His Blazing Passion: Real Men of Wildridge

by Kyle, Celia

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she snapped, standing to her full height. “You don’t have any authority over me!”

  “No, but I do,” said a voice from behind them.

  Allon and Chelle spun around to find a dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his forties staring out from the large flat screen mounted to the wall. Allon recognized him as Robb Samuels, the owner of Skypoint Security in New York and Chelle’s boss. She dropped back into her chair, all the fight draining from her.

  “Robb, you know I work alone.”

  “Not this time.” Robb’s tone held a finality that not even Chelle could argue against. “Of course, you have free will, Chelle. You don’t have to work with Mr. Wyvern if you really don’t want to, but if that’s the route you choose, I’ll have the contents of your desk messengered to your home. No need to return to Skypoint. Ever.”

  Allon glanced at Charlie and knew the same went for him. Work together or get out. He clamped his mouth shut tightly so he didn’t get himself into any more trouble than he was already in. Chelle didn’t get that memo.

  “So you’re forcing us to work together so you guys don’t look bad?”

  Charlie shook his head, genuine disappointment crossing his features. “This isn’t about personalities or pride, Ms. Calidi. “It’s not even about money. It’s about your duty as dragons to protect innocent people from an evil predator. Heroics and individualism are not what makes a good team, and both Wildridge Security and Skypoint Security are teams who exist only—and I mean only—to protect and serve. We all took the same oaths to Othercross Judiciary. Consider this a reminder.”

  “And since you only seem to screw things up when you’re competing with one another,” Robb added, “we think having the two of you cooperate will be an excellent bridge to build.”

  Tense silence settled in the room, only broken when Tessa entered with a tray loaded with steaming mugs—and a couple of gourds with weird silver straws poking out of them.

  “I took the liberty of bringing you matcha and mate as well as your coffees, just in case,” she said happily, setting three mugs in front of Allon and three in front of a stunned Chelle. To her credit, she seemed to sense the hostility floating in the air and quickly scurried out, closing the door softly behind her.

  “So?” Charlie asked finally. “Are we all on the same page?”

  Chelle crossed her arms over her bountiful chest and glared at her boss while Allon frowned at Charlie. “Fine,” they said in unison, despite the fact neither seemed the least bit fine with the decision.

  “That’s good to hear,” Charlie said with a sigh that didn’t make Allon feel any better. “Because I’ve heard some disturbing news from several reliable sources. The Gunslinger’s in town.”

  * * *

  Chelle’s head still spun with the news that she was not only being forced to partner with someone else, but that someone else happened to be her biggest rival. That would have been enough to ruin her day, but add to it that Allon drove her crazy with desire and this was turning out to be the worst day ever. And now the rest of them were exchanging meaningful glances that meant nothing to her.

  “Okay, I’m showing my ignorance,” she finally said through clenched teeth, “but who the hell is the Gunslinger?”

  “And where did he get that bomb-ass nickname?” Allon quirked a single brow at her, almost making her laugh.

  “He’s a goddamn legend in the industry,” Robb broke in hotly. “And he’s not the kind of man you make jokes about.”

  Chelle snorted, folded her arms over her chest and gave him a dubious look. “Yeah, sure. I bet he’s really good at his job. But guess what? So am I. You don’t see me making a big deal about it.”

  “Well, you’re sure as hell not quiet about it either,” Allon said with a wink.

  Chelle had to bite back a grin, despite herself. He had some pretty slick comebacks, even she had to admit. But never out loud, of course. She would never offer him that kind of satisfaction. Although she could definitely think of other ways she might want to satisfy him.

  If they ever got the chance again.

  What kind of idiot was she? Hooking up with Allon was bad for her and bad for business. Yet her body ached for him, to feel him inside her again. Nobody had ever made her feel as hot and sexy as he did. Maybe the shared loathing added a tenuous edge of fire to their sensual dance. Maybe it was just good old-fashioned chemistry. Who could say, really? But Chelle did know with every thump of her heart and flurry of butterflies in her stomach that she would have to actively fight this instinct again and again. Everything in her wanted to give up their pact and give in to the desires coursing hotly through her veins.

  There was no dancing around the subject—she wanted Allon. She wanted him badly. Her body subconsciously turned to face him, opening up her body language and clearly displaying her desires across the airwaves. She couldn’t help it. Chelle was not a woman accustomed to denying herself much of anything. If she wanted something, she took it. Fast. And hard. The way she saw it, she worked her ass off for everything she possessed. She threw every iota of willpower, discipline, and endurance into her career. She had not simply floated her way to the top of the line. She’d clawed every step of the way. With such a risky job, she could meet her match any day. Filling her remaining days with as much pleasure as possible only made sense. Tomorrow was never guaranteed, so why not make today delicious?

  “His name is Klent Ellwood,” Robb explained, “and he’s a stone-cold bad-ass.”

  “He’s ancient,” Allon said. “How bad could he be?”

  Charlie’s face darkened. “Believe me when I tell you that Klent Ellwood has forgotten more tricks than either of you have ever even learned.”

  “Legend has it the guy once tracked a dung beetle shifter across the desert for days,” Robb said. “Maybe even weeks. It was literally like finding a sentient needle in a blisteringly hot, parched haystack, but he made it happen.”

  Allon shrugged. “Yeah, well, legends say a lot of things that aren’t true.”

  “Good fuckin’ point,” Chelle said with a nod.

  The flash of his brilliant, appreciative smile was enough to make her face hot.

  “How do you think legends are made?” Charlie asked sagely.

  Allon didn’t seem impressed, and neither was she. “I thought the Gunslinger retired years ago,” he said.

  “So did we all,” Charlie answered. “I suppose the allure of a large reward drew him out of retirement.”

  Alarm flared in Chelle. “Wait, there’s someone else in the running for the bounty?”

  Robb answered flatly. “Yes, and you’d better get it through your thick skull that he’s so far out of your league it isn’t funny. I’m serious, Chelle. If you two don’t combine your respective—and considerable—talents, Klent will swoop in and claim every dime.”

  “Are you kidding?” she asked, utterly dumbfounded by their worry about the old dude. “That guy didn’t look like the bad-ass you’re describing. He mostly looked skinny and run down. Not to mention totally pervy.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Allon added. “I could have snapped him like a twig.”

  Robb and Charlie shared a look that chilled Chelle to the bone. Genuine anxiety wafted off them like that stinky tea the receptionist had brought in.

  “Klent is not someone you want to cross,” Charlie warned, his voice dropping low. “If you think you two have played dirty in the past, you ain’t seen nothing yet. As the saying goes.”

  Chelle had a thousand questions about the Gunslinger, but before she could start asking them, Charlie dismissed them so he and Robb could discuss the details of their cooperative agreement. Any opportunity for argument over working with Allon had long since passed, and she knew nothing she could say would change their minds.

  The two of them fell into step even as they rushed to beat each other to the door. Chelle gained the upper hand and slipped through first, triumphant as Allon glowered at her. They
made their way out of the office in total silence, both fuming over their new arrangement. Once the door closed behind them, she felt safe to finally express her feelings.

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Agreed, but we don’t have a choice. Not a viable one, anyway.”

  “Whatever,” she sniffed, veering away from him. “My car’s over here.”

  “And my car’s over there,” Allon countered, continuing toward a different part of the parking lot.

  “But we’re driving mine.”

  Allon stopped and smirked at her. “Yeah, that makes all the sense in the world. An out-of-towner hunting a killer in LA. traffic driving a crappy rental.”

  Ah, crap, she thought. Checkmate.

  “No,” she said defensively. “But I have a navigation system.”

  “Who doesn’t?” he laughed as he continued walking toward a huge SUV built like a tank. It didn’t come close to the tiny Korean job she’d rented. “C’mon, kid. I’m driving.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled, picking up the pace to beat him to the big rig.

  He was too happy to have “won” that battle to notice, so when he reached out to open the passenger door for her, she jumped in front of him and did it herself. She squinted her frustration at him, but he just shook his head and headed for the driver’s side. Once he was settled and the engine was idling, he turned to her.

  “So, the pressure’s on. Should we canvass the Halfway Inn again, this time in the daylight? Or should we stake out Danque’s aunt’s house?”

  “They’re both long shots,” she said, not liking their odds of picking up any trace of Danque at either site. He’d have figured out they tracked him to the motel through Jilleon, so a smart criminal would stay away from both locations. Then again, as dangerous as he was, Danque had never proved himself to be intelligent.

  “They’re the only leads we have,” Allon pointed out. “I vote for the aunt.”

  “And I vote for the motel,” she said, not because she had a strong feeling about it, but rather to punish him. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  “Good lord, woman, you certainly love to be contrary.”

  Chelle smiled her satisfaction for getting under his skin as he dug in his pocket.

  “We’ll flip for it. Heads, we go to the aunt’s. Tails, the motel.”

  “Quit talking and do it already.”

  “Keep your panties on,” he crooned, giving her a sultry look that said he’d prefer she didn’t keep her panties on. Then he flipped the coin and slapped it on the back of his hand.

  “Tails!” she practically shouted with glee. “I win!”

  “My god, you’re insufferable,” he said as he put the SUV in gear and pulled into the stream of traffic.

  She tipped him a happy wink. “But I get the job done.”

  “Not so far,” he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear.

  He got a punch in the arm for that, but she didn’t let it bother her. Even the small win of where to search first put her in a better mood, which was tempered with the knowledge that canvassing the neighborhood would be a huge pain in the ass and most likely a waste of time. On top of that, she’d be stuck spending hours in close proximity to this annoying, drop-dead-sexy bastard.

  Great, she thought. All of the tension and none of the release.

  Chapter Six

  Searching Room Five of the Halfway Inn top to bottom revealed nothing. Allon frowned and let out a low sigh as he pulled his long arm out from under the bed, having only found a few losing lottery tickets from three years ago and a condom wrapper.

  Blech.

  His body was jammed halfway under the bed—that’s as far as it would fit—when a rush of air hit him from the mattress Chelle dropped back into place. She’d been searching under and inside the mattress while he braved the depths of depravity underneath it all.

  “Find anything?” she asked as he shimmied out and pulled himself back to his feet.

  “Yep, here you go,” he tossed her the condom wrapper.

  Instinct got the better of her and she almost caught it before jerking back with a grimace.

  “You know nobody in his right mind would hide anything under the bed, right?” she pointed out. “Mattress is a lot harder to get into.”

  “Leaving any stone unturned is exactly what Danque is hoping for,” Allon grumbled as he dusted himself off, wondering what kind of diseases he was exposing himself to.

  Chelle barely gave him time to finish speaking before she glanced toward the still-broken door and headed outside, leaving him to stare after her with a raised eyebrow. The woman was infuriating to work with, in large part because that backside he couldn’t quit staring at was now forbidden fruit. Ever since they’d walked out of Wildridge together, he could barely resist the urge to find somewhere private to pin Chelle against a wall and settle their score once and for all, preferably when they had a solid weekend to go uninterrupted. Instead, he had to try to channel that energy into his investigative abilities.

  That was about as easy as redirecting a river with nothing but a garden spade.

  “Where are you going?” He jogged after her.

  “Gonna check out that dumpster from last night again,” she called. “I don’t think you investigated it thoroughly enough.”

  Allon narrowed his eyes and grimaced. He had gotten more than his fill of that dumpster last night, and he didn’t savor the idea of seeing what else had been added to it since—like the contents of the wrapper he’d found under the bed, he thought with a shudder. Still, he wasn’t about to let Chelle get the better of him, and as much as he hated to admit it, rifling through garbage sometimes yielded important clues.

  When he rounded the corner, she was already hopping into the half-full dumpster, landing with a moist crunch. Allon winced. He wouldn’t have bothered putting on cologne this morning if he’d known he’d be knee deep in that.

  “What’s that face for?” Chelle smirked down at him as he peered over the edge at the filth inside. “You didn’t seem so worried when you were about to dive in last night.”

  “I thought there might be a dangerous criminal in there.”

  “Well, there’s a crime against humanity in here somewhere. That’s for sure.” Chelle pulled a bandana from the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans and tied it around the lower half of her face. “Now get your ass in here. If your delicate senses will allow it.”

  Allon swallowed his pride and hopped into the dumpster, trying not to gag at whatever soft mush his foot sank into. “I’m way too pretty for this shit.”

  Chelle chuckled and then triumphantly held up a fast food bag. Allon blinked at her, picked up a crushed beer can, and mimicked her ridiculous expression in obvious mockery. He got a wadded up fast food bag in the head for that one.

  “How the hell do you even figure out what trash comes from which room?” Allon groused.

  “Context clues.”

  “Context?” he snorted, picking up two items in front of him. “Let’s see, I have here…a blank deposit slip from Hometown Savings and—oh shit, a boarding pass.”

  “See?” Chelle said as she snatched the boarding pass out of his hand and peered at it.

  “Fartknockers, it’s a year old,” she grumbled, tossing it away.

  Allon smirked at her. “Fartknockers?”

  She ignored him and kept digging. During the course of the search, Allon learned that a dumpster was one thing but a motel dumpster was a whole new level of disgusting. Nobody staying in such a crappy motel ever really wanted to be there, and it showed.

  “Are people just coming to this motel to empty out their suitcases?” he asked, holding up a filthy, tattered old bra by one strap.

  “A suitcase would be hella useful right about now, so don’t jinx us.”

  Chelle turned over what looked like a bundle of old clothes. Using a broken broom handle to lift it revealed something revolting wadded up inside. She turned away like she was about to be sick, so whatever it wa
s probably wasn’t very important.

  Allon only half noticed this. He was busy trying to piece together a chopped-up credit card that started with the letter D and included the letter Q on another chunk of plastic. After a moment, Chelle noticed the silence and peered around his shoulder at what he was doing. He’d found almost the entire card, though it looked a little misshapen, and the letters D—N—Q-E were legible where the name ought to be.

  Chelle cocked her head to the side, a frown tugging her lips downward. She pushed Allon aside to fiddle with the slivers of card a bit more. When she stepped back with a raised eyebrow at Allon, he saw she had reconstructed it much better—her shards actually fit—and the name read DOMINIQUE.

  “Maybe you should go into forensics,” Allon snorted with a smirk and hopped out of the dumpster without further ado.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Look, we’re barking up the wrong tree here. We just wasted precious minutes digging through trash and it got us nothing but salmonella. I wouldn’t even be in this mess if the damn clerk hadn’t given me the wrong room number last night.”

  Chelle choked out a laugh and tried to quickly cover it up but he caught it. Many people looked at Allon and thought he was a dumb musclehead, which had sometimes served him well over the years. Low expectations and all of that. But he was no dumdum, in general. Of course, he felt like the biggest one in the world when the realization hit that Chelle had bribed the front desk clerk to give him the wrong room number.

  “Sonofa—”

  “Calm down,” she said as she clambered out of the dumpster and started searching every nook and cranny of the alley. “Believe it or not, it was for the best.”

  He scowled at her, even though she couldn’t see it. “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Consider it a cheap life lesson. You really need to change up your tactics from time to time. You can’t always go in hot, like a pissed off eighties version of Arnold Schwarzenegger.”