Intuition

“You disappoint me, psychic lady.” He reached forward and touched the tip of his finger to her cheekbone. “I thought you’d call it fate.”

She held her breath as the rough pad of his finger brushed her skin. If he was trying to seduce her just like he’d done with all those silly girls in high school, he hadn’t lost his touch. Not one bit.

He held up his finger. “You had a black speck on your face.”

She wiped her hand across the spot, still tingling from his caress…touch…poke. “Probably a flake of mascara. It’s been a long day.”

The elevator jostled and then settled on the third floor. As he pinned the door open and gestured her through, he said, “Do you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning and go over a game plan?”

“You’re serious about working together?”

“Deadly.”

“All right.” Her steps slowed as she reached her hotel room. “I’m in three-twenty-six.”

“How about that?” He slid his card key out of his back pocket and flicked it. “I’m in three-thirty-six. Fate strikes again.”

She slid her key home and turned her head toward him, her shoulder wedging against the door. “See you tomorrow in the hotel restaurant at nine?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks again for rescuing me at Columbella. What brought you there anyway?”

“Research.” He called over his shoulder as he ambled five doors down.

Kylie slipped into the darkened hotel room and pressed her back against the door. What was she doing? Mrs. Harris had sent her to Coral Cove to do a job, and she’d planned to combine that job with a little investigation of her own into Mom’s suicide.

Now here comes Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick and all she can think about is what he’s packing in those tight jeans.

She groaned and pushed off the door, flicking on the light. She blinked. Her gaze darted from her gaping suitcase in the corner to her clothes strewn across the room.

With her heart pounding, she tiptoed into the room and poked her head around the bathroom door. She sagged against the doorjamb like she’d been punched in the gut.

Written on the bathroom mirror in her own red lipstick were the words: Your Next Bitch.

Chapter Four

As Matt dropped onto the hotel bed and crossed one leg over his knee to pull off his motorcycle boot, someone pounded on his door. He reached for his Glock tucked into the gun bag around his waist, his muscles tensing.

“Matt? Are you in there?”

He zipped up the bag and smiled. Had Kylie picked up on his hints and decided to join forces in more ways than one?

Thump. Thump.

“Matt! I need your help.”

That didn’t sound like a prelude to a seduction. He launched from the bed and yanked open the hotel door.

“Oh, thank God. You’re still here?”

Still here? Where would he go?

He took in her pale face and wide eyes, and his pulse ticked up a few notches. “What’s wrong?”

“Come on. My room.” She grabbed his arm and tugged.

Any other time, he’d be looking forward to a woman dragging him to her hotel room, especially this woman, but Kylie needed his help, not his…

“Hang on.” Pulling away from her, he retreated into the room a few steps. He swept his key card from the credenza and shoved it into his back pocket.

“What’s going on?” He followed her down the hall and waited while she tried to shove her card into the slot three times with shaking hands.

He covered her hand with his and plucked the card from her stiff fingers. He inserted it in the door and blocked her entrance. “What am I looking for?”

“It’s on the bathroom mirror. A warning.”

He unzipped his gun bag again and squared his shoulders as he walked into her room. The warmth of Kylie’s body pressed against his back, and if he turned suddenly she’d land right in his arms. Not that he wanted fear to drive her there.

She’d left the bathroom light on, and he charged into the small space. He read the words on the mirror with a tight jaw.

“Wh-what do you think?”

He braced his hands on the vanity and hunched forward. The sweet, cosmetic smell of the lipstick tickled his nose. Must’ve happened recently for the smell of the lipstick to be lingering.

“I think this idiot couldn’t have been in Mrs. Wilson’s English class if he uses your for you are.”

A soft sigh escaped Kylie’s lips and her upright posture slumped a little. “You don’t think it’s serious?”

Matt didn’t like the idea of some jerk sneaking into Kylie’s room and scrawling juvenile messages on her bathroom mirror, but it didn’t seem too serious. Not yet.

“Someone was able to get into your hotel room, so don’t take that lightly.” He smudged the lipstick with the tip of his finger. “Is this your lipstick? And if so, where’s the tube?”

“That’s definitely my lipstick.” She sidled up next to him in front of the mirror, bumping him with her hip, and grabbed a small leopard-print bag from the glass shelf above the toilet. She unzipped the bag and pawed through the contents. “And someone stole it after they used it for a marker.”

“The mayor was in the hotel, and he didn’t seem too happy about your investigation into Bree’s disappearance.”

She shook her head and her long hair brushed his arm. “I can’t picture Tyler Davis slinking around hotel rooms.”

He shrugged. “You never know. You need to report this to the hotel, anyway. Someone broke into your room.”

“And stole a lipstick.”

“And wrote a threatening, if illiterate, note on your mirror.”

Kylie’s forehead creased and Matt bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to worry her—it probably was that joke of a mayor trying to scare her off.

She gasped and covered her mouth. “He rifled through my bags, too.”