by Tawny Weber
His grimace was all the answer she needed. Not wanting him to feel any worse, Marni patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make do. But remember, if one does open up, I’d love first dibs.”
With that, a big smile and a generous tip, she thanked him for bringing lunch. Looking relieved, the porter turned to the door.
“Oh, one last thing.” Simpson all but smacked his palm against his forehead, grimacing as he turned back around to pull a sheaf of papers out of his handy leather portfolio. “This is your role for the Train Whodunit. You and Mr. Hunter are playing a gumshoe and his dame. Your character is one of the main suspects for the murder that will take place tomorrow night.”
“Really?” Marni laughed, taking the pages with delight. “I’ve never been cast as a femme fatale before. I think this might be fun.”
Then she saw the drawing. A slinky woman, in glittering spaghetti straps and seductively sweeping curls, draped all over a guy in a hat with six-foot-wide shoulders and a skinny tie.
Her pulse sped up. Hunter had shoulders like that. Wide, strong and sexy. The kind that made her fingers tingle with the need to touch. Broad enough to support the weight of the world, sturdy enough for a woman to hang on to while he took her on a wild, naked ride.
Whew, it was getting hot in here. Marni puffed out a breath, then gave the porter a doubtful look.
“I’m not sure how Hunter’s going to feel about all of this,” she said. She looked at the pencil sketch of the fedora-wearing gumshoe with the lantern jaw again, then flashed Simpson a big smile. “Is there any way to make mine a stand-alone character? Just in case. After all, for all we know, he hates solving mysteries. Or worse, that he’s horrible at it.”
“Oh, I think I can handle it.”
It was anybody’s guess who jumped higher, Marni or the porter. Her heart racing, she glared at the man standing in the doorway, gloating over their reactions. Did he specialize in sneakiness in FBI school?
“Sir, I’ve got your character dossier here,” Simpson said, recovering first. “You’re a hard-bitten gumshoe with a soft spot for your secretary.”
“A soft spot, hmm?” Hunter took the papers, but didn’t release Marni’s gaze. His smile was slow, wicked and challenging. “I guess we’ll see how well I can pull that off.”
6
HUNTER HAD SPENT PLENTY of time undercover. It wasn’t his specialty, but he was still pretty damned good at immersing himself in the part, losing himself in the role while still keeping his objective clear.
But it was always a job.
This, he thought as he snagged a stuffed mushroom cap from the roving waiter, was ridiculous.
Three lounge cars, one after another, had doors thrown open, giving the image of one very long room. Crystal chandeliers reflected the multitude of lit candles, even though it was only five in the evening. All of the blinds were pulled closed against the evening light, so as not to ruin the ambience.
Most of the people milling about were dressed in forties-era evening wear. Narrow suits, quite a few shoulder pads, and glitteringly slinky dresses filled the rooms. It was a costume jeweler’s dream, with fat fake diamonds and strand upon strand of plastic pearls.
A bunch of adults, well-to-do if the cost of this event was anything to go by, all playing dress up on a train? Pretending to solve a fake crime that they all knew was coming?
Yeah.
Ridiculous.
Then his gaze fell on Marni as she wove her way across the room with the skill of a politician’s wife. A smile here, a chatty word there, always moving but totally unrushed.
He popped the mushroom cap into his mouth and watched her, pretending she wasn’t the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. And that he wasn’t anticipating, even a little, how fun it’d be once she reached his side.
“What do you think?” she asked when she reached him. Her laugh was breathless as she looked around the room. “Isn’t it great? I’ve never seen so many people outside a movie screen, theater stage or kindergarten classroom so into playing make-believe.”
“You look like you’re enjoying it.”
She was, too. Artfully made up, her eyes glowed and her cheeks had a flush that went perfectly with the pale pink of her satin dress. Unlike the other women, she didn’t glitter. She glowed. Long sleeves hugged her arms, but left her shoulders bare while the rest of her dress wrapped and draped over her curves. His hands itched to slide over that slick fabric, to feel those curves. To cup her hips. To curl over her luscious breasts.
She was so damned delicious. His body tightened, as if his brain needed that reminder that she was sweet sexiness wrapped in pink satin.
Because, yeah, his brain wasn’t already imagining the various ways he’d like to strip that fabric off her body and rediscover the delicious treasure he’d held only that morning.
Hardening painfully, he shoved his fists in the pockets of his jeans, wishing he was wearing slacks. Or sweats. Anything roomier.
“When’s the murder?” he asked, needing distraction.
A tiny frown creased her brow. Instead of answering, she accepted a flute of bubbling champagne and took a sip, staring at him over the rim.
“Didn’t you read your assignment?”
“I skimmed it.”
“You might want to update your skimming skills, then. It clearly outlined the timetable. Tonight is a meet and greet, costumes optional. Which is why you are here, in jeans, and nobody is suggesting you go shovel coal in the engine room.”
“And the murder?” he asked again. Not because he cared. But it was fun to see her try to school him.
“Even though costume is optional, character isn’t,” she hissed, leaning closer as a group of women commandeered the chairs next to them. “We’re not supposed to discuss the setup or details of the events except in our rooms.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too seriously?”
“The winner gets a thousand dollars and a trophy,” she pointed out.
“Ooh,” he teased. Not that a grand was anything to toss away, but money wasn’t one of his big motivators. And trophies? Those weren’t even little motivators.
She giggled, lifting one shoulder as if in agreement.
“I think it’ll be fun. I’d like to win, not so much for the prize, but because I think it’d be cool to figure out the mystery. Don’t you enjoy putting together clues, pitting your intellect against others and figuring things out first?”
Hunter gave her a curious look. Her words were pretty passionate, her tone awfully excited for a woman whose life revolved around clothes and dead people. Because those were the things that came to his mind when he thought fashion or biographies. Maybe that’s why these mystery events were such a big draw. Every accountant and housewife wanted to be a supersleuth.
“Mysteries are okay,” he said with a shrug. Not that he wasn’t a fan of piecing together the puzzle. But he got a bigger charge out of outsmarting dirtbags who thought they were above the rules. Who figured they were smarter than the law. Since he was the law, letting them know just how wrong they were was his ultimate pleasure.
“I’ll bet you’re more of a suspense kind of guy,” she guessed, tilting her champagne glass his way and leaning close to whisper. “Die Hard instead of Sherlock Holmes? Blazing guns instead of a magnifying glass?”
“Sexy blonde instead of bespeckled old maid?”
He liked the way her eyes rounded, but she didn’t look away even as her cheeks warmed with a soft flush.
“Don’t you think Sherlock had something hot going on with Irene Adler?”
“Was she the brunette who drugged and stripped Robert Downey Jr.?”
He liked how she laughed. Full, deep, honest. This wasn’t a woman afraid of enjoying life to the fullest. He remembered how she’d felt in his arms that morning, regretting just a little that she’d awoken before he’d found out if she would have enjoyed that to the fullest.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, bec
ause her laughter died, her smile faded. Heat, intense and curious, flared in her eyes. She bit her lip. His eyes narrowed. He wanted to step closer, to pull her up on her tiptoes and offer to nibble that lip for her.
She looked as though she’d be pretty cool with that, too.
“Hello, there.”
Marni blinked, then shook her head as if her gaze was still fogged with sexual heat. She turned to face the person who’d joined them. Hunter took another second to watch her, not in any hurry to look away.
“Hi,” Marni offered with a shaky breath.
Finally, Hunter looked to see who she was greeting.
The woman appeared to have stepped right off a movie set. Low budget and black-and-white.
“Hello,” he offered disinterestedly. He wasn’t on the job, and she wasn’t the type he had any interest in on his own time. Maybe if he hurried her along, he could get back to seeing how hot things could get between him and Marni before one or both of them remembered why it was a really bad idea to stoke that sexual heat.
“Well, well, aren’t you delicious.” With a sultry smile, the brunette looked him up. Then she looked him down. He was surprised she didn’t take a visual three-sixty around his body.
Hunter grinned at Marni’s hiss.
“Nice to meet you,” he added, more because it was fun to watch Marni’s reaction than because it was the truth.
“My pleasure,” the vamp greeted, leaning forward to offer her fingertips.
Hunter wasn’t sure if she expected him to kiss them or shake them. Since her nails were as sharp as talons and her rings as big as his eyeball, he opted to shake.
“I’m Sugar Dish,” she introduced, fluttering her lashes in a pale imitation of Marni’s flirty move. “I’m traveling with my aged aunt, a wealthy art collector.”
“Right. Sounds good.” Hunter knew she was playing the role and expected him to play along. But while he’d vaguely heard of these mystery events, he had no idea what the rules were and hadn’t bothered to read the ones the porter had given him.
“And why are you traveling across the country?” she asked, shifting sideways as if blocking Marni from her view could cut her from the conversation.
“Business.”
She blinked those spiky lashes again, then gave him an impatient look.
“What kind of business?”
“Personal business.”
He watched Marni’s eyes dance with amusement, even as she gave him a chiding look and shook her head.
“Care to have a drink later and share what kind of personal...business you do?” she offered, her proposition more genuine than her bustline.
“No.”
“Well.” In a huff worthy of any forties seductress, she tossed her chin, turned on one heel and stormed off. She did, however, give his ass a pat on her way across the room.
Marni’s grin turned into a glare at the woman’s departing back.
“You’re not playing the game correctly,” she said when they were left in the wake of the brunette’s perfume.
“I don’t play games.” Especially not ones that involved getting his ass patted by strange women.
“Then you really should reconsider getting off the train.” She got a stubborn, for-your-own-good sort of look on her face. “This is a themed event trip. Unless you’re going to take the rest of your meals and spend all of your time in the room, you’re a part of the event.”
Hunter gritted his teeth. Damn Murray.
“You’re supposed to share the basics of your character tonight,” Marni explained. “We’re laying the groundwork for tomorrow’s big occurrence. The more information you get tonight, the further ahead you’ll be when they kill someone.”
Could he volunteer to be the corpse? Then he could stay in the cabin and play corpse for the rest of the week. Hunter sighed. If only Murray could hear this conversation. The guy would bust a gut laughing.
“Do you not understand how this works?” she asked quietly, laying her hand on his forearm in what she probably figured was a sympathetic gesture.
Hunter’s body went on high alert, though, wanting more than sympathy from her touch. Desire heated his gaze before he could hide it. Those slender fingers tightened for just a second. But she didn’t pull away.
“I understand just fine.”
He understood that she was more temptation than he’d ever faced.
He understood that she was a complication that he didn’t have time for.
And he understood that his resistance to that complicated temptation was hanging from a very thin, very frayed thread, ready to snap at any second.
“Why don’t I go through it with you later,” she suggested. “They allow people in the same cabin to share their character information. Kind of like working as partners.”
He didn’t work with partners.
Ever.
Hunter’s goal was to reach the top of the FBI, eventually to be director of National Intelligence. An honor awarded to few, appointed by the president himself. He still had a lot of climbing to do to get there, and he moved faster alone.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you, now?” The skeptical arch of one eyebrow echoed the doubt in her tone.
“I’m confusing the masses. The less information I offer, the less they can pin on me when the crime happens.”
“So you’re just going to offer, what? Nothing?”
He considered, then pulled a face and nodded. “Yep.”
“I’m not sure that’s a winning strategy,” she mused.
“I am.” Especially since the only thing he planned to win was his privacy.
“I think my way is better.”
Better? Than eight years’ experience as a decorated FBI agent with an arrest record a mile long? Then Hunter forced himself to remember what this was about and shrugged instead. His methods had netted him plenty of bad guys. He didn’t have anything to prove. Nor did he need to brag just to impress the pretty girl.
Especially since he wasn’t interested in the pretty girl.
Marni shifted, turning to look around the room. The light glistened off her bare shoulders, making his fingers itch to touch, to see if her skin was as smooth as the satin of her dress.
Okay. So he didn’t want to be interested in the pretty girl.
“Look, if you’re serious about kicking me out of the cabin every day while you work, that means I’m out here.” She waved her hand to indicate out here was the rest of the train, and all these people. “Since we’re partners, so to speak, you’d better play along so you don’t ruin my chances to figure out the mystery, okay? Otherwise I’m going to sit in that cabin and stare at you. All. Day. Long.”
All. Day. Long.
He wasn’t sure he could take her and him in that cabin with her complete and total attention focused on him for that long. The way he was feeling right now, he’d make it maybe a half hour, possibly forty-five minutes before he stripped himself naked and asked her what else she wanted to focus on.
“Well, hello.”
Hunter barely resisted snarling as they were interrupted again. What was with these people trying to socialize?
“I’m Peter. Peter Principle. I’ve been watching you from across the room and simply had to come over and introduce myself.”
Smirking at the overblown drama of the guy’s words, Hunter tore his gaze off of Marni to see what kind of dress-up dork this one was.
Except he didn’t look nearly as stupid as he sounded. His tux was custom, his haircut top dollar and his capped-tooth smile full of wealthy smarm. This guy might be pretending to be someone else, but he really lived the moneyed life represented in this little shindig.
“I’m a wealthy investor, traveling to California for the opening of my newest hotel,” the guy lied. Or playacted, Hunter supposed Marni would claim. Hunter liked lied better.
“Indeed?”
Hunter frowned when Marni’s smile shifted from curious to seductive. His gut clenched a
nd his shoulders stiffened. He glared at the smarmy asshole, wondering how much effort it would take to toss the guy off the train.
“I’m Moira Mystery,” Marni offered, introducing her character and letting him shake her hand for way too long.
“Would you like to take a walk? I’d be happy to show you the upper deck of the train and the lovely view in the moonlight.”
“It’s six-thirty. The moonlight is pretty wimpy with the sun still up,” Hunter pointed out.
Irritation quickly chased confusion on the guy’s surgically sculpted face.
“You’ll have to forgive him,” Marni said in a throaty voice, sliding closer to Hunter’s side and patting his arm as if he was a crazed old man. “He’s ever so jealous when men pay attention to me.”
“Ahh, you’re a couple?” Smarmy asked, still looking irked.
“He’s my boss,” Marni said, giving an exaggerated eye roll. “He hates anything that might keep me from focusing on the job, though.”
Hunter looked down at her, all cozy and sweet.
Then, unable to resist, he chose stupid over smart, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder to pull her tight against the hard length of his body. She felt so damned good there. Too damned good. Still, he didn’t let go.
“Her boss,” he agreed. “And her lover.”
* * *
MARNI’S BODY WAS ON FIRE.
From the side of her forehead, where it was pressed against Hunter’s chest, to the bare skin of her shoulder, where his fingers wrapped tight. The parts that weren’t on fire were tingling with sexual sparks.
“So, what was your name again? Pete? Yeah, Pete, sorry. But she’s not available for any fake midnight walks,” Hunter said, giving a little shoo motion with his chin to indicate the guy be on his way.
“Well, that was interesting,” she murmured two seconds later when the charming Peter had practically left a cloud of smoke in his hurried wake. “Lovers? Really?”
“Let’s go.” Hunter started toward the exit, not letting go of her shoulder.
Marni would have dug in her heels, but, big shock, stilettos weren’t very sturdy. Instead, she shifted to the right, out from under Hunter’s arm.