Warrior For One Night

A car was waiting. She had to jog to get ahead of her client to efficiently open the door. He didn’t look at her, merely tossed his bag in first before sliding into the cool, dark interior. He paid her no attention until she climbed in to take the opposite seat. His surprise was evident in the widening of his eyes. Hazel eyes, with mysterious hints of green. They were gorgeous, too.

“Door-to-door service,” she explained. “Part of the job.”

“You don’t really need—”

“Yes, I do.”

She pulled the door shut, ending any further protest. When push came to shove, she could be rude and undiplomatic, too.

He smelled good.

It was a short hop to the hotel, which bordered the airport. In those brief minutes, the chilly limo filled with the faint scent of whatever exotic cologne he was wearing. It had her nose twitching and her meter ticking again. Because there was nowhere else to look, she found herself studying his hands. Clean, long fingered with neat nails. Not pale as she would have expected from a high-rise type, but lightly bronzed. Probably the tanner rather than the true outdoors. No wedding ring or sign that he’d ever worn one.

She felt his stare and slowly let her gaze lift to meet it. His directness unnerved her, and she was sure he knew it, but she matched it unflinchingly for a long silent minute. Then, feeling rather silly with their stare down, she broke the stalemate.

“Will you be needing me again tonight?”

“No. I’ll see you have an itinerary in the morning.”

She nodded. How frigidly professional of him. He had a nice voice, clipped but low, soft and a little gruff around the edges. In other circumstances, sexy as hell. Who was she kidding? Everything about him was sexy as hell. Except his attitude.

They pulled into the hotel circle, and again he gave her a questioning look when she climbed out with him. She relieved him of the need to ask.

“As long as you have that case, consider us Siamese twins.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t betray any displeasure. She began to wonder if he had a pulse.

She stood slightly behind him at the check-in desk, aware, without being distracted by the surrounding chaos of the casino behind them, of everyone within snatch-and-grab range. She didn’t offer to hold his bags. She wasn’t there to be his porter. She was there to protect his butt. A delicious duty had there been a little shorter stick up it.

When he had his key card in hand, she walked close to his elbow as they wound through the game floor. The noise and lights and mill of gamblers made her edgy. Nervously, she went over all that Chaney and his instructors had taught her about being ready and vigilant and…damn. She’d left her pistol under the seat of the Ranger. A lot of good it would do there if some collector-stamp junkie leaped on them from behind the nickel slots. Feeling sheepish, she adjusted her walk into ultra tough chick mode, hoping that would be enough to discourage anyone from a tussle. It must have worked, because no one approached them. Or it could have been the arctic blast exuded by Caufield.

The elavator doors closed and up they went. Just as she started to relax, she could see him give her a quick once over in the reflective strip above the door. Nothing flattering about it.

“Tomorrow, do you think you could wear something a little less…obvious?”

She didn’t turn. Instead, she met his gaze in the polished bronze. Her teeth bared in what he couldn’t mistake as a smile. “Whatever you like, Mr. Caufield. Would you prefer business casual or escort service?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly, she wanted to see his smile. She bet it would do glorious things to the sharp bone structure of his face. But no such luck.

“I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

She marched him down to his room and slipped in first to give it a brief but thorough check, acting as if she’d performed this task with countless clients more important than himself. At her nod of all clear, he entered, hanging his garment bag in the closet and tossing the case on the bed. It gave a slight bounce on the taut spread and Mel wondered in wildly unprofessional and inappropriate curiosity how it would feel to take a similar bounce on that bed beneath Xander Caufield. Like being pressed between an iron and ironing board, she assumed, dismissing the fleeting fantasy with a grim smile.

“If you need me—”

“I have your cell number.”

He was levering out of his shiny shoes, peeling his socks off with them. As his bare toes curled into the nap of the carpet, a purely salacious chill raced through her. He was staring at her again, this time with slight impatience.

“Good night, Ms. Parrish.”

There was no reason to linger.

He latched the door behind her and released his pent-up breath. Slipping out of his jacket, Xander let it drop carelessly over the back of the desk chair before he settled on the edge of the bed. He snapped the catches on the case and pulled out the contents he’d brought with him. A fat insurance file and the real reason he was in Reno.

It wasn’t about stamps.

Chapter 2

Sipping the bottled water that came with his delivered meal, Xander leaned back on the bank of pillows he’d wedged against the backboard of his bed. He was wearing only his suit pants, needing the chill of the climate-controlled air against his bare chest and feet to keep his weary senses sharp. He opened his file and spread the reports across the bedspread to give them closer study. He had them memorized, but there was always the chance that he’d missed something. The way he had that afternoon.

His pilot wasn’t what he’d expected and he didn’t like to be surprised. Mel Parrish should have been a man. When she’d told him her name, he’d been knocked off balance, with all his preconceptions askew. The quick glimpse he’d dared take of her while scrambling for his composure revealed the worst. Young, attractive, female. How had those facts gotten under his radar? Need-to-know facts to a man who prided himself on details.

Her being a woman opened up a whole different avenue upon which to discover what he needed to know. But it didn’t change the facts in the file.

He was tracking an arsonist for hire. One who lit a torch for the insurance money. One who either used or created fires to cover his fraudulent activity. In the past seven years, Western Mutual Insurance had paid out in the billions for properties that went up in smoke. The policy owners all had something in common—a serious financial glitch that was solved by the influx of cash. Cash handed over by Western Mutual because they couldn’t prove any wrongdoing. And that made them decidedly displeased.

That’s where Xander came in.

He was the best there was at what he did. Meticulous, relentless, ruthless. He’d made his reputation on those three things. And upon his track record of always uncovering the truth. That’s how he could demand the price he did. A sometimes hard-to-swallow percentage of the policy payout. Money they would otherwise kiss goodbye. Money that didn’t really matter to him. It was the process and the end result that he enjoyed. He liked the challenge and he had to win. That’s why the companies came to him with the cases they couldn’t solve themselves.

For five years, he’d immersed himself in the minds and means of those who thought to cheat the system. He’d start with the obvious. Who had the most to gain? Then he’d follow the money. He didn’t work in an office, not after the first phase of investigation. He excelled in the field. Blending into the lives of those who thought to get away with a payout they didn’t deserve. He’d get close, he’d become their friend, their partner, their confidant and sooner or later, every time, they’d slip up and he’d have them. Infinite patience was its own reward.

Only in this case, the reward wasn’t his hefty fee.

Restless with his lack of progress, he set aside his handwritten notes and made a call on his cell. He made it a practice of never using traceable land lines. There wasn’t much he trusted, except the person who answered his call of “I’m in.” And the response was the one he’d been waiting to hear.

“Got another e-mail. We’re talking money. It’s showtime.”

Xander smiled thinly, trying not to react to the sudden lunge of anticipation. The chase was on. “Don’t be stingy, but don’t be too eager. We don’t want to scare him off.”

“Hey, don’t tell me how to deal with criminals, pal. It’s what I do.”

Kyle D’Angelo was a security expert. They’d gone to prep school then college together. He was the one friend Xander could claim with no strings attached, with no what’s-in-it-for-me agenda. He was the one person who’d suffered him as a fool, who’d seen him at his lowest and hadn’t turned away. Money couldn’t sway him. Hard times hadn’t discouraged him. During the wild years, he wasn’t the one Xander called to bail him out of a tight spot. Because Kyle would be there seated at his side saying, “Damn, that was fun.” He was the closest thing Xander had left to family. And it was Kyle who’d brought him the precious lead he’d been searching for for five frustrating years.

His call came out of the blue. Always happy to hear from him, Xander hadn’t expected the reason to be business. Cut-right-to-the-soul-of-him business. Kyle was installing security in Lake Tahoe at a posh resort/casino whose owners had gotten a little too lean in the pocket to complete the astronomical renovations they’d started. They’d been contacted a month ago. A terse e-mail from an undisclosed sender. The message was brief.

I can make your money troubles go away.

At the first hint at rising from the ashes with the insurance money, Kyle had placed the call that he knew would mean everything to his best friend. Then he had used his resources to help Xander get next to his prime suspect.

“You just let me know when you’re ready to set the trap.”

“Not just yet. I need some time to make sure we’re stalking the right game.” A discomforting truth. For the first time, when the stakes were their highest, he was going on the hunt woefully unprepared. He had only the rudimentary research done, and while that told him he was using the right bait, he didn’t know what he was going to catch. He was after a trophy. Something he could tack up on his wall with an infinite satisfaction. But the catch wasn’t the reward he was after. Not even close.

“I’ll be waiting,” D’Angelo promised. “Your call.”

A cold linear sense of purpose shivered through Xander the way the air-conditioning hadn’t been able to. Just a few short steps left to take. To be sure. This one he couldn’t let escape because he’d taken shortcuts. And the payoff would be sweet revenge.

And thinking of sweet derailed his train of thought.

“Why didn’t you tell me Mel Parrish was a woman?”

There was a pause, then D’Angelo gave a nonplussed laugh. “I didn’t think it would make a difference. Does it?”

Xander drew up a mental picture of Mel Parrish in the enticingly curved flight suit, of her boldly angular face, flashing dark eyes and sassy mouth. And that untamed mass of red hair. He shut his eyes, canceling out the image.

“No, of course not.”

Kyle D’Angelo chuckled. “She’s hot—she must be, to rattle a monk like you.”

How could D’Angelo tell he was rattled from that one concise sentence? But then Kyle knew him better than he knew himself. And, unfortunately, he was right. Xander tightened down the screws on the press of his emotions and vowed, “It won’t matter.”

“I’m sure it won’t. Not with that gift you’ve got.”

Because it sounded like some kind of unpleasant disease, Xander frowned. “What gift is that?”

“You have an amazing gift of blankness, my friend. Slick. Smooth. Nonabsorbing. Nothing gets to you with your nonstick coating. It just slides right off. I don’t know if I envy that or not. It makes you kind of a scary guy.”

Xander tried to laugh it off but couldn’t. Was that what he was? Was that what he’d become?

“Thanks a hell of a lot, Kyle.”

And because D’Angelo knew him so well, he caught the hint of something unexpected behind that mocking sentiment. He’d somehow managed to wound his usually stoic friend.

“It was a compliment. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“No danger of that since apparently I don’t have any.”

He could picture D’Angelo’s grin at having provoked the cynical response. And his own dark mood gave a notch as he managed a small smile.

“Thought you might have lost your sense of humor there for a minute.”

“Misplaced it, perhaps.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the tension headache that was building from a distant rumbling to fearsome thunderheads. “I had to pack light for this trip. It wasn’t a must-have item.”

“Don’t leave home without it, bud. It’s the all-purpose Rx.” Predictably, Kyle shifted into life counselor mode to offer his one prescription for everything. “When was the last time you kicked your shoes off?”

He wiggled his bare toes. “They’re off right now.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. You need to get a life, bud. All work and no play.”

“Makes Xander a scary guy. I know.”

“And I know the remedy. Leave everything to Dr. D’Angelo. What say we just take the weekend off. Zip up to Colorado to your mom’s condo. Hit the clubs, jump in a hot tub with some lonely lovelies, cigars and a fifth of your choice and enjoy a total hedonistic orgy. How does that sound?”

“Like we were frat boys again.” He was smiling, imagining it. Kyle drew lonely ladies and hedonistic good times like a bacchanalian magnet.

“Tell me you’re not tempted.”

Tempted, yes. Because he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a break. He’d been wound so tight for so long, he wasn’t sure he could loosen up the notch it would take to be a suitable companion for fun. Not because he didn’t need it, but because he didn’t deserve it. Especially now.

“I’ll have to pass,” he said softly, without true regret. “Maybe when this is over.”

He heard Kyle’s resigned sigh, knowing his friend hadn’t really expected any other answer. “It’s never over with you.”

“If this pans out, it will be.”

Then maybe he could take a breather. Now, it was hard to even think of having a good time when he knew others didn’t have the luxury. For some, there were no breaks, no willing ladies, no hot tubs. That’s why he had to work harder and stay focused. Kyle may not like it, but he did understand it. Because he knew why his friend was a scary guy.

“Keep in touch, bud. Be careful. We’ll nail this one down for you. Anything I can do, anything, you let me know.”

A huge knot of gratitude interfered with his immediate response. When he was able to give it, the words came out all rough and raw. “I appreciate it, Kyle. More than you know.”

Uncomfortable with the thought of his sincerity, D’Angelo shifted back to a light touch. “So Mel Parrish is a woman. And she’s hot. No wonder you’re so grouchy. If I were you, I’d be thinking about on-the-job perks.”

“Goodbye, Kyle.”

He was smiling as he flipped the phone shut. Then his mouth narrowed into a thin, hard line. Mel Parrish wasn’t a perk. She was a puzzle piece. And finding out where she fit in was his reason for sitting alone in a hotel room in Reno.

A monk. A surprisingly apt description. There was a time when he’d never have spent a night in a hotel room alone with only work and late-night television for company. But not being alone didn’t necessarily mean not being lonely. Surrounding himself with a crowd only brought that home with a more painful clarity. So he took a step back from that party-hardy set who had no cares, no worries, no real depth of purpose. All those who had once courted him for his name, his contacts and his fortune, the men who wanted him to buy them drinks and invest in their projects, the women who wanted to hang on his arm to get their pictures in the entertainment news. All those frivolous, fun people who had abandoned him at that first dark whisper of scandal. He’d didn’t miss them. He didn’t need their shallow company. For what he was doing, the isolation served him best. It kept him lean, mean and dangerously determined. But it made for long, lonely nights.

Perhaps that was why Mel Parrish left him shaken, not stirred.

Business casual or escort service.

He grinned wide at the brazenness of that remark. Hooker clothes couldn’t look more enticing than that one-piece zippered distraction. Every curve seemed shaped to fit his hands. And the suddenly damp state of his palms made him aware of just how long he’d been celibate. Too long to remember the circumstance or participant. He told himself that was the reason for his unwise attraction. But he knew he was lying. It was the woman, herself not his reclusive state. It was her eyes, that bold-as-brass-tacks stare that let him know in unblinking terms that he was being an ass. No one, other than Kyle, had dared do that for a very long time. And damned if it didn’t impress him.

A brisk slap of realization startled him from his half smile and simmering musings. What was he thinking?

Back to business. Time was short and he had work to do.

Beneath the official insurance file was a thin folder that held the pain of his past. It contained three meager documents—a fire investigation, an arrest report and a trial transcript. The impossibly weak foundation upon which he’d been struggling to erect the means to escape his shame.

He didn’t want to be impressed by Mel Parrish.

He wanted to put her and her family in prison.

Chapter 3

“Is this better?”

She stood in the hall outside his room, her arrogant pose daring him to make some comment about the way she was dressed. Impossible. His tongue had adhered to the roof of his mouth.

She’d decided to blend both professional and the oldest profession into a look that was in-your-face tough and tempting. Her frizz of red hair was in a ponytail back beneath a ball cap to accentuate the no-nonsense angles of her face warmed by only a trace of makeup. A conservative black jacket that would have been right at home in a realty seminar framed the body that her flight suit had only hinted at. The tiny shirt she wore beneath it with its cutesy cartoon character motif and preteen proportions left acres of Mel Parrish bare. The long tanned line of her throat led his gaze downward to plunge dangerously into a careless offer of cleavage. Then that teensy scrap of snug knit defining the hills and valleys of her breasts the way a man’s hands might above an expanse of taut, toned middle. The sassy wink of jewel-pierced belly button snagged his attention long enough for him to catch a shallow breath before being confronted with the low scoop of her jeans just barely hanging on her hipbones. The negligent crisscross of a studded belt was slung atop denim-skinned legs. In his fantasy, she would be wearing stiletto heels instead of clunky work boots, but those almost absurd contrasts worked upon his no-longer-monkish libido. Kyle’s assessment of “hot” didn’t even come close to the scorch of her boldly flaunted sexuality. And what made the whole package beyond hot was the challenging bristle of look-don’t touch she exuded.

He had to remind himself to exhale.

“Fine.” His rough growl rumbled across the agitation he refused to betray. Mel Parrish would never know how much his palms itched to skim around the warm curve of her waist, to pull her up tight against contours not quite so thrilled with his self-denying celibacy. “I’m ready.”

An incredible understatement.

The elevator grew more crowded as they picked up passengers on each floor. Crushed up next to her, Xander found his stare discreetly dipping down into the shadowed crevice between his bodyguard’s breasts. And on the other side of her, the luggage handler was enjoying that same lush scenery with a bit less care. Mel’s elbow flashed back, jabbing the poor fellow just above the belt, making him suck a pain filled breath as she murmured a mild “Excuse me.” Xander’s gaze jumped front and center, missing the way hers cut to him suspiciously. Then her lids lowered slightly as she indulged in an appreciative sweep of her own.

Some men were made to wear expensive suits. Xander Caufield had the strong, tailored physique and coldly superior attitude to carry off the elitist look to perfection. But in that brief second, when she caught him staring unashamedly down her neckline, there was nothing remotely civilized about him. That dangerous edge of desire making a raw slash across his reserve had her shivering in response. And she thought once again about taking that bounce on the taut bedcovers beneath him.

What grew taut between them during the long day was the silence. After the contents of his case had been delivered to the exhibit floor during the chaos of booth setups, they headed to California for another pickup. They didn’t speak. Xander took his seat in back and left the flying to Mel, apparently content to place himself in her hands. A delightful notion that kept her busy for most of the flight imagining just how one might go about peeling off his prickly protective layers to get to the good stuff inside. His posture never relaxed, not once on the trip there or back, and that made her nervous, wondering if there really was some sort of danger involved in what he was doing. She was very aware of the pistol pressing against the small of her back, and though well versed in its use, she wasn’t eager to pull it in the heat of confrontation.

Stepping from the sear of late-afternoon heat into the near brain-freeze chill of hotel air-conditioning, Mel was thinking about the lunch she didn’t have and whether or not it would be appropriate to ask her client if he wanted to join her at the hotel’s Mexican restaurant for some off-the-clock tequila and spicy food. Perhaps if they were forced to sit across from each other like civilized human beings, they would have to think up some polite conversation to fill the time. Something that didn’t have to do with her wardrobe or the crisp hotel bedspread. Not sure what other topics were up for grabs, she got into the elevator behind him and started mentally rehearsing. The car was going down one before heading up to the tenth floor. Xander had opted to take it rather than wait for the other elevators to return from the double digit floors. Just as the doors began to close, a trio of multiple-pierced punks slipped into the car with them with polite murmurs of “Excuse me,” and quietly waited behind them. Until the doors opened.

A series of subterranean tunnels ran beneath the hotel, offering shopping at touristy and exclusive shops. At four-thirty, when most guests were preoccupied by dinner alternatives, they offered a very quiet and unpopulated spot away from the rush of the upper floors. Away from everything, Mel realized a second too late when she saw two more toughs loitering just outside the doors. As she reached for the Close button, she sensed movement behind them.

Sudden, hard shoves propelled both of them out of the elevator car. One of the punks gripped Mel by the lapels of her jacket, swinging her around and dragging her quickly out of the open area into one of the empty side halls. Xander followed stiffly, urged by a glitter of steel nudged up under his chin.

“We want what’s in your pockets and in the case,” growled the Mohawk-wearing fellow holding Mel. Then his voice lowered and its softness was somehow more threatening. “And maybe if you cooperate, that’s all we’ll want.”

Cursing her carelessness, Mel assessed their situation. A security camera was aimed down the hallway, but its lens was spray painted over. There was no foot traffic. Obviously, their assailants had planned for this meeting a lot better than she had. They were pushed back against one of the walls. Cutting a quick glance at Xander, she was impressed by his stoic expression. As she prayed there would be no reckless heroics to get them killed, those hopes were dashed when he caught her look. His expression was fearless. Slowly, grimly, he smiled.