Mastered By The Mavericks (33 page)

“Please step out of the car, ma’am.”

She smiled tightly. “Is that necessary? I mean, what’s this all ab—”

“Just step out of the car, please.”

Be sweet. Be cooperative. He just has to do his job. Make it easier and faster for
him, and it’ll be easier and faster for you.
Besides, she could test how scintillating her legs looked in this skirt. She was
completely fine working the sexy leggy thing in a sequined leotard and matching go-go
boots, but the skirt and blouse were an impulse buy from three months ago, in anticipation
that she’d start needing “real life” clothes for the next stage of her life. She never
dreamed she’d have to rely on the sex-freak-in-nerd’s-clothing bit, least of all in
the middle of a motel parking lot, at high noon during the SXSW festival.
Keep Austin Weird
. She was sure doing her part.

“Like…this?” After opening the car door, she slunk both legs out and slid them provocatively
along each other. The move earned her an impatient cough but little else. When she
finally stood, she could look both officers straight in the eyes. She did just that,
going for another disarming smile. No more coughs this time. No more nothing. Both
cops were practically statues.

Well…hell.

Did she suck
that
bad at nerdy sex freak?

Wait. There was still hope. Dimples gave her a once-over—a
fast
one—before bolting his gaze to her face once more and querying, “So are you staying
at this property, Miss Monet?”

That’s more like it
.

Perhaps.

Had she just dug herself into a really deep rabbit hole? She was going for alluring,
not let-me-fuck-my-way-out-of-a-traffic ticket. A bogus one, at that. What the hell
had
she done wrong?

“Yes.” Did no harm to relent at least that. It validated her presence here, so they
couldn’t trump up some bullshit like trespassing. Or practically fornicating in the
middle of the parking lot.

“What room?”

Shit.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant. And why aren’t you guys out on the highway? Doesn’t
this qualify as the jurisdiction of Austin City Police, instead?”

“What room number, Miss Monet?”

She huffed. Rolled her eyes. Finally mumbled, “One twelve.”

Clown Number Two, whose rugged face and stark lips said he
didn’t
do a lot of laughing during his down time—pressed a shoulder-mounted radio and repeated
the number. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to determine their intention from there.
Frankly, if time wasn’t such an issue, she wouldn’t have cared if they turned her
room upside down. If they were after some expensive hair product and a brand-new case
of MAC cosmetics, they were going to be thrilled. Otherwise, they clearly had mistaken
her for someone else, and were now wasting precious minutes to discover it.

The rabbit hole was getting too freaking deep. And damn it, she didn’t have time to
play any more with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Which meant a new plan. And a huge new risk. Huge, as in the possibility of Rhett
and Rebel plastering her face on their target practice silhouettes from now on—if
they chose to acknowledge her presence in the world at all.

Her eyes stung. Her throat thudded. And her frustration raged.

Like they were going to acknowledge your presence after all this, anyway
?

The three of them owed each other nothing. They’d come together for this mission only—learning
ways to help each other through the stress that were, admittedly, off-the-charts amazing—but
thinking of it as anything more was only digging herself farther down the hole.

It was time to take care of business, no matter how rough the decisions to accomplish
that.

She dumped the seductive stance. Lifted her shoulders, firmed her chin. “Okay, listen.
I’m going to be straight-up with you guys now—because I really need your help.” She
nervously wet her lips. “This is going to sound insane, but I swear it’s the truth.
I have to get to the old Verge pharma building, and soon. I’m—I’m undercover.” She
tacked on in a rush, “
Deeply
undercover.”

No-Nonsense crunched his brows. “With what entity?”

“I—I can’t tell you that, either. Uh…way above your pay grade.” And if he swallowed
that, she was going to take El’s advice and really start an acting career. “But there
are men on their way who want to stop me, and if I don’t get to the Verge building
before them, my whole op could be blown. There are things happening in that building
that nobody knows about—”

Whiskey Eyes stopped her with a raised hand. “We’re aware, Miss Monet.”

The thud in her throat took over her chest. “Wait.
What
?”

He tilted his head. “You…
are
referring to Doctor Royce, aren’t you?”

Her whole body trembled. “You know about him already?”

The second cop shot a skeptical look. “Only that the work he’s doing has to be kept
super secure, because it has the potential to help so many. If any of our country’s
enemies got wind of his scientific advances, we’d have an international incident occurring
on native soil—right under our watch.”

“Are you kidding—” But they weren’t. That much was clear. “Royce,” she blurted. He
was the face of Adler’s operation now, and had the cops buried so far under his snow
job, a hundred blowers weren’t going to clear the shit. “That’s all you know, huh?
You guys aren’t even aware of Homer Adler, are you?”

“You mean the nutwing who used to run the freak show at Verge’s back door?” The cop
gave her a patient smile. “He’s long gone, we promise. On the run now. Likely overseas
somewhere—”

“No.” Brynn surged forward but yanked herself back. All she needed was to look like
a fruit-loop herself now. “No, he’s not. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Adler’s
got you all drinking the same Kool-Aid. He’s let Royce be the public face of this
thing, only he’s running the exact same game out of that building—and now my best
friend is one of his freaks. He had her kidnapped five days ago, out of Las Vegas.
Get on your smart pads and confirm it. Her name is Zoe Bommer.”

She stopped, forcing in a breath.
Stay calm. Losing your shit isn’t going to convince them of anything.

The clowns actually looked ready to believe her—until Whiskey Eyes shook his head
in obvious bafflement. “Why weren’t we notified about any of this?”

“Because Adler’s that dangerous!” She threw up her hands. “It makes the most sense,
I guess. I’ve been down here, at a place in Marble Falls, helping out my—errrr—a couple
of friends—at least I thought so, until—”

Hole. Deeper. Damn it.
Damn it
.

But sometimes, as any performer knew, committing to the mistake was better than struggling
through a cover-up.

“Okay, so they’re Special Forces, but have been working off-grid, because Adler and
Royce are monitoring everyone—I mean
everyone
, you guys included. Alerting you all would’ve instantly alerted them, as well.”

“Them? You mean Royce.”

“And Adler.”

“Right.” Clearly, neither of them bought her account by even a penny. “Adler.”

Commit to it.
“I begged to be allowed to help. Zoe’s my best friend, and Adler has this kinky thing
for redheads—”

“Of course he does.”

“But nothing was happening,” She pushed on. “For
three days,
we monitored and monitored, and now—well—Zoe is still in danger, and—”

“Whoa.” The contrast of No-Nonsense’s calm hands, countering her wild-waving ones,
wasn’t lost on her. She’d committed, all right—and look where it had gotten her. “Okay,
whoa now, sugar. Back it up and chill it out.”

Wise words. And yet, no. All the logic that had made sense in her head, just half
a minute ago, was lost on them. She’d wasted the time for nothing. Brynn bit back
a sob as desperation bit in with freshly sharpened teeth.

“‘Chill it out’?” It was a snarl and she didn’t care. “Respectfully speaking, that’s
all I’ve been doing for four damn days now. Officer, I’m really done with ‘chilling
it out’. And I’m really done with all of this, too. So unless you’re going to ticket
me—”

“Ticket you?” Whiskey Eyes let his partner join in his soft laugh before concluding,
“Miss Monet, we’re wondering whether or not to
arrest
you.”

She flashed a glare between the two of them. Their stares were as steady as Tibetan
yogis. “Arrest me? What the hell for?”

“Stolen vehicle.”

The response had her gawking at them again in confusion—

Because neither of them had issued it.

The drums in her chest froze to silence—as her ears connected to her brain, finally
registering who had. That voice…resonating with the dark command that had teased at
her memories and haunted her blood for four days, since its seduction had first mingled
with a Piper plane’s engines and forever changed how she thought of the words
mile high
…

That voice.

Impossible
.

But she pivoted her head to find her sights sucked toward the towering, glowering
pirate of a man, suddenly manifested from thin air, about ten feet away. What other
explanation could there be for how he was suddenly
here,
long legs braced, inked arms folded, cobalt eyes drilling into her? And oh yeah…there
was the whole turning her blood to lava thing, too. As if she needed any more proof
that this hallucination was actually real.

“How—” She stopped herself. For some reason, time still felt of the essence, and wasting
it on worthless questions wasn’t an option. She had to focus on the subject at hand.
What the
hell
had he just said? “Stolen vehicle?” She fired it back as an accusation of her own.
“Excuse me? In what universe does this qualify—”

“In the universe that your name is listed nowhere on the rental agreements in that
car,
cher
.” A breeze kicked up, smelling weirdly of magnolia blossoms crossed with french fries,
lifting his glossy black waves off his proud forehead. “And the one in which my wallet
is still in the glove compartment, which adds to your list of stolen goods. On top
of that, these fine men can probably run one of their fancy checks on that speedometer,
to discover you were likely in breach of the state’s posted highway speed limits on
your way down here.” He scooted a finger up, tapping it thoughtfully at his lips.
“Hold on. I’m sure I’ve missed a few.”

“Probably.” Dimples the clown cop hooked thumbs into his front belt loops. “That list
doesn’t sound nearly as complete as it should.”

Rebel smiled at the guy. “
Beaucoup
kind of you to offer, Jake—but I couldn’t impose any further.”

The whiskey in Jake’s eyes caught some light. “You’re starting to piss me off, Stafford.
For the hundredth time, escorting you and Lange into town was a privilege, not an
imposition.”

Brynna barely kept her jaw from hitting the pavement. Well, that explained Reb’s “teleportation”
trick. He and Rhett had been “escorted” into Austin by the Highway Patrol, likely
with lights blazing, sirens blaring, and pedals to the proverbial metal. It did nothing
to explain Rhett’s absence now but she had bigger—
much
bigger—fish to worry about skinning.

Skinning quite a few creatures around here was suddenly a damn nice idea.

“As I recall, somebody insisted on using the SUV for a frozen yogurt run last night,”
she retaliated. “So whose fault is it that said person’s wallet is still in the damn
car?”

Jake swiveled back around, re-arching a tawny brow. “Our concern isn’t about last
night, Miss Monet—only what was reported about the car today. According to Sergeants
Stafford and Lange, this SUV disappeared from the driveway of the ranch where they’re
enjoying a well-deserved spring vacation with a sweet little lady friend.”

She swung a venomous glance at Rebel. “Oh, I’ll show them ‘sweet’.”

“It was their opinion that the perpetrator of this crime was headed this way, apparently
to cause some havoc at Nyles Royce’s building.” Gone was the ribbing he’d shared with
Rebel. He gazed at her with all the earnestness of a male lead in a Zeferelli film.
“With all due respect, Miss Monet, everything you’ve just stated—”

“Walked me right into that trap.” Brynn seethed through her locked teeth. “Didn’t
it?”

Jake and his partner, who went by
H. Osten
according to the name badge he finally turned her way, shared a weighted glance.
“Traps aren’t always what they seem,” Osten finally stated. “Depends on how you look
at them.”

The man clearly spoke from the standpoint of been-there-done-that—which would have
intrigued the hell out of her under normal circumstances. But nothing about her life
had been normal since taking Rebel Stafford’s hand and climbing into a Piper airplane
four days ago.

Where was he going to take her this time?

And where the hell was Rhett?

And why did the possibilities of both answers make her shiver with anticipation as
much as rage?

“Is that so, Officer Osten?” She made the mistake of emphasizing that by glancing
back at the infuriating pirate. Reb was ready for her glare, rocking back on his heels,
muscles pushing in all the right places at his jeans and T-shirt.
Damn it
. If he had to be so smug, couldn’t he be less stunning about it? “How I look at it,
hmmm? And let me take a wild-ass guess about who’s holding my rose-colored glasses.”

Osten held up both hands. “Nobody’s holding the reins but you, little lady. Choice
is totally yours.”

She snorted. “And that choice would be…?”

“Fairly simple.” Rebel flashed a smirk that made her yearn to slap him and climb him
at once. “Turn over the car keys—and yourself—right now to the guy who
is
listed on the rental agreement.”

He braced to both legs now, his stance matching the strength of his jaw and the audacity
of his eyes. Brynna pivoted, feeling like a dorky David up against a bold, breathtaking
Goliath. She cocked her head, openly accusing. “Oh, is that all?”