Avenging Angel

“No,” he admitted.

“Anyway, why am I explaining myself to you? You’re the bad guy, here.”

“You need a passport,” he said.

“I have one.”

He looked around the cabin and said, “Where?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s in your car, right?”

“I repeat, it’s none of your business.”

“You know, most women wouldn’t sit around in a skimpy robe talking to a virtual stranger, either.”

“You look harmless to me,” she said.

“Ouch.”

“Except for the gun you carry in back under the vest.”

“I hardly ever shoot beautiful women,” he said, smiling.

“That’s reassuring.”

He stepped forward and extended a hand, which she took. He pulled her to her feet and then against his chest. She came without resistance. Wiping a wet strand of hair away from her soft cheek, he lowered his voice and said, “I don’t know what you’re up to, Elle Medina, but you’re up to something. I’m going to be watching you.”

She didn’t even blink. Part of him wanted to rattle her. Was she always this controlled?

“So you’re not going to tell Alazandro I’m unsuitable for the job?” she said.

The woman was a one-note song. He had a feeling he could light the curtains on fire and she’d ask about Alazandro and a job while the place burned to the ground around her.

Why?

Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Hell, no, I’m not going to tell him that. From what I’ve seen, you and he are perfect for one another. If the security boys say you’re okay, you’re in.” And with that, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth.

What had he expected? A slap, a shove, an oath?

She kissed him back, in force, her lips as soft and luscious as he’d known they’d be, her terry-wrapped body a perfect fit against his, her hands gripping his arms, the cleanly washed scent of her enveloping him like perfume.

He told himself he was winning her over to his camp in order to use her. As the kiss grew longer and he felt his soul slipping away, he reminded himself that wars create causalities.

She pushed him away at last, looking a little less composed than she had a few moments earlier.

“I should smack you for that,” she said, brown eyes stormy.

“But you won’t,” he said and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, swaggered out of her cabin like an actor in a B-grade movie.

Chapter Three

After her last lesson, Elle helped Mike groom and bed down the horses. She’d miss Mike, she realized, and she’d miss the horses. As careful as she’d been to avoid putting down any roots while biding time at Tahoe Stables, roots had grown all on their own. She’d even miss Peg.

Elle finished wiping down Majordomo’s back, the bay gelding dancing around even more than usual. Maybe he sensed her mood. More spirited than Corky, he made a more interesting mount for an able rider. He looked at her over his shoulder and she patted his white blaze, crooning to him a little. Then she unhooked his lead from the post and led him to his stall.

“I want you to have my car,” she told Mike as she unhooked the lead from Majordomo’s halter and closed the stall door. “I have to use it tonight but, after that, it’s all yours.”

Mike looked up from pouring oats into Corky’s feed bag. “Your car? I can’t—”

“Sure you can,” she said. “It leaks oil like a sieve and needs new tires. Half the time it won’t start. It’s not that big a deal.”

“But you’ll need it when you come back from Puerta Del Sol,” Mike said, replacing the lid on the barrel they used to store grain.

“How do you know about that?”

“The big blond guy told me. He was asking questions about you.” Mike cast her a grin and added, “Don’t worry, I told him I’d never seen you fall off a horse before today.”

She hung the lead from a nail as she said, “Thanks. Well, anyway, I’m not coming back.” Her voice sounded serene. She was a good actress.

For a second, it seemed she might never be herself again.

But that was stupid. The trouble was she was too much herself. She couldn’t seem to stop responding to things. To Peg’s disappointment in her, to news of the judge’s arrival, and lordy, lordy, to Pete.

He made her feel she was on fire inside.

First the verbal teasing, which she’d enjoyed, then that kiss. A man like that didn’t kiss a woman for the hell of it, he’d been prying into her life with that kiss and she’d let him.

And she’d enjoyed it.

She smiled to herself. The naked part hadn’t been planned, but it sure had caught his attention. She’d gotten out of the shower, heard a noise, grabbed the gun from the cabinet behind the sink and entered the room without hesitation. Along with her passport, she hid papers under a loose floorboard. Papers about her family’s murders, about the suspects, about Alazandro.

The expression on his handsome face when he turned around had been priceless. And admit it, she’d enjoyed the sensations his strong body pressed against hers had aroused. His lips, the flicker of his tongue.

The flames leaped.

She reminded herself of her goal: get close to Alazandro. And then she added a new goal: keep away from Pete.

“That’s a cool job,” Mike mused. “You must be real excited about it.”

She nodded and smiled. She was kind of excited, which was dumb. She wasn’t going there to play with the horses and make a great stable. She was going to discover the truth about Víctor Alazandro and bring him to justice—dead or alive.

That sobering thought wiped the memory of Pete’s playful banter and kiss right out of her thoughts.

Mike grabbed the broom from against a wall and started sweeping the walkway. As he rambled on about his plans for the future, uncomplicated plans Elle envied, she decided she had to get Peg to understand that Mike deserved a chance. He and Peg would make a good team. Peg’s savvy, Mike’s personality. They could make a go of whatever remained after Alazandro got finished with them.

Wait, an additional goal: ruin Alazandro before he could ruin Peg.