Vigilante Mine (29 page)

Ryan tipped his head to the side. He'd done all he could to ensure the fundraiser's security. But so many things could go wrong. "I'm not his only possible target."

"I didn't mean
—
Oh, just keep your date close." Her unpainted lips tilted up in one corner and she pivoted toward the jazz band with a crooked finger aimed at her bodyguard. "Eight minutes to camera time. I'll hit one last acoustic check, then do the honors for News 9."

News 9 was already clamoring for a view at the grand entrance, where first the press, then the guests, would descend the second-level staircase. Video cameras were pressed to the frosted glass windows, as if they could see through the translucent panels.

Ryan passed tables prepared with mirrored candle centerpieces and crisp, white linen, skirted the bubbling champagne fountain, and bent his head toward the table of honor where the wives of three recently fallen officers were settling in. A choice aroma of perfect steak and mouth-watering spices teased its way from the double doors of the attached kitchen. He checked in over his earpiece with the security team who'd be posing as wait staff. All clear. Ryan started up the stairs to join Lieutenant Dale. Every reporter and camera technician would have to pass the lieutenant's scrutiny, with an encoded security pass, before they'd be allowed entrance.

"Spiritwalker. Open this door or Cinderella's shoe collection gets it."

Ryan's foot paused on the next step.
You're still at Amanda's?
Romeo had been complaining about estrogen and beauty products for hours. Unfortunately for his tormented spirit guide, and Amanda's soon to be ex-shoes, the detective didn't have a doggie door.
Why didn't you slip out when she left with the driver?

"Her mother locked me in. She believes I'm a pet."
Distaste lay heavily on the last word.

Jay can swing by on the way here.
Ryan sighed as he reached the top of the stairs. He'd hoped for a reliable pair of ears. Now, not even Romeo would be able to help as the night got underway.

"You look distracted. Is there a problem?" Lieutenant Dale gripped his hand in a firm shake, a small cell phone pressing into Ryan's palm.

"No problem. Ground floor checks out and my crew is ready for action." Ryan slipped the device into his tux pants as he eyed the closed-circuit camera across from the door. "We're monitoring facial recognition from the security office. The zealot won't get in uninvited."

The lieutenant's lips thinned to a faint line. They were working blind. A serial killer could have made it onto the guest list, and they both knew it.

"Don't go pouncing on any of my team. I've got people I trust coming through that door as guests."

"Then they better have passes that check out."

Approval ghosted across Lieutenant Dale's cheekbones. He rubbed his palms over the slick front of his dress uniform. "I know she's supposed to be watching your back, but be alert, McLelas. He can't know she's involved and officially, she hates my guts. Unofficially, if I need her, I'll call on that line."

"She's safe with me." Ryan's breath came a little easier. If his flaky ears missed an alert, Amanda would provide a secondary point of contact. "I'll see that she gets it when you call. If."

"If," he agreed with a lift of one bushy eyebrow.

The lieutenant angled a look toward the stairs and with the other man's mouth obscured, Ryan's ears picked up a low rumbling sound that should have been speech, followed by an airy, feminine tone. He spun to see Lilah approaching the door. Ryan grit his teeth against a blistering curse. His eyes were still doing more listening than his ears.

Lilah smiled. "In that case, let's get this party started."

In the moments between her words and the flashbulb of the first camera, Ryan felt the impenetrable mask of seasoned geniality click into place behind his fake lenses. As people poured through the doorway and faces blended together in moments, he became the man both public and press expected
—
until a series of low whistles crept over his earpiece and he caught sight of the goddess waltzing through their security checkpoint.

Ryan's jaw went slack.

Strapless. Mouthwateringly tempting sapphire and crystal-accentuated cleavage. Ice blue and cream chiffon embracing and shaping a curvy waist, hips, and endless legs like a smooth waterfall, the artful wave cresting around her toes.

Cinderella? The woman was Aphrodite. Venus.

His.

"Thank you for sending the Mustang," said the only pair of lips he didn't need to watch to hear.

Deep raspberry and ripe for tasting.

Ryan closed the gap between their bodies as blue, uncertain eyes rimmed with a smoky hint of shadow met his, then flicked toward the excessive amount of cameras lining the stairs. The media. Amanda hadn't wanted to kiss him during their last public date, and if she still had reservations about an audience, he was in for a very long, very uncomfortable night. Maybe if he begged . . . A flash of color drew his eyes back to her ankles, the evening gown parting around her feet.

Candy blue, fuck-me heels.

Lust besieged his senses. "I hope you can dance in those," he said in a dark rasp that sounded more like Klepto than his natural voice. Not good.

"My eyes are up here."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

Amanda's lips twitched with amusement. She wrapped an elegant, lace-covered hand around his tux sleeve. "Are you stuck at the door, or do I get to keep you?"

"Yes." Ryan cleared his throat, wrestling for strictly-business thoughts over the tsunami of desire. "There are some people I'd like you to meet downstairs."

Ryan sucked in a breath of chocolate and caramel heaven as he led her to the first group of mingling socialites. Trying to focus on anything but the chiffon waves that lapped against the leg of his pants left him staring at her shoes. Perfect siblings to the reds she'd worn the night before, when she'd been wearing little else. Cameras or no cameras, killer or no killer, the only question left for the evening was how long he had before his restraint snapped.

"I know the
department is honored to have your support." A genuine smile won out over Amanda's helpless unease over the evening ahead as a charming elderly gentleman stooped over her hand with a kiss.

Beads of sweat had itched at the base of her spine for the past hour, an uncomfortable foreboding and warning sign she'd counted on back when she'd had a badge. A gun. A partner to back her up. A department she could trust. A mind that hadn't been blown by a talking dog and his unknown entity of a master. Dale was right to keep her on the outside. She wasn't sure how Romeo had helped her spot the sniper, but the experience didn't inspire much trust in her own senses. Everything was off-kilter. Her muscles and nervous system were edgy, her instincts unsettled instead of focused on protecting a cavalier businessman who acted like he'd never heard the word "danger".

Ryan's arm slipped around her waist, possessive, solid, reassuring as he tucked her against his side. "How is your greenhouse this winter, Val?" he asked.

Amanda's eyes tracked the balcony level over the older man's shoulder, hunting for possible threats as he answered, "Martha has roses." His hands went up in playful exasperation. "Don't ask me how she does it, but they're blooming brighter and bigger than ever this year."

"Your wife has a gift." Ryan leaned around Amanda with a low whisper. "Speaking of gifts, there may be something sweet by your place setting. I won't tell her if you don't."

The man let out a thunderous laugh and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "Dinners at McLelas Financial are always a treat. I knew when you took over for your father my tea would be in capable hands."

They were alone in a sea of people when Ryan pressed his clean-shaven jaw to one of her temples. He tipped his head down, the ends of his burnished copper ponytail curving in an almost proprietary fashion over her unscarred shoulder. "Mr. Roth shares my soft spot for the occasional sugar cube."

"Not to mention your weakness for tea."

He winked and pressed an index finger over his grin.

She smiled too, but inside, guilt writhed. Every one of Ryan's peers was a target, including the sugar cube man, with his tufted wisps of white hair glittering like silver under the ballroom chandeliers. Never had she felt so helpless in such a loaded situation. Each second ticked past with ever-present cameras, women looking to get their claws into her date's scrumptious backside, and the knowledge that somewhere nearby a serial killer was picking his next mark.

"Security is reporting all clear so far," he said, guiding her under an archway and out of eyeball range of the more populated half of the room. "I forgot to give you something."

"I hope it's a Taser," she said as he blocked her view of a nearby cameraman. "Mine didn't match the evening gown, and Dale won't let me near a gun."

He chuckled. "Dangerous woman."

Her gaze pounced on his lips, utterly captivated by the provocative slant of his mouth. Was he planning to kiss her? Here? Now? A frisson of distracting, tantalizing excitement skipped along her limbs, clenching her womb with a want, an anticipation, she couldn't afford. Too much was at stake to allow herself to be swept away by his charm, no matter how much her hormones clamored. "How am I supposed to keep watch if you're standing in the way?"

His palms slid up her arms. "Do you have any idea how much of a temptation you are?"

"Can't be too much. You already have a corner on the temptation market." She snapped her mouth shut around the unfiltered words as the look that had seared her since she entered the ballroom went from boiling to lava-hot.

"Glad we're on the same page." He drew the words out, leaning into her, his lips blazing across her cheek.

"It's just the tux."

"I'll have to thank my tailor. And while I'm at it, whoever sold you those shoes."

"Odd the news never mentioned a foot fetish." Her fingers worked their way under his jacket, needing to trace the bunching muscles of his abs. Under that formal attire hid taut, delicious skin with a spread of coarse, dark hair that scorched a path south.

"I'm afraid it's become more of an Amanda fetish," Ryan murmured.

South was a sizable erection suddenly cradled by her abs. Her lips parted on a silent gasp as memory recalled just how well he could command and conquer the desperate, wet place between her thighs. How far was his office from the ballroom? Too far. Any room with thick walls and no voyeurs would do. The wanton thoughts should have startled her back to detective mode, but she could only stand entranced as his fingers brushed a lock of hair over her ear. A tiny device snugged into place along her earlobe before he traced her cheekbone.

Disappointment speared her chest so hard she jerked in his arms. Heat spread to her face. He'd been sneaking her a link to his security team. Oh, his interest was real enough, but the byplay had been nothing more than a pitch for the cameras. A distraction, to keep the zealot from realizing she wasn't as off the bench as it seemed. Amanda bit hard on the inside of one cheek. She'd fallen for his lusty come-on hook, line, sinker, the whole damn boat.

"Tap once to activate the mic, again to turn it off." He brushed his thumb over her jaw. "Night's far from over and if we get separated, I want to be able to find you."

"Who's tracking? Zach?"

"No. They're keeping him for observation and an MRI."

"I bet he wasn't happy about missing tonight's festivities."

He flashed teeth. "He was a little surly when I left him behind."

"Those poor nurses."

His arms closed around her. Forget breathing room. Undeniable want burned in his gaze. "Shall we continue?"

"The meet and greet?"
Or the kissing?

"Making our way to the dance floor."

A battering-ram of regret jarred her lungs as he tucked her arm under his and artfully guided her around the cameraman. Amanda followed his lead into the fray, shoring up her defenses. If he could hold his own with media scrutiny 24-7, she could survive
—
literally and emotionally
—
one night in the limelight with the city's most notorious playboy. They crossed onto the decadent hardwood in front of the bandstand an hour later. Any other woman on his arm would have been sans lipstick long ago. He was acting, but he wasn't so deep into his usual role that he'd forgotten her stance on PDA.

Amanda wished he had. Ryan turned her in a graceful spin and she focused on the guest list before her thighs could clamp so tight she'd be unable to dance. They'd stopped to talk to everyone, and her instincts hadn't flagged on a single face. Instead, Ryan brought out genuine, warm reactions, almost without effort. Because he cared.

He tucked her close, spun her out, then drew her in again. "You have . . . a look."

Amanda jerked her gaze from his broad shoulders to his lips, then up further, to curious eyes with a hint of mischief. "Everyone likes you. You have a knack for knowing exactly what to say."

"Maybe my security team is giving me cue cards."

"I'm on the secure line, remember? Nothing but 'all clears'."