“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
The ex-warehouse squatted on one corner of the junction between old Route 66 and the railroad. Like many stretches of the iconic road, this particular extension of the railroad had long since disappeared beneath dirt, gravel, and overgrown weeds, though the tracks just to the south still hosted regular rail traffic. On the opposite corner of the intersection was the shell of an old, abandoned gas station.
Inside the bar, Jared sat in a dim corner, admiring the Route 66 memorabilia and neon beer signs as he waited for his mystery woman to appear.
No, not a mystery any longer. He grinned with the satisfaction of one mystery solved. Her name was Skye, a name that immediately brought to mind her stunning blue eyes.
Stone’s declaration that he’d handle Skye hadn’t sat well with Jared. He didn’t know what the man planned, but he hadn’t seemed to recognize Chelsea’s name and he sure as hell seemed troubled by Skye’s.
Jared had put Duffy and Meyer in charge of Stone’s protection and taken a couple days off, driving straight to Arizona. He’d spent the day asking around the area about Skye, and learned about Three Fortunes’ reputation as well. Apparently Skye was a woman who knew how to get things done, in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge kind of way. It reinforced the impression he’d initially had of a hit woman.
But was someone paying Skye to find a missing girl or to go after Stone? And why hadn’t she followed through? If Stone knew why she’d come after him, and what it had to do with Loretta Sheldon, he wasn’t sharing.
There was little else in public records about his mystery woman. He’d found an old record of a Skye Hamilton in Flagstaff, Arizona. She’d applied for a library card, of all things, over a dozen years ago. Given that there were no school records, Jared guessed that she was homeschooled, or possibly even self-taught.
According to the people he’d talked to around town, Three Fortunes was reputed to shelter an anti-government group known to train individuals in everything from how to react to a government takeover or act of terrorism to surviving the next apocalypse. Had his little rabbit grown up there? Remembering the mix of toughness and vulnerability in Skye’s gaze, he could see how she might have.
Which made luring Skye away from the compound his main objective. It would have been suicide to go into unfamiliar territory, where an unknown number of men were, most assuredly, armed with an unspecified amount of ammunition and guns—he was certain, from the compound’s reputation, it was a large number—and attempt to sit her down for a talk.
The Roadhouse, though surprisingly crowded for a Monday night, was neutral turf. He needed her to come to him of her own free will. He only hoped the bait was enough to seduce her away from her comfort zone. Then again, Skye Hamilton didn’t strike him as a woman who needed, or wanted, comfort. It was a refreshing change, given how his mother had needed constant reassurance, mostly about vain things. He and his sisters had learned independence at an early age.
Their mother—an exotic dancer—had been murdered by an abusive boyfriend when Haley was seven, Chelsea twelve, and Jared twenty. Phoebe Bennigan had never had good taste in men, flitting from one relationship to another, producing three children with three different fathers. Still, she’d tried to raise the siblings together.
Jared had already joined the military and was stationed overseas at the time of Phoebe’s murder, but Haley’s Aunt Jane had taken in the two girls. Unfortunately, Jane could barely keep the girls reined in as they got older and more rebellious. She’d threatened on more than one occasion to turn them over to the state.
There’d been a pattern of sweet-talking her down from the ledge, usually over the phone, from far away when he’d been stationed elsewhere. He’d happily taken on the role of their protector when he could get back to Vegas, but sometimes it was exhausting. And sometimes he failed.
Like with Chelsea.
Jared reread the text he’d received from his youngest sister, Haley. My birthday’s next weekend. You’d better be home by then. At seventeen, she was usually the one checking up on him.
He typed the delayed response. Wouldn’t miss it. Make sure you’re getting your homework done. You haven’t graduated yet. He added a smiley emoticon because it would please her to know he’d learned it from her.
Bossy pants, she replied almost immediately.
He grinned. She’d tossed his nickname for her back at him.
His cell phone rang and his business partner’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly theme song played until Jared answered. “Yeah.”
“Where the hell are you?” Devlin snapped. Of the triad, he was definitely the ugly tonight. “You can’t go that long without checking in, and you never leave your post without approval.”
“I’m a co-owner, for Christ’s sake.”
“But you’re currently acting as a field agent.”
“To find Chelsea.”
“You know the rules.” Dev was controlling in that way, but his rules came from a deep need to keep everyone safe.
“Duffy and Meyer can handle babysitting Stone.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m in Arizona, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
“Chasing after Skye Hamilton?”
Jared snorted. At least their GSS agents were still topnotch. “If you know where I am and who I’m after, why the heck are you bugging me? Slow day at the office?” There was no such thing, and they both knew it. Which meant Dev was genuinely concerned.
“You’re without backup, in unfamiliar, possibly hostile, territory.”
“I doubt she’d meet me if I wasn’t alone, on neutral ground.”
There was a long silence. “You still think Stone is tied to Chelsea’s disappearance?”
Jared blew out a breath. “I’m not sure yet. That’s what I’m hoping to find out from Skye. She’s looking for a missing girl and I’m wondering if it’s all somehow connected.”
“I hope she shows up.”
Me, too. “I’m expecting her any minute,” Jared said, hoping it was true. Hell, for all he knew, Skye could be planning to ambush him when he left. “I was planning to check in when I had more.”
“Well, next time, check in at least once a day, even if it’s to say you’re fucking sleeping.”
A woman walked through the front door at seven sharp and his entire body went on alert. Skye. Even from across the bar, he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. But the rest of her… The entire package had the power of a stun gun. Skye Hamilton didn’t have to be armed to be dangerous. She was a weapon unto herself.
Jared cleared his throat. “My target just showed up.”
“Keep me posted. Don’t make me track you down next time.” Thankfully, Dev let it go and hung up.
Jared remained in the shadows at the far end of the bar, watching Skye as she covertly cased the joint. Every inch of her body had been imprinted on his brain the evening they met, but now he had more information with which to fill out and color in the image. On the Malibu rooftop, she’d been wearing a dark cap that covered her hair, so he’d only gotten a glimpse of one long, teasing strand. Now, mahogany waves cascaded past her shoulders. Instead of the black cat-burglar suit, tonight she wore a faded denim jacket over a black camisole and jeans that clung to her hips and thighs like a lover’s hands. She scanned the crowd, the neon signs that covered the walls reflecting a rainbow of colors in her eyes and glossy hair.
She’d come.
Skye glanced around the Roadhouse, one of the few entertainment venues within a short drive, seeking her target. She didn’t come here often, having been urged for her entire life to keep a low profile, and having noticed that when people knew she was from Three Fortunes, they treated her differently—as if she were peculiar. Normally, she preferred to drive the half hour to Flagstaff, where she could get lost in a more populated town. But she had wandered into the Roadhouse to enjoy herself on occasion, especially after co
mpleting a job. The place was off the beaten path, but it was packed tonight, probably because a local band would be providing live entertainment.
Within seconds of entering, she felt eyes on her. With the awareness of a hunter who was being hunted, she met his gaze. He lifted his beer in salute, then tilted his head to indicate the empty barstool beside him.
Hell, no. She didn’t take orders from anyone, let alone him. If he wanted her, he’d have to come to her.
Ignoring him, as well as the smell of stale beer and the crunch of peanut shells beneath her feet, she took a seat along the main part of the bar, several yards away.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Beer. In the bottle, cap on.”
“What, don’t you trust me, honey?” The guy arched a brow.
“Nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone.” She’d learned that the hard way, practically in the womb, but she winked to soften the blow to his ego.
With a grunt, he grabbed a bottle from the cooler and set it in front of her.
After he moved on, Skye twisted off the cap. Purposefully turning away from Jared, she leaned back against the polished wood bar and pretended to watch the couples on the dance floor as she enjoyed a few quiet sips. The lively two-step beat had most people out of their seats, but her thoughts were on Jared, what Stone would require of her for a million-dollar payoff, and how she could use both of them to find Loretta. She also wondered how long it would take Jared to approach her, because she damn well wasn’t going to kowtow to him.
“Come here often?” The male voice at her ear wasn’t Jared’s, and she was surprised by a sudden pang of disappointment.
Wincing at the tired pickup line, she swiveled to meet the cowboy’s brown eyes—not caramel, just plain brown like his shitkicker boots. This man’s gaze didn’t suck her in and hold her. There was no twitch of dark humor in his grin. Involuntarily, her gaze sought Jared over the man’s shoulder, but he was no longer sitting at the end of the bar. Angry with herself for making comparisons, and for the stab of annoyance that Jared had retreated before even trying to approach her, she focused on the newcomer’s pickup line.
“Every night,” she said. “I love to drink until I cry, think about all the men who’ve left me until I get a good mad on, and then castrate the cowboys who try to pick me up. Good thing you caught me early in the evening.” She raised her beer bottle to toast him before taking a long swallow. Maybe if he thought she was a high-maintenance bitch, he’d back off.
Instead, he sat down next to her. Crap. Apparently, waiting for Jared to make a move had been a big mistake.
The cowboy didn’t pick up on her frosty demeanor. He thrust a hand toward her in greeting. “Darren.” There were calluses, as most cowboys had. Hell, most of the people in this area worked hard with their hands. Physical labor was a part of living on a ranch. And the guy had the muscular, wiry build of a ranch hand, but something about the spotlessness and fresh creases of his clothing, and the fact that his boots were shiny, the leather not broken in, made her suspicious. Darren—or whatever his name was—wasn’t from here, and he wasn’t a cowboy. But that didn’t mean he was the cutthroat type, either. There wasn’t enough cunning behind his eyes. She’d seen enough evil in her lifetime to know the glint of it. Perhaps he was traveling between Vegas and Texas, and wanted to look the part—or what he thought the part of a cowboy should look like.
So she accepted his hand and shook it. Might as well keep potential enemies close. “Skye.”
He held onto her a moment too long, indicating his interest, but was it sexual or an entirely different predatory motive? Or was he linked to a different job? Contrary to rumors, she wasn’t a murderer for hire. She preferred to think of herself as a hired gun, but was most like a private investigator. She’d only killed twice—once in self-defense, and once while taking a missing child back from a sexual predator who was about to kill his victim to keep the child from talking. And while the killings had brought justice, they hadn’t brought her peace. Nightmares had plagued her afterward. But the acts had given the victims closure.
She mentally indexed the jobs she’d completed recently. A couple of surveillance gigs where she’d caught a cheating wife and an embezzling partner. The return of a child taken by an ex-wife who didn’t have custody. Camping out on someone’s ranch, flushing out squatters who were planting pot crops. Helping to regain a prize-winning mare for the original owner.
No Darrens popped up in the rundown of her clients and anyone connected with those jobs, but he could be using an alias. Or maybe he’s simply a random guy.
She chatted with him for a minute, letting him do most of the talking while her eyes roved the crowd. Where had Jared gone? She wasn’t so distracted that she didn’t notice Darren studiously avoided discussing anything personal. A couple minutes later, tired of the game, she refused an invitation to dance and excused herself to use the restroom. When she emerged, she avoided returning to the same barstool, choosing to stand in the corner as she surveyed the crowd, which had grown in anticipation of the live music. She was surrounded by warm bodies taking drags from cool longnecks as they watched the action on the dance floor.
The hair on her neck stood up as she sensed someone moving up behind her, as if he had a heat signature made for her senses alone.
“Glad you came.” Jared’s voice took her right back to that moonlit Malibu rooftop.
She turned to face him, drinking in the features that had been partially shadowed two nights before. The strong jaw, now scruffy with a day’s growth of beard, and warm caramel eyes were just as she’d fantasized about for the past forty-some hours, but other things, like the crinkle of tiny lines around his eyes and the myriad shades of brown in his dark blond hair completed the picture. He hadn’t even attempted to dress like a cowboy, but his blue jeans and untucked button-down shirt, rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong forearms, were enough to let him blend in.
She took a beat to steady her suddenly jangling nerves. “Took you long enough.”
He frowned. “Looked like you were busy. Do you know him?” His eyes didn’t leave hers as his head tipped toward the bar where Darren still sat, now observing them from the corner of his eye while pretending to watch the band.
“I do now. Amazing how many new friends are popping up. Didn’t expect to find you in my neck of the woods.”
“I’m sure.”
She frowned. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m sure of that, as well.” Amusement twinkled in his gaze. “But I never could resist a challenge. I’m glad you came. We need to talk.” He scanned the tables surrounding the dance floor and snagged her hand.
She let him, but only because she wanted to hear what he had to say. At least, that’s what she told herself. If he were any other man, and certainly if he were Darren, she’d have twisted his arm until he cried uncle. Her fingers warmed in his as he pulled her to an empty table in the farthest, darkest corner, out of Darren’s line of sight.
Little bolts of electricity were traveling from her fingertips to her brain, and then coursing throughout her body. God, when had she last let a man touch her, and had any of them simply held her hand? Usually, she didn’t like to be touched in such an intimate fashion. She’d satisfied her curiosity and her sexual needs by fooling around a couple of times, each experiment with a man she’d gotten to know when he’d come to train at the ranch—but only when she’d known they’d soon be moving on, so the affairs had been brief and uncomplicated. It was understood that people who came to the ranch weren’t permanent, so she hadn’t been setting herself up for disappointment. She knew the score, as did they.
But this? This kind of immediate spark, with a man she didn’t know, let alone fully trust, was new and uncomfortable. The tingling, pleasurable reaction to holding his hand was a red flag that she had to get a grip on herself, fast. Especially since the man worked for Stone. And if her sexual needs were kickin
g into high gear, why couldn’t it have been with an uncomplicated, clichéd cowboy like Darren, who would have been easy pickings? There was nothing easy about Jared Bennigan.
She willed her pulse to return to a steady, sane rhythm. Thankfully, Jared let go of her as they slid onto the stools around the small, high table.
“Who hired you?” he asked without preamble.
“Nice.”
“What?”
“The direct approach. I approve, though I wish you’d bought me a drink first.” She could use something to cool her suddenly warm skin.
That seemed to take him aback. “A drink?” His gaze slid to her mouth, and more electricity shot through her.
“On the other hand, I could buy a hell of a lot of drinks with a million dollars.”
He sighed and looked away as if she wouldn’t like what he had to say next. “I was hoping you weren’t counting on Stone’s money.”
She stiffened. “There’s no money?” She wasn’t disturbed by the lack of reward so much as the fact that he’d used a lie to lure her here tonight. For some stupid reason, she’d pegged her soldier as an honorable man. She counted to ten to rein in her temper.
“There’s so much more at stake than money,” he said before she’d reached five.
“You’re right. My professional reputation is at risk. If I told you who hired me and why, others could get hurt.” What she did wasn’t legal, but it was justice. Like the Old West, some people went outside the law to meet their needs, and Skye had found a niche she could fill. It made her feel needed and valued for the first time in her life. She couldn’t lose that.
“I can help, if you’ll just tell me why you were in Malibu, watching Stone—”
“You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’m going to tell you anything. I’m not going to let you screw me over and sell me out to your boss.” She stood, but he was faster. His hand snaked out to grab her wrist.
“Wait. Let me explain.” His hold wasn’t as gentle this time, and the urgency conveyed by his grip had her pausing, against her better judgment.
Stacking the Deck (Redemption Club Book 1) Page 6