Running Scared (32 page)

Las Vegas

November 5

Early morning

S
lowly Risa awoke
from a dream of lying naked on her stomach at a tropical beach with the taste of the sea on her tongue and surf beating close by. Smiling, she burrowed deeper into the dream . . . and tasted Shane.

Her eyes flew open.

“Do you always wake up all at once?” he asked.

His voice was deep, amused, and he was as naked as she was. What had been sand in the dream was in reality a mat of dark chest hair and warm muscle. What she had thought was surf was the slow, strong beating of his heart beneath her cheek.

The part about tasting mildly salty was real. Licking her lips, she decided that she enjoyed the taste of him in the morning. Surprise and heat streaked through her; Shane was even sexier to her now than he had been when they fell asleep locked together like a flesh-and-blood puzzle that had just been solved.

“Never had an alarm clock like you,” she said, nibbling. Tasting. Licking. Enjoying the feel of his erection nudging between her legs. “Or I would have spent a lot of time waking up.”

His fingers slid down her hips, probed, found liquid silk and woman. With a sound that was both anticipation and pleasure, he lifted her over him and filled her in a slow, thick stroke that made her moan. He kept moving that way, slowly, deeply, and she answered with a subtle, repeated roll of her hips that redoubled their pleasure. Though both of them trembled with leashed ecstasy, they kept the rhythm easy, dreamlike.

Then she could bear no more and arched back, stretched and shivering on a rack of exquisite pleasure. His smile was as elemental as the release he felt washing through her. When she lay spent and boneless on top of him, he rolled her over and began moving again. Slowly. Thickly. Her eyes opened, dazed with a pleasure that was both old and burningly new. She shifted, rising up, taking more. Giving more.

This time they went blind together in a hot darkness that smelled and tasted of intimacy.

When she could take a breath without echoes of ecstasy shivering through her, she lifted her head and nuzzled his jaw. Tiny touches of her tongue filled her need to taste him, just as slow strokes of his hands over her back answered his need to feel her close and warm against him. She was just drifting off to sleep again when his bedside telephone rang.

“Sugah?” she drawled.

“Hmmm?”

“Kill it.”

“I’d rather kill the idiot who put in the override code in spite of my instructions.”

When she started to slide off him, his arms tightened. Taking her with him, he rolled closer to the phone and hit the conference button. “What?” he demanded.

The man at the desk talked fast, saying one of the three magic names that would allow him to keep his job. “Ms. Cherelle Faulkner left an urgent message for Ms. Sheridan. As you are the only one who knows Ms. Sheridan’s whereabouts, I thought it prudent to tell you right away.”

Risa stiffened and reached for the phone. With casual strength, Shane caught her hand and held her in place.

“Not yet,” he said very softly. Then, loud enough for the phone to pick up, “What number did she call from?”

“It was blocked, sir.”

“Why am I not surprised. One moment.” He let go of Risa’s hand, hit the hold button at the base of the phone, and said, “Would you rather have the message in private?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

He brushed a kiss across her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” she said unhappily.

“Trusting me.”

With a wry turn to her mouth, she looked at their bodies tangled together. “All things considered, it would be stupid not to.”

“There are many kinds of intimacy. Of trust.”

She met his level green eyes. “I trust you not to hurt Cherelle.”

“If I can avoid it, I won’t, because it would only hurt you. But if she puts you in the line of fire again . . .” Shane didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The subtle flattening of his features said it all. “I fight for what matters to me. You matter, Risa.”

“So do you. Jesus, it scares the hell out of me.” She let out a shaky breath. “How did this happen?”

He smiled crookedly. “I guess we both stopped running at the same time.”

“Yeah.” She brushed a kiss over his whisker-rough jaw and released the hold button. “Sheridan here,” she said. If her voice was husky instead of crisp, she couldn’t help it any more than she could help noticing the easy strength and living warmth of the man underneath her. “What’s the message?”

“Good morning, Ms. Sheridan. The message was taken by our VoiceWriter service and has an ‘urgent’ flag stamped on the exterior. Would you like me to open the envelope?”

“No.” She hesitated, then told the front desk what everyone at the Golden Fleece had already figured out for themselves—Shane and his curator were an item. “Send it up to Mr. Tannahill’s private quarters.”

“Right away, Ms. Sheridan.”

Risa disconnected from the call and, more reluctantly, from Shane. She began pulling on clothes that would look like they’d been worn yesterday, stripped off in haste last night, and dumped on the floor next to the bed until morning.

“There’s a robe in the bathroom,” he said, watching her with lazy male lust.

“Stop smiling,” she muttered. She felt as though every extra ounce on her breasts and hips was jiggling a neon message of excess.

“I don’t think so, darling. Looking at you makes a man pleased. So much woman to enjoy.”

She looked up, saw the smoky concentration in his eyes, and knew that he meant it. “And here I thought you liked swizzle-stick models.”

She snapped on her bra and settled it in place with a casual shimmy that made his breath thicken. “Why the devil did you think that?”

The rasp in his voice made her pause in the act of pulling up her underwear. He was watching the glide of dark lace. And his arousal was as naked as he was.

She stared. He was worth staring at.

“Close your eyes,” she said finally.

“Why?”

“I’m shy.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. He hooked an arm around her hips, pulled her against the bed, and nuzzled the hot curls between her thighs. “Okay, I can’t see you now.”

The slick probe of his tongue loosened her knees. Underwear forgotten, she buried her fingers in the short, midnight pelt of his hair. She told herself she was going to push him away.

She pulled him closer.

A melodic chiming came from the front room of his apartment.

“What did he do—teleport?” Shane muttered.

“I imagine he took your direct elevator.” Her voice was husky, as raspy as the beard stubble caressing her thighs, as hot as his tongue.

“Sometimes staff efficiency is a pain in the butt,” he said, and burrowed deeper.

Her knees buckled.

The door chimed.

“Damn.”
With a lingering love bite he eased her panties up until his mouth was against lace rather than woman. Then he rolled aside, flipped an intercom switch, and said, “Thanks for the speedy delivery. Just shove it under the door.”

Risa drew a shaky breath and ran for the bathroom before she changed her mind and fell all over him like hot rain. She grabbed a robe that was brushed silk, black, and too big for her by half.

As fast as she moved, the delivery service was faster. When she got to the hall door, a smooth, creamy envelope with the Golden Fleece’s raised gilded logo had already been pushed under the door. “VERY URGENT” was stamped on the envelope in red.

She ripped open the message and read quickly:
If Shane Tannahill wants six pieces of Celtic gold for his show, tell him to bring two hundred thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills to the parking lot of the Water Stop by seven o’clock this morning. If he comes with anybody but you, he’ll never see these six pieces of gold again. There are other buyers in Vegas.

“Damn,” Risa said. “I was sure there were more than six pieces.”

“You talking to me?” Shane asked from the bedroom.

“Only if you have clothes on.”

“Waste of time. You’ll just tear them off.”

“I wish.” She looked at the clock—6:37. “Next time, I promise. What’s the Water Stop?”

Barefoot, Shane walked into the living room, buttoning up a pair of jeans. “A downtown sex club with slots.”

She took one look and glanced away. The man was a walking invitation to sin, and she didn’t even have time to drool. She shoved the message into his hand and ran past him to collect her clothes. “Okay. Parking lot should be pretty empty at this hour, so we won’t have any trouble spotting them.”

He read the message in one lightning scan and felt something really unhappy settle in his gut. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

She appeared in the doorway, her hands fisted on her hips. “What do you mean, you’ll let me know?”

“Guess.” He walked past her and pulled a fresh shirt from his closet.

Risa hurriedly pulled on slacks and shook out a rumpled blouse. “Wait! How do you know it isn’t a stickup?”

“I don’t.” He grabbed shoes and kicked them on. “That’s why you’re staying.”

“But—”

“Sometimes it’s better alone.” He tied his running shoes with sharp, quick motions. “This is one of those times. You’re staying here.”

“Shove your orders! I don’t work for you anymore!”

“Call Niall. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

Without a word she went over and punched in Niall’s very private number. It went through before Shane got to the wall safe and put his hand over the scanner.

“What’s up, Shane?”

“It’s Risa.”

In another room down the hall, Niall smiled because she was calling from one of Shane’s private numbers. Maybe the atmosphere around those two would stop crackling now that they had spent the night destroying a bed together.

“Good morning, luv. What’s up?”

“Cherelle has six pieces of gold she wants to sell Shane for two hundred thousand dollars cash in the parking lot of a downtown dive called the Water Stop. Twenty-one minutes and counting.”

“I’m on my way.”

Before Niall finished talking, the sound of the connection changed as it went on the speaker.

“Don’t bother,” Shane said. “This party is by invitation only. You weren’t invited.”

“No worries. I’ve crashed a lot of parties in my day.”

“You crash this one and six pieces of fine Celtic gold disappear forever. Dana wouldn’t be happy. ‘Buy, Sell, Appraise, Protect,’ “ Shane said, quoting Rarities Unlimited’s motto. “Remember?”

“All right. I’ll hang back so nobody gets nervous. Risa, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Stay there.”

“But—”

“That’s an order,” Niall said over her objection. “You don’t have security training, so you’d just be a liability if it all goes from sugar to shit. Lapstrake will take over guard duty on you.”

“This is crap! I know Cherelle. You don’t. I can—”

“Stay put or find another employer,” Niall cut in. “Shane, I’ll send Ian over to your room and meet you downstairs in two minutes. Do you have enough cash on hand?”

“I own a casino. What do you think?”

“I think I’m in the wrong business.”

Las Vegas

November 5

Early morning

S
hane drove to the
Water Stop with one eye on the traffic, one eye on the mirrors, and the memory of Risa’s anger ringing in his ears. He didn’t envy Ian the next hour or two. The lady was passionate in more than the sexual sense of the word.

By the time Shane was two blocks from the Water Stop, he still hadn’t discovered any tails. Nobody seemed interested in him at all. Niall had taken an alternate route and was already in place. After a final check of mirrors, Shane picked up the cell phone and punched in the redial while he waited at a stoplight.

Niall answered instantly. “There are maybe thirty cars in the parking lot. Several have people in them, but only one has a female alone. She’s already sent off three separate men who approached her.”

“What kind of car?”

“An old Bronco. Can’t see the plates.”

“Sounds good.” Even as he spoke, Shane wished his instincts
felt
good. But they didn’t. They were sitting up and howling alarms. “She has a Bronco.”

“From here the woman sure doesn’t look like a blonde with good tits.”

“Cherelle likes disguises.”

Niall grunted. “I’m not happy with this, boyo. I’m across the street. You’ll be in the open with two hundred big ones in cash. There are panel vans and RVs scattered around the lot. Someone could pop out and dump you before I could take two steps.”

Shane didn’t like it either, but he didn’t see any way around it except to walk away from the gold. He wasn’t willing to do that. If the pieces were anything like what he’d bought from Smith-White, they literally defined “priceless.” They were golden icons from a time that was long since gone and a culture that would never live again.

It was worth some risk to save them.

“I’ve taken bigger chances,” Shane said. “And I’m wearing the body armor you gave me.”

“Body armor ain’t worth shit if you’re shot in the head.”

“You’re such a comfort.”

“Dana points it out to me daily.”

“I’m a block away,” Shane said. “Let me know when you see me.”

There was silence for ten seconds.

“Gotcha,” Niall said. “You see the Bronco?”

“Yes. I don’t see you.”

“That’s the whole idea. Remember, if it goes to shit, take care of yourself first. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I don’t think it’s a rip-off.”

“I hope you’re right. How’s the hair on the back of your neck?”

“Restless,” Shane admitted. “But not on the subject of robbery.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bloody hell,” Niall said, disgusted. “You and Erik North are a real pair. Not an ounce of useful precognition between the two of you.”

Shane was still smiling when he drove into the Water Stop’s parking area. It didn’t take him long to locate the Bronco, but he drove past it anyway, doing a slow lap around the lot. Other than an itchy neck, nothing happened. If anything, he felt better. Between the hookers and semipros cutting deals in the backs of campers, and the steady trickle of randy johns walking out of the club looking for some parking-lot action, there were too many witnesses for a crook to feel comfortable about armed robbery.

Unless the crook was as stupid as Socks. But the call hadn’t come from Socks. It had come from Cherelle Faulkner.

When Shane pulled up next to the Bronco, he couldn’t help wondering if Socks was with Cherelle. Even as the thought came, he shrugged it off. From what Risa had heard Socks say about Cherelle, they weren’t what anyone would describe as close.

As soon as Shane got out of his car carrying a small suitcase, the door of the Bronco popped open and a woman climbed out.

She wasn’t Cherelle Faulkner.