Texan Undercover (Romantic Suspense)

by Anne Marie Novark

  "Boy, that was fast. You just started advertising what? Last Thursday?"

  Claire turned to her computer and opened her email. "I got a call over the weekend. I thought I'd hire a person to help out here, then make the rounds to the other cafes."

  "Sounds like a plan." Natalie stood. "Gotta get to work and get ready for the breakfast crowd." She stopped at the door. "Richard called. He's going to be late."

  "Again?" Claire looked up from the computer. "What is it this time?"

  Natalie shrugged. "Same old, same old."

  "This has been going on for months. We may have to let him go, Nat."

  "Give him a little more time," she said. "You know he's a genius in the kitchen. His croissants melt in your mouth."

  Claire sighed. "That doesn't matter if he's not here to bake them."

  "Well, we can't let him go before the big anniversary bash. I'll talk to him. Gotta run."

  Claire turned back to the computer. Sometimes, owning a business could be a real headache. But it was well worth the occasional migraine. She was proud of what she had accomplished.

  A couple of hours later, Claire thought a headache would be welcome compared to the wildfire raging through her body. A fire she seemed to have no control over.

  "Good morning, Ms. Maxwell." The deep sexy voice slid over Claire warm and smooth like a cup of Swiss mocha.

  Her office shrunk the minute Dillon Anderson walked in and closed the door. All six-foot-something filled the room with virile masculinity. Claire's nerve-endings went rampant. Her skin felt tight, her clothes restrictive. Not even her ex-husband had affected her like this, and she had loved him. Thought she loved him. She didn't believe in love anymore.

  Now lust . . . That was totally different and that's what she was feeling right now. Like she had never felt before. And certainly never acted upon. Rarely acted upon. She was human, after all.

  "May I sit down?" He removed his black Stetson and set it on top of the file cabinet.

  It took a moment before Claire found her voice. "Of course. Certainly. Sit. Please."

  Was it suddenly hot in here? It felt hot. Dillon Anderson was hot. Good lord, was he hot. She wanted to fan herself. At the restaurant, she had been hyper-aware of him sitting next to her. His big body radiated heat that seared her down to her toes. She hadn't been able to get a good look at him, only the distinct impression that the man was gorgeous. Now with him sitting across the desk from her, she soaked in the details.

  The black sweater with the sleeves pushed-up to the elbows revealed muscular arms sprinkled with dark hair. Black stonewashed denim molded powerful thighs. The strong jaw line sported a shadow of beard, even though it was only midmorning. His mouth was hard and sculpted. And his eyes were greenish-brown, almond shaped and intense. He stared at her as she gave him the once over. Oh my.

  "Is this a bad time?" he asked. "We agreed I was to come here today."

  Claire cleared her throat. "No, you're right. I've been expecting you." She struggled for control, trying to rein in her hormones. She never would have believed she could react this way to a strange man. His spicy aftershave turned her insides to mush. She wanted to inhale, then inhale some more. "I have the paperwork filled out," she said, scooting a neatly typed sheet of paper across the desk. "All I need is some ID and your signature."

  Dillon reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed over his driver's license, then skimmed the paper.

  Claire stared at the plastic card in her hand. "This says your name is Dillon Andrews."

  He looked up from the paper, leaned forward and motioned for her to do the same. His gaze locked on her. Mesmerized her. She leaned closer. Golden rings surrounded the irises of his hazel-colored eyes.

  "Ms. Maxwell," he said, his soft tone just this side of a whisper, "I'm working under an assumed name. The ID is fake. This is an undercover investigation. You need to remember that at all times. Got it?"

  He carefully enunciated each word, almost in exaggeration, like he was explaining something to an inept child. Claire felt her hackles rise. His eyes held her frozen. He wasn't looking at her like she was a child.

  She swallowed hard and nodded. "Got it."

  Dillon sat back. "Excellent. I want to nail this guy. I don't want you tripping me up."

  "No, of course not."

  "Good." He resumed reading the application. "You've told your employees why you're hiring me? Something believable?"

  "Oh yes. Natalie's a little surprised we had such a quick response, but I told her you contacted me over the weekend."

  He set the paper on the desk and signed his name at the bottom. "What time do you close tonight?"

  "Midnight, why?"

  "I need to wire the machines."

  "Wire the machines?"

  "The computers. I'll explain later. Make sure everyone leaves soon after closing. You can either give me a key now or let me in yourself."

  "I'll let you in. Say, twelve-thirty?"

  He nodded. "Is there a back entrance?"

  "Yes. Shall we synchronize our watches?"

  Dillon frowned at her. "I don't think you're taking this seriously, Ms. Maxwell."

  "I'm sorry. But suddenly I feel like I'm in the middle of Mission Impossible. I expect to hear the theme music any minute now."

  When the corner of Dillon's mouth lifted slightly, Claire nearly fell out of her seat. She hadn't seen him so much as crack a smile since she'd met him.

  "I'm a private investigator, not a spy," he said. "I need your help and cooperation."

  "Of course," Claire said. "It's just that all of this seems unreal. I guess I'm trying to keep it upbeat or else I'll be scared to death."

  "There's no reason to be afraid. I don't think this guy is dangerous as in physically dangerous. But it's always a possibility."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "Also remember the need for complete secrecy and try to act normal. Think you can handle that?" He rose and extended his hand. Claire stared at it for a moment. His fingers were long with neatly trimmed nails. It was a strong hand, like the man towering over her. She quickly stood.

  "Can I have my license back?" he asked, snapping his fingers.

  Claire thrust the ID at him, speedily relinquishing her hold on the card.

  Raising an eyebrow, Dillon stuffed the license in his wallet. "I'll see you tonight. It won't take long to wire the machines. I'll start work day after tomorrow."

  He was gone on the words, leaving Claire unsettled, jittery and flustered. She collapsed in her chair, leaned back and closed her eyes. She'd been plunged into the middle of an impossible mission. Impossible to resist the very handsome, very sexy Dillon Anderson. No, it was Andrews. Dillon Andrews.

  Claire sat up. She needed to keep everything straight. Not give anything away. Why couldn't she get that theme song out of her head?

  Natalie ran in the office. "My God, Claire! Don't tell me that good-looking hunk of testosterone applied for the tech position? And don't you dare tell me you didn't hire him?"

  Claire smiled. "I did, but not for his good looks. He's a computer whiz. I hope I can fill the other position as easily."

  "You won't find anyone as hunky. What's his name? Is he married? Does he have a significant other?"

  "We didn't get into his personal life and his name is Dillon Andrews." Claire couldn't believe she was lying to her best friend. The theme song inside her head revved up a notch.

  Natalie leaned over the desk and grabbed the application. "He's single. Thank goodness. Life suddenly looks a lot more interesting. Especially around here. When does he start?"

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "Hey, what's wrong? You don't sound too happy about it."

  "I'm fine." Claire turned to her computer.

  "Oh my gosh! You're attracted to him." Natalie plopped down across from her. "Hallelujah, I was beginning to think that loser ex-husband of yours had ruined you for good."

  Claire didn't say anything.
<
br />   "It's all right, Claire. To be attracted, I mean. In fact, it can be downright delicious."

  "Nat, I'm not like you. My marriage taught me things. Like, I don't want to be attracted to a man. The few times I've gone out--I don't know, I just freeze up." Except with Dillon. He'd thawed something inside.

  "Maybe this Dillon guy is just what you need to get over Bennett."

  "I am over Bennett. It's been five years since the divorce. I'm over Bennett. I'm over men, period."

  "Then you don't mind if I take a crack at Mr. Macho?"

  "Be my guest." Another lie. Claire could deny the attraction. She could tell herself she didn't want Dillon Anderson until she was blue in the face. But still, it would be a lie. Truth was, he scared her. He scared her a lot.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dillon rapped softly on the back door of e*Claire's at twelve-thirty on the dot. He waited about half a minute before Claire unlocked the dead bolt and let him in.

  "Is everyone gone?" He slipped past her into the kitchen. Stainless steel counters and industrial-sized stoves gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Smells from the day's baking hung in the air.

  "The coast is clear," she said, bolting the door again. "This way." Without looking at him, Claire led Dillon toward a set of double doors and out of the kitchen.

  He followed her to the main room of the cafe, admiring the view she presented. Her dark green blouse draped across slender shoulders and the short black skirt hugged her hips and showed her long legs to advantage. Damn, she looked good. Smelled good, too.

  They walked around the counter where drinks and food were sold and stopped in the middle of the cafe. The lights were low, the blinds closed. Claire finally turned to face him.

  "Nice," Dillon said, sliding one more glance over her before tearing his eyes away. Focus on the job, Anderson. Remember the job. He looked around the cafe.

  Overstuffed lounge chairs and glass-topped tables offered customers a place to sit and relax. A long narrow bar, complete with stools and computers, divided the room. Six pine tables lined the wall on the other side. Perfect for groups to enjoy coffee and play games.

  The room had a comfortable feel to it. The black leather chairs, gray carpet and maroon tile all lent themselves to the overall effect. Wrought-iron light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Subtle maroons and grays papered the walls.

  "This is nice," Dillon said again, his eyes zeroing in on Claire.

  "Thank you." She walked to the bar. "I guess you can start here. What exactly are you going to do?"

  Dillon parked his briefcase on a stool and opened it. "Ever seen one of these?" He held out a small cylindrical object.

  Claire took it. "Is this what I think it is?"

  "Maybe. Probably. What do you think it is?"

  "A keystroke recorder," she said. "I've read about them, but never seen one."

  "Bingo. With luck, this baby's going to help expose the hacker for us. It records every stroke, doesn't need software, stores URLs--it's a nifty little gadget." He didn't tell her about the backup program he would install on the hard drives later.

  Claire frowned. "How does it interface with the system?"

  "It doesn't, runs totally in the background." He moved to the computer at the end of the bar.

  "Is it legal? What about the Fourth Amendment?" She handed the recorder back to him.

  Dillon felt the brush of her fingers when she placed the device in his palm. He ignored the flash of heat and started to work. "E*Claire's is a public facility. Your customers can't expect their privacy to be protected. Everything's fair game as long as you know what's going on." He unplugged the keyboard from the first computer and attached the recorder, then plugged the cable back in. He grabbed another device and went to work on the next computer.

  "You're going to put one of those on every computer in the cafe?" Claire leaned on the bar and supported her chin in her hands.

  "Every single one of them."

  "Even the one in my office?"

  Dillon looked up from the cable he'd just disconnected. "Is that a problem?"

  She hesitated. "Of course not. I guess I thought only the computers out here would be under surveillance."

  "You thought wrong. All of them need to be wired." Dillon bent down again, plugged the cable back in and moved to the next machine. "Hand me one, will you?" He extended his hand. And waited.

  "Are you always this rude?" Claire's soft seductive voice wrapped around him. Strangled him.

  Damn. Get a grip on your wayward body, Anderson.

  He looked up again. She tilted her head and gazed at him. Question and hurt swam in her beautiful brown eyes. She was probably wondering what the hell was the problem.

  She was the problem. Shouldn't be, but was.

  "Look, it's late," Dillon said. "I want to get this done. Are you going to help or not?"

  Claire didn't say anything, only nodded and handed him the device, careful not to touch him again.

  He wired the machine and moved to the next. Claire followed him down the row of computers, watched over his shoulder, kept him supplied with the gadgets and kept conversation to a minimum. The glow from the monitors and the quiet hum of the computers created a sense of intimacy. With Claire so close and smelling so good, Dillon struggled to keep his mind on the job.

  When the last computer was hooked up, he stood and stretched. He fisted his hands to keep from grabbing Claire and doing something asinine. Like kissing her. Remember the job.

  He walked back to the bar and closed his briefcase with a snap. "Almost done. After I wire your machine, we can close up shop." When she didn't reply, he glanced her way. Then wished he hadn't.

  Claire took a deep breath. Her breasts rose with the movement, strained against the silky fabric of her blouse. Dillon's body hardened in response. Man, what was it about this woman?

  "Mine's not the only one left." She watched him. Waited. For what?

  "Okay, no problem. How many more?" He opened the briefcase again. He had plenty of keystroke recorders.

  Claire crossed her arms. "Look, I'm not comfortable with this whole setup. It's one thing to wire the computers out here. Mine, too. But wiring the ones in Natalie's and Richard's offices without their knowledge . . . How can that not be an invasion of privacy? I mean, they haven't done anything wrong."

  "How can you be sure?" he asked.

  "You're kidding, right?"

  Dillon shrugged. "Everyone's a suspect in my book."

  "Whatever happened to 'Innocent, until proven guilty'?"

  "I'm not in law enforcement," he said. "That doesn't apply to me. I keep an open mind to all possibilities. I catch the bad guys. The cops or Feds take it from there."

  "So, you think I'm a suspect?" She sounded hurt.

  He didn't say anything. He couldn't trust anyone. Not her. Especially her.

  "Thanks for your vote of confidence," Claire said. "You think there's a possibility I could be the hacker?"

  "No I don't, but you can't be certain your computer hasn't been used. You aren't in your office 24/7, are you?"

  "Customers aren't allowed in the back."

  Dillon removed two more gadgets from his briefcase, then closed it again. "This guy, the hacker, has neo-Luddite tendencies. He's breaking the law. Sneaking into your office wouldn't matter to him. He's trying to cover his tracks."

  "What do you mean by neo-Luddite tendencies?"

  "Rejection of technology," Dillon said. "These people are opposed to technology getting out of control or into the hands of the wrong people. They usually aren't violent, like I said before. But some of them are sidestepping the law. Protesting and interfering by devious means."

  "Like your hacker?"

  "You got it. Is the interrogation over now? Are you through with your questions? I need to finish up and call it a night." He needed to get away from the intimate surroundings. Away from Claire Maxwell.

  Ten minutes later, the devices were installed and ready to go. Dillon snagged his
briefcase from Claire's desk. "That should do it."

  Claire leaned against the doorframe of her office and stifled a yawn. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."

  Dillon closed the distance between them. God, she smelled fresh and sweet. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair. He wanted to bury himself inside her. His brain told him to leave; his body blocked the message. "What's a guy gotta do to get a cup of coffee around here?" He angled closer. Those brown eyes dilated and her breath hitched.

  She pushed off the doorframe and walked past him. "Come back during business hours and don't act so rude."

  "Right. I'm out of here." He knew a brush off when he heard one. And could he really blame her? He had been rude and abrupt with her.

  Claire opened the back door. Dillon stopped short. Even so, her rejection made him angry. Angry at her. Angry at himself. He knew better than to play with little rich girls. Dillon's body vetoed what his brain was telling him. He moved forward and invaded her space. He wanted to intimidate her. Wanted to haul her against him and kiss the living daylights out of her. That made him even angrier.

  "Where's your car?" he growled.

  She was staring at his mouth. All the blood in his body plunged south. He felt like one of those cartoon characters when the anvil flattened them to the ground.

  "My car?" Claire took a step backward.

  Dillon decided to let her. "It's almost two o'clock. Lock up and I'll walk you to your car."

  "That's really not necessary, Mr. Anderson."

  "Dillon. The name's Dillon. Or Andrews. You call me Mr. Anderson like that and you blow my cover. Am I making myself clear on this?"

  Claire lifted her chin. "Perfectly. Good night." She pushed him out into the darkness and slammed the door in his face. The bolt slid into place.

  Dillon blinked and shook his head. Well, damn. That maneuver had certainly backfired, hadn't it?

  ****

  Claire marched to her office to get her purse. Mr. Dillon Anderson, or Dillon Andrews, or whatever his name--the man was too potent for her piece of mind. This was definitely not a good time for her hormones to kick in. Although she was glad to know she could feel attraction for a man. At least Bennett hadn't ruined that, too.