Chapter 10 #2
Too bad all he could do was think about Peyton.
The fact that he’d been parked across the street from her hotel for the last hour said a lot about his mental state, but that was territory to explore another day.
Leaving her hotel room the previous night had required every ounce of dignity in his body.
And then he’d lain awake wondering if the bandages had held up, if she needed anything—hell, he even feared she was still struggling with the chill that had settled deep into his bones.
Peyton’s welfare wasn’t the reason he was stalking her hotel, though.
Call him crazy, but he just didn’t believe that the spitting, fiery strawberry-blonde would simply pack up and head home with a job unfinished.
Not to mention that whoever had hired her would be pissed the job had fallen through.
So she’d either continue to pursue Moretti despite her promise, or her employer would insist she complete the job.
The question was, who wanted something of Moretti’s?
His investigations of the crooked politician over the last six weeks had told him a lot about Donatello Moretti.
He used recreational drugs, hired hookers, and kept his resources—corrupt cops—close to his pocket.
Men like Moretti had a lot of enemies. Finding out who’d hired Peyton and why could provide a break in his case, and Peyton held the answers he desperately needed.
He gulped down a mouthful of coffee and placed the empty cup in the cupholder. Where the hell was she? His phone buzzed in the seat beside him and he read the number: Brock.
He picked up the device and answered it. “Hey, man, how’re things?”
“Not bad. I heard things are interesting for you in the Keys right now.” Brock didn’t even try to hide the devilish tone in his singsong voice.
“Who’ve you been talking to?” Before he admitted anything, he needed to find out what exactly Brock thought he knew.
Rhett hung his wrist on the bottom of the steering wheel and watched as a young family exited the hotel. If Peyton didn’t come out soon, he’d have to stretch his legs, which could be dangerous—she might see him.
“Never mind that. I’m just glad you’re getting some spice in your life.”
Rhett guffawed. “You know nothing about the spice in my life, but I can assure you last night was free of it.” He hadn’t intended for dryness to seep into his words, yet there it was. “Cut the shit and tell me what Dani said.”
“Not much.” Some of the laughter left Brock’s voice. “Just that you bumped into Priss—Peyton Risk, I mean—while she was on a job.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Really, that’s it? I thought something sparked between you two.”
Rhett’s antennae sprang to life, and he sat forward. Wiping his hand over his mouth, he forced himself to pause before responding. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”
“Always,” he said, though confusion twined with the statement. “But I thought there was more to it for you. Dani said Peyton sounded kind of hung up—ow! Shit.”
Dani’s verbal assault on Brock hammered the earpiece.
“One sec,” Brock said. “Sorry, babe. How was I supposed to know it was a secret?”
“I told you in confidence, that’s how!”
Rhett rolled his eyes and focused his gaze on the hotel’s entrance again. Strawberry-blonde hair caught the sunlight, followed by the fluttery material of a pink dress. His heart lurched in his chest, and he tightened his hold on the steering wheel.
“Gotta go, Brock. Call you later.” He hung up, pocketed his phone, and watched as Peyton stormed out of the hotel, pausing only to glance left then right.
Red tinted her cheeks, and the skin beneath the blotches was pasty white.
Her wild eyes darted every which way before she rushed into the flow of pedestrians.
“Shit.” He got out of the car and waited for traffic to slow. Why was Peyton running? And why the hell did she look as if she’d just seen a ghost? A flash of movement caught his eye. Dark suit, bald head . . .
No.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he bolted into the street. A horn blared, and Rhett jumped out of the way of a taxi. A bus came to a screeching halt as he crossed the eastbound lane. Reaching the sidewalk, still running, he scanned the bobbing heads. No sign of Peyton or Beanie.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Taking a chance, he turned down an alleyway.
Garbage bags were piled high beside dumpsters, and the rancid scent of rotting food in the morning heat hit his face.
His T-shirt clung to his back, and the weapon at the waistband of his pants jostled against his tailbone.
The screech of sirens filled the air, raising his hackles. He picked up the pace.
Please, don’t let me miss them.
The end of the alley loomed before him, and he rounded the corner. A frantic body slammed into his chest. Strawberry-blonde hair whacked him in the eye, and Peyton’s sweet scent overpowered the odor of garbage. She let out a squeak and shoved at his chest.
“Peyton, it’s me!”
She stopped trying to escape and searched his face. Relief clouded her eyes. “He’s right behind me,” she said on a gasp.
Snagging her shoulders, he dragged her into the alley and pushed her back against the wall, pressing his body into hers. Then he pulled the gun from his back and held it at his side, ready to fire.
“Did he see which way you went?”
She wet her lips. Her breasts brushed his chest with their every rise and fall. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I think I lost him at the intersection. He’s been chasing me since I saw him on my floor.”
He snapped his attention to her face. “How’d you get away?”
“I ran. He got off the elevator as I was walking down the hall, so I took the stairs.”
“From the eighteenth floor?” His voice rose an octave.
Satisfaction touched her lips briefly. “I’m not a stranger to exercise, but I’ll admit it was intense. Beanie was struggling to keep up, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he stopped.” Her hand fluttered to his side and gripped his shirt.
“That’s why there’s sirens?” he asked, speaking over the now-piercing whine.
She nodded and chewed her plump bottom lip.
“He shot at me in the stairwell. He had a silencer, but it still made quite a bit of noise. By the time we reached the lobby people were scared. I screamed at them to run and left the hotel.” She shivered despite the climbing temperature, and he rubbed his free hand up and down her bare arm.
The satiny texture of her skin calmed his nerves.
Peeling himself away from her, he poked his head around the side of the brick building. People strolled down the sidewalk. Many had phones pressed to their ears or were looking at devices in their palms. No one disturbed the crowd.
Peyton’s body inched closer to his, and her hands loosely circled his midsection. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to touch her, to be close to her. Brock’s words drifted through his mind. I thought something sparked between you two.
A “spark” was a pathetic description of the electrical current that ran through his veins when she was near.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “The sirens probably scared him off. We should get out of here while we can.”
She nodded and pressed her cheek to his chest. The contact left him immobile.
He smoothed his hand over the top of her head and caught her neck in his grasp.
She’d been through so much in the last day.
He never should have left her alone. Staying the night in the same room as Peyton would have brought a whole new meaning to the word torture, but at least he would have been there when Beanie arrived.
He could have put a stop to this shit then and there.
“Rhett,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here, near my hotel?”
He closed his eyes for a beat. He couldn’t tell her he was spying on her, but he couldn’t lie either. When he didn’t answer, she tilted her head back and puckered her brow, but she didn’t pull away from his embrace.
He flashed her a half-smile because it was all he could muster. “You aren’t happy to see me?”
Her eyelids lowered. “You’re watching me, aren’t you?”
He caught a few locks of her hair in his grasp and toyed with the iridescent strands.
This close, he could see the dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
Her eyelashes were several shades darker than her hair, and the smooth arches of her eyebrows illustrated every ounce of her displeasure—or interest.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t trust me.”
Guilt pinched his gut. “It’s not that.”
“Then tell me, Rhett—why are you watching me?”
Rather than lie, he caught her elbow. “Let’s talk about it later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”
She made a face but let him escort her down the alley. He knew two things for certain: the conversation wasn’t over, and from here on out, he’d trust his instinct not to leave her.