Читать книгу Hot Prospect - Julie Kistler, Julie Kistler - Страница 8

JAKE LAUGHED. “Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”

But the feisty little redhead wasn’t giving in. He could tell that by the determined look on her face. Just his luck. He needed entry into this tour group, there was only one person with an entry pass available, and she turned out to be a Grade-A flake, doing some kind of goofy acrobatics half-dressed in a sweltering, unlocked apartment, burning a boatload of candles that smelled suspiciously like marijuana, waving fortune-telling cards around, and refusing to hand over her ticket to a trip she didn’t want to make, anyway. And then there were her clothes.

Okay, at least he’d seen enough of her by now to be about ninety percent sure she wasn’t “Toni,” the object of his search. He’d checked out her feet and legs, and she didn’t match. No toe rings, no sparkly sandals, plus her feet looked a lot smaller than the ones in the picture.

He’d checked out a lot more than her feet.

He’d walked in on a truly delectable view of her frisky little bottom pointed his way, and then she’d turned around and given him a gander at her front side, which made a wet–T-shirt contest look tame. He was a guy, okay? Maybe an in-control, by-the-book guy, but still a guy. When small, round, perfectly shaped breasts were presented right in front of him, covered only by one layer of slick, wet fabric, he couldn’t look away. His mouth watered again just thinking about it.

She didn’t seem to be at all aware that her clothing—or lack thereof—was downright provocative. She did seem to be aware that he was aware, however.

Or maybe it was just the ungodly temperature in the apartment making them both so hot and bothered. He ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what was happening here, except that it was rapidly getting out of control. All he could think about was getting his hands on her tantalizing curves.

Time to stop that right then and there. Time to get back on track.

“I’ll buy both tickets,” he announced, reaching for his checkbook. This was on his father’s tab, after all. What difference did it make how much he spent? And the sooner he disposed of this, the sooner he would be rid of Zoë Kidd.

“Oh, no, you won’t!” she shot back with enough fire to make him want to spank her. Or kiss her. Or both. “I’ll let you buy one. But you don’t get to tell me what to do with my other ticket.”

“Zoë, I—”

“Nope. Discussion over.” He started to advance on her, but she held up a hand. “Don’t think you can change my mind. If you want to go, it’s my way or the highway.”

“I hate it when people say that.” Her way or the highway. He had six or seven inches and at least fifty pounds on her and she was bossing him around. But she had the ticket.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, thankfully blocking his view for a little while, and gave him the most bullheaded look he’d ever seen in his life. Considering the family he came from, that was saying something. “Here’s the deal. We need to be at O’Hare by ten in the morning. So you’ll need to pick me up by eight, just to be sure. Rush-hour traffic, you know.” She marched back over to her desk, rooting around for a second and coming up with an envelope with a big “EJ”—Explorer’s Journey—logo on the outside. “The instructions are in here about what to pack.”

“Where exactly—” he began, but she cut him off, yanking out a sheet of paper and handing it over.

“I’ll give you the ticket and the rest of the details in the morning. Oh, and be sure to leave the gun at home. They won’t let you keep it, anyway. Bad karma.”

“It varies from state to state whether I could bring it, and since I don’t know where…” He gave her a wary look, not at all liking how this was starting to sound. Did she say karma?

This was not turning out well. There was something very screwy about Zoë Kidd. Cute, pushy and screwy. His least favorite kind of woman.

And he sure as heck didn’t want to be stuck with her all the way to wherever it was they were going. He sent her one more glance, noting that she was smiling, which was pretty frightening. Shaking his head, Jake turned to leave.

“See you tomorrow, partner,” she called out.

“We’re not partners,” he shot back. “We’re going on the same tour. But separately. Got it?”

She just kept beaming at him. “We can sort it out tomorrow.”

Jake strode through the door without looking back. Let her have her small victories tonight. Once she handed over his ticket in the morning, there was nothing she could do to him.

“If she insists on tagging along,” he said under his breath, “it’s not like we’ll be attached at the hip. I’ll stay as far away as possible.”

“Don’t be late!” she yelled behind him.

But he just shook his head and got out of there before Zoë Kidd did any more damage to his psyche.

JAKE WAS SOMEWHAT CHEERED up by the packing list. Please leave valuable jewelry, watches, etc., at home. You won’t need much in the way of clothing, it continued, since we provide all that for you. You may also choose one special item of personal significance, like a stuffed animal or a keepsake. That struck him as fairly goofy, but even goofier was the fact that he already knew what Zoë would bring. It would definitely be that stupid tarot card she kept clutching last night, looking as if she was going to kiss it or cry over it.

As he put the last of his things in his duffel bag, Jake pressed his lips into a disapproving line. He’d busted a fortune-teller once. Some loser from the suburbs had paid big bucks to a self-proclaimed “mystic healer” in Old Town to get a curse lifted. And then, when the loser’s luck at the track didn’t change, the guy had proceeded back to Old Town to try to choke his money out of the mystic healer. After which said healer had cracked him over the head with her crystal ball. When Jake came in to break up the fight, the lady told him he was cursed now, too. Yeah, right. If Zoë was into that stuff, she was more seriously demented than he thought. Which was another reason to steer clear.

Hanging on firmly to that idea, he cast his mind over the packing list, one item at a time, as he drove up Lake Shore Drive, heading north to pick up Zoë. After all, he was a cop. He could look at evidence and draw conclusions, couldn’t he?

First off, there had been nothing in the papers about passports or foreign currency, so they must be staying in the country at least. No hiking boots, no special equipment. And no mention of parkas or warm boots. So maybe it was somewhere warm.

“Let it be Palm Springs,” he said as he pulled up in front of Zoë’s building. “Or Hilton Head. Someplace with sand and ocean. A golf course. Scuba diving.”

Of course, if he had his druthers, he would be headed to a plain old lake full of trout, with a fishing pole, some bait…and no Zoë.

He frowned. How had she described this trip? A honeymoon crossed with group therapy. Sounded ridiculous. Like Club Med for neurotic people who wanted to whine about their rotten childhoods in between cocktails, parasailing and heavy doses of honeymoon sex.

“Aw, jeez.” That was one wrinkle he hadn’t considered. Accommodations. He certainly had no intention of getting close enough to Zoë to have sex be any kind of a problem, but a honeymoon suite might be awkward. He could just see Zoë insisting they share the bed. We won’t touch, she would say. You paid half. It’s only fair.

Sharing a bed? With Zoë Kidd? Jake gritted his teeth.

Yeah, well, maybe the accommodations would be awkward, but not impossible. Surely he could sleep on the sofa for a few days. He had a momentary vision of Zoë traipsing around in her undies or her clingy, skimpy exercise wear, all wet with sweat…

Maybe he could sleep on the beach.

He smacked a hand into the steering wheel. Whatever it took, whatever the problems, he would get around them. Because he had no intention of sharing a room—or a bed—with Zoë Kidd.

He glanced up at her windows, on the second floor above a New Age shop that he seriously suspected of selling drug paraphernalia. “She’s screwy all right. Living above a head shop and leaving her door wide-open.”

Although he was prepared to go up to get her, he didn’t need to. She ran out the minute he pulled up, and he decided he at least had to admire her enthusiasm, especially at this hour of the morning. It might be well before eight, but she was already perky and ready, wearing some kind of soft, low-rise pants that exposed her belly button, a white peasant top with embroidery on it, and flat shoes that made a flapping noise as she ran out to the car. Presentable. And a heck of a lot more clothes than last night, thank goodness. Plus there was the added grace that this morning she was dry. His body still wasn’t recovered from the long, long cold shower he’d taken when he got home.

“Hi there,” she said happily, dropping a small bag in the back seat of his old Ford and hopping into the front seat next to him.

“Have you got the tickets?” he asked.

“Don’t waste time saying good-morning or anything.”

“I won’t.”

“So you’re not a morning person, is that it?” she said sympathetically.

Somebody honked at him, trying to get him to leave his parking space. He ignored it. “Do you have the tickets?” he asked again.

“Yes, sir,” she answered smartly, making fun of him all the way. She dug into the goofy straw purse she was carrying and produced the same envelope he’d seen last night.

“I want mine now,” he told her. “Hand it over.”

“Nope. I can’t. There’s just one pass for both of us.” She grinned, holding up a square yellow laminated card with “Your Ticket to Exploration” and “Couple Confirmed” stamped on it. “We have to enter the program two by two. Like Noah’s ark.”

This just kept getting worse and worse. As he pulled out into traffic and headed toward the expressway, he asked darkly, “They don’t shackle us together or anything, do they?”

Her smile widened. “No, but they might if we asked nicely.”

Jake groaned. Undertaking a ridiculous journey with a chirpy morning person was bad enough, but one with a body that wouldn’t quit and a habit of sticking it way too close to him—and now, bringing up shackles, as in handcuffs, not the way he usually thought of them, on a perp headed for jail, but instead as something to do with brass beds and naughty games—it was a nightmare.

“I was kidding,” she assured him, patting his hand where it lay on the steering wheel. He tamped down the impulse to jerk his hand away. She added casually, “I’m not into that kind of thing. I believe in free, unfettered sex where you can move around.”

Which was way more information than he needed. Way more. “I want one thing clear,” he announced. “We may be going in on the same pass, but we are going separately. There’s you.” With his left hand on one side of the wheel, he slid his right to the total opposite edge. “And then there’s me. No us. Got it?”

She made some sort of noncommittal noise he took as a yes. Purposely not looking at her or her body, Jake tried to keep conversation to a minimum on the way to the airport. But damned if she didn’t ask questions nonstop.

“So you’re a cop. How long have you been doing that?” she opened with. “Do you like it?”

“Eight years. I like it fine.” He kept his eyes on the car in front of him. Road repair. Traffic slow down. Not paying attention to Zoë. Not at all.

“And what do you do? Do you pound a beat?” she asked, scooting a little closer. “Is that what they call it?”

“A beat, yeah, some people call it that. But that’s not what I do.” He didn’t even glance her way. “Put on your seat belt.”

“All right, all right.”

If she interrogated all the men she met this way, it was no wonder she was taking her honeymoon trip solo. Except she wasn’t. He was there. Tortured, hog-tied, provoked…but he was along for the ride.

“So what do you do?” she prompted, safely fastening herself in. “Since you’re not pounding a beat, I mean.”

“I’m a sergeant,” he said gruffly. “And a supervisor for tactical teams.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, tactical teams keep an eye on criminal activity in the district. Mostly undercover, looking for burglaries, gangs, narcotics, syndicates moving in, anything like that. We gather info, put two and two together, watch for patterns.”

“Cool. And does this trip have something to do with your job?” she asked, turning practically sideways inside her shoulder harness so that she could look at him more directly. “This woman you’re looking for, is she related to gangs or drugs or something?”

“No.”

“Is she dangerous? Like, armed and dangerous? Maybe a fugitive from justice?”

He cracked a smile. “You’ve been watching too much TV.”

“So is she a fugitive?”

“No,” he allowed. “Not as far as I know.” That was the truth, wasn’t it?

“Good,” she put in, relaxing into her seat. “I mean, I’m up for some excitement while we look for her, but nothing involving bodily harm.”

“While we look for her? You’re not looking. I am.”

But she didn’t react or respond to that observation. “You still haven’t said what you want with her.” She waited. “Well?”

He’d learned one thing over the years. Just because someone asked you a question didn’t mean you had to answer it. He didn’t.

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“Nope,” he returned.

“Not even a hint?”

“Look, Zoë, this isn’t a game,” he said sharply. “It isn’t a mission, it isn’t a date, it isn’t Twenty Questions, and I’m not going to tell you anything, so you might as well stop asking.”

Okay, so he was being a little meaner than he ought to. He frowned, trying to decide whether he should be nicer, because, after all, he still needed that damn ticket. But then he hazarded a glance her way and caught the look on her face. What the…?

Her feelings weren’t hurt. In fact, she looked…turnedon. Oh, no.

Curiosity sparkled in her pretty green eyes, and her expressive features were rapt with interest as she leaned his way. Big mistake. His close-mouthed approach had created a monster.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.

He could see the wheels turning, and the hint of color that tinged her cheeks. She started to answer, changed her mind, got even rosier and finally said, “I’m finding all this quite fascinating.”

What was she talking about? Him? The hunt for Toni, which she wasn’t even in on? “What exactly do you find fascinating?”

“Well, this trip. Yesterday I thought I would be bumming around, same old, same old, and today, here I am, on a trip into the unknown.” She was positively beaming over there. “I’m stoked. How about you?”

“Not so much.”

“Oh, come on. It will be great. Relaxing, you know.”

Jake angled his chin to the side window. “Relaxing? Around you? I don’t think so,” he said under his breath.

But Zoë was moving on. Carefully she declared, “Jake, yesterday… I just feel it’s only right to tell you. Yesterday, I felt some sort of heightened connection between us. I think you felt it, too.” When he didn’t respond, she prompted, “Yes?”

“No.”

“Yes, you did.”

He shouldn’t have looked over at her, but it was too late now. She was smiling. You could say whatever you wanted, but there was no denying that Zoë had a spectacular smile, all bright and shiny, with just a hint of mischief. It mixed innocence and heat in a way he’d never really experienced, like she was the girl next door who would open that door and invite you in to play Strip Twister.

Yeah, Jake, great image. He needed to keep a wide berth between Zoë and any game where you ended up naked.

He glanced back at her. She was still smiling that saucy Strip-Twister smile. The girl was a menace.

And now she was on about some kind of connection between the two of them. What did she mean by that? The parlor trick of pulling his name out of thin air? Or the physical thing, where he kept drooling on her and she kept sniffing around him?

Jake figured the better part of valor was denial. “I did not feel any connection,” he contended.

“Pooh.”

“I’ve never met anyone who used the word ‘pooh’.”

Ignoring that comment, she hitched her legs up on the seat, which was tough to do inside the seat belt, but she seemed to be a very limber girl. Bad thought, Jake. Don’t go there.

“So, Jake, tell me. Did you always know you wanted to be a policeman? Do you have to go to school for that?”

If he told her about his family and his training and all that boring stuff, at least it would keep her quiet and his mind busy the rest of the way to the airport. Talking about three generations of Calhouns in the Chicago Police Department was miles away from Strip Twister.

It wasn’t until he parked his car in the lot at O’Hare that he realized how quickly the time had passed and how much he’d talked about himself. Who needed bright lights and rubber hoses? Zoë had just worked more out of him than most trained interviewers got out of suspects, especially closemouthed suspects like him, and she didn’t even appear to be trying that hard. It was not a comforting thought.

“Which airline?” he asked, as they toted their bags and navigated their way to the terminal.

“None.”

“None?” He held the elevator door for her. “What do you mean, none?”

“It’s a bus,” she said helpfully. “We leave from the bus terminal. It’s in the instructions. There’s supposed to be a red line on the floor and it goes right to the bus terminal.”

“There was nothing about a bus in the instructions you gave me,” he retorted. “Where the hell are we headed, anyway? Where can you get by bus?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” But that’s where he was supposed to be right now, with his brothers, at the lake cabin. “Why can’t we just drive ourselves?”

“It’s all part of the program,” she said patiently. “You’re supposed to become a part of the group, plus you make a commitment for the whole deal. Like, once you get on that bus, there’s no going back.”

Just when he thought things were as bad as they could get, Zoë kept proving him wrong. “I was hoping for someplace a little more interesting, as long as I had to…”

Be on this idiotic tour. He didn’t say that. But his visions of golf courses and scuba diving vanished. This sounded more like summer camp. They’d probably be tying knots and weaving flyswatters out of newspaper.

The rest of the way to the bus terminal, up escalators and down and around long corridors, she kept telling him not to be so grumpy and he kept wanting details she wasn’t providing, while they both held their voices down so as not to attract too much attention from the people around them.

“Snap out of it, Jake. You’re lucky you have me.”

He wasn’t feeling lucky. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” he demanded. “Like the fact that this program you keep referring to is for recovering substance abusers or a bunch of mopes avoiding jail time by picking up litter in Wisconsin?”

“I told you, it’s for newlyweds.” Zoë rolled her eyes. “Quit being a cop for a minute, will you?”

“I’m not being a cop. You’re being evasive,” he contended. “You held back the bus info and the little detail that we were going to Wisconsin.”

“You didn’t tell me that our mode of transportation or the specific location made a difference to you,” she said logically. “You were very adamant that you wanted to go on the Explorer’s Journey and how or where didn’t matter.”