Headstrong (3 page)

Libby accepted it with a flirtatious smile. “Thanks, loverboy.”

He stood. “Good luck with your finger. Sorry again, about…everything.”

“Whoa, now—you don’t think you’re ditching me, do you?”

He blinked. “I said I’d give you a ride. I said I’d fix your tape. I’d have paid if you needed me to. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“How will I get back?”

“How did you get all your stuff out there in the first place?”

“I got a ride from an acquaintance. I was going to camp out, but then some pervert showed up and busted my finger. It sort of sucked all the fun out of my evening.”

He dug out his wallet and held out two twenties. “Here, take a taxi. Good luck.”

She left him dangling. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with me until I’m fixed, and then you’re driving me back to where all my things are.”

“No, I’m not.” He was calm. Unnervingly calm, not a jot of alarm or distress. Infuriating. And adorable.

“You don’t honestly think forty bucks is enough?” Libby asked loudly, causing several people to crane their necks and stare, sizing up her companion with his proffered bills as some sordid breed of patron.

Finally, he gave away some anxiety. “Jesus, keep it down.”

“You’re staying. You owe me that much. You were spying on me in my scanties and you broke my frigging finger. You can’t just leave me here.”

“Well, I am,” he said. “This whole night was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll get your stereo and then I’m leaving.”

She sighed. “I really thought we shared something special tonight, lover.”

He started to walk away and Libby hopped to her feet. “N-H-five-four-nine-four.”

He turned. “Pardon me?”

“That’s your plate number, Kojak. If you leave me I’ll call the cops and report you as a peeping Tom. And I’ll tell them you assaulted me. Which you did.”

“Are you cracked?”

Libby widened her eyes innocently. “A ride home’s not that much to ask.”

He blinked a couple times. Goddamn, what a sexy face. Was it the perfect eyebrows? The stern but inviting mouth? Or was it simply the glaring
lack
of sexual interest she saw coming out of those clear, chilly eyes?

“Fine.” He sat in dignified defeat, grabbing a cricket magazine off a nearby chair and giving it his full attention.

I win.
Libby smiled to herself.
I always win.

Reece glanced up as Libby reappeared in the waiting room, sauntering toward him. She smiled her wide, wicked smile and twitched her now cast-clad finger at him in a wave. He felt a pang of nausea and took a steadying breath.

As she reached him, her eyebrow rose. “Didn’t run off, then?”

“Where am I taking you?”

“Back to the beach to get my stuff, then home. Not far.” She grinned in a way that made Reece fear she must live somewhere nearish the ninth circle of Hell.

“Fine.”

“Would you like to sign my cast?”

He ignored her. The doors glided open and they stepped into the cool night air.

His provocative passenger spent most of the drive staring out the window. Reece had had little else to do while Libby had been with the doctor aside from think, and even though he knew it wasn’t a hired spy’s modus operandi, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he said quietly. Only as the words escaped did he feel the cold, sickening dread ooze into his stomach. What had her father said?
That girl cannot be given the upper hand. Not under any circumstances.

Libby turned to stare at him, a cat eyeing a bird on an open windowsill.

“You’re not sorry, loverboy. But you will be.”

Chapter Two

The door to Paul Nolan’s Pub swung in at precisely ten o’clock. Colin folded and stowed his newspaper, and straightened up behind the taps as his older brother stepped inside. Waving to a couple of the regulars, Reece tossed his gym bag on the floor beside a stool. He took a seat, propping his elbows on the bar and burying his face in his hands.

“What’ll it be, old-timer?”

Reece glanced up, misery etched all over his normally unreadable face. “A half. No, a pint. Maybe a whiskey.”

“Spying’s thirsty work then.” Colin poured him a lager. “How did you get on?”

“It was singly the most I have ever buggered anything up in my entire life.”

“That’s not saying much. You’ve never buggered anything up before.”

Reece ignored the remark.

“So, tell me about it.” Colin leaned on the bar. “Was she as hot as the photo? All wholesome pearls and twinsets?”

“She was
nothing
like the photograph.”

“Maybe you were spying on the wrong girl,” Colin offered.

“No, it was her. But she’s insane.”

“Ooh, definitely hot, then.”

“
No.
And she caught me. In like, five minutes. I think I’ve fucked this up already.”

“Bad luck. Sounded too good to be true, anyhow. Back to square one, eh? You can always sell your body. Can’t be worse punishment than it takes now. Oh, and incidentally, if you’re looking for hot American girls to spy on, I bumped into a stunner the other night on Ghuznee.”

Reece wasn’t listening. “Do you reckon I should bother trying again? If I can manage to not be seen? I mean, she doesn’t know who I am or anything…although she’s seen the Laser.” Reece’s gaze drifted to Colin’s bike, propped inside the front door.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Reece took a long drink, looking hopeless.

“Reecie, I have never seen you doubt yourself before. It’s deeply disturbing.”

“It was a
very
weird night.” Reece swiveled his glass on its coaster. “Shit. The money is so good, though.”

“Good if the cops don’t find out, you mean,” Colin said. “A quick fix is one thing. Wrecking your big picture is another.”

“Yeah.”

“Why not sleep on it? Maybe things will look a bit less pear-shaped in the morning.”

Reece blew out a loaded breath. “I just spent three hours in the emergency department. They can’t possibly look any worse than they do right now.”

“Crikey, you all right?” Colin looked his brother up and down, searching for an injury, aside from the obvious one to his ego.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Crikey,” Colin repeated.

“You have no idea.”

A long expanse of blue-gray ocean signaled the start of the punishing wind on Oriental Parade. Reece hated this stretch of his morning run, but the brutal gusts had little to do with it. He fixed his eyes on the sidewalk and the road, anywhere but the water. He passed the marina, its rows of boats making his stomach churn with the unmade decision weighing on him.

A minute later the sounds of rhythmic scuffing began on the pavement behind him, then grew. Reece was a fast runner. Whoever it was would have to be sprinting to overtake him so suddenly. Footsteps reached and flanked him, and Reece looked to his side. His heart jolted.

Libby Prentiss, matching him beat for beat in jeans and canvas sneakers. Thick silver bracelets jingled at her wrists, and a lidded paper cup splashed coffee over the tiny white cast on her index finger.

Shit. She’d caught Reece twice in twelve hours, and he wasn’t even spying this time.

He slowed. “What do you want?”

“I know who you are.” Libby huffed with the effort of keeping his pace. Her long hair flapped behind her, the flag of an approaching pirate ship looking to pillage.

Reece met her eyes. “I said I was sorry. I said I’d leave you alone. What do you want?”

“Oh,” she said, scanning him from head to toe. “Plenty.”

“How did you find me?”

“Me? Find
you
? Like you don’t know where I live,” Libby said. “Like I believe you practically running through my front yard is just an amazing coincidence.”

Ah, right.

“And my finger is feeling much better, thanks for asking.”

Reece ignored the provocation.

“I know who you are,” she repeated. “Reece Nolan.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, chest heaving under his sweat-soaked T-shirt. The harsh wind coming off the ocean stung his face, and he squinted. “How do you know that?”

“You know who I am. Why shouldn’t I have the same advantage?” Libby held his gaze and licked the coffee off the back of her hand. Her hair whipped around, and the fact that their eyes were nearly level was disconcerting.

“How did you—”

“It’s not rocket science, loverboy. Your little Bruce Lee move. I googled ‘Wellington martial artist’ and your picture came up in like the first five entries. Lucky me. Reece Nolan, national tae kwon do champion and finalist for a multitude of years.” She waved her hand grandly as she rattled off his distinctions. “The internet still thinks you’re teaching in England, but your family’s from Kaiwharawhara.” Her pronunciation was impeccable.

Reece locked his arms over his chest. “Just tell me what you want.”

“How come you didn’t end up going to the Olympics, Mr. Nolan? You were slated to compete for New Zealand but withdrew for personal reasons a week before the second-to-last Summer Games started.”

Reece ran a hand across his jaw, never breaking their eye contact, though he feared his discomfort was evident. The wind howled. “Level with me.”

Her expression turned scheming. “I know what you’re doing. My dad’s hired you, hasn’t he?”

Reece pushed a breath through his nose and glanced condemningly to one side.

“I knew it! My goddamn father.” She gave him another savage, appraising look. “He’s really getting desperate.”

Reece snapped his gaze back to hers, irritated.

Libby crossed one long arm over her ribs and pointed her cup at him. “If you’re trying to get dirt on me, don’t bother. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“I’m not trying to get dirt,” he fibbed. “I’m just supposed to keep an eye on you. And make sure you stay safe—”

Libby snorted. “That’s so insulting. You must know I’m twenty-eight.”

“I was just trying to do a job. It doesn’t matter now anyway—you can go and tell your old man you know who I am. I’m only in this for the money. The jig’s up. I get it.”

“I never said I was going to tell anybody, loverboy.” She sipped her coffee. “There might be something in this for me, too.”

“I’m not interested in bargaining with you. Just forget it.” He tossed his hands up in surrender. “I’m out. You’re twisted, you and your father both.”

“This from the man lurking in the bushes.” Libby cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in a way that equaled sex in some odd, irrefutable way. Her tongue flirted with the corner of her lips. “You give up so easily.”

Reece kept his cool. “I’ll see you,” he said, meaning just the opposite.
Yank nutters.
He resumed his jog. At least the question of whether or not to continue this ridiculous assignment was settled.

Libby kept his pace and he looked her over. Not lasciviously—with calculation.

Libby leered back, definitely lascivious. “What do you need the money for?”

He let the remark pass, as well as the nauseous gurgle it triggered in his gut. He addressed her shoes instead. “You shouldn’t run in Chuck Taylors.”

“Rocky Balboa did.”

“You’ll wreck your ankles.”

“Look at me shaking.”

He frowned. “I just want to be left alone, Libby.”

Her tone went saccharine, fake and overly sweet even through the panting. “Oh, you weren’t looking for company? Funny, I wasn’t looking for company the other night on the beach. I know just how you feel.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I was
just
trying to do a job. It wasn’t personal. I don’t have anything against you.”

“Would you like to?”

“I said I’m sorry. Can we please leave it at that?”

“Why don’t you meet me for a quiet chat this week? Thursday night?” She told him an address on Ghuznee Street. “I’m there every week.”

Reece let his silence make his supreme disinterest crystal clear.

“Just remember the money,” she said. “I won’t tell my father what I know yet… So where are you in such a hurry to get off to?”

Reece ignored her.

“Rudeness doesn’t become you, Agent Nolan. I may be your future co-conspirator, after all.”

“I’ve got six kilometers left before I have to be at work,” Reece snapped.

“Oh, well don’t let me keep you.” Libby cast him a final ruthless look before letting him get away. “I’ll see you around, loverboy,” she called in a fading voice, then shouted the address again. “Every Thursday!”

Bloody brilliant.

“This is such a bad idea.” Reece stared into the dark interior of the noisy club and realized he’d been led here under false pretenses. There’d be no quiet chats taking place
here
.

“Karaoke night, mate.” Colin grinned his approval, scanning the venue.

“This is a mistake.” Reece glanced around, scouting for Libby’s unruly white-blonde mane through the crowd. It was only eight but the night was already promising to grow to chaotic proportions. On the stage, at the far end of the club, a university-aged kid was belting out a tone-deaf rendition of “My Way”.

“Could she have meant upstairs? Maybe she’s got a flat above the pub.” Colin’s face said he hoped this wasn’t the case. Reece could sense him selecting tracks in his mind.

“Very moving, thank you, Sanjay!” the DJ announced over the speakers as the kid descended to polite applause and beer-fueled hoots from his friends.

Reece felt a headache brewing between his eyes. “She’s not here. Let’s forget it. It was a joke—”

“Libby,” the DJ shouted. “Gimme, gimme, gimme some ABBA, sweetheart!”

Reece’s head jerked up, and he spotted Libby’s unmistakably tall frame wending between the high tables to the stage. The crowd clapped and cheered.

“Blimey, is that her?” Colin looked shocked. “I know her…sort of. I met her last week. Right outside here.”

Reece shuddered, knowing the list of women his younger brother might remember in such a vague but meaningful way was considerable.

“That was really her photo?” Colin asked.

Libby had on the same jeans and red high-tops as when she’d accosted Reece during his jog. She also wore a track jacket, red with white piping, zipped up into a turtleneck. She was all long limbs and wild hair, messy tendrils bouncing as she ascended the steps. She wasn’t made up or dressed sexily, but the audience made it sound as if she were.