game was over.”

  Sierra felt her heart take a fast little leap at the mention of the vice president’s son’s name. “It must have been the excitement of winning that made him forget to check his locker carefully. He left some notes here. He couldn’t come himself to get them.” That much was true. She pulled the notebook out and showed it to him. “Please. It’s a new job for me, and I assured him I could do this.” She waited for a moment, and plan B came into her head. If he punched numbers into that phone, she was just going to make a run for it.