That cool blue gaze met hers over the rim of his lemonade glass. He took a swallow, seemed to be weighing the merit of sharing his opinion with her. “I imagine because he knew it would piss me off. I’m not used to having my services bartered in a bet. It’s insulting.”
She had to agree with him on that. Initially she’d been too excited over the money to really stop and think about how Garrett and Hastings had pitted them against each other like lab rats and were eagerly watching from a distance to see whose gopher would win. Unfortunately, right, wrong or indifferent, she didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the insult. She had to keep her eyes on the prize, so to speak, and couldn’t afford to consider Hastings’ offer as anything more than a business arrangement.
Another thought struck. “You said you’d had Guy McCann find out who I was and what I was doing here? How did he do that without my name?” That had been bugging her. She’d been too careful about revealing her name.
“I had him call the rental car company.”
“And they gave him my name? Isn’t that against the law?”
Payne shrugged. “The clerk was young. It’s amazing what kind of information people will share over the phone, particularly when you tell them you’re with a security company.”
Emma grimaced. Her mother, included. “Security company?”
“Me, Guy McCann and Jamie Flanagan started our own business when we left the military--Ranger Security. We’re based in Atlanta.”
“Congratulations,” Emma said, because it was the appropriate response.
Meanwhile the cookies she’d eaten a few moments ago were whirling around her gut like a load of wash on the spin cycle and were undoubtedly going to make an encore appearance if she didn’t get a grip. He’d started a security business? she thought faintly. Had become a friggin’ private investigator? Hell, he had resources at his disposal that were more than likely going to make this a walk in the park for him.
Surely Hastings had known this, Emma thought, feeling blind-sided by the news. He had to have known and, for reasons known only to himself, he’d chosen not to tell her. No doubt this was akin to the unhappy sensation Payne had felt upon learning of Garrett’s duplicity, she decided, and suddenly felt a smidge of belated regret on his part.
Nevertheless, Payne had most likely researched the pocket-watch and was operating on more information than what Hastings had passed along into her possession. In addition to that extra intel, he had a staff in Atlanta who could handle a lot of the menial things--phone calls, etc...--that she’d be taking care of herself. Her gaze slid to Payne and an unhappy truth surfaced, but one that, in light of this new information, she could not deny.
If she wanted this--and she did, so very, very desperately--then she didn’t have any choice but to be ruthless.
And she instinctively knew he was the type of person who would hate her for it.
For reasons which escaped her at the moment, that was almost as bad as losing this so-called contest.
CHAPTER 6
She’d given him the slip.
Payne was so astounded he could hardly believe it. Years of special training in one of the most elite armies in the world, hours logged in reconnaissance missions which would have made men of lesser mental fiber crack, not the mention the fact that he was The Specialist, dammit, a nickname he’d earned for being so bloody good at everything.
And yet one little woman had somehow managed to not only exit her room--hell, he’d been listening for that--but had somehow managed to crank up a friggin’ Hummer and drive it out of the parking lot without him hearing it.
If he wasn’t so damned annoyed, he’d be impressed.
As it was, he was pissed. His face burned from what he grimly suspected was the first blush he’d had since puberty and he silently thanked his lucky stars that Guy nor Jamie were here to witness his humiliation.
To make matters worse, breakfast smelled out of this world--the tantalizing scent of French toast, eggs, bacon and sausage permeated the air--but would he get to enjoy any of it? No, he thought as his stomach rumbled with hunger. Because, thanks to little Ms. Ruthless, he didn’t have time. He was not accustomed to being thwarted or missing breakfast and as such, had gruesome predictions as to how the rest of his day would go.
“Good morning, Mr. Payne,” Norah called cheerfully as he descended the stairs. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” he lied through an automatic smile. Actually, he’d barely slept at all--he’d been too busy keeping tabs on Emma to get a decent night’s sleep. Frankly, he hadn’t expected her to rouse so early. He’d heard her rattling around in her room until the wee hours of the morning and had been secretly relieved when she’d finally--seemingly--settled. He scowled.
Clearly that had been a ruse.
“My father has laid quite a spread for breakfast this morning,” she told him. “Will you be joining us?”
“Your father?”
“I’m sure you met him yesterday,” Norah said. “He was the one who delivered the refreshments to your room after you checked in.” She smiled fondly, as though sharing a secret. “He’s meticulous about that. ‘Friendly service and feed’em,’ that’s what he always says.”
Just compliment the cook, Payne remembered him saying. He just hadn’t imagined that the older gentleman was the cook. No doubt that little tidbit had been on the Web site as well, he thought, irritated with himself for not researching things more thoroughly.
Furthermore, that had been the first time in his experience that a person had ever refused a tip. Frankly, he was used to his money talking--good service equaled a good gratuity. Bad service, bad tip. Simple enough system.
He’d felt completely out of his element when Matthew had refused his tip and he was quite certain, given the speculative look Emma had given him once he’d closed the door, that she’d witnessed his fleeting misstep. No doubt she’d read some sort of emotional imbalance or some other such nonsense as a result. Women were like that, he knew. Constantly speculating, digging and leaping to the conclusions about men--generally the wrong ones.
He was being surly and uncharitable, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about her and this entire situation had gotten under his skin, and between the flash-fire attraction, Garrett’s lie-of-omission and his limited choices when it came to whether to honor his word or let Emma Langsford have her brand new start, he wasn’t what one could call chipper. He felt his expression blacken to match his mood. Actually, he’d never been chipper, but that was beside the point.
He passed on the breakfast and was almost out the door when a thought struck. “Norah, you haven’t seen Ms. Langsford this morning, have you?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “She was out bright and early this morning. Said she wanted to do some driving before she started hitting the local antique shops. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
Antique shops--his first plan of attack as well. Dealers were typically a fount of information, particularly if a person was looking for a specific piece. Furthermore, dealers trolled the estate sales for treasured finds and the chances of the pocket-watch winding up on sale in one of the local shops was a far more promising scenario than it ending up with a private collector.
“You know,” Norah said with a speculative gleam and a cautious smile. “We like to pair our guests up for dinner. Would you be interested in dining with Ms. Langford during your stay?” He could practically see the match-making wheels turning in her romantic mind.
Ah, Payne thought. His first turn of good luck. “Could you do that?” he asked, playing along, delighted, but not for the reasons she suspected.
She beamed at him. “Certainly.”
“Excellent,” Payne told her. “That’ll give me something to look forward to tonight.”
And it would. If by some chance he didn’t manage to find her today, then at least he’d be able to pin her down this evening and find out exactly how she’d managed to slip under his radar this morni
ng.
Payne opened the front door and stepped out into the cold, bracing air. His breath fogged in front of his face and frost crunched beneath his feet as he made his way down the front porch steps. The Bug looked like an iced-over glittering insect in the bright morning sun. Despite the cold, the sky was more blue than gray, promising warmer temperatures later in the day.
Dreading the moment he would have to contort himself into the car, he fished the keys from his front pocket and hit the keyless remote to unlock the doors. Grumbling under his breath--at least until he caught himself--he wedged his body into the car, turned on the ignition and waited for the engine to warm up before putting it into reverse.
The instant he lifted his foot off the clutch and felt the car lurch backward, he knew something was wrong.
Ker-thunk, ker-thunk was never a good sound.
Summoning patience from a hidden, un-tapped source, he put the Bug back in first, set the parking brake and climbed back out of the car. A quick trip to the rear of the vehicle revealed the problem.
“Determined, my ass,” Payne said, glaring at the flattened tires.
She was ruthless.
A muscle jumped in his jaw and his back teeth ground together until he felt certain the enamel would crack. It was well done, he’d give her that. If she’d sabotaged the front tires, he would have noticed instantly. Instead, she’d banked on him being too preoccupied with the idea that she’d beaten him out of the gate and, as such, she’d let the air out of both rear tires. And he could just imagine her gleeful, gorgeous face while she did it, too, the she-devil, Payne thought.
He was suddenly hit with the idiotic, immature urge to kick the car, a lamentable lack of control he would ordinarily never entertain. Only by sheer force of will did he manage to get his temper under control.
He stood stock-still, counted to ten, then to twenty and then he imagined the next best thing to being able to throttle her at the moment--and that was putting her firmly on her back. He’d never been into bondage, but found the idea of tying her spread-eagle to the bed posts in his room upstairs distinctly arousing.
Naked limbs, silken skin, pouty nipples and a thatch of dark curls between creamy, inviting thighs...
If it wouldn’t be such a crime to cover up that beautiful, sexy mouth of hers, he’d imagine securing it with duct-tape and then taking her six ways to Sunday. Until every ruthless, underhanded, vengeful impulse was wrung from her perfect little body.
He’d watched her yesterday, knew that she was every bit as tied up in this unholy attraction as he was. He’d had the privilege of watching those sugared-violet eyes turning a midnight blue, had watched her pupils dilate with need. She’d absently licked her lips, a silent, unspoken invitation, and Payne distinctly recalled his dick jumping in response.
That keen gaze of hers had gratifyingly explored every inch of him--had, for reasons which escaped him, seemed particularly impressed with the size of his feet--and it had been all he could do not to stand before her and preen like a damned peacock. He knew he owned a certain amount of sex appeal--he’d certainly never had a problem coaxing a woman into bed--but he didn’t think he’d ever been the subject of such narrow scrutiny before or obvious...lust, for a lack of better explanation.
She wanted him.
Which was particularly nice, considering he wanted to lay her almost as much as he wanted to ring her delicate little neck. Let her keep up these petty, pointless games and he’d turn the tables on her so fast she wouldn’t know what had hit her. Namely him, only he’d be doing it in the biblical sense.
And they’d both enjoy his sport of choice, dammit.
Payne backtracked into the house, explained his unfortunate circumstances and was vastly relieved when Harry, Norah’s husband, retrieved a portable compressor from the barn.
Three frustrating hours later he spotted the Hummer at Beauregard’s Antique Mall. She was in sight, Payne decided, his lips curling into an evil smile.
Time to put her between the cross-hairs.
* * *
“This is lovely,” Emma said, handing the last pocket watch in the case back to the clerk. She heaved a small disappointed sigh. “But it’s not exactly what I’m looking for.”
Looking a bit disgruntled, the clerk carefully returned the watch to its place beneath the glass. “Well, dear, I’m afraid that’s all I can show you here. Perhaps you’ll have better luck elsewhere.”
He might as well have said, “You’ve wasted my time, so off you go,” and Emma could hardly blame him. He’d followed her around from booth to booth, opening up every case in this particular mall in search of “the perfect pocket watch.” She’d made up a cock and bull story about trying to find one similar to the one her grandfather had worn and, initially, every proprietor she’d met up to this point had been thrilled to accommodate her.
But after she systematically culled each and every one, citing vague reasons such as this one’s too small, this one’s too large, the numbers are wrong, etc...their enthusiasm for the search had, admittedly, waned. It would be considerably easier if she could simply say that she was looking for a gold pocket-watch with the inscription “Lighthorse” on it, but Hastings had warned her against that tact, the theory being that if a dealer had managed to miss the connection to start with, it wouldn’t take long to put it together and the price would significantly go up.
It made sense, she supposed, but it didn’t make her job any easier. Her lips slid into a wry, satisfied smile. In fact, the only thing that had made her job easier today was not having Payne looking over her shoulder every minute.
“What was wrong with that one?” he asked, as though the mere thought of him conjured him out of thin air.
Emma gasped and all but jumped out of her skin. Pressing her hand to her throat, she whirled on him. “You scared me half to death,” she accused, annoyed that she’d allowed him to sneak up on her like that.
Then again, that had been part of his training. Hell, for all she knew, he might have been following her for hours and she simply hadn’t known it. Doubtful--she expected she would have felt a lingering presence--but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
“Pity,” Payne remarked, that cool unflappable gaze honing in on hers.
“Pity you didn’t scare me to death, or pity that you almost did?” she asked, curiously unnerved by his calm demeanor.
“Whichever meaning suits you.”
Emma wandered further down the display case and pretended to be interested in a plate full of Confederate bills. “Having any luck?” she asked lightly.
“It just changed.”
Meaning that he’d been looking for her instead of the pocket watch, which was exactly what she’d been counting on. If she could keep him more preoccupied in looking for her and less preoccupied with searching for the pocket-watch, her chances of beating him to it would be greatly improved. She didn’t have any idea how long this little ruse would work, but if she could keep it up long enough to find it before him, then it will have served its purpose.
Letting the air out of his tires this morning was a bit on the drastic side, but the more she’d thought about it last night, the more she’d become convinced that she didn’t have a prayer in hell of beating him if she simply let him run the show--his usual method of operation. She had to thwart him and if that meant pulling a few low punches, then so be it. He’d been a Ranger after all--a legendary bad-ass. Her lips quirked. He could take it.
Furthermore, with Ranger Security behind him, he had a clear advantage that she didn’t possess. Her conscience had screamed the entire time the air had hissed out of the tires--instead of refuting her “ruthless” reputation, she was only confirming it--but, ultimately, she’d mentally muffled the scream by imagining writing out the checks for the past-due bills and paying for that first semester of college.
Clearly he had the money and the means to do what he wanted--had already gotten his post military career off the ground. She wasn’t asking for a
hand-out, merely a hand-up, and this opportunity was too good to pass up. She’d be an idiot not to use every means in her limited disposal to make sure that she secured the outcome and thereby, her future.
She wasn’t here to make friends, dammit--she was here to win.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Payne asked her.
“Like a baby,” she lied, feeling him move even closer behind her. It appeared that now that he’d found her, he was going to stay joined at her hip. The idea sent a wicked thrill coursing through her and the hair on her arms stood on end.
She caught a hint of a smile in his voice. “You did a lot of rattling around for someone who slept like a baby.”
“I’m sorry if I kept you awake.”
Another lie. That had been the whole point. She’d catnapped, then made enough noise to intrigue him, then catnapped again. Finally, when she’d heard him get into the shower--a notion that all but made her melt--she’d hurried downstairs, snagged a muffin from Matthew, then let the air out of Payne’s tires and left.
Her hands hadn’t been altogether steady, but she’d gotten it done and was actually sort of proud of herself for trumping Garrett’s ace on the first hand. Now it was only a matter of keeping it up. He’d be a helluva lot harder to best the next go-round, she knew, but she’d planned for that and had packed a few accessories accordingly. She’d borrowed a couple of wigs from her mother’s shop just for the occasion.
Knowing that she couldn’t disguise the Hummer, it was good thing she could hide herself. Tomorrow she planned to park the Hummer in town and catch one of the many buses to the rest of her destinations. As for giving him the slip to start with, she hadn’t worked that one out yet.
But she would.
“I guess I should be thankful you didn’t slash the tires,” Payne said conversationally.
Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus Page 23