Читать книгу The Business Of Strangers - Kylie Brant - Страница 10

Jake Tarrance cruised into the lot and pulled into his private parking spot. Not even to himself was he willing to admit he’d hurried through the problem-solving meeting this evening. It was doubtful the copper-haired woman with the incredible eyes was still at Hoochees, even more doubtful that she’d changed her mind about keeping him company. Still, the memory of taut curves and a tight body had him dispatching his troublesome supplier, Roy Hastings, more quickly than usual. Tonight’s solution had been temporary, at best. Hastings was getting to be too much a liability. And Jake had no conscience about dispensing with liabilities.

There were some who would swear he had no conscience at all. More and more frequently these days, he was inclined to agree.

Lights were visible from the security booth installed in the center of the lot, but he didn’t see anyone inside. He got out of the car with his hand on the gun nestled at the base of his back. Security might be making rounds, but for a man with a price on his head, caution was a way of life.

After taking a couple of steps, he paused, hearing sounds of a struggle. He withdrew the gun and thumbed off the safety, running in that direction.

He didn’t have to go far before he saw the fight going on. He reholstered the gun and reached for his cell phone to alert the still-absent security. But in the next second Jake realized the struggle involved a man and woman, and something inside him went glacial. The phone remained in his pocket. He’d deal with the matter himself.

Racing forward, he became aware of two things simultaneously. One was that the guy was definitely getting the worst end of the battle; the second was that the female beating the hell out of him was none other than the intriguing woman he’d shared a drink with.

The other man rushed at her, his head lowered. She kicked out, catching him in the jaw with enough force to snap his head back. The blow made him stagger, and he stumbled against a nearby car. While he leaned there dazedly, she closed the distance between them, grabbed his shirt to pull him forward and rammed her knee into his groin.

Jake’s brows rose in approval. He didn’t recall ever seeing a woman less in need of rescuing. Folding his arms across his chest, he watched as the man gave a strangled moan, then in slow motion crumpled to the asphalt.

“That ought to take care of his social life for a few days, anyway.”

The woman wheeled around, probably still nerved up with adrenaline. But Jake’s amusement fled the moment he caught sight of her face. The blood covering it was still flowing freely, and staining what remained of her yellow blouse. The buttons had been torn off, to leave it hanging loose, revealing the nude, lace-edged bra beneath. The ice abruptly re-formed in his veins.

Jake took a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her. When she didn’t move to take it, he pressed it into her hands. “Are you hurt as badly as you look?”

She gave him a slight frown, bent to catch a glimpse of herself in a car’s side mirror. “Great,” she muttered, wadding up his handkerchief and pressing it against her nose. Sending a sidelong glare at the man still clutching himself on the ground, she said, “I ought to hammer him again.”

Something inside Jake eased slightly at her tone. It was disgruntled, but she didn’t sound as though she was badly injured. “I think at this point that would be redundant, don’t you?” He stepped closer, caught her chin in his hand, turned her face one way, then the other, surveying it critically. “Your nose doesn’t look broken. How does it feel?”

“Like it got slammed into a car.”

When she pulled away from his touch, he let her go. She set down the handkerchief for a moment to tie the front of her shirt together. Taking the cell phone out of his pocket, he pressed a button on his speed dial. Without taking his eyes off her he spoke into it. “Cort, get someone to take over the bar and come out to the parking lot. Bring Finn and Dobbs with you. And find out where the security guard went who was supposed to be on duty out here.”

She looked past him to the still empty security booth. “There was no one in it when I left the restaurant. Either this creep has lucky timing or your security isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Either way, someone has a lot to answer for.” Jake looked at the man on the ground, who was struggling to his feet, then back to the woman. “Feel like telling me what happened out here?”

“It’s not what it looked like, I swear.”

The man’s voice was familiar. Jake peered closer, recognized him as an occasional patron of the restaurant. Taylor something. No, Tyler. That was it. “And what do you think it looks like?”

“She was coming on to me. You know how it is, right?” The man gave him a sickly grin, talking so fast his words practically fell over themselves. “But when I met her out here like she asked, damned if she didn’t start talking price. Well, I’m not a guy who pays for it, you know? So things got kind of heated—”

“Stop,” Jake advised softly. He knew where the razor-edged fury he felt sprang from. There was a time when it had dictated his every thought, his every action. Surprising that ten years hadn’t really dulled it in the least. Surprising, and for this man, unfortunate.

“Uhh…Mr. Tarrance.”

Jake looked at the security guard, who had run up, his expression worried.

“Is there a problem?” The man asked. “I just stepped inside for a minute. I was feeling kinda sick. But I wasn’t gone longer than that, I swear.”

“You’re done here. Cort?” He addressed the other man that had appeared silently, already looming over the guard. “Be sure and escort our former employee off the premises.”

The guard took a sideways look at the bartender and inched away. “I swear, Mr. Tarrance, I think I got the flu or something. I never woulda left otherwise…”

“Really? Then you won’t mind if we go through your pockets.”

With a nod from Jake, the bartender quickly searched the man’s pants pockets, pulling out a folded fifty that looked a hell of a lot like a bribe.

Jake gave Cort a pointed glance. “I think you ought to drive him home. Have a little talk.”

The security guard was still protesting when the bartender took his elbow and led him, almost gently, away.

“Tyler, right?” Jake addressed the man still leaning heavily against a car, dusting off his pants.

His eyes darted nervously as Finn and Dobbs moved silently to flank him. “That’s right. Tyler Stodgill. Sorry about all this, but that’s the thing about women, huh?” He swallowed hard. “Nothing but trouble.”

He seemed to flinch in the face of Jake’s answering smile. “You might want to avoid this kind of trouble in the future. It doesn’t seem healthy. My men will take you to the hospital, get you checked out. Don’t worry. They’ll make sure your car gets there, too.”

For the first time real fear showed in the man’s expression, and he shook his head vigorously. “Hey, that’s not necessary. I’m okay. Really.”

“I insist. Insurance problems, you know.” Jake gave a what-can-you-do shrug. “You could be suffering from internal injuries. Those can be tricky.” He made a slight gesture and the two men closed in on Stodgill, his protests trailing behind him as they led him away.

The woman shot him a knowing look. “I have the distinct impression that although he doesn’t need a doctor now, he will when he arrives at the hospital.”

“Really?” Jake frowned, considering her words. “I could see how a person might think that, if he had a suspicious mind. And if he didn’t know what a kind-hearted philanthropist I am.”

The handkerchief she was dabbing gingerly at her nose muffled the snort she gave. He reached for her wrist, tugged it away from her face so he could survey the damage. “The bleeding has stopped. C’mon. I’ll take you somewhere you can clean up.”

“That’s not…” He heard a slight sound that might have been her teeth grinding as he cupped her elbow and herded her back toward the restaurant. “You’re pushy, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Inside the front doors, instead of entering the restaurant he took out his keys and used one to open the discreet private elevator on one wall. “But even given the fate suffered by your last admirer, I’m going risk it. You need some ice for that nose. And if I think it’s broken, you’re going to see a doctor, too.” He ushered her into the elevator and punched in a code. The doors slid closed silently.

“It’s not broken.”

He had a feeling that her words were laced with more determination than certainty, as if she could will them to be true. The woman had a spine of steel. His mouth quirked. And the self-defense moves of a ninja.

“We never got around to exchanging names.” He watched the wariness flicker across her face before she deliberately blanked it. “Mine’s Jake Tarrance.”

“Ria.”

He waited, but it was apparent that was all she was going to offer. With a mental shrug, he waited for the doors to slide open again, then put his hand to the base of her back to nudge her forward.

She went, crossing the large open room to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that comprised the west wall. “Nice view.” She looked back at him. “Reflective glass?”

He stilled, shot her a look.

“No window treatments.” She waved a hand. “Either you’re an exhibitionist or the place was designed so you could enjoy the view while maintaining your privacy.”

“I do like my privacy.” He went to the kitchen and placed some crushed ice in a dish towel, then folded it into a makeshift ice pack. Returning, he passed it to her, taking the handkerchief from her hand. “For the swelling.” She pressed it to her face while he studied her. “So he jumped you on your way to your car?”

“I heard him behind me, but he was closer than I thought. Got in one good crack before I turned around.” Somehow Jake knew that fact would rankle her for a while. “At dinner he had difficulty understanding I wasn’t interested. Must have thought I’d find him more appealing in the dark.”

Jake’s fist closed, tightened. Ghosts from the past drifted through his memory, carrying with them the sound of distant screams. But Ria wouldn’t be the type of woman to cower in a corner while the blows rained down, heavy and punishing. Wouldn’t be the kind to make excuses for the man later, smiling through the bruises, with a look in her eyes that was half despair, half hope.

Consciously, he unclenched his fingers. Whatever else this woman was, she was no one’s victim. “Guess he found out otherwise.”

“You think?” A small satisfied smile settled on her lips, and lust punched through him, just as swift, just as savage as the first time he’d seen her in the restaurant. He knew almost nothing about the woman, but he knew he wanted her, all of her. He wanted to wipe that look of cool competence from her face, to shatter that wariness and have her attention focused only on him as he moved over her, inside her.

The strength of that vicious longing was unexpected enough to have all his well-constructed defenses slam into place. He wasn’t a man driven by impulse. Emotion-laden decisions led to vulnerabilities, and he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. He’d done very well without feeling much of anything at all for the last decade, and hadn’t been overly bothered by the void.

It also seemed a shame to develop an attachment for someone who might have to be killed later.

She could have been sent by Alvarez. It wouldn’t be the first time an attractive woman had been used to try and set him up. If so, the man had deviated from type this time. Ria was far subtler, both in looks and in manner. She hadn’t tried to gain his attention at the restaurant, although the scene outside it could have been a pretense.

Jake considered the thought as she rose and crossed the room to look at a collection of black-and-white photographs on the far wall. Alvarez knew him a bit better than Jake would have liked, and may have staged the scene, guessing how he’d react. But if that was the case, Jake doubted very much that the woman selected would end up beating the hell out of the guy.

The corner of his mouth lifted. No, whoever this woman was, he was willing to bet she hadn’t faked anything this evening. Not the spark of awareness that she’d almost successfully hidden. Not the instinctive guardedness that she made no effort to hide.

In any case, this place was swept for bugs daily. The code to the elevator was on a triple circuit pattern that changed upon each use. And Alvarez wouldn’t send anyone with lethal intent. He wanted Jake’s death to come from his own hand.

Some might consider Jake’s swift mental assessment as paranoid. But in his world, paranoia was a necessary tool for survival.

He joined her at the photographs, glancing at her as she stared fixedly at them. Most people found the stark images disturbing. They hadn’t been taken to capture beauty, or to celebrate life. But it was impossible to tell her opinion. Her face was expressionless. “You like photography?”

Ria didn’t answer at first. She couldn’t. They were the sort of photos that made her want to look away, the sort that wouldn’t allow her to dismiss them easily. At first glance they would seem disconnected shots. A close-up of a wino shivering in an alley. An old woman leaning out a tenement window. A barely clothed toddler sitting on a ramshackle stoop. A group of teens wearing gang colors and sullen masks.

“I thought at first they were random shots, but I was wrong. The look in the eyes of the subjects is the same. Desolation.” She recognized the expression easily enough. She’d faced it in the mirror more times than she wanted to think about. Noting his stillness, she felt comprehension dawn. “You took these yourself, didn’t you?”

“What makes you think so?”

After a last glance at the photos, she turned back toward the windows. “Because you have a way of looking through people.”

She wouldn’t want that cruelly discerning eye turned on her, she thought with vague discomfort. How many times had she felt like little more than a snapshot herself? A carefully presented picture developed to present the image she wished to display to the world. There might be character hinted at in her unsmiling demeanor, but if one were to examine her life, much as they’d hold up a photo to peer at it more closely, they’d find little more than what existed on that flimsy paper. No substance behind the image.

Because in every way that mattered, Ria really didn’t exist at all.

Walking to the large, well-equipped kitchen, she placed the ice pack in the sink and then turned to find Jake contemplating her from the arched doorway. “I should go.” The thought of her new home lacked appeal, but there was danger here, emotional rather than physical. She recognized the fact even as she wondered where that realization stemmed from.

“You don’t have to.” His pale blue eyes glittered with unmistakable intensity, but he made no move toward her. Whatever her decision, it would be hers to make. She could respect a man who didn’t push, despite the hunger apparent on his face.

“Yes.” Her voice was shakier than she’d like, matching her resolve. “I do.”

“You can’t go home like that. Let me get you a shirt.” He turned and walked into another room, while Ria headed toward the chair near the windows where she’d left her purse.

He caught up with her at the door, silently handing her a gray T-shirt with a faded Knicks logo. “Thanks.” She took it, appreciating the thought even though she had no intention of changing in front of him. They stared at each other for an instant, the moment awkward, thick with tension. She felt the wild and reckless beating of her pulse, and found it much harder than she’d like to ignore. If it had been due solely to animal attraction there would be no choice; she’d be in his bed, wrapped around him, using him to quench the heat in her blood.

But it wasn’t that simple. He wasn’t that simple. Instinct warned her of that. There was an undeniable connection between them that defied identification, and anything that couldn’t be coolly qualified and analyzed was to be avoided. Ria took plenty of risks, but only when she could control the situation. Jake Tarrance didn’t appear to be a man easily controlled.

So she tucked away need in the interest of safety. She opened the door, for the first time noticing the tiny cameras in the hallway. Most visitors wouldn’t observe them at all, but the miniscule whirls in the oak paneling high on the walls appeared just a little too uniform. He was a careful man. She assumed he had cause to be.

Jake followed her out silently, produced the key that unlocked the elevator. When the door opened, she stepped inside it, turned to face him. He punched in the code that would have carried her away from him. But just as the doors began to slide shut, he stepped forward and slapped his hand over the button that would stop them.

One of his business sidelines—by far the most lucrative one—dealt with rarities of unparalleled value. So he recognized the uniqueness of the woman who was bent on leaving, even if he couldn’t have described where the quality came from.

Bracing his hands on either side of the entrance, he leaned in for a taste of her. If this was the last time he’d see her, he’d damn well have this much.

He pressed her lips apart with his, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, and felt the hunger lunge inside him. His fingers clenched on the open elevator doors. It took physical effort to keep from reaching for her. Her flavor was foreign, an intoxicating mixture of desire and caution, but there was a response there to match his own.

Kindred spirits. The phrase drifted across his mind, even awash as it was in a fog of frustrated lust. Something in him recognized a part of her, a part she would have denied existed. Most solitary people were that way by nature, or became so by circumstances.

Then there were people like them, he thought, who allowed circumstance to dictate nature, until the two were so entwined it was impossible to say where one left off and the other began.

Ria gave in to a rare moment of self-indulgence and opened her mouth beneath his. He knew how to kiss a woman, with a single-minded intensity that stripped them both down to their most elemental levels, male and female. He knew how to take while still giving riotous pleasure, sensual hints of the erotic satisfaction to be had if she let passion have its way.

This wouldn’t be an easy man to walk away from, although she had every intention of doing just that. But one taste couldn’t hurt, could it? Even if it whipped her blood to churning whitecaps and incinerated her control? Every move she made in life was calculated, with the benefits and risks carefully weighed. Stealing a few minutes with an exciting stranger seemed relatively harmless.

But there was nothing harmless about the flames licking through her veins. Absorbing his intoxicating taste was like diving headlong into dark fire.

Without conscious thought she moved closer and caught his full lower lip in her teeth. Scoring it lightly, she felt a measure of restraint slip away. His answering kiss was hard, demanding, but he made no further move toward her. The muscles in the wall of his chest were bunched tightly, his hands still pressed against the open doors.

Emboldened, she leaned against him, took the kiss deeper. How long had it been, she thought fuzzily, since she’d last felt a fever in the blood, temptation stripping layers off her defenses? Had she ever?

This scorching heat was its own kind of seduction for a woman who spent her life—what she could remember of it—in the cold. It was unlikely their paths would cross again. The idea was tantalizing. Despite the shadowy aura of danger that surrounded him, there was something soothing in his very anonymity.

The rationalization shredded caution, struck down logic. He angled his mouth over hers, the pressure almost punishing. The purse and T-shirt dropped from her hands, and she slid her arms around his neck.

The restraint he’d been exerting snapped abruptly. She was pulled against him, the move shattering any sense that she could control this. The kiss turned rawly primitive, even as he walked her backward to press her against the wall of the elevator, sealing their bodies together. Currents of electricity sizzled and crackled between them. One of his hands settled at her nape as his mouth ravished hers, as if to coax her even closer, and he widened his stance so that she was standing between his legs.

He tore his mouth away from hers to bury it at her throat. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you.” His voice was low, harsh.

“I know.” Her answer was nearly a moan, as she arched her neck to allow him better access.

“You, too?”

There was a part of her that wanted to withhold assent, but that would have been pointless. He was a man experienced enough to recognize that the instant attraction that had sparked between them was mutual. And her response to him now was its own answer. “Yes—”

The word stopped on a gasp when he nipped at the sensitive cord of her neck. His tongue soothed the sting in the next instant. “So stay.”

It was a demand rather than a plea, and the carnal promise implicit in it made her stomach clutch. He knew exactly how to touch her, his mouth slightly rough, his palm burning the bare skin of her nape, his fingers tangling in her hair. As close as they were, she could feel the unmistakable hard ridge of his erection pressing against the notch between her thighs. She wouldn’t have to hold back with him; she could respond with every bit of the explosive arousal churning through her, and he would meet it, match it. But still she was vaguely surprised to hear herself answer, “For a while.”

A low sound was torn from him. She felt cool air against her skin and realized dimly that he’d unknotted her ruined shirt. With a quick jerk he had it open, the remaining buttons flying, and his impatience called to a streak of wildness in her, one she was usually careful to keep deeply buried.

There was so little in her life she could claim as her own. Only memories garnered from the last six years. Certainly not her identity, which she’d stolen from another. But this moment was hers. Personal and genuine, it was hers to keep, to remember, to experience to the fullest.

His tongue was tracing the mounds of her breasts where they swelled above the top of her bra as he pushed the blouse from her shoulders, to pool forgotten on the floor of the elevator. Her hands went to his shirt, jerking it impatiently from the waistband of his pants, her fingers flying over the buttons.

When she had them undone, she smiled, satisfied, her breath coming a little faster. The wall of his chest was firm, muscled and bisected by a patch of dark hair. His stomach was hard and ridged. He’d work out, she thought, for the same reason she did—to keep instincts alert and body prepared for whatever dangers awaited. But whatever the reason, the sight of all those well-honed muscles sharpened her desire to a keen edge.

His hands were undoing the clasp of her bra when she leaned forward, tested one hard pec with her teeth. His flesh jumped beneath her lips. Her sudden surge of satisfaction at his involuntary reaction fractured in the next moment when he pulled the straps of her bra down her arms and tossed it aside. Bending his head, he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked strongly.

Colors pinwheeled against her closed eyelids. Her knees went to water. His mouth worked at her ravenously, one hand kneading her other breast, his thumb flicking across her nipple to urge it to a tauter point.

Her muscles took on the consistency of melting wax. To brace herself, she hooked a leg around his hips. With increasing urgency she battled with his shirt, pushing it off his heavy shoulders, over his bulging biceps. Because he wouldn’t release her, it remained trapped there, halfway down his arms. Her palms raced over the expanse of flesh she’d bared, exploring the different textures of smooth skin and crisp hair over unforgiving bone and sinew.

There was a primal sort of sensuality to be enjoyed through touch alone. Her hands roamed his torso, discovering every angle and hollow. She traced the shallow indentations between his ribs, scraped a nail over his nipple and was rewarded by his quick shudder.

He raised his head, and when the cool air struck her nipple, still wet from his mouth, she shivered. With quick movements, he struggled out of his shirt, then put both hands under her butt to lift her. Ria clasped her legs around his waist and he carried her that way back into his apartment, swinging the door closed behind them.

Their mouths did battle, tongues darting, teeth clashing as hunger mounted. She slid her hands into his hair to pull him closer, and felt the hot ball of need knot tighter in the pit of her stomach.

When her shoulders were pressed against a cool smooth surface, she arched her back and dazedly opened her eyes. Rather than his bedroom, they were in the dimly lit living area, her back to a window. Then Jake’s gaze caught hers, and her pulse stuttered.

His eyes glittered, intent and predatory. His hair was mussed from her hands, his cheeks flushed with arousal, his expression faintly savage. Her heart pumped, heavy and fast. A normal woman would be having second thoughts, feeling an innately feminine fear in the face of his unvarnished desire.

But Ria reveled in it. It called forth her own unchecked response. There was no holding back; he wouldn’t have allowed that even if she’d tried. She could let her own passion rage and know it would be returned in like measure.

Setting her on her feet, Jake stripped her of her slacks and shoes with quick movements, then took a moment to admire the picture she made. She was just a few inches shorter than him, slim, with sleek muscle beneath velvety curves. Her breasts were high and firm, nipples beaded. He fondled them, drawing them into tighter points even as her hands went to his waistband.

He clenched his teeth as she worked the zipper slowly over his hardness, saw the little smile she gave as her hand reached inside the opening to squeeze him lightly. His vision blurred, cleared, and he saw only her.

She wasn’t like any other woman he’d had—not shy nor bold, playful or serious. She was, like him, totally focused on the moment, the gut-wrenching pleasure that could be had between two people with no pretenses between them.

And she wasn’t, he noticed, as he parted her feminine folds and slipped a finger inside her, a natural redhead.

Her inner moisture eased his way as he probed her gently. He could feel the delicate pulsation as the feminine muscles clenched around his touch, let himself imagine how it would feel when he took her fully.

And then conscious thought shattered as she freed him from his clothes and took him in her hand, clever fingers stroking the length of him in a rhythm guaranteed to send his temperature skyrocketing.

It was a battle to drive each other crazy, and he engaged in it for a few minutes, tasting the pulse at the base of her neck, the crease below her breast. But as the roaring in his blood sounded in his ears, he knew the battle was lost. She’d gotten him hotter, faster, than any woman of his experience, and if he didn’t have her soon, he was going to disgrace himself.

Jake broke away long enough to fumble in his pocket for a condom. Ria took it from him and tore it open as he dispensed with his clothes, but the excruciating care she took when she rolled the latex down his length had him gritting his teeth.

His hands less than gentle, he turned her around to face the window, his hormones surging as her sexy form was reflected back for him. Bracing one arm under her against the glass, he pressed her legs apart with one knee and stepped between them. Using his free hand to guide himself, he found the sweet slick opening and entered her.

Their moans mingled. He stopped a moment to haul more oxygen into his lungs, struggling for control. He didn’t want this to be over too soon. There was still so much to be savored, rare pleasure to be drawn out as long as possible. But she was just as tight and hot as he’d imagined, and as her hips pressed back against him, forcing him deeper, he abruptly surrendered.

He plunged into her over and over again. He couldn’t get close enough, deep enough. Sweat popped out on his forehead. Their position, while erotic, made it difficult to enter her as fully as he wished, and frustration clawed through him. He wanted to be pounding inside her, to feel her struggling to accept every inch of him as they both tried to get even nearer. He wanted to be buried deep within her when they both came, their climaxes tearing through them.

He withdrew from her, hormones screaming, breath heaving out of his lungs in great ragged gulps. He reached for her hands, bracing them on the glass, elbows bent, her weight forward. Catching her reflection in the glass, he nearly groaned. There was a curve to her lips, a female knowing in her eyes that shredded any thought that he might be in control of this. Whatever he took, she allowed. And he was just desperate enough at that point to be grateful for it.

She moved her legs closer to his, the position bending her a bit at the waist, her hips tilted toward him. And when he surged into her that time, both of them forgot to breathe.

Jake moved, slowly at first, then in hard measured thrusts that drove him deep inside her, almost completely withdrawing before plunging again. He slipped a hand down to stroke her slippery folds, every surge of his hips pressing that taut bundle of nerves against the heel of his palm.

His eyes wanted to close as he lost himself in the motion, but he fought to keep them open, sought to clear his vision. The sight of their reflections moving in the glass was savagely sexy. Her throat was arched, her lips parted, as if a scream might be ripped from her at any moment. The image elicited an unfamiliar primordial possessiveness from somewhere deep inside him. Mine. For now at least.

“More.” The word was torn from her, sharp with need. “Harder.”

Her hips pumped back against him in time with his movements, driving him deeper, faster. His senses were all centered on her. Sight, scent, sound, touch.

When she tensed against him, giving a strangled cry, he could feel her release pulsing around him. Her orgasm unleashed something inside him and he surged against her wildly. There was no thought of finesse as he pounded into her, only an all-consuming passion that wound tighter and tighter until he couldn’t tell where he stopped and she began. Ria whimpered, and the small sound had pleasure slamming into him. He gave one last thrust of his hips and joined her, his climax spinning him over the edge in a headlong dive into sensation.

Ria stared at the road, trying to focus on the act of driving. But it was difficult to concentrate when her muscles still quivered with satiated pleasure, and her pulse still kicked at the memory of the last several hours.

She and Jake had made it to the bedroom for the second bout. And the third. And she was ready to admit she’d underestimated his effect on her. Good sex could leave the mind clear and the brain sharp. Great sex, she was discovering, could prove much more distracting.

Leaving him sleeping a couple hours before dawn, she’d silently gathered up her belongings. It had taken her a minute to recall exactly where she’d left her purse and bra, but she found them both, along with her ruined shirt and his T-shirt, in the still-open elevator. Because he’d keyed in the code before stopping it, she was able to press the close button and take the elevator to the ground floor.

She’d spent the better part of the drive home trying to shake thoughts of the evening from her mind. When she pulled into her driveway, she knew there was no use trying to sleep. She was too wired. Instead she took a flashlight from her car and did her customary examination around the perimeter of the house. She had any number of small “tells” that would alert her if someone had sought entry. A hair across the front gate; a paint chip on the doorknobs; trip wires hidden in the yard. But nothing appeared disturbed.

Ria let herself into the house, too used to the need for security to consider the measures she took. Resetting the alarm, she grabbed a quick shower and changed into a fresh uniform before checking the clock. She had a couple of hours before she needed to be at work, so she headed to the office she’d set up in the second bedroom.

Law enforcement wasn’t the highest paying profession, but she’d always lived simply. Her furniture was sparse and strictly utilitarian. She bought her vehicles used, with an eye on economy and reliability. This house was the first she’d ever had. Apartments weren’t plentiful in the area, and she did like the privacy afforded by its location on the outskirts of town.

She’d been careful with her money, making regular deposits in an offshore account. If she ever had to run again, she wouldn’t be doing so without a dime to her name. She had two sets of full ID waiting just in case. But as time went on, she was less and less certain she’d ever use them.

Ria was tired of running. Before someone came for her again, she’d see this thing finished.

Flipping on the light in the office, she sat down in front of the computer. The vast majority of her expenditures were right in this room. A top-of-the-line hard drive, scanner, printer and various other accessories were imperative for a person making her own ID. And the Internet had long been an invaluable tool in her search for answers to her past.

She pulled up her files, smiled at the pop-up header. BENNY’S SECURE-IT ELECTRONIC VAULT: YOU’RE WELCOME! Her friend could make a fortune off his encryption/decryption know-how, but instead preferred to spend most of his time creating increasingly complex video games. He assured her the market for his products was endless. She’d had to take his word for it. She wouldn’t know an Xbox from a Gameboy.

She clicked on the file entitled Tattoo. When she’d first gotten out of the academy, she’d combed the Department of Justice’s Missing Person Clearinghouse for pictures and descriptions that matched either her or the man she’d killed in L.A. There were dozens of informal registries available online, as well, but after three years she’d finally admitted the truth: whoever she’d been in her former life hadn’t been missed. And apparently neither had the men who’d been sent to kill her. She’d tucked away the desolation that had occurred at the thought and focused on other leads.

Ria had long thought that the identifying mark shared by her and the two assassins was the single best clue to her identity. She’d recognized the intricately detailed image of Pegasus and concentrated a great deal of time on what the tattoo might mean. But chasing that particular lead, too, had proved fruitless.

Aside from the figure in mythology and the constellation by the name, there were Pegasus references to sailboat racing, change systems, software, imaging tools, direct TV, opera and satellite boosters. The companies and products bearing the name were infinite. Trying to find any link at all between her and one of the references had failed.

Nor had she been able to find any artist’s rendering that matched the picture on her ankle. When she’d switched her focus to tattoo artists themselves, she’d known it would be a lengthy process. There were an estimated ten thousand in the United States alone. Ria had looked up the licensed designers and sent them copies of the rendering, without finding a match.

Of course, some states didn’t require licensing and many tattooists operated without one. Learning that many left the profession after a few years had underscored the futility of her search. There wasn’t even a way to ascertain if she’d gotten the tattoo in the States.

But three months ago she’d found a lead that had sparked a new level of excitement. She’d been working for the DPD when an APB had come across the computers for an escaped convict with family in the Denver area. The name and accompanying photo hadn’t rung any bells for Ria, but her attention had been caught by the description and picture of his distinguishing marks. One had been a tattoo of a winged horse. It had been crude, the detail not nearly identical to hers, but close. Far closer than any others she’d seen.

He’d eventually been apprehended in Colorado Springs. She’d contacted the arresting officer, and at her request he’d elicited from the prisoner the origin of the tattoo—a prison artist in the Donaldson Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison. Tracking down the man had brought her to Alabama, and led to taking this job.

And tomorrow, she’d finally talk to the artist for the first time. He’d proven elusive and decidedly uncooperative to date, but she’d used her position to arrange a private interview with him at the prison. Whatever it took, she was going to get him to tell her what he knew, if anything.

Her heart kicked up at the thought, and she schooled herself to stay calm. She’d been disappointed too many times in the past by promising leads that ended up fizzling. But despite her best attempts, she couldn’t downplay the anticipation curling through her. Tomorrow’s meeting would probably prove to be yet another dead end. But there was a distant possibility that it might supply her with some of the answers she’d sought for so long.