“Oh.” She fought the urge to glance over. “Hired? By whom? Mr. Bartow?”
“Maybe. Maybe someone else looking for your brother. You have no idea what he might have gotten himself into.”
She stiffened. “Well, maybe it’s that guy Gray. He makes me nervous.”
His lips quirked. “Yeah, me too.”
“You?” She laughed. “I can’t imagine you nervous about anything.”
He leaned across the table. “I’m really not Superman,” he stage-whispered.
She chuckled again, aware he was trying to make her relax and glad for it. “Thanks for the update.”
“But”—his tone grew serious—“I am one of the best in my field. I’ve been doing this a long time, so you should listen when I tell you something.”
Cara arched her brows. “Modest much?”
Nancy came over and set their coffees in front of them. He waited until she left before he answered. “It’s not bragging, it’s fact. Ask around.”
“I did ask.” She emptied three sugars and a couple of creamers into her coffee. “Your friend Sal thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”
He took two packs of sugar and shook them together, then tore open the tops. “You mean it doesn’t?”
“Ha-ha. You’re a funny guy.”
He dumped the sugar into his mug. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She couldn’t miss the hint of flirtation skimming beneath the words. As a distraction, it worked. “Not at all.” She stirred her coffee.
“I’m a firm believer in laughter.” He ripped open a creamer and tipped it into his cup. “Life’s too short, so laugh while you can.”
“Very philosophical.”
He shrugged. “What I do can be dangerous. I’ve learned to live for today.”
She cocked her head. “No tomorrows? No plans?”
He shook his head. “I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”
“I’m not.” She blew on her coffee. “I plan everything. I don’t like surprises.”
“So taking Bartow up on his offer to fly you out here to look for Danny was really out of character.”
She stiffened. “I didn’t take him up on anything. But I did think it was a good idea, so I bought the plane ticket. Bartow didn’t pay for anything.”
“Except your hotel room.”
“Yeah.” She frowned, still disturbed by the situation. “I’m not sure how that happened. I intended to stay at Danny’s place while I was here. I don’t like to be beholden to anyone. But somehow I ended up in that room, just like I ended up in the limo with Mr. Gray when I had no intention of allowing him to pick me up at the airport.”
“Really.” A frown furrowed his brows.
“Seriously, do you think Gray is the one who drugged me, hypnotized me, whatever? Seems like whenever he’s around, I end up doing things I have no intention of doing.”
“Right now, I’m keeping all options on the table.”
Nancy returned just then, balancing platters along one arm and passing them out with the other hand. “Here you go. Watch the plates; they’re hot.”
Cara sat back as Nancy slid the steaming hotcakes and eggs in front of her. Rafe smiled at the waitress, then asked for syrup. As Nancy went off to get it for him, Cara reached across the table and laid her fingers over Rafe’s hand. “I think we need to have a plan in place for when we find Danny.”
Rafe stilled. Looked from their touching hands to her eyes. The male interest burning there stole the breath from her lungs.
Time slowed, counted by the beats of her heart. Heat rose, shimmered, stretched between them. Her lips parted. His nostrils flared; his eyes narrowed.
She wanted to touch him. The craving tugged at her, urging her to taste, but she resisted. He intrigued her, and after her failed attempt at forever, “in the moment” sounded darned appealing. But she barely knew him, and she wasn’t the type to jump into anything without a lot of thought first, especially not with Danny out there somewhere needing her help. She started to slide her hand back, but he caught it, trapped it beneath his large, strong palm.
“Danny’s not the only thing we need to talk about,” he said.
The challenge hung out there between them, vibrating with tension.
The jangle of her cell phone jerked her out of the moment. Relieved, she dug in her purse for the phone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Danny. She glanced at the display, groaned, and hit the ANSWER button, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hello, Warren.”
“Cara, what the hell are you doing in Vegas? I’ve been calling you since yesterday.” Her ex-fiancé’s tone abraded like sandpaper on bare skin. She clenched her teeth. She didn’t need this, not with her nerves already frayed over Danny, strangers tailing her, and a potent, inconvenient attraction to a way-too-sexy bounty hunter.
“Didn’t Mitch tell you?” She kept her tone casual as she started to slide from the booth, but Rafe grabbed her wrist, shook his head.
“Stay put,” he mouthed.
She hesitated, tempted to ignore him, but his quick glance at their suspicious followers reminded her to be cautious. She stayed seated.
“Mitch told me you took off for Vegas,” Warren said. “What were you thinking, Cara? We need you here.”
She turned into the booth, her back to the dining room. “I can’t really talk right now, Warren.”
“Just tell me—what the heck are you doing in Vegas?”
She bit her lip, braced herself. “It’s Danny.”
“I should have known.” His tone rang with disgust. “Cleaning up after your deadbeat stepbrother again.”
“He’s family, Warren. I had to come. He needs me.”
“What about Apex? The company needs you, too.”
“I’m not irreplaceable.”
“I promised the Kirby account you would give them your personal attention.”
She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ve asked you not to do things like that, Warren.”
“It gets the signature on the dotted line, doesn’t it? Everyone wants personal attention from one of the owners of the firm.”
“You’re an owner, too. Promise them your time, not mine.”
“I’m not a programmer. Listen, Cara—”
“No, you listen. We’re equal shareholders in the company. You will no longer promise my services to anyone, do you hear me? Not without talking to me first.”
He stayed silent for a long moment. “I can’t believe you’re forcing me to break a promise, Cara.”
She snorted at the dramatic tone. “Well, we both know you’re good at that, don’t we?”
The instant the words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back. First rule of arguing with Warren: never show your weakness.
“Oh, I see what this is about. Geez, Cara, it’s been a year. Are you trying to punish me?”
She inhaled, slowly. “Not everything is about you, Warren.”
“But this is. You’re still angry at me, aren’t you? What did you expect me to do, Cara? It wasn’t working with us. I have dreams, needs. I couldn’t give those up. I had to move on.”
She bit back a sharp reply. She’d had dreams and needs, too. She’d just expected the man who proposed marriage to her to be part of them.
“Cara? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was thinking.”
Rafe touched her hand. She glanced at him, and he indicated he was going to the men’s room. She nodded as he slid from the booth, then watched his tight, jean-clad butt as he strolled through the dining room toward the restrooms.
She let out a long breath. The man was hot. That lean, easy grace of his led her thoughts down avenues she was trying to avoid. A tingle swept over her, firing up a libido she had thought dormant.
“Cara, are you listening to me? Cara?”
Warren’s strident voice cooled her blooming ardor like a bucket of ice water. She frowned at the phone. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
&n
bsp; “I said you’ve got to let me go, Cara. Obsession isn’t healthy.”
“You’re right, Warren.” She glanced at Rafe again, considered the possibilities. “Here I am, letting you go.” She closed the phone with a click, dropped it into her purse, then picked up her warm mug. The phone started ringing again.
She sipped her coffee and stared out at the dramatic desert view, her lips curving as the phone rang and rang and finally stopped.
Living in the moment didn’t seem such a bad idea after all.
* * *
Rafe made his way across the dining room, ignoring the table where his suspected tail sat. He had gotten way too interested in Cara’s conversation, way too curious about this guy Warren. He shouldn’t care. He couldn’t care. He’d brought her with him to try to protect her. Nothing more could come of it, no matter how much sizzle flared between them.
He’d been wishing he were somewhere else, longing to get away from her phone conversation and the questions it raised, when one of the guys following them got up to go to the men’s room.
He had no doubt that these two were indeed tailing them. Who they worked for, he didn’t know, and the universe wasn’t sharing. Were they connected to Danny? Or maybe they were under orders from Bartow or Gray. But to do what? Someone had trashed Cara’s hotel room, and someone had put a compulsion on her to go home. The same person or different people? How many parties were involved in this mess?
He timed it just right and bumped into the guy in the doorway just as the other man was coming out of the restroom. He gave him a quick once-over and noted the details: about five ten, brown hair, brown eyes, shoulders like a linebacker. Rafe smiled, apologized, and looked into the man’s eyes.
Nothing. No images, no facts from the universe. Zip. Just like Cangialosi. Just like Adrian Gray. What the heck was going on here?
The guy pushed past him, and Rafe used the chance to lift his wallet. As the suspect headed back to his table, Rafe ducked into a restroom stall, locked it, and opened the wallet. There wasn’t much: a wad of cash, some foreign credit cards, and ID that proclaimed the tail Evan Gerrari, citizen of Santutegi.
He tried again to see something by looking at Gerrari’s photo, but he got the same result as before—a big fat nothing.
He glanced over the credit cards, then back at the ID. Santutegi. Where had he heard that name before? It took him a moment, but then he remembered the newscast. The president of Santutegi was in Vegas, going to some convention. Rafe had been testing his abilities and looked at the foreign president on TV … and seen nothing. Just like this guy.
His senses tingled, the Hunter stirring as a suspicious pattern began to form. First Cangialosi, then the president—what was his name? Criten, that was it. Then Gray, then this guy. Out of that bunch, two of them had something in common; they were both from Santutegi. What were the odds?
He’d lived in Vegas long enough to know that the odds were always on the side of the house. He’d learned when to walk away from the table, and right now that seemed like a damned good idea. The more distance he and Cara put between them and the Santutegi guys, the better he liked it.
He took the cash and stuffed it in his pocket, then dropped the wallet in the toilet. Leaving the stall, he dropped the credit cards deep in the trash. He washed his hands, then walked out of the restroom. He’d left Cara alone too long.
She still sat in the booth, already halfway through her pancakes, no longer on the phone. She looked up as she saw him, and the sweetness of her smile warmed him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He slid into the seat, trying to focus despite his reaction to her welcome. You’re in bad shape, Montana, if one little smile can get you going. He glanced around as if looking for the waitress, noting that their tails were watching him. Him, not Cara.
“These pancakes are delicious,” she said. “I hope yours aren’t cold.”
“Yeah.” He picked up his fork, then leaned forward to snag the syrup from her side of the table. “Listen,” he murmured. “I think we need to lose these guys.”
She paused in lifting her cup to her lips, but only for a second. She took a sip of coffee, then whispered, “How?”
He poured syrup on his pancakes. “I thought about slipping out the bathroom window to slash their tires, but it’s too small. We’re going to have to ditch them somewhere.”
She finished the last gulp of coffee. “Let me do it.”
He cut up his pancakes, still thinking of alternatives. “Let you do what?”
“Let me take care of the tires.”
He jerked his gaze up, staring as she calmly popped a bit of pancake into her mouth. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? If you’re sure they’re tailing us—”
“I am.”
“—then let me help. I might fit through the window, and if you stay here to distract them, they may not suspect anything.”
“That’s a crazy plan.”
“You didn’t think so when you were going to do it.”
“I’m a professional.”
“Yeah, but I’m from Jersey.” She flashed him a mischievous grin. “Danny taught me a few things.”
“Be serious. Have you ever slashed a tire before?”
An enticing little twinkle lit her eyes. “Yes. My boyfriend cheated on me with Andrea Miller in senior year, and I made sure his car stayed in her driveway for her parents to find.”
Truth.
He weighed the odds. “I don’t want you in danger.”
“You won’t let me be. Do you have a knife I can use?”
“Yeah. I can slip it to you under the table.”
“I have a better idea.” Grabbing her purse, she slid out of the booth, then came to stand in front of him, blocking the view of the tails while he slid the knife out of his pocket and palmed it.
“How did you want to do this?” he asked, looking up at her. The white tank top under her plaid shirt really showcased her assets at eye level. His mouth watered.
She bent over, surprising him, her lips hovering above his. “Slip it in my pocket.” Then she kissed him.
Heat flared like a spewing volcano, sweeping over him. Her scent wrapped around him, cinnamon and vanilla and delicious female, her curly ponytail sliding forward and tickling his face. He grabbed the waistband of her jeans, tugging her closer, fighting the urge to yank her into his lap and take what he wanted. The Hunter jerked against the leash of his control, wanting woman. Wanting sex.
And Rafe just wanted her.
She pulled back from the kiss just enough to murmur, “Put it in, hot shot.”
For a moment he thought she had read his mind. Then he remembered—danger, people following them, the knife. He pretended to caress her hip and slipped the weapon into her front pocket.
She straightened, swinging her purse in front of the slight bulge. “This trip is getting more and more interesting, Rafe Montana.”
It sure as hell was. It had been awhile for him, and she turned him on like a match to tinder. He wanted to find a motel somewhere so they could get lost in each other for days. He looked in her eyes and saw the truth there: simmering arousal, feminine interest … and death.
Damn it. How could he have forgotten that?
“I’ll be right back,” she said, apparently not picking up on his disquiet.
He watched her walk across the room, ponytail bouncing and that sweetly curved ass swaying with sensual invitation. As she passed the men from Santutegi, he fully expected them to watch her go by. But their gazes stayed fixed on him.
He settled back in the booth, acting like he hadn’t noticed them, and dug into his pancakes. He tried to focus on business and not on the arousal still heating his blood. Cara’s life depended on his protection, and that sobering reminder helped calm him. Why were the suits watching him if they were after Cara?
Unless they weren’t after her at all. And that just made no sense.
Where is Cara?
He’d barely asked the question be
fore the vision swelled in his mind. Cara had already slipped out the window and headed over to the silver sedan, staying low and moving quickly. Once she got close to the car, she ducked down into a crouch and hurried to the rear tire. A single jab of his knife did the job. She crept up to the front of the vehicle. A second stab damaged the passenger side tire. Then she scurried back toward the restaurant again, using cars and the shadows of the late afternoon as cover.
By the time Cara finished her mission, he’d cleaned his plate. He got the check from Nancy, went to the register and paid in cash. Then he hung out near the candy by the checkout counter, the picture of the exasperated boyfriend waiting for his girl to come out of the restroom.
Finally the women’s room door opened, and Cara stepped out. She saw him immediately and came right over.
“All set?” he asked.
She grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
He slid his arm around her waist and guided her to the door, aware that their followers had risen from their table and were headed toward checkout. He and Cara stepped outside, and he took her hand and hurried with her toward his SUV.
“Won’t they be suspicious if they see us running?” Cara asked, panting as she tried to keep up with his long strides.
“I’m not running.”
“But I am. My legs are shorter than yours.”
“Sorry.” He slowed his pace so she could keep up with his brisk walk. “Maybe they’ll think we’re hot to get to a motel, especially after that show you put on.”
They reached the SUV and she stopped, looking up into his eyes. “Sorry, it was all I could think of.”
Lie. She’d wanted to kiss him, and even though he knew it was a bad idea to get involved with her, he couldn’t regret it, either. “When we get clear of these guys, we’re going to talk about this.”
She studied his face for a minute. “Okay.”
Their followers came out of the restaurant. Rafe led her to her side, unlocked the door, and helped her in with a hand on her butt. She raised her brows at him as he closed the door for her, and he shrugged, unrepentant. He was disciplined, not dead.
“We are definitely going to talk,” she said when he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“First we get out of here.” He pulled out of the space, watching their pursuers in the rearview mirror as they discovered their disabled car. He grinned and turned his attention to the road.
Prodigal Son Page 9
