Game for Anything (4 page)

“I work for a group of insurance companies that want to recover some stolen artifacts from an archeological find in Turkey, most importantly three rare coins. They were in England when they were stolen, and it's caused quite an international stir. Various investigative agencies including Interpol and the feds have concluded that the stuff's being brought into this country cleverly concealed in shipments to selected commercial locations. Sophie's shop had been identified as warranting close surveillance.”

“How long has she been a target of the investigation?” Lucas asked.

“For about a month and a half. That's when I became the new manager of the art gallery next to her shop. A month ago we got our first big break in the case. An operative on this side got close enough to the head guy to actually buy a piece we believe contained one of the coins. She purchased it at One of a Kind, and she was supposed to deliver it in person to her boss.”

“Supposed to?” Tracker's eyes narrowed.

“Five minutes after she left the shop, she was the victim of a hit-and-run driver. Two men came out of nowhere. One pushed her into an oncoming car, the other took the package and then both ran.”

“And you've waited a month to let me know my sister might be in mortal danger?”

Chance switched his gaze to Lucas. “I swear I didn't put Sophie together with you until I walked in here tonight. None of us went by our real names when we worked together. Hell, I didn't even know you had a sister.”

Everything Chance said was true enough. The kind of operations they'd worked on never appeared in the newspapers, and real names were never mentioned.

“And now you've decided to date her?” Tracker asked, silently cursing himself. He'd focused his time and the time of his staff checking out the men Sophie went out with even casually. If she'd gone out with Chance sooner, he'd have had a photo of the man standing in front of him, and he'd have known over a month ago that something was up.

Once again, Chance raised his hands, but this time he grinned. “Hey, I'm not her date tonight. I'm just her tag-along gay friend.”

“You're
not
gay,” Tracker said.

Chance shrugged. “It's part of my cover. Telling a woman you're gay is the quickest way to lower barriers short of taking her to bed—and that's a little complicated if she's one of your prime suspects.”

For a moment, Tracker didn't say a word. He had to get a grip. Anger wasn't going to help—nor was fear. “Sophie's not involved in smuggling anything.”

“I eliminated her as soon as I got to know her. She doesn't have a dishonest bone in her body. And she loves that shop of hers too much to risk it by getting involved in something like this.” Chance's eyes narrowed and grew colder. “But someone on this side is funneling the goods to the right person.”

“Do you suspect Noah Danforth, her assistant?” Lucas asked.

“It could be him,” Chance replied. “Or it could be any one of her regular customers. She makes them feel like family. All it would take was a word that they were looking for a particular piece, and she'd see that it was set aside. Noah would do the same.”

“So the only thing you really know is that anyone who gets close to the head guy ends up dead.” Lucas turned to Tracker. “I want her out of that shop until the investigation is over.”

“That won't necessarily keep her safe,” Chance said quickly. “Whoever is behind this is very clever. His nickname is ‘Puppet Master' because he stays in the background and just pulls the strings. We got close to him three months ago when he shipped the first of the coins. He used a small shop in Connecticut, and the owner was killed in a fire that destroyed his shop. If this guy gets even a hint that Sophie knows anything, she could still be in mortal danger. The only way to really keep her safe is to find out who's behind this.”

Tracker paced to the French doors. The hell of it was Chance was making sense. From the sounds of it, the bastard behind the smuggling ring didn't leave any loose ends that could be traced back to him.

“I'll cancel my trip,” Lucas said.

“No.” Tracker turned to face him. “If you do, Sophie will know something is wrong. And so will Mac.”

“It should all be over in the next week,” Chance said. “Sophie has a shipment due in tomorrow, and the last of the three coins is supposed to be on it. Together, they're worth more than they are apart. We're pretty sure that the first coin went to the shop in Connecticut. The second one was picked up by the woman who was hit and killed after she left Sophie's store. I've already offered to help Sophie unpack the delivery and arrange the pieces in the shop. Whoever is behind this will move quickly. All we have to do is trace the piece containing the coin to the buyer, and we'll have our man.”

Through the glass of the French doors, Tracker's eyes went unerringly to one couple on the dance floor. Sophie was dancing with John Landry. Silently, he cursed himself. He'd missed Sophie's growing friendship with the gallery owner, Carter Mitchell. What had he overlooked in her relationship with John Landry?

“What about this Landry fellow?” Tracker asked. “Sophie met him on her last trip to England.”

“He's clean. I checked him out myself.”

Tracker turned back to Lucas. “I'll be there, too, when she unpacks the shipment.”

“How? You can't do anything to alert her to what's going on. The worst thing that could happen is for her to start acting strangely with Danforth or her customers,” Chance warned.

“I won't alert her,” Tracker promised.

“She's not an easy woman to fool,” Lucas said.

“I'll figure something out,” Tracker said. “And she'll never suspect a thing.” Then he turned back to Chance. “Right now I want you to fill me in on everything, including a list of your top suspects.”

S
OPHIE HATED DUMPING
anyone. She'd suffered enough rejection in her own life to know how much it hurt. But she ran the risk of hurting John Landry even more if she wasn't honest with him. That's what she'd been telling herself as she'd avoided him for the two hours since she'd left Mac's bedroom. But even now, dancing with him, she was putting off the inevitable moment.

“Sophie?”

“Hmm?” It didn't help one bit that she could feel Tracker's gaze on the back of her neck. She hadn't actually seen him since she and Mac had left the dance floor hours ago, but now the tension that she felt whenever he was near was back in full force. He was watching her dance with John Landry. The certainty of that gave her spirits a little lift, and she was very tempted to give him something to watch. But she couldn't flirt with John Landry—or kiss him—and
then
dump him.

Besides, all she could think of was kissing Tracker again. She had to know if lightning could strike twice. Her mind drifted back to the time she'd spent with Mac in the bedroom. Those toys. Just thinking about using them with Tracker sent a wave of heat rushing through Sophie.

First she had to come up with a plan to get him within using distance. And she'd have to get him very close to use that black ribbon.

“Sophie?”

“Hmm?” She glanced up to find John Landry frowning down at her. Had he been talking to her?

“Sophie, your body is here dancing with me, but your mind is a million miles away.”

No, not a million. She figured it was about fifty yards to the French doors where Tracker was standing, watching her. And she wasn't being fair to John.

“I want you to come with me to my hotel,” he murmured. “Leave your car here and I'll drive you back to get it tomorrow.”

She drew in a deep breath. She'd insisted on bringing her own car because she'd known she wouldn't be returning with John. “I'm sorry. I can't.”

“I'll follow you, then. I want time with you. Alone.”

“John.” With a quick look around, she took his hand and led him off the dance floor toward the shelter of some trees, where they could have a little privacy. “I'm sorry, but I'm not going to spend time with you alone—the way you mean it. I…” For a moment she thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, but it was masked so quickly that she might have been mistaken.

“I don't mean to rush you,” he said.

“It's not that you're rushing me,” she said. “I think you've been very patient, but I don't think that I'll change my mind with time. And I'm sorry if I led you on. You're such a nice man, and I value you as a friend and a business colleague.” Sophie stopped then
because she felt little prickles of awareness along her nerve endings. Tracker was near. He was listening to every word she said.

“Well,” John said, and then cleared his throat. “I won't tell you that I didn't hope for more. But I value your friendship also, enough so that I won't jeopardize it by pushing you further than you want to go. But I do want to see you again, strictly for business. You've aroused my curiosity about that shipment you're receiving tomorrow.”

Sophie smiled at him. “I'll expect you at the shop bright and early. And I'll put you to work unloading it.”

“Good.” He took her hands and squeezed them. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As he turned and walked away toward the front of the house, Sophie took one step after him, wanting to say something more.

“I wouldn't,” said a low voice, so close that she jumped. “It's always best to make a clean break.”

She turned to see Tracker separate himself from the shadow of the trees. “It's rude to eavesdrop.”

He moved closer then, and it was all she could do not to take a quick step back at the overwhelming effect of his proximity.

“If you wanted your conversation to be private, you shouldn't have had it in a garden. Besides, when you're going to dump guys, it's good to have someone close by. They think twice before they get violent.”

“John Landry is a very nice man. He would never get violent.” She thought of the flash of anger she'd seen in his eyes.

“Take it from me, he was pissed.” Tracker grinned at her. “You're lucky he's such a
nice
guy.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes. She didn't like the way he'd said “nice” as if it meant wimp. “There's nothing wrong with being nice.”

“Right.” Tracker's chuckle was deep and so infectious that for a moment she wanted nothing more than to join him. She stifled the impulse.

“When was the last time being nice got you what you wanted in this world?” he asked.

Well, that was true enough, she thought. And hadn't she already decided that being
nice
wasn't going to get her very far with him, either? He probably preferred naughty over nice twenty-four–seven. The idea sent a little thrill running through her.

“Being nice didn't get Landry what he wanted.”

It occurred to her that this was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Tracker McBride. “And your suggestion to him would be?”

His expression sobered and he met her eyes directly. “If he wants you, he should reach out and take you.”

The words, combined with the look he gave her, were enough to tighten all the muscles deep inside of her.

She lifted her chin. “And just what do
you
want?”

For a moment he said nothing. Then he smiled slowly, and she felt her knees go weak. “Me? I'm just going to do my job and follow you home.”

So they were back to that, were they? Temper stiffened her spine. “I don't need an escort.”

“Look, Princess, it's late, both of your dates have driven home in their own cars, and Lucas doesn't want
you going home alone.” Tracker waited a beat and then continued. “You'll just waste your energy if you try to lose me. Don't expect to play that little game again and win.”

Although it cost her, she said nothing. Five years in business had taught her that keeping her temper was crucial if she wanted to sell a customer on her way of thinking. And her way of thinking—until he'd annoyed her by reminding her that he was her guardian angel—was to get Tracker within touching distance. If he followed her to her apartment, all she had to do was get him inside.

She tilted her head at him. “Relax, Tracker. I'm not going to run away again. That game bores me. I'd much rather continue the one we started on the dance floor.”

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“Why don't we leave it up to chance?” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the coin Mac had given her. “A simple toss of the coin. Heads, you come up when we get to my place and we continue our game of twenty questions. Tails, you follow me home and slide back into the shadows. Are you game?”

He studied her for a moment. “Okay. Toss the coin.”

She tossed it up, caught it and let him look. “Heads. And since it's my turn to ask a question, I'll tell you what it is so you can think about it. I want to know what your real name is.”

Pocketing the coin, she turned and headed toward her car. Let him chew on that while he followed her home.

 

W
HAT IN HELL KIND OF GAME
was she playing? The question had been plaguing him ever since the Princess had flipped that damn coin. Easing his foot off the gas, he allowed the car to drop back a little farther behind Sophie's as they sped along the expressway that would take them into the District of Columbia. The last thing he was going to do was crowd her. She'd surprised him three times tonight. First of all, she'd kissed him. Then she'd dumped Landry. And now she'd invited Tracker into her apartment for a continuation of their game of twenty questions. He didn't like surprises where the Princess was concerned, especially when the stakes were this high.

Since he couldn't predict what kind of game she was playing, he'd make sure the odds were in his favor.

When she slowed and signaled a turn onto an off-ramp, he eased his foot from the gas.

He should never have kissed her on the dance floor. He hadn't been able to resist her. And that one kiss had confirmed his worst suspicion:
one
was not going to be enough with Sophie Wainright. Not nearly. Whatever he'd imagined in his fantasies hadn't come close to reality. One taste and his control had slipped. The pull between them was so elemental that before he'd found the strength to set her away, he'd lost something of himself.

He wanted her, and he was beginning to understand that he would have her. The need he had for her might not leave him with any choice. The thought chilled him even as it made every pulse in his body throb. But for now—tonight and the next few days—he had
a job to do, and he would do it much better if he could maintain some distance.

Pressing his foot on the accelerator, he closed the distance between them. It was time for plan A. Uncapping the bottle he'd pulled from his pocket, he took a good swallow. It would take about five minutes for the contents to work its magic on his stomach.

He planned to spend the night in Sophie's apartment, but
not
in her bed. Tonight, he wasn't going to take any chances. He hadn't kept watch over the Princess for two years without figuring out what her weaknesses were, and she was a sucker for strays and under-dogs.

When the first stomach cramp hit, he closed the distance between the cars and let his weave all the way onto the shoulder. Slamming on the brakes, he made sure the tires made plenty of noise on the gravel before he came to a complete stop. Then he stumbled out of the car and emptied his stomach on the grass verge.

If he knew the Princess, just pretending to be sick wasn't going to work. She was going to need to see the evidence, and there it was. One of his foster mothers had introduced him to the curative powers of ipecac when he'd gotten into her medicine cabinet. He kept a bottle in the kit with his other “tools.”

Leaning against the fender, weaker than he'd thought he would be, he watched Sophie gun her car backward along the shoulder until she screeched to a halt about five feet in front of him. She was out of the car and running toward him so fast that watching her brought on another wave of nausea. He pressed a hand against his stomach.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

The concern in her eyes was everything he'd hoped for. Plan A was going to work just fine.

“It must have been something I ate.”

When she glanced past him at the grass, he tried to block her view after he was sure she'd seen the evidence.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk?”

He shook his head and felt another wave of nausea hit. This one had him doubling over, and his deposit just missed her opened-toed sandals. He was beginning to think he'd taken too big a dose.

“C'mon. I'll drive. You're in no condition to operate a vehicle. You can send one of your men to pick up your car later.”

“I didn't drink too much. It was the food,” he protested as she opened the passenger door and settled him inside. Before she got the door shut, he leaned out and made another deposit on the grass.

Without a word, she closed the door, marched around to get in the driver's side. Plan A might have a few minor bumps that had to be ironed out, but he figured he was halfway there when she started the car.

“Sorry about this. I think I just need some sleep,” he said as they pulled back onto the highway. It had been more than twenty years since his foster mom had dosed him, and he didn't recall feeling this sleepy afterward. Nor had his head felt quite this heavy. He tried to clear his mind. “T.J.”

“What?” Sophie sent him a sideways glance.

“My name. It's T.J. Next question's mine.”

“Not on your life,” she said. “Initials don't count.
I want your real name, or a penalty. But let's get you back on your feet first.”

It wouldn't hurt to pretend to sleep, he decided. That should be enough to get the Princess to take him home with her.

 

T
HE NEXT THING
Tracker knew, someone was nudging his shoulder.

“Time to wake up.”

“Hmm? Where are we?” Opening his eyes, he blinked against the lights.

“We're at the hospital.”

He came fully awake and saw that Sophie had pulled the car into the well-lit entrance of a hospital emergency room. “I'm not going in there.”

“Afraid of hospitals, are we?”

“No. I just don't need one.”

“Relax,” she said as she climbed out of the driver's seat and walked around the front of the car. “Don't worry about a thing.”

Damn, he'd underestimated her nurturing instinct. And she had him between a rock and a hard place. If he told her he wasn't really sick, he'd ruin plan A. While he mulled over what to do, she opened the car door.

“I told you I was fine,” he said.

“C'mon, I'll hold your hand while they examine you,” she assured him as she helped him out of the car.

Shit,
he thought. By the time they released him, he'd sure as hell better come up with Plan B.

 

“R
EPORT
,” the man said as he pressed the button on the speakerphone. Then he leaned forward to adjust the position of one of his knights on the chessboard.

“Everything is going according to plan.”

“Not quite,” said the man.

There was a beat of silence. He let it stretch to two beats and then three. “Your plan was to become her lover so that you would be intimate with her when the shipment arrived. She left the party with another man.”

“I'll be at the shop when the coin arrives tomorrow.”

“But you'll have company. He's in her apartment right now, and perhaps in her bed, where you were supposed to be.”