Читать книгу Hero For Hire - Jill Shalvis - Страница 9

MAN, THE HEAT was brutal. But then again, the weather in Rio de Janeiro was known for being brutal, even in the winter month of July.

Winter being relative of course, especially in the tropics.

Though the air came off the ocean and should have been cool, it wasn’t; but after four years in Brazil, Rick Singleton considered himself a Carioca—a native—and hardly felt a thing.

In truth, he hardly felt anything anymore, and that was how he liked it. He’d definitely come to fit into the South American way of life, where everything was casual, come-what-may, and absolutely pleasure-based.

Not many would consider their job pleasure-based, but Rick did. As a bounty hunter, he lived for the thrill of the chase—not to mention the money he got paid for finding his man.

Or in this case, woman.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the hazy Polaroid of a couple taken two Carnivals back. The woman with her feathery mask had eyes only for the man holding her close. They looked excited, anticipatory, and given the man’s hot gaze, they were headed for a night of passion.

Rick didn’t know the woman’s name. All he knew was that Mitch Barnes, the man in the picture, had hired him through Finders Keepers, a private investigation agency in Texas, to find her. They’d spent one night together, she and Mitch, and the man was desperate, evidenced both by the ridiculous amount of money he’d offered Rick, and the tone of his voice when he talked about his mystery woman.

He obviously cared a great deal about her.

Given the hordes of tourists that came to Brazil every year to partake in Carnival’s decadent celebration, Rick doubted the woman even lived in Rio, but for the money he’d do his best to find her. He had no clues other than the elaborate necklace she wore.

Mitch, an injured and recovering FBI agent now living in San Antonio, hadn’t known anything about the hand-wrought gold-and-emerald necklace, except that the woman looked gorgeous in it. Apparently their one night together had produced more than just a wild heat and passion. It had also produced a baby, a fact Mitch hadn’t been aware of until he’d discovered the baby girl left on his neighbor’s doorstep was his.

Now more than ever Mitch wanted to find the woman.

That was Rick’s job. Not much to go on, but he’d worked on less. He hadn’t screwed up a case since his ultimate failure four years prior.

Four years.

It was hard to believe it had been so long, and if there’d been any emotion left in him, any at all, he’d ache at the memory.

But his heart was as good as dead. Nothing got to him, not anymore.

He’d find the missing woman, no matter what he had to do, then get paid and move on. No sweat.

No looking back.

To that end, he stood in the middle of a particularly seedy favela, one of Rio’s many shanty towns, where one fifth of the population crammed together, struggling daily just to scrape by. The run-down cities within a city sat precariously perched on the steep hillside on either side of Rio, seemingly poised to slide down the sharp cliffs. Contrary to Rio itself, which arguably had the most gorgeous vistas in all the world, there was little beauty to be found here.

Rick stared down would-be pickpockets and petty thieves, knowing the first law in a place like this was to see nothing and hear nothing.

And keep out of trouble.

If someone pulled a gun, or even a knife, he was on his own, as all government law and order stopped at the entrance to most favelas. Having been first a Navy SEAL and then a federal marshal in another life, Rick wasn’t concerned. He could take care of himself.

“I’m looking for a woman,” he said in Portuguese to his informant, Juan, a well-known fence and all-around low-life con artist who’d sooner sell his own mother than go to jail for his petty crimes.

“A woman?” Juan shoved his hands into his pockets and spoke in heavily accented English. “There’s millions of people in Brazil, half of them women. Pick one.”

“This one.” Rick held out the picture Finders Keepers had sent him.

Juan stared at it. “Nice.”

“Do you know her?”

“I didn’t mean the woman.” Juan let out a crusty laugh that told Rick he’d been smoking at least half his life. “The necklace. It’s similar to O Coração de Amante.”

“The what?”

Juan rolled his eyes. “The Lover’s Heart,” he said in English. “The original is in a museum somewhere, but clever remakes are popular with the riqueza. You know, the wealthy.” He pulled the photo closer. “Either way, it’s a very rare piece.” He scratched his chin, eyes shining with speculation. “One could get rich off a piece like that, if it’s real.”

Given the woman’s aristocratic beauty and dress, Rick doubted the necklace was anything but genuine. If he could trace it... “Where would I get another like it?”

“Ah, now you’re talking.”

“I mean legally.”

“Oh.” He sighed with disappointment. “Well, I’d bet my entire day’s take—” He faltered at the steely, very hard cop look Rick shot him. “Er, I mean my week’s salary, man. Salary. I’m not on the take—”

“The necklace, Juan.”

“If it’s the real deal, it came from the Monteverde’s.”

“Monteverde’s?”

Face carefully blank, Juan held out his hand, palm up.

Rick swore, searched his pockets, then slapped some reals into Juan’s outstretched palm.

Juan pocketed the money and held out his hand again. “Try American dollars. They go further.”

“It had better be good,” Rick warned, going back to his wallet.

“Always.”

When Rick greased his palm with more bills, American this time, Juan gave him a grin that was missing more than one tooth. “Monteverde is the name of a famous Brazilian gem family. They have a huge business. An entire building in Ipanema, right on the beach. You might have seen it, it’s the ritziest place out there. All That Glitters. They cater to people with too much money on their hands.”

“Yeah.” Rick rarely spent time in Rio’s money belt. “Thanks. Stay clean, Juan.”

“Sure,” he vowed before slinking off.

Rick let him go, thinking with any luck he’d find the mystery woman by the end of the day and have a nice, fat wallet. Even better, he could be on another case by this time tomorrow. He straddled his motorcycle and drove down the steep, unpaved hills of no-man’s-land, leaving the dark alleys of the favela behind. Within five minutes he drove into another world entirely, where throngs of people walked beautiful beaches half-nude, laughing, talking, running, playing without a care.

Surrounded by tall, majestic mountains, the ocean bay glittered a brilliant azure blue, its beaches made so scenic by palm trees and tropical flowers.

High above on the closest mountain peak towered a 130-foot statue of Christ, arms nearly as wide as he was tall, looking down on one and all, sinners and saints. The scene never failed to give Rick a cynical smile.

All That Glitters was indeed a huge business. It occupied one of the dozens of buildings crammed right on the beach, though it was bigger and better than most.

All eighteen floors of it.

While Rick debated the best plan of action, he parked and sat at an open boteco—Rio’s answer to the American café—where he could watch the comings and goings, of which there were plenty.

The bottom floor of All That Glitters was an upscale jewelry retail store, where he assumed the Monteverde family sold what they had designed on the other seventeen floors. As he sat back to watch the goings-on through the store window, he caught sight of her.

The mystery woman.

In disbelief, he pulled out the worn photo. Same color chestnut hair, wild and full, though now the sides were slicked back with glittery combs. Same light-olive skin, smooth and flawless.

She turned then, and through the glass and the fifteen feet of hustling, bustling street that separated them, their gazes met.

And the oddest thing happened. She seemed to see him, really see him. Him. Something deep inside Rick jerked and came to attention at that.

It bothered him.

As a man for hire, one who’d effectively walked away from his own life, there was no one who knew or cared about him, and he liked it that way. People wanted him only for what he could do, and he liked that too, as frankly, there was little he wouldn’t do. He’d purposely built a reputation as being the best bounty hunter in all of Brazil, and he never got personally involved with a case.

Not ever again.

No one touched his emotions, which he’d buried so far deep down he was certain they no longer existed.

No one.

But this woman... One look at her, just one meeting of the eyes, and he felt something inside him crack and soften.

It had to be the sun.

Or the crowd. There were millions of people in Rio and he felt as if all of them were walking up and down this very street, showing off their youth, their bodies, their indifference.

Or maybe it was his busy schedule and lack of sleep. Since he took every case that came his way, no matter how difficult, and rarely hit dreamland easily, it was entirely possible.

Anything but a personal connection. Narrowing his gaze, he forced a cool, hard detachment, one he was terrifyingly good at, and got back to business.

Surveying her.

She was average weight and build, or so he assumed, since she’d hidden nearly every inch of her body behind a business suit that didn’t fit into the Brazilian wear-as-little-as-possible way of life. She was still behind the counter, and with a visible shake, broke eye contact with him and turned to talk to another woman. With a shy smile and a light pat on the other woman’s arm, his mystery woman disappeared into the back of the store.

She hadn’t looked at him again.

Rick let out a long, slow breath, but before he could clear his head, a waitress came up to his table. She was dressed in a skimpy little skirt that sat low-slung on her hips and a bathing suit top designed to cover only her nipples—barely. Her crooked smile was both friendly and speculative. “Something to drink?” she asked in Portuguese, and when it took him a moment to pull his thoughts from across the street, she added in the bold way of Brazilian women, “Or...something else perhaps?”

Women had come on to him plenty of times, and plenty of times he’d appreciated it, but at the moment he was distracted. “Have you been in there?” he asked, gesturing across the street.

Laughing wryly, she shook her head. “Too pricey for the likes of me. But I’ve window-shopped plenty.”

Window-shopped.

Yeah, that was it. He was going window shopping.

* * *

GRABBING HER PURSE, Nina Monteverde headed out. She was desperately in need of lunch, though it was already late afternoon. She’d skipped breakfast, and now that she thought about it, she’d skipped dinner the night before as well.

Her head throbbed with it.

Running All That Glitters was going to kill her. Second quarter paperwork was due, there were taxes to handle and several key employee contracts had come up for negotiation.

Terry could have handled all of it and more, with a bright smile.

At the thought of her beloved sister, Nina’s throat tightened. The weight in her chest seemed to double. Triple.

But she kept walking, relieved to find a small table available at the café across the street. Grateful, she sat down and ordered. When her drink came, she sipped it, acknowledging the burning sensation behind her eyes as exhaustion, and promised herself that tonight she’d sleep.

No more nightmares.

Even if today was—would have been—Terry’s birthday. Her sister should be home preparing her own celebration, just as she always had, and doing it in the outgoing, outrageous style in which she’d done everything.

Instead of being dead.

“Here, cara,” the waitress said, setting a sandwich on the table. Then she plopped into the empty chair and grinned. “Break time for me, too. Whew, it’s hot.”

“It is only eighty degrees, Maria.”

“Yes, but this is supposed to be winter. So—” she leaned close, studying Nina carefully “—you look...off today.”

Yes, she was off. Hard to believe she could be surrounded by people all day long and still feel...lonely. But Nina had been holding people at bay all her life, never really letting anyone in, and she’d gotten good at it.

Too good.

Maybe she regretted that now, that distance, but it was a hard habit to break.

“Nina?” Maria frowned in concern. “What’s up?”

“It has been a long day, that is all.” A long day fussing with the business end of things instead of designing, as her heart craved.

“You need to get laid,” Maria decided.

Nina choked on her drink. She enjoyed Maria’s company but she’d never gotten used to her friend’s easy way of sharing absolutely everything. “I am fine.”

“You’re always fine.” Sighing lustily, ignoring the tourists at the next table who were gesturing for her attention, Maria put her feet up and leaned back. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so... fine?”

Actually, yes, Nina did get tired of it, of putting on the perfect, good-girl facade, not that she’d ever say so. After all, she’d been raised as the obedient, younger, seen-but-not-heard daughter. At twenty-six, that was a very difficult habit to break, even with the entire family business now firmly on her shoulders. “You have customers waiting.”

“Oh, please. I’m not falling for that weak change of subject. Now talk. About you,” she added pointedly. “And by the way, you know how I’m always bugging you to get a man?”

“They do not grow on trees. It is just not that easy for me.”

“It should be. You’re rich, you run a huge company, and you’re beautiful. What wouldn’t a man like?”

Exactly. It was all about money, prestige and looks, never about Nina as a person. She objected to that, and had learned to be alone instead.

She’d even learned to like it.

Mostly.

“Anyway, listen.” Maria lowered her voice. “There’s been a gorgeous guy here two days in a row, looking at you through the window of the shop.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.” Maria dropped her feet and leaned in close. “I’ll even point him out to you. He’s a few tables over as we speak, watching you very carefully.”

“Maria—”

“Shhh. He’s tall, dark and dangerous. Got a brooding edge to him, that one does. No, don’t look! Not yet. Meu Deus, he’s got a body, too, all muscle and hunger.”

Nina found herself reeled in. “What does he look like?”

“He’s wearing dark, unassuming clothes and looks like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. Ah, and those eyes! Did I tell you about his eyes? They’re spitfire green and full of heat. Now slowly crane your neck and look off to your right. See? Look at him look at you. Magnifíco!” Maria fanned herself wildly. “Isn’t he wicked?”

Wicked didn’t begin to describe him. He was indeed all muscle and hunger and fire and heat, one-hundred percent of it directed right at Nina, who could suddenly scarcely breathe.

He was the man who’d held her gaze prisoner the day before when she’d innocently looked up and caught him watching her through the window. Her heart had thrown itself against her rib cage.

She hadn’t liked it then. She didn’t like it now either, though he had managed the one thing no one else had in days...he’d taken her mind off Terry.

“A man like that...” Maria spoke in a hushed, reverent whisper. “He knows how to satisfy a lover, no?”

Nina tried to tear her gaze away, tried to pull back, but there was something in his startling eyes that once again held her utterly captive. He didn’t blink or look away, and she found she couldn’t, either.

“Americano?” Maria wondered.

If he was indeed American, it was impossible to tell. Not all drop-dead gorgeous men were American. His sun-bleached brown hair and brilliant green eyes could have come from anywhere. His clothes were nondescript, yet emphasized his long, sculpted frame. His face, tanned and rugged and sporting at least a day’s growth of beard, couldn’t be pinpointed to any one nationality.

One thing was certain, she had definitely drawn his interest. Those searing eyes looked right at her. Through her. And though he certainly couldn’t see inside—no one could—she felt as if he could read her thoughts.

They hadn’t met, so he wasn’t interested in her intellect, wit or personality. It couldn’t be her exciting reputation either, since, unlike her sister, she didn’t have one.

But men—specifically fortune hunters—didn’t much care about Nina’s looks or personality, and if this man was indeed a fortune hunter, he wouldn’t be the first. She’d deal with him. She was in just the mood to do it. “I need to go.”

“But your lunch.”

“Bag it for me?”

“Nina—”

“Please?”

Maria tilted her head in the man’s direction. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

“I am not interested.” To prove it, she wrenched her gaze from his, grabbed her purse and started across the street.

Not interested.

A lie, of course. She was interested, desperately so. Interested in learning what she’d missed in life by hiding away, by letting work take over, by letting family loyalty keep her silent.

The familiar spurt of bitterness went through her. After an overprotective childhood, not to mention growing up in the shadow of her sister’s outrageous stunts, she’d purposely interacted with very few people, and certainly few strangers.

Much as she’d like to change things and start...well, living, she wasn’t sure how to do that. And anyway, it didn’t matter. Certainly the stranger, gorgeous as sin and likely double the trouble, had forgotten her already. She was positive of it.

So positive she didn’t look back.

Though she wanted to.

* * *

THE REST OF the day flew by as she plowed through her business chores so she could get to her own private pride and joy—creating jewelry from her own designs.

It was her life, her heart, and once at her worktable, away from all the dreaded paperwork, she let her mind flow and empty, and she did what she did best—design original jewelry to go with the gems All That Glitters mined, purchased and traded all over the globe.

It was a quiet job, and one she did alone, which only perpetuated her reserved image. But she loved it more than anything, and wished she had more time for it these days.

Terry, I miss you, so much.

But what was done was done, and Nina had dealt with her grief. She’d dealt with the business. She’d truly moved on.

It just seemed her heart hadn’t quite gotten the message yet. Determined to lighten her mood, if only for a little while, she adjusted her light and reached for her latest drawing, a bracelet of inlaid gold with emeralds. It would match the Coração de Amante she’d made for Terry several years ago. Already Nina knew she couldn’t let this new piece go to sale. She’d dip into her own savings to buy it for herself.

She began by making a bezel, a gold sheet to hold the gems. For the next few hours she worked annealed gold around the stones, measuring, cutting and soldering with gold hard solder. By the time she stood up and stretched, it was long after dark, and the building was empty except for security.

She’d forgotten, if only for a while, her unbearable sadness.

Yes, tonight she’d sleep dream-free.

She was halfway across the back parking lot, heading toward her car, planning which book she’d take to bed with her to read until sleepiness over-came her, when she heard a footstep. A shadow fell over her.

Heart leaping, she whirled around.

And faced him. Her perfect stranger.

For one moment she had the ridiculous thought that he’d sought her out to ask her for a date.

How absurd. No one wanted her simply for herself. No one even knew the real her.

As she debated whether to stop or run, he pulled a photo from his pocket and held it up. Comparing her to it, he glanced back and forth for a moment, then frowned before taking a step closer.

“Who are you?” he asked.

It should have been her question to him.

“Como você se chama? What’s your name?” he tried in both Portuguese and English, still frowning.

If he’d been huge and menacing rather than lean and rangy as he was, he couldn’t have been more intimidating. He stood over her, all lithe, tense muscle.

Maria was right, he was magnificent, one of the most magnificent men she’d ever seen, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

Saying nothing, she backed up, wondering if she could make it to the building, where she could get help from the security guards within.

“Hey.” He looked annoyed. “You speak Portuguese? English? What?”

“Both,” she said, taking another step back.

“Don’t run from me. I just want to talk to you.”

Uh-huh. Right.

Another step, though now she became uncertain about turning her back on him, because he looked athletic and fast as lightning, and she doubted her ability to outdistance him.

But if she screamed, would the security guards hear her from here?

“Stop,” he demanded, yet he didn’t reach for her, which she took as a good sign. “Just hold on a second, would ya?”

Nope. If he was going to rape, maim or murder her, he’d have to catch her first, and she didn’t plan on being caught.

“I just want to know who you are,” he said.

She hadn’t lived in Rio all her life, but had been sent to private boarding schools in the United States, England and Switzerland. This man was indeed American, and southern American at that, given his slight drawl.

“Don’t run.” His voice was cool and quiet, but there was definite danger there. “And don’t scream,” he added. “I hate it when people scream. I just want to ask you some questions.”

One more step, she thought, slowly lifting her foot, just...one...more.

“This picture.” He thrust it beneath her nose. “What do you know about this picture?”

Foot in the air, poised for flight, Nina went utterly still. Her breath clogged in her throat. Her heart stopped.

It was her sister.

Meu Deus, he held a picture of Terry in the embrace of some man, and she looked so beautiful, so stunningly alive and happy, Nina’s eyes filled. “Terry,” she whispered.

The man stared at her. “My God, it’s not you.” His gaze was measuring. “It’s close....” Once again he studied the picture, then carefully searched her face. “Really close.” Before she could guess his intention, he reached up and unclipped her hair, tugging it free, ignoring her startled gasp. “But no cigar.” His eyes, those all-seeing eyes, chilled. “What do you know about this woman? What did you call her...Terry? Where can I find her?”

Nina nearly let out a laugh, but it would have been half hysterical, so she put her hand to her mouth and shook her head.

“I need to talk to her.”

For once, the streets were relatively free of the wandering tourists and loud boisterous locals. There was no one to rescue her from this bad dream. “You...cannot,” she said.

“Why?”

“She died a year ago last September.”

His frown deepened, his jaw tight as a drum. “Try again, lady.”

Nina shook off the fear and found her temper. “I do not know who you are, but I want you to leave these premises immediately. There is a guard right inside, and—”

“Don’t call him. I just want some answers. I need to talk to her.”

“No.” Terry was dead.

And she needed to remain so.

Everything depended on her remaining so.

“How long since you’ve seen her?” he pressed.

More than a year now. A lifetime. Nina closed her eyes and remembered the terror in her sister’s face when she realized that she was being watched. Stalked. Then the police had come, arresting her for embezzlement and smuggling gems in cahoots with a known smuggling operation.

It had been a lie, a terrible, vicious lie. Terry had been set up and framed, but the evidence against her had been insurmountable. Planted, of course, though neither Terry nor Nina knew who would have done such a thing.

Nina still didn’t know.

In light of that, while out on bail on charges that would put her in prison for life, Terry had vanished. Then she’d faked her own death, and Nina had grieved as if it had been the real thing, because she knew she’d never get to see Terry again.

“The waitress told me you were Senhorita Nina Monteverde,” the American said. “If that’s true, who’s Terry?”

If this man was looking for her sister, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and Nina backed up another step.

“Maybe Terry is...your sister?”

Nina’s eyes widened, she couldn’t help it. He was good.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, still staring at her. “Your sister. I need to talk to her, Nina.”

Another step.

Then another.

And yet another, all the while her brain frantically racing. Terry, God, Terry please be all right.

Then finally she had enough space between her and the American. “Security!” she shouted. “Help! Security!”

Behind her the doors opened, and she whirled toward them, never so grateful for the wealth and status her family name afforded as two uniformed men rushed toward her. “Escort this man off the premises!” she cried, turning back to point out the American, as if he needed pointing out.

But the security men skidded to a halt, bafflement crossing their faces. Nina didn’t understand, until she realized she pointed at nothing and no one.

Her stranger had vanished.