2. Cole
CHAPTER TWO
Cole
I hated going undercover. Yet I was on my way to Hart County, Colorado, right now for one of those spy routines. All because my friends had begged me to drop everything and step in.
It had been a long day already. Two excruciating flights and a hell of a headache getting through the rental car line. I wanted a damn cigarette, but I only allowed myself one a day, and I was determined to delay that gratification as long as possible.
And would you look at that? Flashing lights and a big orange barrier blocking the road. Of course.
With no other choice, I joined the line of cars branching off onto the alternate route. About fifteen miles later, I spotted a couple of vehicles pulled off onto the shoulder up ahead. I slowed, taking in the situation and assessing if they needed help.
A woman stood beside the first vehicle. She had a flat tire. Very flat. Sitting on the rim. A guy had parked his Land Cruiser behind her, and he stood with his hands on his hips. She was in a defensive posture. I didn’t like what I read in their body language .
Something was up here.
It wasn’t my business. It really wasn’t. Didn’t I have enough on my plate? But I was already pulling off to the shoulder.
I had a slight hang-up about people in distress. Especially women in distress. It was a visceral reaction, something I couldn’t ignore. Even if it would’ve been smarter to.
But nobody had ever accused me of being a genius.
Pulling on my beanie, I got out of my car and approached, moving slowly out of caution and ignoring the twinge in my left leg. Too many hours crammed in a too-small airplane seat. As I neared, I picked up their voices over the noise of passing traffic.
“Don’t be stuck up, sweetheart. I took the trouble of stopping. Just let me help. If you’re worried about owing me, I’m sure we can work something out.”
My spine straightened. Was this guy for real?
The jerk was in his twenties, built like a cornfed football player. Expensive sneakers and leather coat. The woman was pretty. No, make that gorgeous. Model gorgeous. Long black hair tied up in a ponytail at the crown of her head. Large eyes with thick eyelashes I could see from a distance. She didn’t look frightened or flustered, but there was a wariness in her gaze. She crossed her arms, eyes bouncing over to me and back to the football player again.
I stopped about two yards away, undecided about how I should handle this. I preferred not to step in if I didn’t have to. Because things inevitably got messy. I wound up getting involved, and pretty soon I was in deep, committed to risking life and limb even though I always got burned in the end.
Hell. I gripped the bridge of my nose. Why did I seem to find myself in these situations?
You’ll be going undercover against Stillwater , my buddy Aiden Shelborne had said. We don’t have anyone who can do this but you . Come on, Lynx. You can’t say no .
When did I ever know how to say no?
I was a bounty hunter operating exclusively south of the United States border. But I didn’t track down fleeing sex offenders by wearing disguises or cooking up elaborate cover stories. Hell, no. My usual MO was to track the guy, march up to the dive bar or flea-ridden hotel he was skulking in, and make my presence known. The fugitive never had any doubt about who had arrived to ruin his Acapulco vacation.
Me . Cole Bailey, aka Lynx.
But Aiden was an Army brother and the founder of the Last Refuge Protectors, a group of men who—like myself—refused to stand by and watch innocent people get victimized by the scum of the world. And when I’d heard the mission was against Stillwater? There’d been no question.
I’d taken the first flight available, which connected through Houston, and then I’d flown on to Denver International. I’d chosen that airport because it was large, busy. Easier to go unnoticed in case anyone affiliated with Stillwater was watching.
The flight from Houston to Denver had been packed. I’d given up my aisle spot so a lady could sit with her ten-year-old daughter. Nobody else had been willing to volunteer. I had ended up in a middle seat in the back row. The loud talker at the window beside me had spilled his third Jack and Coke on my lap. Then he’d needed the bathroom and came back with white residue on his nostrils and a bad case of the sniffles.
When he’d asked to get up yet again, I’d glared without a word until he averted his eyes. He hadn’t asked again.
And now this. The detour, the menacing jerk bothering a woman by the side of the road. As if the universe enjoyed making my life as complicated as possible. A cosmic joke against Cole Bailey, the guy who’d been punished for just about every good deed, and yet kept coming back for more.
It’s how you wound up married , I reminded myself. And then out on your ass with divorce papers in your hand.
When was I going to learn?
The asshole football player took a few more steps toward the raven-haired woman. Reached out to grab her wrist. And that did it for me. The answer was never . I would never learn. I would keep on butting in and trying to help because my brain was wired that way.
Scowling, I started toward them.
I wasn’t fast enough. The moment he touched her, the woman lashed out. She spun, and the football player in the fancy sneakers—who was twice her size at least—flipped through the air and landed on his back with a thud in the dirty snow.
Holy cow. Hadn’t expected that.
I’d made it to them by then. Paused to look down at him. I probably had a look of shock on my face, but it was nothing to the stunned expression on his. It took him almost a full minute to get moving again.
“What the fuck .” The football player jumped up, brushing at his clothes angrily. “You stuck up little?—”
I grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back toward his SUV. “You’d be wise not to finish that sentence. Best be on your way. Unless you want her to come at you again.”
As for the woman I’d been intending to rescue, she walked back over to her car. She spared a single glance at me, giving me a hard glare in case I had any ideas of making the same mistake this guy had made.
The football player’s cheeks went even redder. Muttering, the guy stomped over to his vehicle. His wheels spun as he accelerated back onto the road, nearly hitting another car as he merged.
Good riddance.
I looked over at the woman. She was watching me with mild curiosity, along with that same wariness I’d seen earlier. And maybe a hint of smugness at the way she’d flipped him, which she richly deserved.
Wow. I was impressed.
I scratched my beard, which probably could’ve used a trim. “I pulled over because I thought you might need help with that guy. Clearly you didn’t.”
“Nope. But I appreciate the thought.” She nodded once, with finality, like she really wanted that to be the end of it. She went to her trunk and pulled out a jack. Her spare was already resting beside her bumper. “Have a good day,” she added. “Drive safe.”
I was dismissed. Yet I lingered another moment, unable to shift my eyes away from her.
Those had been some kinda moves. She had training, and not just basic self defense. Not like I thought all women were helpless. Far from it. But this one was something else. Probably got hit on and bothered all the time by overeager admirers, and she showed them who was boss.
So why wasn’t I back in my rental car and continuing on my way?
I gestured at the jack. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn. But since I’m here, I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t offer a hand with that. Out of politeness. Nothing else.”
Her smile was sharp. “I don’t need a man to do hard things for me.”
“Didn’t say you did. I was just?—”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She’d kept her tone even, but the message was clear. Step off.
“Fair enough,” I said .
It was cold, and I was jonesing for nicotine and grumpy as hell from the long day I’d had already. I turned and walked toward my vehicle. Along the way, I gave in and took out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter.
The first lungful of smoke hit me with an instant wave of calm. There it was. Just what I’d needed.
I could stand here and have a smoke. After all, it was a free country.
Yes, the woman was beautiful. Attraction buzzed low in my belly, and my gaze kept straying in her direction. The elegant lines of her profile, the hidden strength of her body beneath the puffy coat and dark jeans. But that wasn’t the reason I leaned against my car door instead of driving off.
What harm would it do if I stuck around until she’d finished changing her tire? I would know that nobody else would stop and bug her. Once she was on her way, I’d be on mine. Maybe in a slightly better mood before I got to Hart County.
So, I had some bad habits. If I hadn’t made that clear yet.
I’d picked up smoking during my first deployment. After joining the Rangers, I’d been nearing a pack a day. Helped me smooth out the bumps so I didn’t flinch at whatever came my way. My wife Shelley had hated it. Complained constantly that I stank whenever I was stateside.
Then I’d been wounded. Lost just about everything. The doctor had told me I should do my healing body a favor and quit poisoning it. But I hadn’t managed to cut back until Shelley ditched me. I winnowed down my habit to one a day sheerly out of spite. My ex didn’t want to be saddled with a one-legged husband? Fine. I would come back better than ever just to show her.
That had been five years ago. And I was still stuck on one a day.
My other bad habit? That one was obvious .
The pretty brunette kept glancing over at me. I managed to relocate my eyeballs on the forest across the road.
I couldn’t manage to say no to someone in distress. The worst feeling in the world was knowing a person had needed me, and that I’d failed.
The habit rarely brought me satisfaction. Sadly, even when a mission succeeded, endings were never happy like in movies. That had been the case in my Army days. Same now that I was a bounty hunter.
I’d much rather be hunting down bad guys and knocking heads together than trying to fix something that was broken. I could repair a sink drain or change a flat, but I was shit at fixing anything of significance. My heroics were more the destructive kind.
The pretty brunette was fiddling with the jack. She cursed under her breath.
Don’t look , I told myself. Do. Not.
Fuck me. I looked.
That same moment, there was a metallic-sounding snap. This time, she cursed nice and loud. Stood up. Bowed her head like she was praying for strength.
Then she turned and walked toward me, the long metal bar hanging from her hand.
I stayed very still as I leaned against my car door. Didn’t smile, but a resting frown came naturally to me anyway. I just took another drag.
She cleared her throat. “So. Uh. It appears my equipment has seen better days. The hook snapped off.”
“I noticed.”
“And I made that whole speech about not needing anything from you. Which makes me feel kind of stupid right about now.”
I exhaled in an almost-laugh, hooking a thumb toward my trunk. “You’re welcome to borrow whatever you need. ”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
I almost added that there was no shame in needing help. I’d needed plenty when I’d been in PT learning to walk again. But she seemed embarrassed already. I didn’t want to add to that.
And secretly, I felt a jolt of deeper satisfaction than I’d gotten from the nicotine.
She waited by the hood while I went to my trunk for the jack and tools. I’d checked the equipment before leaving the rental lot.
I returned to her. “Are you in a rental car? Sometimes the agencies try to save a few bucks by buying junk.”
“No, this is mine.” She waved sheepishly at the beat-up Subaru. “But my ex used to borrow my car a lot. Who knows what he was doing. I mean, I know some of it, but…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not sure why I just told you that.”
“Because you’re having a bad day?”
Her shoulders sagged. “It’s trending that way. That’s why I’m going to swallow my pride and ask for your help. You seem like a good guy, and four hands will work faster than two. I’d really like to get back on the road. I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Sure.” I had half my cigarette left, but I stubbed it beneath my boot heel.
Faster we could get this done, faster we’d both be on our way.
“No gloating? No I-told-you-sos?”
“I’m just not being an asshole. Is that all it takes to be considered a good guy? I don’t think my ex-wife would agree.”
The brunette laughed, a soft sound that burrowed into my chest, and when it ended, she was smiling. A pretty, grateful smile like that was another hit straight to my bloodstream. I was so predictable. It was embarrassing.
We worked together on putting the jack into place and lifting the car. “Thank you again for this,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t drive off.”
“Happy to help.”
Crouching beside her meant she was almost close enough to touch. She was younger than me, though I couldn’t tell how much. The skin at the nape of her neck looked soft, sloping gently into the collar of her coat. Her pale coloring had a hint of pink at the cheeks. Was that from the cold? Or some reaction to me? I didn’t flatter myself.
But yeah… She was something all right.
I almost asked for her name. In fact, I wanted to ask where she was from, where she was going. But I figured that was too friendly considering we were about to go our separate ways.
Still, I couldn’t resist leaning in just as we finished. She smelled sweet, like flowers dipped in honey.
“There you go,” I said. “Should be all set.”
We both stood, taking off our dirty gloves.
“Thanks for loaning me your equipment.”
I tapped my left thigh. “Well, I do know a thing or two about the benefits of good equipment.”
In an instant, her pretty smile went hard. Then vanished altogether. Her eyes flashed down my body, then back up again, narrowing.
“Good equipment, huh?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Let me guess. You really know how to use it? Was that going to be your next line?”
I replayed what I’d just said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Sure you didn’t. That’s why you were gesturing at your crotch. Very subtle. ”
“Hold on, I wasn’t—” I’d meant my prosthesis. But I didn’t owe her my life story. “You’ve got this wrong.”
“I doubt it. I noticed how you were checking me out.”
My jaw clenched. I’d definitely been checking her out. “Relax, you’re not my type,” I lied.
“You’re not even close to mine. I don’t go for assholes who pretend to be sweet.”
“I wasn’t pretending to be anything. Least of all sweet.”
“That’s good, because if you were, your act isn’t anywhere near convincing.”
“Then why are you still standing here? Your car is fixed. Nobody’s forcing you to stay and gripe at me.”
“You’re right.” She stalked to her car, got in, and drove away.
“Shit,” I muttered. How had that gone downhill so fast?
I looked forlornly at the other half of my cigarette on the ground, regretting that I’d crushed it.
No. Good. Deed.
Dammit.