Mastered By The Mavericks

by Angel Payne

  “Weepy wench.”

  “Camel toe queen.”

  “Sleep drool diva.”

  The tears dissolved into more laughter. “Okay, okay. I give up.”

  “Wise move, darling.” El’s preen was evident even over the miles. “Though I must admit to being glad that we stopped that wheel on the wedge of drool.”

  “Oh, no.” She attempted another laugh. “I don’t dare ask why, do I?”

  It was almost a rhetorical question. El filled the next pause with the smallest of hums—the kind always responsible for the hugest rips in Brynn’s gut.

  Well…hell.

  “Because if I’d been Facetiming with those boys instead of just yakking, I would’ve seen drool stains on their chests…wouldn’t I?”

  Brynna never thought she’d be so happy to see red and blue flashing lights in the rearview mirror. “El—um—I—”

  “Am avoiding the question? Uh-uh, missie. I need at least the Twitter tease about this. Those guys were more into my answers about you than a couple of bachelorettes at Thunder From Down Under. A hundred and forty characters or less. Now.”

  “I have to pull over.”

  “Not necessary. We can hash out more later. Just strip to the basics—especially if that’s what you did with them.”

  She couldn’t figure out what qualified as more insane right now: Eleanor Cordelia Browning’s I-know-the-nasty-you-just-did ESP, or the driver of the state highway cruiser that had slid in behind her. The officer behind the wheel jabbed his hand out, ordering her to hitch a sharp left back into the motel’s parking lot with all the subtlety of Genghis Khan.

  “No, El. I’m really being pulled over. This guy has the highway patrol disco lights on and everything. Son of a—”

  “Oh, gawd. Now I give. You always could act circles around the rest of us.”

  “I really have to go.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. You don’t want to talk about stripping for the soldiers.”

  “El—”

  “The subject is tabled, Monet, not dismissed.”

  “El!”

  “Byeeeee!”

  She disconnected the line while pulling into a parking space near the room she’d paid for under the name Peach La Couer. She’d used it an hour ago to change into the sexy pharma rep persona, but hung onto the reservation in case Zoe needed a place to rest after they snuck out of Adler’s hellhole. It wasn’t going to be easy, though she counted on the Taser and pepper spray she’d snuck from Rebel’s mission pack to be helpful little elves for their cause.

  A sexy disguise. A Taser gun. Helpful elves.

  She was a long way from the girl who just wanted to open her own counseling office, settle down with a banker, and be happy with a life dictated by routine.

  “Shit!” She didn’t hold back the violence from it, even causing the ninja banjo player to jump as he passed by. Other than him, the festival-goers didn’t blink an eye at her predicament. “Okay, Brynn,” she muttered. “Breathe in, breathe out—and be sweet. The faster you cooperate, the faster they’ll let you go.”

  It wasn’t like she’d broken any major laws. The rental probably had a burned-out tail light. Maybe she’d rolled too fast through one of the stop signs in the motel’s back lot. Spewing profanities and attitude wasn’t going to speed up this process by a single second.

  “You can do this,” she whispered. “Just be nice. Be helpful. Be,”—she quickly wetted her lips—“sexy.” Hell, this could even be a dress rehearsal for the cute-and-coy she had to pull on Adler later.

  Just not too much later…God, please.

  She concluded the prayer by checking the dashboard clock. “There’s still time.” Her whisper was desperate but reassuring, so she repeated it. “There’s still some time.” Okay, not hours and hours of the stuff, but enough to keep her plan still fully railed. She just had to play this right, accept her ticket, and get the hell out of here in the next ten to fifteen minutes.

  Even with their thirty minute lead out of Marble Falls, Rhett and Rebel had some major real estate to cover. Once they reached Austin, they had to drive across town to get to Verge’s gates. That still gave her the logistical advantage. She wasn’t turning cartwheels of joy about it—they’d let her come along and now she’d cut them out of the picture—but something had to happen, damn it. In the end, when everything turned out all right, they’d eat their proverbial hats, forced to admit the exact same thing to her.

  But right now, speaking of fancy hats…

  Show time.

  “Officer.” She looked up, all blinking innocence and pursed lips, at the patrolman who strode to the lowered driver’s side window. He slowly peeled off his sunglasses as a second cop joined him. In her peripheral, the two backseat doors of the cruiser swung open, sprouting two more sets of long male legs. Shit. Out of all the Texas Highway Patrol teams to pull her over, she had to get the clown car division. She managed a demure smile while venturing, “Um…is there a problem?”

  Clown Number One tucked his glasses into a shirt pocket, never taking his eyes off of her. He had nice eyes, actually. In other circumstances, she could imagine those whiskey-colored irises filling with light as he laughed. Even with his stern expression, there were dimples in his cheeks and laugh lines bracketing his mouth. “License and registration, ma’am?”

  She pulled her Nevada license from her purse and handed it over. “I’m sure the registration’s in the glove compartment or something. It’s a rental.” Cue the oh-aren’t-I-the-cutest giggle. “Like you aren’t used to that one by now, right?” When he scrutinized her license like it had turned into a thousand-dollar bill, she tried babbling through the silence. “How is the festival going? Bet it’s been a crazy week. I can only imagine—”

  “Please step out of the car, ma’am.”

  She smiled tightly. “Is that necessary? I mean, what’s this all ab—”

  “Just step out of the car, please.”

  Be sweet. Be cooperative. He just has to do his job. Make it easier and faster for him, and it’ll be easier and faster for you. Besides, she could test how scintillating her legs looked in this skirt. She was completely fine working the sexy leggy thing in a sequined leotard and matching go-go boots, but the skirt and blouse were an impulse buy from three months ago, in anticipation that she’d start needing “real life” clothes for the next stage of her life. She never dreamed she’d have to rely on the sex-freak-in-nerd’s-clothing bit, least of all in the middle of a motel parking lot, at high noon during the SXSW festival. Keep Austin Weird. She was sure doing her part.

  “Like…this?” After opening the car door, she slunk both legs out and slid them provocatively along each other. The move earned her an impatient cough but little else. When she finally stood, she could look both officers straight in the eyes. She did just that, going for another disarming smile. No more coughs this time. No more nothing. Both cops were practically statues.

  Well…hell.

  Did she suck that bad at nerdy sex freak?

  Wait. There was still hope. Dimples gave her a once-over—a fast one—before bolting his gaze to her face once more and querying, “So are you staying at this property, Miss Monet?”

  That’s more like it.

  Perhaps.

  Had she just dug herself into a really deep rabbit hole? She was going for alluring, not let-me-fuck-my-way-out-of-a-traffic ticket. A bogus one, at that. What the hell had she done wrong?

  “Yes.” Did no harm to relent at least that. It validated her presence here, so they couldn’t trump up some bullshit like trespassing. Or practically fornicating in the middle of the parking lot.

  “What room?”

  Shit.

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant. And why aren’t you guys out on the highway? Doesn’t this qualify as the jurisdiction of Austin City Police, instead?”

  “What room number, Miss Monet?”

  She huffed. Rolled her eyes. Finally mumbled, “One twelve.”

>   Clown Number Two, whose rugged face and stark lips said he didn’t do a lot of laughing during his down time—pressed a shoulder-mounted radio and repeated the number. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine their intention from there. Frankly, if time wasn’t such an issue, she wouldn’t have cared if they turned her room upside down. If they were after some expensive hair product and a brand-new case of MAC cosmetics, they were going to be thrilled. Otherwise, they clearly had mistaken her for someone else, and were now wasting precious minutes to discover it.

  The rabbit hole was getting too freaking deep. And damn it, she didn’t have time to play any more with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

  Which meant a new plan. And a huge new risk. Huge, as in the possibility of Rhett and Rebel plastering her face on their target practice silhouettes from now on—if they chose to acknowledge her presence in the world at all.

  Her eyes stung. Her throat thudded. And her frustration raged.

  Like they were going to acknowledge your presence after all this, anyway?

  The three of them owed each other nothing. They’d come together for this mission only—learning ways to help each other through the stress that were, admittedly, off-the-charts amazing—but thinking of it as anything more was only digging herself farther down the hole.

  It was time to take care of business, no matter how rough the decisions to accomplish that.

  She dumped the seductive stance. Lifted her shoulders, firmed her chin. “Okay, listen. I’m going to be straight-up with you guys now—because I really need your help.” She nervously wet her lips. “This is going to sound insane, but I swear it’s the truth. I have to get to the old Verge pharma building, and soon. I’m—I’m undercover.” She tacked on in a rush, “Deeply undercover.”

  No-Nonsense crunched his brows. “With what entity?”

  “I—I can’t tell you that, either. Uh…way above your pay grade.” And if he swallowed that, she was going to take El’s advice and really start an acting career. “But there are men on their way who want to stop me, and if I don’t get to the Verge building before them, my whole op could be blown. There are things happening in that building that nobody knows about—”

  Whiskey Eyes stopped her with a raised hand. “We’re aware, Miss Monet.”

  The thud in her throat took over her chest. “Wait. What?”

  He tilted his head. “You…are referring to Doctor Royce, aren’t you?”

  Her whole body trembled. “You know about him already?”

  The second cop shot a skeptical look. “Only that the work he’s doing has to be kept super secure, because it has the potential to help so many. If any of our country’s enemies got wind of his scientific advances, we’d have an international incident occurring on native soil—right under our watch.”

  “Are you kidding—” But they weren’t. That much was clear. “Royce,” she blurted. He was the face of Adler’s operation now, and had the cops buried so far under his snow job, a hundred blowers weren’t going to clear the shit. “That’s all you know, huh? You guys aren’t even aware of Homer Adler, are you?”

  “You mean the nutwing who used to run the freak show at Verge’s back door?” The cop gave her a patient smile. “He’s long gone, we promise. On the run now. Likely overseas somewhere—”

  “No.” Brynn surged forward but yanked herself back. All she needed was to look like a fruit-loop herself now. “No, he’s not. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Adler’s got you all drinking the same Kool-Aid. He’s let Royce be the public face of this thing, only he’s running the exact same game out of that building—and now my best friend is one of his freaks. He had her kidnapped five days ago, out of Las Vegas. Get on your smart pads and confirm it. Her name is Zoe Bommer.”

  She stopped, forcing in a breath. Stay calm. Losing your shit isn’t going to convince them of anything.

  The clowns actually looked ready to believe her—until Whiskey Eyes shook his head in obvious bafflement. “Why weren’t we notified about any of this?”

  “Because Adler’s that dangerous!” She threw up her hands. “It makes the most sense, I guess. I’ve been down here, at a place in Marble Falls, helping out my—errrr—a couple of friends—at least I thought so, until—”

  Hole. Deeper. Damn it. Damn it.

  But sometimes, as any performer knew, committing to the mistake was better than struggling through a cover-up.

  “Okay, so they’re Special Forces, but have been working off-grid, because Adler and Royce are monitoring everyone—I mean everyone, you guys included. Alerting you all would’ve instantly alerted them, as well.”

  “Them? You mean Royce.”

  “And Adler.”

  “Right.” Clearly, neither of them bought her account by even a penny. “Adler.”

  Commit to it. “I begged to be allowed to help. Zoe’s my best friend, and Adler has this kinky thing for redheads—”

  “Of course he does.”

  “But nothing was happening,” She pushed on. “For three days, we monitored and monitored, and now—well—Zoe is still in danger, and—”

  “Whoa.” The contrast of No-Nonsense’s calm hands, countering her wild-waving ones, wasn’t lost on her. She’d committed, all right—and look where it had gotten her. “Okay, whoa now, sugar. Back it up and chill it out.”

  Wise words. And yet, no. All the logic that had made sense in her head, just half a minute ago, was lost on them. She’d wasted the time for nothing. Brynn bit back a sob as desperation bit in with freshly sharpened teeth.

  “‘Chill it out’?” It was a snarl and she didn’t care. “Respectfully speaking, that’s all I’ve been doing for four damn days now. Officer, I’m really done with ‘chilling it out’. And I’m really done with all of this, too. So unless you’re going to ticket me—”

  “Ticket you?” Whiskey Eyes let his partner join in his soft laugh before concluding, “Miss Monet, we’re wondering whether or not to arrest you.”

  She flashed a glare between the two of them. Their stares were as steady as Tibetan yogis. “Arrest me? What the hell for?”

  “Stolen vehicle.”

  The response had her gawking at them again in confusion—

  Because neither of them had issued it.

  The drums in her chest froze to silence—as her ears connected to her brain, finally registering who had. That voice…resonating with the dark command that had teased at her memories and haunted her blood for four days, since its seduction had first mingled with a Piper plane’s engines and forever changed how she thought of the words mile high…

  That voice.

  Impossible.

  But she pivoted her head to find her sights sucked toward the towering, glowering pirate of a man, suddenly manifested from thin air, about ten feet away. What other explanation could there be for how he was suddenly here, long legs braced, inked arms folded, cobalt eyes drilling into her? And oh yeah…there was the whole turning her blood to lava thing, too. As if she needed any more proof that this hallucination was actually real.

  “How—” She stopped herself. For some reason, time still felt of the essence, and wasting it on worthless questions wasn’t an option. She had to focus on the subject at hand. What the hell had he just said? “Stolen vehicle?” She fired it back as an accusation of her own. “Excuse me? In what universe does this qualify—”

  “In the universe that your name is listed nowhere on the rental agreements in that car, cher.” A breeze kicked up, smelling weirdly of magnolia blossoms crossed with french fries, lifting his glossy black waves off his proud forehead. “And the one in which my wallet is still in the glove compartment, which adds to your list of stolen goods. On top of that, these fine men can probably run one of their fancy checks on that speedometer, to discover you were likely in breach of the state’s posted highway speed limits on your way down here.” He scooted a finger up, tapping it thoughtfully at his lips. “Hold on. I’m sure I’ve missed a few.”

  “Proba
bly.” Dimples the clown cop hooked thumbs into his front belt loops. “That list doesn’t sound nearly as complete as it should.”

  Rebel smiled at the guy. “Beaucoup kind of you to offer, Jake—but I couldn’t impose any further.”

  The whiskey in Jake’s eyes caught some light. “You’re starting to piss me off, Stafford. For the hundredth time, escorting you and Lange into town was a privilege, not an imposition.”

  Brynna barely kept her jaw from hitting the pavement. Well, that explained Reb’s “teleportation” trick. He and Rhett had been “escorted” into Austin by the Highway Patrol, likely with lights blazing, sirens blaring, and pedals to the proverbial metal. It did nothing to explain Rhett’s absence now but she had bigger—much bigger—fish to worry about skinning.

  Skinning quite a few creatures around here was suddenly a damn nice idea.

  “As I recall, somebody insisted on using the SUV for a frozen yogurt run last night,” she retaliated. “So whose fault is it that said person’s wallet is still in the damn car?”

  Jake swiveled back around, re-arching a tawny brow. “Our concern isn’t about last night, Miss Monet—only what was reported about the car today. According to Sergeants Stafford and Lange, this SUV disappeared from the driveway of the ranch where they’re enjoying a well-deserved spring vacation with a sweet little lady friend.”

  She swung a venomous glance at Rebel. “Oh, I’ll show them ‘sweet’.”

  “It was their opinion that the perpetrator of this crime was headed this way, apparently to cause some havoc at Nyles Royce’s building.” Gone was the ribbing he’d shared with Rebel. He gazed at her with all the earnestness of a male lead in a Zeferelli film. “With all due respect, Miss Monet, everything you’ve just stated—”

  “Walked me right into that trap.” Brynn seethed through her locked teeth. “Didn’t it?”

  Jake and his partner, who went by H. Osten according to the name badge he finally turned her way, shared a weighted glance. “Traps aren’t always what they seem,” Osten finally stated. “Depends on how you look at them.”

  The man clearly spoke from the standpoint of been-there-done-that—which would have intrigued the hell out of her under normal circumstances. But nothing about her life had been normal since taking Rebel Stafford’s hand and climbing into a Piper airplane four days ago.