Baddest Bad Boys (17 page)

“What’s Mac going to think about this?” she asked. Mac was Hugh’s brother, maybe five years younger than herself, but he’d never looked at her without a sneer of distaste. No matter how much she’d tried to win him over, that sneer stuck. Mac Fleming, unlike his older brother, had disliked her on sight.

The last time she’d seen him he’d been an acne-plagued teenager, hazel-eyed and thin as a stick. Already six feet tall, he’d looked as if his bones were growing too fast for his skin to keep up. His nose was always stuck in a book, and on the occasions he lifted it long enough to acknowledge her, his expression, behind those awful glasses, bordered on obnoxious—or disdainful. He might have been a kid, but he always looked at Tommi as if she were a pane of glass and the view on the other side wasn’t pretty. He made her seriously uncomfortable, enough to add, “He might not like the intrusion.”

“Don’t worry about Mac,” Hugh said. “He can use the distraction. My guess is he’s up there with a satellite laptop and a hundred business proposals. He’s in communications, cable TV, wireless—God knows what-all. The guy has no idea how to relax. Probably ignore you the whole time you’re there. But he won’t let you down.” He drank the last of his coffee. “I’ll tell him your ETA, and he’ll be waiting. He’s there for at least a couple more weeks.”

If she could tolerate Mac not tolerating her, it would be perfect. Still she hesitated. “Actually, when I called you, I was thinking about your cabin on Whidbey Island, Hugh.”

“That’s where Veronica is—with her mother.” He grimaced. “Making ‘arrangements.’”

“Ah.”

“Don’t ask.”

“Don’t have to.” Any other time she’d have chided him about his poor-captured-male expression, because she knew it was an act, knew marrying Veronica was all he ever wanted.

“Besides, if someone starts looking for you, they’ll make our connection.” He shook his head. “No. Mac’s place is best.”

He was right. Half the women in her office knew about her special friendship with Hugh. It wouldn’t take long for Reid to find out about it—if he hadn’t already. “You’re right. Okay, if it’s okay with Mac, it’s okay with me.” She ignored her lingering reluctance. “But tell him I promise to stay out of his way.” If Mac chose to ignore her, it was fine with her. Better to be ignored than suffer those dark glares of his, his obvious dislike.

She looked at her watch—well after midnight.

“First ferry is 5:15 in the morning,” Hugh said.

“I’ll make it.”

“I’ll go back to your apartment with you, wait while you pack.” He stood and offered his hand. She took it, and when she was on her feet, she hugged him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hugh. I really don’t.”

“We’re friends, Tommi. You won’t ever have to.”

 

An hour later, in the gray-lit parking garage under Tommi’s apartment building, Hugh loaded her bags into the trunk of her silver Lexus, then opened the driver-side door. He handed her a crude map.

She got in and lowered the window. “You’re sure Mac said my coming was okay?” Useless question, because she was sure Hugh wouldn’t have taken no for an answer no matter what Mac said. Like it or not, she was about to foist herself on an unwilling man.

“He said he’s glad you’re coming, and he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Tommi eyed him, nearly smiled. “Liar.”

He shrugged, slapped the top of the car above her door. “Just go. Mac will come around.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“Call me. Let me know you made it okay.”

She nodded, locked all her doors, and started the car.

Truth was, she no longer cared if Mac wanted her at his fishing camp or not, and she was more determined than ever to get out of Seattle. Her voice mail and call display told her Reid had called four times; twice while she was out with Hugh, and twice while she was packing. His messages were veiled threats for her to be careful, not to do anything foolish. He’d be furious and suspicious as to why she wasn’t in her apartment and hadn’t returned his calls.

She intended to be long gone before he decided to arrive in person. She shuddered at the thought.

Her hand slid to the large tote on the passenger seat. She had the means to ruin him, and after what she’d experienced tonight, she had no doubt Reid would do whatever it took to stop her.

She remembered his hands on her throat; it brought a simmer of panic, made her heart thump erratically. She tightened her grip on the wheel and took some deep breaths.

When she pulled up to the parking lot security gate and looked through it to the heavy gusting rain and the blessedly empty street, she relaxed. And even though the night matched her mood, grim and dark, she suddenly looked forward to the long, solitary drive to the ferry.

At the top of the exit lane, she glanced left and right down shadowy, night-lit streets, then cleared the building.

 

The aging, dark-blue Chrysler gave Tommi a few minutes’ lead time before it swerved out of the shadows. Lights off, it positioned itself some distance back in her rain-splashed wake.

The burly man in the car picked up his cell phone from the passenger seat, hit a number on autodial. “McNeil? She’s on the road. What do you want me to do?”

“I knew she was lying! That stupid, stupid bitch!”

“Hey man, I’m not interested in your woman troubles, just the job. So what do ya want me to do?”

“Follow her, Borg. And don’t let her out of your sight.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“It’ll cost me a hell of a lot more if she decides to do what I think she might. Stay on her ass!”

“I ain’t drivin’ across the damn country, McNeil. Not in this old beater.”

“You want to pay that bookie of yours, you’ll do what I say. Call me…on the hour.”

When the phone went dead in his hand, Borg cursed violently, punched his radio on, and twisted the dial until country music filled the car.

He swore again, took a swig of black coffee, and settled in for a long night.

2

Mac Fleming put down his book, pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked at his watch. Almost six. By now it was cave-dark out there.

If Smith had left when Hugh said she’d left, she should be here by now. Hugh hadn’t told him much—said he couldn’t tell him what he didn’t know, but Mac had the gist of it.

She was in some kind of trouble, and Mac had no doubt a man was somewhere in the mix. Probably some pissed-off guy she’d cut loose who’d decided to give her a hard time.

Not that he gave a damn. But he still should have warned her about the road. Eight miles of ruts and bumps, barely okay on a good day, but today, given the nonstop rain, there was a good chance it might be washed out. She could be stuck.

Hell!

He got to his feet just as the wind slammed the side of the lodge and whistled down the chimney to send a spray of sparks across the deep slate hearth. The fire sputtered but held. The stone fireplace was gigantic, and he’d already banked it with enough logs to power a fifty-car steam train, but he threw another on for good measure, pulled the mesh curtain to a tight close, and headed for the door.

Outside, the rain was merciless and the wind nonstop, strong, sharp gusts carrying heavy inflows of frigid ocean air, salt-filled and harsh. And this was only the beginning of a storm the weather idiots said wouldn’t hit hard until midnight. Hell, if this wasn’t hard, Mac didn’t know what was. He pulled the hood of his rain slicker over his now dripping hair.

The weather might be miserable, par for the course this time of year on the northwest coast, but what pissed him off most was having Hugh lob Smith his way. He’d come here to get away, catch up on some work, then grab some downtime, not play the caped crusader. He didn’t like Tommi Smith, never had—even if she had inspired his first wet dream.

Hell, he’d been twelve—a triple-breasted gargoyle would have done the same thing, as long as the breasts were naked.

When they were kids in Phoenix, she’d played his brother for a fool—along with every other guy she hooked up with—and judging from Hugh’s phone call this morning, she still was.

Tommi Smith, Arizona beauty. Take a number, boys, the line forms on the right.

Not a line he planned to join. Ever.

When a sudden blast of wind damn near took him off his feet, he lowered his head and made for his truck, parked a few feet from the bottom of the lodge stairs. He had his hand on the door handle when he heard a car motor. Through sheets of rain, he saw headlights emerge from behind the tall cedars and dense rain forest undergrowth that ringed the camp clearing. The car’s windshield wipers were working overtime and a blond head tilted from side to side as if struggling to see through the heavy rain and swirling mist.

He stepped away from his truck and lifted a hand.

When she saw him, she also raised a hand, driving slowly toward where he stood beside his truck.

She was here. Tommi was on his own damn doorstep.

Mac’s stomach did a feint and drop. He ignored it and strode toward her mud-spattered car. When she turned off the motor, he heard the drumbeat of rain on its hood.

When he stepped up beside the car, the woman behind the glass looked up at him, those blue-violet eyes wide as plates, her sex-kitten blond hair curling and streaming over her shoulders. The rain, a waterfall on the car window, distorted her features, made her quick smile crazy and lopsided, her skin a pale, shimmering white.

Mac’s breathing shallowed, and a familiar tension lodged in his groin. When he was a dumb kid, just looking at her made him hard as a rail spike. Always embarrassed the hell out of him. The Tommi Effect, he’d named it later, a magnetism every male within sniffing distance recognized and responded to. Including his brother.

Always his brother.

He’d seen her twice since then. Once when he’d spotted her in an airport, maybe five years ago, then as recently as last year, when one of his companies hired Del Design to do a renovation. He’d been in one of the glassed-in meeting rooms and looked up to see her stroll by with one of his managers. When she’d smiled up at the guy, he looked as if she’d handed him sex on a stick. Mac made no attempt to reintroduce himself. She was Hugh’s business, never his.

But even here, in the middle of nowhere, in a raging November storm, the Tommi Effect hit him full force. And made him mad as hell.

She was the most beautiful, most sensual, most erotic woman he’d ever seen, and on a deeply primitive level, he understood his brother’s obsession with her.

And she went through men as if they were sold by the dozen on the shopping channel and her credit card had no limit.

He reminded himself how much he disliked her and yanked open the car door. “Better make a run for it.” He gestured with his head toward the front door of the lodge. “Pop the trunk, and I’ll bring in your bags.”

She nodded, did as he asked, and grabbed the large tote from the passenger seat. Instead of putting her raincoat on, she held it over her head and dashed for the porch.

She packed light, he’d give her that—two small bags and a tote. He took the last of the three stairs to the porch and didn’t waste any time opening the door. She quickly stepped in.

“Let me have that.” He took the coat she’d started to drape over her arm and hung it on one of the pegs beside the door.

“Thanks.” She shifted her gaze, turned slowly to take in the large room with its assortment of pine tables, overstuffed furniture—cabin plaid—and sky-high fireplace. Everything big, solid, simple. The way he liked it. Still looking her fill, she said, “This is nice. Impressive. Not at all what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” He took off his wet slicker, hung it beside her coat.

“I’m not sure, but when Hugh said fishing camp, I guess…something more rustic?” She turned to look at him, the polite smile fading when her eyes met his.

He ran his hands through his wet hair to get it off his forehead. “It’s comfortable,” he muttered, and tried to ignore the way her gaze—slightly stunned—traveled his body from stem to stern. He told himself he didn’t give a damn whether she liked his place or not. What irritated him was the big lodge had begun to feel like the incredible shrinking house from the moment she set foot in it. “You’re later than I expected. Trouble?”

She was still staring at him, but he wasn’t sure she saw him. “Pardon?”

What the hell was wrong with her? “I said, did you run into a problem getting here?”

“Exhaustion. I’ve been up since yesterday morning. I stopped for lunch and fell asleep in the parking lot.” Her smile was quick, embarrassed. “I’d probably still be there if the restaurant owner hadn’t come to check on me.”

She did look tired and pale. “We’ll get you settled as soon as you warm up. The bedrooms are upstairs.” He gestured toward the mezzanine above them.

“Would you like me to stay there?” She wandered to the blazing fire and toasted her hands over it before turning back to look at him.