Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) (10 page)

“You liked it when I kissed you.” Defiance reared up inside her, crushing the spike of fear.

“Didn’t say otherwise. But you and I, we need to talk. First, however, you need to eat before you pass out.”

“I never pass out.” She denied the lightheaded sensation sweeping over her.

Jarod took her arm and tugged her gently over to the desk. He pulled out the chair and gave her a nudge until she sat. She expected him to be angry and—from the muscle ticking in his jaw—he probably was. But his touch gave nothing away. He retreated a couple of steps and perched on the edge of the bed.

“Eat,” he repeated. “Please.”

The please did it. She fell back into the chair and stared at him. “Why are you following me, Jarod?”

“If I promise to give you the truth when you’re done, will you eat? You’re pale, and your eyes are glassy, and I think you’re in shock. Eat. Drink some of the coffee. Get your blood sugar up, and then we can talk.” The brisk orders dissolved in the request, and she pulled her gaze away from him to look at the food.

“I don’t get how you found me here….” She’d done everything the way she’d learned. No one ever followed her before—in fact, the only person she’d talked to aside from the night clerk was the....

She froze and flicked a look up at him.

He spread his hands wide. “You got it.”

He
was the taxi driver.

He waited for her outside the bus terminal.

He knew she’d be coming back.

“Who are you?” Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around the fork.

He didn’t look away from her. “I’m your friend, and I can help you.”

“With?” The tension stretched her nerves to the breaking point.

Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “
The
Fortunate Buddha
.”

And the last shred of her hope snapped. Stabbing the fork into a piece of lobster, she forced a smile past the anxiety. “The what?”

“No more games, Kit Kat. This is serious. duMonde is working his way through Los Angeles, looking for you.”

She let his warning roll off her back. “Well, I hope he can learn to live with disappointment.”

“If I can find you, so can he.”

“Then I’ll get a restraining order.” Maybe she could still play this off. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know where I am right now, and I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I can stay ahead of him.”

“Can you?” Jarod’s expression didn’t change.

“I outran you, didn’t I?”

“True. And yet, here I am…. Oh, and the score is four to three. Thank you for the wild goose chase. I enjoyed it.”

Laughter bounced up inside her, and she took another bite. “Apparently not well enough to remain distracted by it.”

“Chasing you is nowhere near as interesting as catching you.”

The liquid heat his earlier order stirred flamed hotter. She shifted in the chair, all too aware of her nudity beneath the robe. She enjoyed the game, the hunt, and the chase. But she couldn’t afford to let him catch her…not yet.

“You haven’t caught me yet.” She licked her lips, her gaze colliding with his. A mistake because the wild want in his gaze couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice a seductive caress.

Her stomach flip-flopped, and she couldn’t suppress the shudder of reaction. “What if I don’t want to be caught?”

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t move. He simply stared at her. “What do you want?”

You.
The unbidden response burst through her mind, and she pushed the plate and fork away. She must be exhausted because her mind filled with images of the two of them, kissing, touching, caressing, and tumbling back onto the bed.

But she couldn’t afford to chase such a prize…not now.

“Two days.” She swallowed. “I want two days.”

He canted his head to the right and lifted his brows. “And then?”

“Nothing. And then nothing. You asked me what I wanted…I want two days. I need it.” Her pulse continued to rabbit, and she let her gaze drift to the bed. She could sleep with him—hell, she wanted to—and then, while he slept, she could get the hell out of here.

“Eat your dinner and I’ll give you two days.”

She blinked slowly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.” He stood and walked over to the phone. Hitting the button for room service, he waited for the other end to be answered. “Yes, could you send up another plate of the shrimp and lobster pasta, fresh coffee, and some bread? Yes. Yes. Thank you.”

He hung up then crossed to the door. He flipped the security latch, stripped off his jacket, and hung it up.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you good faith and letting you begin your two days.” He watched her from his station by the door, his expression unreadable. “Eat.”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. She needed two days. He gave her some time. They needed to talk, but…he had to sleep sometime. Regulating her breathing, she dug into her meal.

“And, Kit Kat?”

“Yes?” She ate another mouthful.

“If you run again…all bets are off.”

We’ll see.
She sighed, the food already helped.

Chapter Six

Her posture, curled onto her side away from him, might appear relaxed, but he didn’t fool himself into thinking she’d gone to sleep. They’d eaten their meals in respective silence. Jarod could almost hear the wheels whirring in her mind as she considered her options.

Feigning sleep provided her with the best option to continue plotting what she would do when he drifted off. Unfortunately for her, he could maintain wakefulness for up to eighty-six hours with only the lightest of dozes. He’d dimmed the lights when she lay down, but the screen on his phone allowed him to continue his work.

Louis duMonde was out of custody and checked into the Avalon in Beverly Hills. In addition to the two men at the airport, four more had arrived in the last three hours. Jarod told the asset to stay in place and requested a second for back up. If he needed more, then he needed to request them ASAP. He did not want duMonde slipping his leash.

“You’re not going to go to sleep, are you?” The quiet question drifted across the room, and he glanced over. She rolled onto her right side and propped her head up. She’d gotten back most of her color and a great deal of her spirit. His arrival had scared the hell out of her, but he ignored the twinge of regret at the blank look in her eyes—and the way all the color drained from her face.

“Not likely, no. But you should.”

“I can’t.” The dim glow of his phone left most of her face in shadow.

“Why not?”

“I dozed on the bus today—too much, I guess. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep.”

When he thumbed his phone off, the room plunged into darkness without the blue glow. “Try regulating your breathing.”

Her laughter teased his ears, like a whispered caress across his senses. “I’ve tried. I think it might be the presence of an uninvited visitor in my hotel room.”

“If you’d stayed in the first room I set up for you, you could have slept by yourself.” The near involuntary curving of his lips made him glad for the darkness.

“Who are you, Jarod Parker?”

“A man doing his job.”

She snorted. “I won’t insult your intelligence if you won’t insult mine.”

“All right.” If she wanted to talk about it now, they would. “I’m a recovery agent. I’m here to pick up
The
Fortunate Buddha
.”

“And what is
The Fortunate Buddha
?” Amusement hummed under the words.

“What’s that about not insulting my intelligence?” He leaned back in the chair, extending his legs out in front of him. Tucking the phone in his pocket, he focused on staying in the chair and not walking over to stretch out on the bed next to her.

“I’m not insulting your intelligence. You accused me of having it—”

“Which you do.”

“I didn’t say I did.” She argued, but the playfulness in her words didn’t waver.

“You didn’t protest the accusation either.”

“Innocent people don’t have to protest. That’s some really flimsy logic if you’re going to accuse me of being in possession of a stolen item.”

“You went out of your way to sneak off. You have a viscount with a known habit for the acquisition of stolen goods hunting you. But those are only two of the current facts. You were also in Geneva, Switzerland, when it went missing from the same viscount’s safe. You left a note for the agent assigned to retrieve it along with a digital recording of her in Morocco. You were in New York when the Buddha was retrieved from the Museum by the NYPD and shortly before it disappeared from their evidence lock up.” He ticked off the events one after another on his fingers.

“Circumstantial at best.” Satisfaction colored her answer.

Amusement surged through him. She was absolutely right. The circumstantial evidence wouldn’t earn a search warrant, but he didn’t need a warrant. “And you still haven’t denied it.”

“Do you want me to deny it?” The swishing noise of the sheets told him she moved. He looked away from the side of the bed a moment before the light snapped on. She sat up in the bed, a pillow in her lap and her knees up. Her green-eyed gaze met his with frank determination. She appeared almost fragile, but possessed a tough, resourceful streak.

“No.” He shook his head once. “I want to help you.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.” He tipped his head to the side. He enjoyed watching her mind at work and physical cues like the narrowing of her eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek, or the flexing of her fingers against the pillow.

“If I already took it—which, according to you, I did—why do I need help?” She didn’t avoid his gaze or play coy. Another mark in her favor, the direct intelligence and courage shimmering in those eyes was far more attractive than her considerable beauty.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been there at the airport?”

“The captain and co-pilot would have helped, and I wouldn’t have left the plane before they cleared the area.” The too swift answer wasn’t disingenuous, but she shook her head. “But I am glad you were there.”

And the wall between them developed the first real fissure. So he applied pressure to it. “Why?”

“Because Viscount duMonde”—she sighed and pushed the pillow away while sliding off the bed—“is not a nice man. He’s spoiled, arrogant, and known to be rather violent at times.” She’d gone to bed in a T-shirt, and it hit the middle of her thighs like an invitation for exploration. He kept his gaze on her face, even if the rest of his body hummed to awareness.

“Then we are agreed on him.”

“I suppose. Is there any coffee left?” She glanced at the tray, and he stood to reach for the barely warm carafe.

“There is, but let me order us some more.”

“Okay.” She circled around him and walked to the sliding door. He dialed room service as she unlatched it and let in the cool night air. She didn’t walk out onto the balcony, choosing to lean on the doorframe and study the city beyond.

The shirt curved up her hip as she folded her arms, revealing gorgeous bare thigh. Letting out a slow breath, he ordered the coffee and hung up. Probably better to stay on this side of the room anyway. He leaned back against the wall.

“You said I could have a couple of days. Are you planning to arrest me?”

“As you said, I only have circumstantial evidence.” He could pull strings and have her detained, but no matter how many times he entertained the idea, he dismissed it.

She lapsed into silence, and he let her continue to work the Gordian knot of her situation out in her mind. When the coffee arrived, he checked the peephole first and didn’t let their waiter in, taking the tray himself and relocking the door. Kit remained in the doorframe while he set up the coffee and poured two fresh mugs.

“So, you’re not a banker,” she said when he handed her the cup.

“No.” He nodded.

“And you’re not law enforcement.”

He smiled and took a sip. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. Even Interpol needs more than circumstantial to push their way into someone’s life and take them hostage.”

“Do you feel like a hostage?” He frowned.

Shrugging, she walked out onto the balcony and leaned against the rail, coffee mug cradled in her hand. The breeze carried the barest hints of moisture, as if it rained somewhere else. “Somewhat.”

“You’re not a hostage.”

“So I can grab my things and walk out the door?” Skepticism spread thickly across the top of the question.

“Absolutely. But I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need a keeper.”

“Maybe. But duMonde isn’t in custody anymore. He’s also got more men in the city.”

Her mouth tightened, and he regretted having to scare her, but the independent streak in her could get her killed. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m having him watched. I’ll know when he moves and where he goes. But all he has to do is pick up a phone and call in someone I don’t see and you’ll have another bloodhound on your trail.” Were he in duMonde’s position, he would make the same decision. In fact, he’d have a dozen boots on the ground, combing the city for the target.

“He has no idea where I am. You wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t been a cab driver, and how did you do it? You didn’t look like you in the cab.”

It was his turn to be startled, but he covered it up with another swallow of the coffee. “I know how to blend in…a skill you obviously picked up somewhere.”

“A skill I’ve needed over the years. My father is a very influential man, and his position earns me a lot of unwanted and unwarranted attention. What’s your excuse?” Her eyes blazed with renewed temper and challenge. He preferred this woman, cunning, clever, and creative to the worried, almost desperate tone of the one courting defeat moments earlier.

“My work requires anonymity more often than not. So I’ve learned how to blend in when needed.” A breeze pushed at her tousled curls, and he itched to tuck an errant strand behind her ear.