Hero for Hire

by Jill Shalvis

  “Terry isn’t dead,” he said slowly. “I know it and you know it. So stop repeating yourself and tell me something that I can use.”

  “Why should I tell you anything?” She lifted her chin defiantly, though she still trembled beneath him. “I do not know who you are or what you want.”

  He had no idea if it was her forced bravado or the way she spoke English without using contractions, but he softened toward her, just a little. “Okay, I’ll play. My name is Rick Singleton. I’m a bounty hunter. There. Now you know who I am and what I want.”

  “A bounty hunter.” Her lips formed a perfect little O of distress. “You have been hired by the police to bring her back! But she is—”

  “Dead. Yes, so you’ve said.” He stared down at her, wondering why the police would be looking for Terry. He was definitely missing most of this puzzle. “Maybe no one is fooled, Nina. What do the police want her back for?”

  “To go to jail, of course, on that phony embezzlement charge. But she was set up, framed!”

  “So you helped her escape.”

  She closed her mouth.

  “Maybe even helped her fake her death?”

  “That would be against the law.”

  Ah, things were starting to click into place. Terry had gotten herself in trouble with the Brazilian law.

  And had she indeed been framed, as her sister clearly believed, or had the wild older sister bitten off more than she could chew?

  He’d have to check that out.

  In the meantime, there was really no harm in letting Nina in on a few details, especially if it would ease her mind and loosen her tongue a little. “I’m not with the police. I was hired by Finders Keepers, a private investigation service, to find your sister.” He wouldn’t say more now, not until he figured out what the hell was going on.

  It seemed unlikely that this wide and wild-eyed innocent beauty could be tangled up in anything that would hurt Terry Monteverde, but Rick knew better than to blindly believe in anyone.

  Proving that, Nina took advantage of his lax hold on her and rolled free of not only him, but the bed. When she tumbled to the floor, he dived after her, but she evaded him with a surprising agility and came to stand on the far side of the room, chest heaving, hair in her face.

  They faced off like that for one split second, before she whirled and vanished out the door and down the hallway.

  Damn it. With a sigh at her ignorance in thinking she could outrun him, he went after her, slamming his shin against a chest in her bedroom, then walking straight into the door, which she’d cleverly shut behind her.

  Swearing, hopping on one foot, he started down the hallway after her, stopping only to pull a flashlight out of his pocket in order to avoid more injuries.

  He had no idea how a little slip of a woman had gotten the best of him, but she definitely had, and it annoyed him. He’d gone easy on her—it had been those dark, mesmerizing eyes—but it wouldn’t happen again.

  Her white T-shirt glimmered up ahead and he went after that. The hallway opened up into a huge, open living room. One entire wall was glass, overlooking the mountain vista. Light from the moon and stars filtered in, aiding him in the chase.

  Nina’s shirt whipped up about her thighs, her bare feet flashing as they pumped, but he let her stay just ahead, hoping she’d exhaust herself. He couldn’t see tumbling her down to the hardwood floor, and since there was no way she was getting away from him again, he began to enjoy both the chase and the view she unwittingly gave him.

  Oh, yeah, he was definitely going to be a fan of plain white underwear in the future.

  Then she vanished behind a door.

  He burst through it and found himself blinking in the bright glare of the kitchen, staring down a wild-looking Nina wielding...a can of juice?

  “Stay back!” she commanded.

  He couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Yeah, that’ll protect you.”

  She looked so fierce holding her can. That T-shirt she wore was plain, white and stark. With her free hand she tugged on the hem, modestly pulling it tight across her chest in order to cover herself to midthigh.

  He wondered what she’d say if he told her she’d made the shirt nice and sheer.

  Oh, and that she was cold.

  Somehow that damn shirt was the sexiest thing he’d seen, and yet innocence shimmered off her in waves.

  He wanted to believe it was an act. After all, at work she’d been all suited up and reserved. But here, in bed and right now, she was rumpled and warm and absolutely, heart-joltingly beautiful.

  “Why on earth,” he said, talking before thinking, a dangerous condition at the best of times, “do you go to all the trouble it must take to hide yourself in those uptight clothes during the day?”

  It obviously wasn’t what she expected him to say. She went still as a rabbit for one heartbeat, before dropping the can and whirling toward the back door.

  * * *

  NINA DIDN’T get it opened; she didn’t have a chance before he was there, his chest to her back, his arms reaching past hers to hold the door firmly closed.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about your dressing habits,” he said in her ear.

  Sagging, she put her forehead against the wood, but all that did was sandwich her between the hard door and the even harder body of her pursuer.

  “How about we talk about your sister, then?” he asked calmly.

  Enraged, terrified, she fought.

  He let her. She knew he thought it funny, both her pathetic struggles and the can of juice she’d nearly lobbed at his head, and she couldn’t stop picturing his wide, mocking grin.

  All her life she’d been humored, and she resented it with every bit of her being. As a result, she continued to fight him like a wild cat.

  He had no trouble keeping her pinned. When she tried to kick back, he simply pressed in closer, so close she could feel the power in his thighs, his belly, his chest. When she reached back instead, attempting to push him away, he ran his hands down her arms, manacling her wrists, holding them on either side of her head.

  It infuriated her, both his superior strength and the way he used it against her. Refusing to give up, she kept fighting until finally she didn’t have a breath left in her body.

  “Ready to talk?”

  “Let go, you are hurting me.”

  “If I let go, you’ll hurt me.”

  As if she could! Making her feel even more insignificant, he didn’t loosen his hold, but somehow gentled it so that his hands no longer hurt her, and her body, quivering with indignation and exhaustion, was supported by his.

  She felt weak and vulnerable, and she resented that more than anything. “I hate you.”

  “Nothing personal, senhorita, but I’m not real fond of you myself.”

  “Then go away!”

  “I can’t. I’ve been hired to find your sister.”

  “You have already said. And as I have already said, she is dead. Are you short on memory?”

  He let out one bark of laughter. “You’re not much in a position to annoy me, Nina.”

  But she thought maybe she was. If he’d been planning to hurt her, he’d have done so by now. She was banking on it. All she had to do was wait until he lowered his guard and she’d... She’d figure that out when the time came.

  Hopefully.

  In the meantime she tried to block out the feeling of his entire body against hers like a layer of paint. It should have disgusted her, should have continued to stoke her temper, but something odd was happening, as it had in her bedroom. She felt warm, from the inside out, sort of itchy and tingly, and she didn’t like it.

  “Are you going to run again?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you just saying that so I’ll back off?”

  “Yes.”

  He let out another short laugh. “Okay, one point for honesty. But I’m tired, Nina. So don’t push your luck.” Slowly, he pulled back, but only a few inches. Just enough t
hat she could whirl around and face him.

  And realize he was still way too close, because all she could think of was...him.

  “Back to Terry,” he said, abruptly distracting her from the fact she knew that every inch of him was warm, hard and smelled like... Well, she hadn’t had many opportunities to be plastered against a man like this, but she imagined his scent was pure male. In any case, it was startlingly, annoyingly good.

  “Is she hiding at another Monteverde estate?”

  She looked up into his moss-green eyes. “Someone must be paying you a lot of money.” This was spoken bitterly, but she couldn’t help it. “I assume you want the money or gems Terry has been accused of embezzling, but as she never stole a thing in her life, I hope you rot in hell trying to find it.”

  He didn’t so much as blink. “How about we start with the fact that I know she’s not dead. The two of you faked her death, right? So all you have to do is tell me where I can find her.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh, but unfortunately, it sounded more like a choked-off cry of dismay.

  He frowned, eyes narrowed. “I want an answer.”

  “I do not have one for you.”

  His gaze ran down her face, over her body, and then slowly, slowly back up, making her vibrantly aware of how little she wore.

  Crossing her arms, she retreated a step and came up against the door. “I mean it. You might as well go away. I cannot help you.”

  “Won’t, you mean.” He shrugged. “Never mind. I’ll help myself.” He started rifling through the kitchen. First the silverware drawer, the utensil drawer, and then he came to the universal place in most kitchens...the “junk” drawer.

  “Hey,” she protested as he searched through the various things in it. “Stop that.”

  Ignoring her, he picked up a pad of paper and started reading the scratched notes.

  Nina had no idea what was on that pad, but as she hadn’t yet gone through the house to destroy any possible clues to Terry’s whereabouts, she couldn’t let him continue. “Put that down!”

  Without a word, he tossed the pad aside and headed toward the living room. Grabbing her can of juice back off the counter, she went after him, scooping up a throw blanket that had been tossed over one sofa. She wrapped it around her waist, wishing for the dubious protection of her clothes, but she didn’t want to leave him alone in this room for even a moment. She came up behind him and lifted her can of juice.

  He caught sight of her and let out an obnoxious grin. “You’re tenacious for a sweet little thing, I’ll give you that. Now put that down before you hurt yourself.”

  “I am going to hurt you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Incredibly, he turned his back on her. “Did you know you don’t use contractions? Is English your second or third language?”

  She nearly screamed in frustration. She knew four languages fluently, as if he really cared! Coming up behind him, she once again hoisted the can over his head but hesitated. Never in her life had she physically hurt someone. She hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult. But just as she promised herself she could do it, he stepped forward, out of range, searching the bookcase.

  Nina threw a glance at the phone on the end table. She could call the police. They’d hurt him. Lifting the receiver, she watched Rick crane his neck and meet her gaze, and she smiled in triumph, until she realized...there was no dial tone.

  Slamming down the phone, she faced his knowing grin. “I have a cell phone.” She didn’t say she’d left it in the car.

  “Uh-huh.” He went back to searching.

  What if he found something?

  What if it led him to Terry?

  Her own fault. She should have already made a search and disposed of anything suspicious.

  Ignoring her and her angst, Rick was blithely going through everything he came to—pictures, books, drawers, albums. Nina was such a small threat, he never even looked at her.

  But she’d had it.

  First her sister’s birthday, which had gone unnoticed by all except her. She realized her father was an invalid now, but the truth was, unless it was his own birthday, he rarely bothered to remember such things.

  But she’d remembered, and she ached. Her memories of Terry and all their celebrations over the years had brought back her grief fresh as the day Terry had vanished.

  Now this man. Invading her home, her space, her privacy.

  “I am going to my car to get my cell phone,” she announced, and stormed past him.

  “Yeah, do that. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell them you’re an accomplice to a woman who faked her death to get out of the charges against her, okay?” His eyes glittered with mockery, stopping her cold.

  She couldn’t go to jail; she had to be here to help Terry if she needed it.

  “Well?”

  Feeling trapped, she glared at him, but didn’t go to her car.

  Rick merely saluted her decision and went back to methodically searching her house, while she could only watch.

  And pray he didn’t find anything.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE RAGE was like a drug. It empowered. So did learning Nina Monteverde had fled town for her family’s vacation estate.

  Strange, that. Nina never fled anything. She was cool, calm and utterly professional at all times.

  So what had happened?

  The need to know burned.

  This should have been the most satisfying time ever. Hadn’t Terry been brought down, and brought down hard? Wasn’t she dead and buried?

  Yes!

  So what was going on?

  Something big. It could be felt to the bone.

  * * *

  “THERE IS NOTHING worth looking for in there,” Nina said.

  Rick looked up from the chest in the living room to where Nina stood over him, hovering. “Oh, and I believe you.” He opened it, rummaging through a pile of sandals, tennis shoes, boots, all the while ignoring how the nervous Nina shifted back and forth, working her hands together.

  What was she afraid he’d find?

  Whatever it was, he was going to find it.

  “Really, I have no idea why you would want to look through a bunch of dirty, old, stinky shoes. But if you must...” She shrugged as if it were of no concern to her, which was, of course, yet another big fat lie.

  “Oh, I must.” Beneath the shoes he found a stack of books. Yearbooks, to be exact, of boarding schools from all corners of the world, and one, looking somewhat out of place, from Northwestern University. “Switzerland, London, New York, Houston...” He looked up at her. “My, my, the Monteverde sisters were busy, weren’t you?”

  “We are well traveled, yes.” Her nose was so high in the air now she was going to get a nosebleed.

  He flipped through the one from Texas, watching Nina out of the corner of his eye. “Yours?”

  She lifted a shoulder noncommittally.

  She was a cool one, he’d give her that, but she had a way of giving away her every thought. When she bit her lip, he slowed down, taking a second glance at a bunch of pictures in the book. “Well, look at that,” he said, staring at the page, wondering what the hell he was seeing at.

  She was biting her lower lip so hard now it was colorless, so he took another good hard look.

  And hit the jackpot. “Is this you or Terry?” he asked, pointing to a picture of two girls standing on a tennis court in whites, their arms around each other, their grins wide and cocky. One was a tall, leggy auburn beauty, the other... “Terry,” he guessed before Nina could answer. “She’s the one on the left. Her hair is slightly lighter than yours, and she wears far more makeup than I’ve ever seen you wear.”

  “You have seen me only twice,” she pointed out frostily.

  He stared at the other girl, the one with auburn hair twisted into corkscrew curls and smiling hazel eyes. “Who’s this?”

  “Her best friend.”

  He flipped another couple of pages and came to one titled Most Lik
elys. The friend was there as Most Likely to Sail Around the World Under Her Own Power. “An accomplished sailor, huh?”

  He wasn’t surprised at the lack of response.

  Terry’s picture showed her wearing a sexy, come-hither smile, a wild red outfit and more blatantly outrageous makeup. He wondered how he’d ever thought the two sisters looked alike. “Here’s Terry again. Listed as Most Likely To Party Hardy.”

  Nina reached past him, shut the book and grabbed it out of his hands. Pressing it to her chest, she stood there with her eyes closed. When she opened them, they were blazing with...ah, hell.

  Pain.

  Even as he thought it, a tear formed on her long, dark lashes.

  Rick had plenty of experience with women, but most of it related to a horizontal position. Even his life with Mary Jo had been far too hot too fast, and then before he could even blink, she’d been dead.

  And so had his heart.

  If he tried really hard he could remember his mother crying occasionally, but that had always been a private thing, where she’d lock herself in the bathroom, have a good pity party, and then come out with a smile.

  As a result, tears mystified him.

  Terrified him. “Don’t even think about crying.”

  She sniffed.

  “Stop that.”

  “I miss her,” she whispered, then turned away.

  “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say, more surprised to realize he meant it.

  For one brief second in time, she hesitated. Then she straightened her shoulders, adjusted the blanket around her hips, and kept moving.

  So did he. The living room had been thoroughly searched, and while the yearbook had been an interesting diversion, he needed to move on.

  He needed something that would lead him to Terry Monteverde. So he followed Nina, startled when she abruptly opened a door and stepped aside, standing there with her eyes still shining suspiciously, the yearbook clasped tightly to her chest.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The bedroom Terry used. If you’re going to search, you can start here.”

  “All right.” He waited warily, wondering at this sudden show of hospitality.

  “I am going back to bed.”

  He’d turned away, stepping into the rather spartan bedroom, when instinct made him look back.