Chapter One
She'd already signed the contract.
Backing out now would blow her reputation with the agency,
and besides, this mission would be a piece of cake. There
was no reason to drag her feet. She needed the money, she
was free at the moment and it'd be a routine run, nothing
more, nothing less. It'd be easier now than in the past.
Everything had changed.
Herself included.
She shook her head at that errant thought. True, she was
older now, wiser, more settled. But at the core, she was
the same - unacceptable to most, invaluable to others. Her
skills, an innate part of her, were still finely honed.
She knew what she could do, and damn it, she'd do it.
Hell, she'd missed doing it.
So why, when she pushed the door open and stared into the
dim, smoky room of the bar, was her heart so heavy in her
chest? It wasn't the depressing gray cloud that hung thick
in the air, not only from cigarettes, but from disgust and
ambivalence and antagonism. This was far from a happy
place, but then, she'd known it wouldn't be. By necessity,
it was an obscure hole in the Chicago slums where meetings
like this one, with people like her, could be handled with
discretion.
It was stupid to borrow trouble or dwell in indecision.
Doing so undermined her credibility, so instead, she'd
concentrate on getting this over with fast and easy, with
no complications.
She had everything planned out.
Flipping her bangs off her forehead, she strode into the
room, ready to get things started.
Several heads turned her way, scrutinizing her, making
note of her appearance. Calculating. For much of her life,
she'd gotten undue attention for one reason or another,
most of the reasons uncomplimentary. She'd long since
gotten used to the stares and the whispers. She ignored
them all and with luck, they'd show her the same courtesy.
Peering through the obscuring smoke, she scanned the
tables and booths, searching out each darkened corner.
Country music blasted through tinny speakers, vying with
the boasting and bragging of drunken men. It was the
typical atmosphere of a seedy bar. Without thinking, she
rubbed her stomach, sick with a rush of vivid memories
that never failed to surface.
Then her gaze locked onto his. Wow. The past faded away
under the impact of the present - his impact. She felt ...
invaded.
Bright hazel eyes, radiant in the otherwise dismal
interior, held her captive. She stared at him; he stared
back.
Never before had she seen such intense emotion in a man's
expression. For a moment, it knocked her off guard.
Without moving, he appeared turbulent, frustrated, filled
with determination and impatience.
Because of his situation, or because she'd arrived late?
She watched him a moment more, taking his measure. He was
bigger than most of the men she knew or had worked with.
And he had a more self-assured air. That he'd be trouble
she didn't doubt - he pretty much screamed it with a
capital T. But how much trouble, that's what she needed to
know.
Lounged back in his chair, he allowed her perusal, and
even took the time to look her over, too. But then,
amazingly enough, he dismissed her by giving his attention
back to the entrance of the bar.
Cynical amusement nudged away the lingering nervousness.
He hadn't realized her identity? She wasn't what he'd been
expecting? Typical. And for a second there, she'd thought
he might be more astute than the others.
Anticipating his reaction when she introduced herself, she
started toward him. He sat in a solitary table at the far
end of the room, his back to the wall so he could face the
bar, a rear exit to his right. It was a guarded position
she would have chosen, but probably just coincidence for
him.
She wove her way around tables, drunks and proffered
drinks without once taking her eyes off him.
As was her usual habit at such meetings, she'd dressed in
plain black clothes. It made it easier to disappear if
necessary, and didn't draw added attention that more
complimentary clothes might have.
Her long sleeved tunic hung to mid thigh, loosely fitted
so it wouldn't impede her movements should she need to
take physical control of the surroundings. Her jeans were
slim, her low-heeled boots only ankle high. She never wore
jewelry - in fact, she didn't own any to wear - but she
did carry a black briefcase. The case was an annoyance,
but it usually proved necessary to have it handy.
When she stopped in front of him, his gaze came to her
face, arrested for only a moment. Then slowly, very
slowly, he looked her over again, his attention lingering
in certain places like her chest, below her waist, her
thighs. His look was so intimate, so personal that it
brought on a mรฉlange of sensations - outrage, disgust and
strangely enough, heat. Surely not embarrassment, she told
herself. She was too old and far too jaded to be
disconcerted by the likes of him.
His visual inspection was appreciative and felt like a
tactile touch. Damn it, she didn't like being touched, not
without permission.
Her eyes narrowed, prompting him to a softly uttered,
reluctant rejection. "Sorry, honey. It's unfortunate, but
I'm already busy tonight."
The nerve. Despite her exceptional control, antagonism
bristled to the surface. Her every movement rigid, Ray
hooked a chair and drew it out. She seated herself,
placing the briefcase at her feet for safekeeping.
He cocked one dark brow upward and braced his forearms on
the rough, scarred table. The new position emphasized the
width of his shoulders, the brawn of his arms. She'd
expected another wimpy, slim GQ look-alike, but this man
could be a barroom bouncer. He wasn't bulky, just big and
hard and solid.
Added to the fine physique were the eyes of a predator,
now filled with annoyance. He leaned toward her with a
scowl.
"I'm Ray Vereker," she drawled, stopping him in his
tracks. She didn't say anything more, didn't offer her
hand in polite greeting. She just waited for the usual
signs of disbelief and disparagement.
They were slow in coming.
Rather than gape, he leaned back and studied her anew. If
she'd thought his earlier perusal was intimate, it was
nothing compared to how he looked at her now. For a lesser
person, for someone without her skills and background, it
might have been an unnerving process. His eyes were such
an unusual shade of hazel, cat eyes, bright with
intelligence, almost menacing. They went from heated
notice to cool regard.
Deciding to mock his up-close and personal inspection with
one of her own, Ray draped one elbow over the back of the
chair and slouched down in the seat to get comfortable.
Wearing an air of unconcern, she took in his appearance
from his dark brown hair cut in precise lines to his
straight, masculine nose and high cheekbones to his mouth,
now flattened with irritation at her boldness. He had a
stubborn jaw, she noted, proving he'd be plenty of
trouble, indeed.
The black Tee he wore looked softer than heaven, fitted
over that broad chest. Even his open jacket screamed
wealth, made of fine leather and deliberately scuffed to
appear fashionably worn. The watch on his thick wrist
probably cost as much as her truck. Maybe more. And his
nails were impeccably clean.
Thanks to the table, she couldn't see below his waist, but
she'd be willing to bet the rest of him was as sturdy and
strong as what she could see. Maybe it was a good thing
half of him was hidden. Half was about all she could take
at one time. The man made her heart race.
Though she doubted he'd ever been in such a ramshackle bar
in his life, he didn't look the least bit ill at ease.
Even her presence, which had to be a shocker, hadn't
really rattled him.
To be honest with herself, she admitted he was very fine
to look at. She appreciated strength and self control.
From what she could tell, he had both in spades.
Not that it mattered. He was still rich, and given what
she'd seen so far, too arrogant for his own good. What
fool came into such a place and advertised himself as an
easy mark? By wearing the watch and the jacket, he'd done
exactly that.
He was a fool, all right. And for the next few days, she
owed him her service.
As the silence stretched on, Ray sighed and crossed her
legs. She knew his tactic. He hoped to remain silent so
long that she'd begin to babble nervously. He
underestimated her. He could sit in strained silence as
long as he wanted. Time was money, his money, and she
didn't mind wasting it if he didn't.
He looked at her mouth, rubbed his own, then pinned her in
place with a laser sharp gaze. In a flat tone devoid of
any telltale emotion, he said, "I requested the meanest
son-of-a-bitch they had."
She gave a slow smile. "I know what you requested. I have
your papers with me."
"And?"
She lifted one shoulder, held up her hands to indicate her
presence. "They complied."
Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering
under his breath. Ray noticed that his hands were large,
sprinkled with brown hair. They looked like capable hands,
not the pampered, smooth hands of a rich boy.
Catching herself, she jerked her attention back to his
face. He scrutinized her, then asked with some
disbelief, "Do you have any idea what it is I want from
you?"
"Sure."
With a touch of disbelief, his gaze slid all over her
again, appraising, before both brows lifted. Ray never
moved a muscle. He could look a dozen times if it made him
feel better. She wouldn't be changing.
"I assumed 'Ray' would be a man."
"Assumptions are nasty things. They can get you into
trouble."
He waved that away. "What's your real name?"
"Ray is my real name."
"Your whole name then."
"Why does it matter?"
Ray could feel his growing tension deep inside herself. It
was an odd sensation, one she'd never experienced before.
She half expected an explosion at any minute and braced
for it, making herself tense too.
"I'm wondering," he said slowly, his unnerving attention
on her mouth again, "if there's some feminine nuance I'm
missing."
She smirked. "In me, or my name?"
His gaze snapped back to hers and he barked a
laugh. "Honey, despite the hard attitude, your appearance
is most definitely unmanly."
He said that with ... interest? No, no way. She was lousy
at judging men and their various moods in regards to the
whole man/woman thing, but she understood reality very
well, thank you. No man in his right mind would be
thinking of anything but the mission. Not with her. Not
now.
And most definitely not after the mission ended, when her
special skills had been revealed.
During her ruminations, the silence grew and finally,
because she had no reason not to, she said, "Ray Jean
Vereker. But I go by Ray and only Ray. You're given fair
warning right now not to use my middle name, ever."
Oddly enough, her warning evoked amusement. Oh, he didn't
laugh, didn't even smile. But she saw the mischievous
twinkle that entered those mysterious eyes. "Yeah? Or
what?"
Done with the small talk, with the nonsense, Ray said, "Or
I'll walk out and you'll be left to settle for the second
meanest son-of-a-bitch there is."
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