White Heat

“This could be unpredictable,” he warned.

“They’re all unpredictable.”

“You’re sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m positive.”

“You didn’t seem so certain when you called me a few hours ago.”

“How would you know? You didn’t give me a chance to talk.”

“I’m giving you a chance now.”

“Someone’s got to do this. Might as well be me.”

She was right. Someone had to do it. He doubted Milt would change his mind, anyway. As she’d just said, Nate had already argued with him about it, to no avail.

Ultimately, this was Milt’s decision. And Rachel’s. Not his.

Taking a deep breath, he backed down her long drive. She’d chosen this line of work, applied of her own free will, knowing full well the dangers she’d encounter. And she’d proven herself effective.

While he made the turn onto the winding road that would take them to the highway, she dug through her purse. He had no idea what she was searching for until he smelled the distinctive scent of fingernail polish.

“Hey, that stuff stinks,” he complained.

She pulled off her sandal and hugged her left knee to her chest so she could paint her toenails. “I need to get into character. Rachel Mott is the kind of woman who likes her nails a delicate pink.”

“How do you know?” he countered. “That wasn’t in the dossier.”

“There wasn’t much in the dossier. So I figure the role is subject to interpretation. I’ve got to sell it, make it real.” She moved to the next toenail. “And the way I picture her is sort of sweet and naive and madly in love with her nice but none-too-bright husband.”

He shot her a dark look. Where was she going with this? “Did you say ‘none-too-bright’?” he grumbled, but it was really the “madly in love” part that disturbed him. He didn’t want to get anything started.

“It’s just a role.”

“I don’t mind playing dumb as long as you remember I’m the boss here. Milt’s sending me with you for a reason.”

“I think Milt is sending us together because there’s safety in numbers, not because he expects you to exert your authority while we’re there.”

“He doesn’t need to specify that because I’m already your boss.”

“And I’d never question that.” She gave him a saccharine smile to take the edge off her sarcasm, and he seemed to accept the statement at face value.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Back to that incomplete dossier.” She waved one hand rapidly over her toes. “What was Milt thinking, being so vague?”

“He said he didn’t have a lot of time. He thought we could finish strategizing today while we drove.”

“I’m glad to hear I’ll have some input, because we need to come up with ways to seem more like a real couple.”

What was she up to? He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, speculating on what it could be. “Such as…”

“I don’t know. Something that makes it appear as if we’ve been together for more than, say…a day.”

He decided to go along with her. “Like what? Like…getting my name tattooed on your neck?”

She didn’t argue as he’d expected; she frowned in contemplation. “Exactly. Only…not on my neck. That’s too…overboard. But maybe my arm.”

“No way! I was joking, and you know it. There’s no telling how long we’ll be there. A fake tattoo might wash off.”

“Which is why it would have to be a real one. Right here.” She indicated her deltoid. “Nathan’s woman.”

She was pushing his buttons. After the way she’d avoided him the past several months, it seemed out of character, but now that they’d been forced into this situation, he wondered if she was overcompensating. “That might be just the thing,” he said, refusing to take the bait.

“As long as it’s designed to be turned into something else when this is all over,” she murmured. “I’ve been meaning to get one, anyway—maybe a skull to impress the drug dealers I usually work with.”

His name—turned into a skull? The kiss of death. The image hit far too close to home. But, of course, she wouldn’t know that. “Tattoos take time to ink and to heal. And they hurt. Are you sure you want to go through all that pain just to put your manager’s name on your arm for one assignment?”

“I could use it afterward. The skull, I mean.”

“Right. You mentioned that.”

“Besides, they can’t hurt too badly if everyone’s getting them.”

He slung one arm over the steering wheel. “They hurt badly enough. Why put yourself through it?” And mar that soft skin, he added silently.

“Good point. Since you’re so tough, you should get the tattoo—my name on your arm.”

No way would he etch a woman’s name on his skin. The permanence of that scared the hell out of him and she knew it. That was partly what told him this was a setup. “Sorry, ain’t gonna happen.”

They reached the highway, and he accelerated as they headed toward Interstate 10, which would eventually take them through Riverside and into Arizona, almost all the way to Portal. “We don’t need tattoos.”

“It’ll take more than simply telling everyone we’re married to make them believe it.”

“You’ve got a ring, don’t you?”

“A ring only signifies that we once exchanged vows. It doesn’t mean we have a close relationship. So…you tell me. How do you want to play this? Do you want us to seem sort of…estranged? Regretful that we tied the knot? On the brink of divorce?” She poked the tiny brush inside the polish and changed feet. “I could win an Oscar I’d be so good at that performance.”

He’d hurt her six months ago, and now she didn’t like him. It bothered him, but it was better to have her not like him than like him too much. At least, that was how he felt most of the time. “That won’t work, not for this. We need to act as if we’re close.” Otherwise, he’d be less capable of protecting her.

“That’s what I thought you’d say. Or you would’ve gone in as my brother, like I wanted you to in the first place.”

So that was what all this was about. She was punishing him, or trying to spook him into changing the nature of their pretend relationship before they arrived in Phoenix and found themselves locked into the arrangement.

He would’ve been more than happy to accommodate her, but he wasn’t sure it’d be any easier to play brother and sister. There was too much sexual tension between them. They ignored it, of course. When he’d rejected her, he’d cut her pride so deeply she’d go without air before she’d ever admit to wanting him again. But since that night in January, the energy that flowed between them had only grown stronger. When they were at the office together, he was aware of every move she made, and he was afraid others were beginning to sense what they both so categorically denied. That kind of interest would hardly seem appropriate between siblings.

“We’ll have a close relationship, but no tattoos,” he reiterated.