Читать книгу Too Wild to Hold - Julie Leto, Julie Leto - Страница 12

“WHERE THE HELL are you, Michael?”

Special Agent Ruby Dawson muttered the question under her breath, her eyes trained on the blank screen of her cell phone. Except for one cryptic message telling her that Claire Lécuyer had taken off and that Michael was following a lead to catch up with her, all Ruby knew about her partner’s whereabouts was that he’d gone undercover without backup. If anything happened to him because he couldn’t wait six hours until she arrived on a later flight from San Francisco, she was going to kill him.

“May I buy you another?”

Ruby glanced up, momentarily surprised to discover a fine-looking man in a pale guayabera and khaki shorts smiling at her. He was holding a sweating mug of beer, nearly as empty as hers. His blond hair was cropped short. His cheeks were rough from several days of not shaving and his eyes, an arresting mixture of browns from deep chocolate to rich gold, shone with the kind of hopefulness only experienced by a man on vacation who’d just spotted a single chick in a bar.

Really? Now? Tonight?

Inwardly, Ruby groaned. Any other time, she might have grinned provocatively and enjoyed the free drink while she sized up the guy, doing a mini-profile in her head that would determine whether she said yes to his inevitable invitation to dance or declined when he offered to drive her home. Especially here, in Draper’s Dive, a cheesy, nautical-themed bar she’d been hanging out in since she was eighteen and her mom had taken an apartment two blocks over from. She’d honed her people-watching skills here, determining the winners and losers with such accuracy that the former owner had suggested she get a job with the FBI.

She’d taken his advice, and every time she came back to town, she hit the old place to drink a beer in his honor.

Didn’t happen very often anymore, but it was a tradition, much as it was a given that at some point during her tribute drink, a guy was going to make a pass.

Under other circumstances, she would not have minded. She was pushing forty, single, and lately, a little undersexed. But Michael was out of touch, and no matter how cold and delicious the local brew felt against the back of her throat, she had to track him down. She didn’t have time for a real diversion—even one with lips curved into a casual, if not arresting, smile.

“I can buy my own, thanks,” she said, turning her attention back to her cell phone, ignoring the twinge of sensation in her nipples.

That’s how it always started—with a zing. Followed by full-out flirting, laughing, usually a little more drinking and, if she was lucky, a succession of dance moves that would coat her skin with a slick sheen of sweat and inspire her to peel away her clothing, one layer at a time.

Where it usually ended, if she wasn’t on the job, was in bed. But this time, she hadn’t come home to New Orleans for fun. She was here to work…although, with Michael running around half-cocked and out of communication range, she really didn’t have anything to do.

“Of course you could buy your own,” the man said, sidling in between her bar stool and the empty one beside her, but making no move to sit. “But why would you if I’m offering?”

His bold self-confidence was interesting. He was good looking, even if in a little too familiar “movie star” way. The vibe he threw off wasn’t over-the-top pushy or creepy.

Just…persistent.

And Ruby kind of liked persistent.

“I don’t know you,” she replied, turning her shoulder so he’d get the hint.

He laughed. “I’ve only been in town for a few days. I don’t know anyone.” He leaned around her and held out his hand. “David Brandon.”

She sighed. She hadn’t traveled across the United States to flirt with some tourist in a French Quarter bar. However, what she had come here to do—provide Michael with backup while they tracked down the Bandit—was on hold until her partner resurfaced.

As soon as she’d secured her rental car from the airport, she’d verified that the Bandit’s likeliest next victim, Claire Lécuyer, was not home; and from the way the place was locked up tight, she wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Ruby had then checked in with the local FBI office and learned that while Michael had alerted their counterparts to his arrival, he’d given them no intel regarding his plans.

He had asked for the name and location of a discreet costume shop, though. That made her scalp itch with anxiety. Ever since Michael’s brother had given him their father’s ring, Michael had been different. He’d always been laser-focused on the job, but with his discovery of his new brothers—the heretofore unknown older brother, Alejandro, and the recently released jailbird, Danny—his drive and determination had hit new highs. Why couldn’t he have waited a few hours for her to show up? Instead, he’d gone off on his own, and until she found what the hell he was up to, she had nothing but time on her hands.

She gave the guy a little half-smile and said, “I’m Ruby,” keeping her last name to herself.

Mr. Handsome gestured to her pilsner glass. “May I?”

She shrugged and he took her nonchalance as acceptance. He motioned to the bartender to bring fresh drinks and then turned his assessing eyes to hers.

“You look comfortable,” he said. “You live around here?”

Her half-smile blossomed into a full grin. He was good. He turned the standard “where are you from?” into an interesting—and accurate—observation.

“Used to,” she replied.

“Lucky,” he said. “I’d move here in a heartbeat if I didn’t have obligations elsewhere.”

“Really?” she asked, skeptically. She often heard tourists make such claims, but few ever followed through. People didn’t move to New Orleans on purpose. They were either born and bred here or came here to work—and there wasn’t too much of that going since Katrina.

Her doubtful look did not deter him. “The food. The music. The color. The vibe. It’s old and smelly, but new and exciting at the same time. You never know what’s going to happen. You never know who you’re going to meet.”

Nice segue. Somehow, he kept the conversation about her hometown centered on her. He was good, this David Brandon.

“It’s a passable party town.”

“To the casual observer,” he said.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

He pressed his lips together, as if he withheld a secret that would fully explain his fascination with the Crescent City. “Sure, I guess. So, do you have family here?”

“Some,” she answered honestly, not disturbed by his quick focus on learning more about her. It was a natural question and this guy was nothing if not natural. “A bunch stayed in Houston after Katrina ’cause they found work. My mother’s people went back to Mississippi, where they were from originally, but my father’s cousins and my brother toughed it out in Metarie.”

The bartender arrived with the cold drafts while David expanded his questions about her family and shared a little bit about himself. She learned he had two brothers, neither of whom he knew very well, and that he’d never lived in one place very long during his childhood on account of his now-deceased mother’s wandering spirit.

For her part, Ruby answered his questions with practiced care, never revealing anything important while creating the illusion that she was spilling her life’s story. Some of what she said wasn’t even true—her brother in Metarie was actually in a cemetery—but she’d told the lies often enough that she no longer worried about not getting the story straight.

“So if you’re not in town to play,” he surmised once she declined his offer for a third refill, “why come at all?”

“Work,” she answered.

“What do you do?”

She speared him with an intense look and wondered whether to be honest or deflect the question.

She glanced at the clock on her cell phone. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed since David Brandon had made his first move. Michael still had not checked in and she was starting to feel the ache of cross-country travel in heavy eyelids and tight muscles around her neck.

“Law enforcement.”

“No shit? Me, too.”

She’d expected the guy to go running—learning that the lady was a cop often had that effect on men, especially tourists hanging out in bars and looking for a good time. But David just slid forward, and when the bartender appeared with two fresh glasses of beer that she couldn’t remember him ordering, he requested a pound of steamed oysters and asked Ruby if there was anything else on the menu she’d like to share.

She declined, but couldn’t fault the guy for perseverance. However, if he was trying to go the “aphrodisiac” route, he was going to be sorely disappointed. He was cute, but she wasn’t in the mood. Michael should have checked in by now.

“Look, you’re a nice guy, but I really need to get going.”

“Before the oysters? Come on, I love some slimy crustaceans, but I can’t down a whole dozen on my own. Not after all the jambalaya I had at lunch.”

He patted his stomach, which looked perfectly flat to her.

It nearly hurt for her to say, “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“In oysters?”

“No, I don’t normally turn down the oysters here. Their cocktail sauce is the kind you want to scoop up with a spoon. I’m just not interested in—” She waved her hand between them. “This.”

He bowed his head respectfully. “That’s cool. Then just stay for the oysters. I don’t force my attentions on women, but when I make an offer to share a meal, I don’t take it back. That wouldn’t be gentlemanly, now, would it?”

Ruby rewarded his honesty by not climbing off the barstool and heading out the door. She was such a sucker for charming guys. She wasn’t going to change her mind about only sharing an appetizer with him before she took off, but she didn’t need to be rude, either. Even if he wasn’t her type.