Dangerous Loves Romantic Suspense Collection (53 page)

Not that she was surprised. She wasn’t. But that didn’t mean she was willing to let him get away with his dirty ploy. She wouldn’t give him the chance to steal the two hundred thousand dollar prize for Grayson’s capture away from Skip Tracers.

“Get out,” she said.

“Baby…Vega, please.” He tilted his head and smiled in that endearing way that usually turned her legs to jelly.

“There’s no
please
involved with this, Butch. Get out.”

As she watched him gather his things, dress, and leave, she knew she shouldn’t be angry with him. The only loyalty Butch ever had was to his money. His character, slimy as the mold growing in his refrigerator, came part and parcel with the whole package. Besides, she’d invited him over to her apartment with the thought of using him too.

What a pair they made. Butch was most likely the only man on the planet she truly deserved.

* * * *

“Don’t poke the hostage.” Grayson twisted a broom out of Matt Lockler’s hands before he could jab the wooden handle into Fiona’s side.

Matt had spent the afternoon circling the chair where Fiona sat bound with nylon ropes and her lips sealed with a single strip of duct tape. He reminded Grayson of a feral dog, anxious to dig his teeth into the juicy morsel held just out of reach.

Grayson tossed the broom aside, sank into a nearby plastic chair, and rubbed his aching temples. Bringing Fiona back to this crazy house had been a mistake. He peeked at her. Her eyes sparked with naked terror and her nostrils flared as she sucked in air. She kept her gaze locked on him, not Matt, glaring at him as if he were the big bad wolf. The girl needed to work on her instincts.

As dead to the world as she was when he’d rescued her, Grayson just couldn’t bring himself to set her down somewhere alongside the road. He’d fought that demon inside himself that had even suggested it. Of course, a hospital had been out of the question, since those places were crisscrossed with security cameras now. Same reason he wouldn’t leave Fiona at a convenience store. Unlike in South Carolina where he’d left Vega, he wasn’t planning on running. Not yet. Not until he had the evidence, he needed to prove that Joshua Whitfield had ordered Greg Harper’s death.

“Could put tape over her eyes,” Matt said. He’d been making all sorts of helpful suggestions the entire day. He ripped a long length of the duct tape from the roll.

“That would be cruel, Matt.” Grayson had tape wrapped over his eyes once in South America. Removing the damned stuff nearly ripped off his eyelids.

“So, can I do it?” Matt persisted.

Grayson stood and snatched the tape from Matt’s fingers. “No, you can’t.” He whirled around to Fiona. She flinched, sinking in the chair as far as her bindings would allow. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” he shouted at her.

“You said her sister…” Matt started to say.

“Vega.” An idea struck a dull chord.

“She pretty, too?” Matt licked his lips. “Get her. We wouldn’t have to share then.”

“Vega,” Grayson repeated the name, letting the idea sink in. He really didn’t want her anywhere near Atlanta. She was too intelligent, which made her dangerous. By holding Fiona hostage, he was nearly begging for Vega’s interference though. Fortunately, whether he liked it or not, he held the upper hand. If he played the game real careful, he might just be able to dupe Vega into joining his team.

The very challenge of it excited him. “Good idea, Matt. I’ll start planning something.”

Fiona shook her head back and forth vigorously, her terrified doe-eyes widening.

* * * *

Tyree Robinson’s family lived in the Ford Historic District of Dearborn. Their cozy home on Nona Street was one of the first houses built for Ford employees in the early nineteen hundreds. The streets were plowed clean, the yards fastidiously landscaped. The area broadcasted an air of stability and security where the dangers of illegal drug trafficking could easily be overlooked.

It was creeps like the elusive Finn Kayne who brought the real world to their doorsteps. Vega parked in front of the Robinson’s two-story clapboard home, painted a friendly yellow with pale green trim. Though the Christmas decorations had been removed, the houses still reeked of holiday cheer. White smoke puffed from the chimneys. Snow banked in gentle mounds around the front entranceways. Vega could almost picture families gathered around the fireplace, singing songs while the mother was in the kitchen brewing something sweet and warm to drink. This neighborhood was the carbon copy of the cute holiday village her mom displayed under the Christmas tree.

The inside of Tyree’s house didn’t disappoint. Mrs. Robinson offered Vega a cup of hot cider and homemade cookies while ringing her hands in despair over her missing child. From her, Vega learned that Tyree’s best friend, Candice, lived just a few doors down.

Candice, like most frightened teens, kept her mouth shut. She didn’t know anything about Tyree…not in front of her parents, anyhow. Besides, Tyree was a tough girl. She could take care of herself.

By the time Vega left Candice’s house, the temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees. A brisk wind swirled powdery snow down the silent street. Vega walked into the wind back to her jeep, hoping Tyree had found someplace warm to stay the night.

There really wasn’t anything more she could do right now to find the girl. She’d laid the groundwork. This was where patience took over. It took time for information to bubble up. Tomorrow morning she’d be back on Candice’s doorstep.

Candice knew how to find Tyree. Of that, Vega was certain. She hadn’t acted worried about Tyree because she believed her safe. Tonight, the seeds of doubt Vega planted were going to grow and shake the girl’s confidence. As long as she confronted Candice before she got the chance to run to a peer for advice, she’d have Tyree safely back into custody before noon.

Her thoughts were still with the green-eyed, perfectly coiffed beauty queen, Tyree, when she returned home. Tired and slightly distracted, she didn’t notice anything wrong until she was almost on top of her front door. Not that she would’ve run from trouble, no matter the size of the package.

A halo of bright security lights shone on Butch as he leaned against Vega’s apartment door. His arms cinched across his chest, holding himself against the biting cold. Seeing him here, at her door, surprised her. He wasn’t the type of man who’d come crawling back so quickly.

She stopped several feet away and pushed her keys back into her pocket.

“What do you want?” she asked casually.

“To apologize. I admit I was trying to use you this afternoon. I shouldn’t have used you.” He studied his boots when saying that. It weakened his sincerity. A man who couldn’t look her in the eye was a man hiding something.

“I was using you, too,” she said. “We’re square.”

Surprise showed all over his face. “Using me? How?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She thumped his chest. “Go home Butch. I’m not going to let you in tonight.” She’d had enough of lust and unfulfilled desires for one day. The only thing she wanted to do in her bed was sleep…and hopefully avoid those pesky erotic dreams.

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm and twisted it.

Vega stared daggers at the hand that held her and wondered just how much of that arm of his she should remove while prying him off her. Butch must have read her intent. His hand flew off her faster than if he’d touched white-hot steel.

“Wait,” he said again. This time the word gentled into a request instead of an exacting demand. “Let me explain.”

The bruise on his jaw had darkened over the past few hours. The injury must have been fresh when she first saw him at Skip Tracers that afternoon. He looked rather pitiful, beat up and sulky.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

He paced the length of the apartment’s covered walkway. The growing wintry wind howled past him. A lonely wanderer, no one could play the part better.

“I want that information you’ve got on Grayson Walker,” he said. “I need it.”

She expected he’d say something like that. Grayson had killed Butch’s partner and had tried to do the same with her. Naturally, Butch itched to tear Grayson’s head off.

“I can’t let you blow Skip Tracer’s chance at collecting the two hundred thousand dollar bounty. My feelings for you aren’t that soft.”

Butch’s pacing had brought him within arm’s reach. He grabbed Vega’s shoulders. “
My
feelings for you
are
that soft. I can’t tell you how worried I was about you.” He gave her a shake.

The bullet wound piped up, reminding her exactly where on her shoulder Grayson had shot her. Butch’s thumb pressed directly on the stitches. She twisted free and held up her hands, warning him not to try that again.

“I’ve fallen for you, Vega. I can’t think of anything else but you and me.” He started pacing again.

“And Grayson Walker,” she added for him.

“He’s the key.” Butch stopped again. This time he was too far away to grab her. “I get Grayson and collect the two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yes?” Something in his tone didn’t sit right.

“Don’t you see? We can use that as seed money to start our own company. Polsen and Polsen we’d call it.”

“Polsen and Polsen?”

“Your mother would never bother you with one of her infernal eligible bachelors again. You’d be off the market, baby.”

“What are you saying, Butch?” He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. What had happened to a relationship without emotional strings?

Oh, God. Was she about to get tripped up?

He sank to one knee and held out a small black box. He did what every girl dreams of happening once in her life—pried open the lid. The diamond ring nestled in the box’s velvet interior sparkled in the apartment building’s security floodlight.

“I’m saying, we should get married.”

Chapter Twelve

Vega closed the apartment door and tossed her keys onto the kitchen table. She’d refused the ring and left Butch out in the cold.

“I’ll think about it,” she’d said.

There was a dusty bottle of whiskey somewhere in the back of a cabinet. She dug around for it until her fingers curled around the bottle’s neck. Poisoning her body with alcohol was a rare occurrence. She had too much respect for her health to abuse it regularly.

But, on occasion, she made allowances. A stiff drink might wash some of those sticky emotional strings away. She still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Butch wanted to marry her. Worse, she was tempted to accept.

Before pouring herself a glass, she dialed Fiona’s number. Although her sister may not have the instincts of a street-toughened bounty hunter, she did have a good ear. The line rang a couple of times before switching over to the same message Vega had heard earlier. Fiona’s phone was still switched off.

She left a brief message, telling Fiona to call no matter the hour.

Fiona would follow your example if you were to marry and have children
, her mother had said. The words burned in her mind. Fiona was innocent, green. If she stayed in the bounty hunting business, she’d either get hurt or be forced to transform into a different person—into someone hard and cynical, like her.

Perhaps her mother was right. Hell, even Jack had been hinting that she should marry.

Marriage—it wasn’t an ending or a curse. And it wasn’t as if she pictured herself being alone forever. She poured herself a healthy glass of whiskey and promptly drained it.

“Now children,” she said aloud and gazed at her kitchen, distorted through the crystal glass raised in her hand. “That’s a different question all together.”

The thought of spending her life—her happily-ever-after—with Butch prompted a tight shiver to run down her back. She poured herself a second serving of whiskey. It took two tries to get to the bottom of the glass that time.

“Ever after with Butch?”

She slammed the glass onto the table. The room wobbled…or perhaps she did. That was enough alcohol for the night. She screwed the top on the bottle and left it sitting on the middle of the table.

Good Lord
, she thought as she dragged herself to bed,
was she ready to accept such a life sentence? Did she really not deserve better?

Did she really not deserve to be loved?

* * * *

That night, erotic dreams of Grayson attacked her with a force she’d never felt before. She woke up feeling battered, drained, and more than a little shaken. The need to capture him and drag him back into the courts had escalated. He’d eluded her, become a black mark on her perfect record.

By Jack pulling her from the assignment, she really had no hope of wiping that mark away…unless she agreed to work with Butch.

But she would tackle one problem at a time. Her first responsibility was to rescue the beauty queen, Tyree Robinson.

She opened her eyes. A renewed sense of clarity hummed through her taut body. She rose and reached up over her head, stretching like a lazy cat. The day in front of her would be busy. She planned to find Tyree and give Butch a definite answer.

A half hour later, she took Michigan Avenue to Dearborn to talk with Tyree’s friend again. The traffic was snarled. Her jeep’s ancient engine shivered in the icy morning air.

As she drove she called Butch.

“I’m not saying no,” she said as a greeting.

“Good.” He sounded far too sure of himself.

“I’m not saying yes, either.”

“You will.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Butch probably believed that overconfidence of his was an endearing trait.

“I’m going to talk to Jack,” she said, after a long pause.

“Jack?” Butch grumbled. “You’ll just be wasting your time with Jack. He won’t want to lose you and will tell you a thousand times why this thing between us is a bad idea.”

Perhaps that was exactly why she was going to Jack.

“Jack won’t let you go after Walker. I’ll make it possible for you to track him down. I’ll make it possible for you to show Jack just how capable you are.” And that was exactly why she had called Butch. The opportunity was just too tempting.

“Perhaps we can form and partnership, find Grayson, and discuss marriage afterwards?”