Headstrong Page 2

  “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to pay the hospital bill. Just give me a lift in your perv-mobile, Romeo.”

  “It wasn’t like that—”

  “You can explain on the way.” She began sweeping sand over the bonfire with her foot. “You know how to kick, right? Help me.”

  Unsure of what else to do, Reece complied, and they extinguished the fire. He wondered if he could run off under the cover of darkness and be done with all this.

  He heard Libby rooting through her bag. A flashlight switched on and illuminated her face as though she were about to tell a ghost story. “Where’s your car?”

  She aimed the beam at Reece, and he didn’t give her the satisfaction of shading his eyes. He yanked a thumb toward the road, and Libby grabbed a pair of sneakers and her stereo, seeming content to leave everything else.

  “Why are you bringing that?” Reece asked, pointing at the boom box.

  She tossed her hair. “It’s valuable.”

  “It’s a tape deck.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one of these that still works?” She brushed past, handing him the flashlight. “Hold this.”

  Reece held the beam on her hands as she sat on a rock, lacing her shoes with some effort. He tried to ignore her crooked finger, guilt and panic twisting his stomach and dampening his impulse to run.

  They walked half a kilometer in silence to where Reece had parked. Libby Prentiss seemed exceedingly confident for a woman venturing into the darkness of a quiet road with a man she’d just caught spying on her. She stood at his side as he unlocked the passenger door, and he was shocked by how close they were in height.

  “This is quite the shaggin’ wagon, loverboy,” Libby said as she slid inside. “What is it? Like an ’86 Escort?”

  Reece felt a fresh flash of irritation and slammed her door. He climbed in to the driver’s side and started the car. “It’s an ’89 Laser.”

  Libby closed one eye, trained her good index finger at him and made a zapping noise. The odd thing was that Reece could tell that she wasn’t drunk, though she was unmistakably strange. Fearless to a fault and more than a bit flirtatious. He could see now why she needed looking after.

  Libby pushed the seat back for more legroom. “Must be hard to keep a white stallion like this clean,” she said conversationally, tapping a knuckle on the window.

  Reece clicked on the lights and eased them onto the road. “It’s got one red door,” he said, at a loss for what else to offer.

  “Classy.”

  “You’ll have to take your criticisms up with my father, if it bothers you so much.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” he mumbled. The speed with which she’d managed to draw him into chitchat was unnerving.

  Libby craned her head toward the backseat. Not much to see—Reece’s gym bag plus the binoculars and a camera, and now her stereo and flashlight. Thankfully Reece had left his notes on Libby herself back at his flat. He glanced at his passenger after a couple of silent blocks. She was examining her crooked finger with interest and no apparent discomfort.

  “Buckle up.”

  She made the sort of noise that accompanies an eye-roll, but Reece heard her fumble, followed by a click.

  “Ten minutes ago you called me a psycho, and now you’re forcing your way into my car in the middle of nowhere,” he said.

  She sighed, sounding bored. “You don’t scare me, loverboy. Can we have some music?”

  “Car’s only got a dodgy cassette deck. And the radio’s busted.” The second part was a lie, but Reece didn’t feel like music just now.

  “Perfect.” Libby unbuckled herself and twisted her long body back between the seats. Reece heard her eject a tape. She squinted in the dashboard light to check the side before sliding it into the console. Queen came back on—“I Want to Break Free”.

  They drove without speaking though the track, Libby nodding her head, and when it finished the tape flipped to the next side. “We Will Rock You.” After half a bar, Freddie Mercury’s voice transformed into a long, stretched-out-sounding warble, cut off by an alarming shuffling noise as the deck began eating the tape.

  “Crikey.” Reece jabbed the eject button.

  Libby pulled out the cassette, streamers of tape still caught in the dash. “Oh, gorgeous.”

  “I told you it was dodgy.”

  “You really owe me, now. A broken finger and you’ve wrecked my album.” She tugged gently on the strands.

  Reece frowned. “It’s a cassette. You can take the fifty cents you’ll need to replace it out of the ashtray.”

  “These are becoming rare, smart-ass. It’s all CD now.”

  “Actually, it’s digital—”

  She cut him off with a theatrical sigh. “This is so not cool.”

  “I’ll fix it.” How had she managed to make him feel guilty about this?

  “You better,” she said. “How far to the hospital?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “Let’s play Twenty Questions then.”

  Reece felt his brows bunch in puzzlement. “No, let’s just be quiet.”

  “Animal, mineral or vegetable?”

  He didn’t reply. He trained his gaze on the road and blocked her out.

  Shit… He needed this money. Was it ruined? Or could he still pull it off? Libby had infused the car with the scent of the ocean. Distracting. Maybe if Reece could just keep from being spotted again…

  Libby toyed with the handle to the glove box, and Reece considered slapping her hand away. The last thing he needed was her finding out his name or address and reporting him. Luckily the latch was permanently jammed, and she gave up after a brief investigation, redirecting her prying attempts at Reece.

  “Well, I sincerely hope you enjoyed your free show, loverboy.”

  Reece didn’t rise to the bait.

  His passenger turned to stare at him. “Are you Australian?”

  This time he flinched. He was duty-bound to, nationalistically. “Not even remotely.”

  “Ooh, I hit a nerve. You have a weird accent for a Kiwi.”

  “I’ve been away for a while,” Reece muttered, hoping to put an end to the topic.

  Libby rolled down her window and propped an elbow up, resting her chin on her hand. The late-fall evening had grown cold, and the wind pushed her wet hair back. Reece glanced at her profile in the light of the passing streetlamps. What in the hell kind of scientist was this?

  That’s what her file had said. It had been sketchy at best, not the detailed spy’s dossier Reece had been naively expecting. It included her photo, the inaccurate one, and her age and general background, a rough idea of her temporary address in Wellington. He’d memorized it easily. His instructions were clear—watch her most days, take photos, report any untoward activities, follow her whenever possible. Watch what sorts of crowds she ran with. Thirty hours a week of surveillance. That was going to give Reece plenty of chances to get spotted again. She’d already caught him mere minutes into his first shift. How had he ever convinced himself he was qualified to do this? Well, two thousand US dollars a week was pretty convincing. He just needed to make it through, what? Twelve weeks, maybe? That might be enough to get things under control.

  But three months… Sitting next to Libby Prentiss now, it might as well be a lifetime.

  Reece turned them into the emergency department car park, grabbed Libby’s busted cassette from the dash and his jacket from the backseat. They strode through the automatic doors together, probably looking to the rest of the world like a rowing couple.

  Libby gave her companion a long, sideways glance as they entered the brightly lit waiting area.

  Damn, you are one sexy pervert.

  She hadn’t gotten a proper look at him on the beach. Firelight made everyone look better than normal, and the dashboard glow had been equally useless for analysis. But even now, bathed in nasty florescent light and with a frown plastered on his face
, he was a stunner.

  Libby was tall, five-eleven in socks, which put him right around six feet. He wore a look of cool placidity that didn’t evidence the agitation she’d hoped to cause him. A couple of snappy comments on the drive were not the level of discomfort she’d been aiming for. Either he was a robot, or her charms were finally failing her. Or he was gay. Shame. But what would a gay guy be doing spying on her in her two-piece?

  Plus he wasn’t quite styled enough to fit that particular stereotype. He had short brown hair, stylishly messy, but she didn’t suspect he’d spent any time constructing that look. He also had the beginnings of what might soon blossom into a receding hairline.

  He met her stare, and his eyes were something else—pale gray like a rain cloud, ringed in darker gray. Steady. Icy. Wide open, even half-lidded. Libby wasn’t accustomed to studying a man this close up who wasn’t visibly frazzled.

  Her mystery man preceded her to the check-in desk and addressed the receptionist. “My…friend has a broken finger. And do you have a pencil I could borrow?”

  “How about a biro?”

  “No, I need a pencil,” he said.

  The receptionist handed Libby a clipboard. “Was it an accident?”

  His posture at her side tightened, and she gave him a cold glance.

  “Never fear, Lancelot,” she muttered, then turned to the receptionist. “It was an accident, yes.”

  She took the forms and a pen, and found a seat in the corner. She heard him say, “No, that won’t work. Do you have one of the old kind? With edges?”

  He joined her a minute later, leaving an empty seat between them. You’ll want a bigger buffer than that, Libby thought. She sighed. “It’s so hard to write without my index finger.”

  Her companion gave her no sign of acknowledgment—he had cold indifference down to a science. He drew Libby’s damaged cassette from his jeans’ pocket and smoothed the crumpled tape against his thigh. Sticking a faceted yellow pencil through the hole, he wound the black tangle onto its spool and handed it to her.

  Libby accepted it with a flirtatious smile. “Thanks, loverboy.”

  He stood. “Good luck with your finger. Sorry again, about…everything.”

  “Whoa, now—you don’t think you’re ditching me, do you?”

  He blinked. “I said I’d give you a ride. I said I’d fix your tape. I’d have paid if you needed me to. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

  “How will I get back?”

  “How did you get all your stuff out there in the first place?”

  “I got a ride from an acquaintance. I was going to camp out, but then some pervert showed up and busted my finger. It sort of sucked all the fun out of my evening.”

  He dug out his wallet and held out two twenties. “Here, take a taxi. Good luck.”

  She left him dangling. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with me until I’m fixed, and then you’re driving me back to where all my things are.”

  “No, I’m not.” He was calm. Unnervingly calm, not a jot of alarm or distress. Infuriating. And adorable.

  “You don’t honestly think forty bucks is enough?” Libby asked loudly, causing several people to crane their necks and stare, sizing up her companion with his proffered bills as some sordid breed of patron.

  Finally, he gave away some anxiety. “Jesus, keep it down.”

  “You’re staying. You owe me that much. You were spying on me in my scanties and you broke my frigging finger. You can’t just leave me here.”

  “Well, I am,” he said. “This whole night was a mistake. I’m sorry. I’ll get your stereo and then I’m leaving.”

  She sighed. “I really thought we shared something special tonight, lover.”

  He started to walk away and Libby hopped to her feet. “N-H-five-four-nine-four.”

  He turned. “Pardon me?”

  “That’s your plate number, Kojak. If you leave me I’ll call the cops and report you as a peeping Tom. And I’ll tell them you assaulted me. Which you did.”

  “Are you cracked?”

  Libby widened her eyes innocently. “A ride home’s not that much to ask.”

  He blinked a couple times. Goddamn, what a sexy face. Was it the perfect eyebrows? The stern but inviting mouth? Or was it simply the glaring lack of sexual interest she saw coming out of those clear, chilly eyes?

  “Fine.” He sat in dignified defeat, grabbing a cricket magazine off a nearby chair and giving it his full attention.

  I win. Libby smiled to herself. I always win.

  Reece glanced up as Libby reappeared in the waiting room, sauntering toward him. She smiled her wide, wicked smile and twitched her now cast-clad finger at him in a wave. He felt a pang of nausea and took a steadying breath.

  As she reached him, her eyebrow rose. “Didn’t run off, then?”

  “Where am I taking you?”

  “Back to the beach to get my stuff, then home. Not far.” She grinned in a way that made Reece fear she must live somewhere nearish the ninth circle of Hell.

  “Fine.”

  “Would you like to sign my cast?”

  He ignored her. The doors glided open and they stepped into the cool night air.

  His provocative passenger spent most of the drive staring out the window. Reece had had little else to do while Libby had been with the doctor aside from think, and even though he knew it wasn’t a hired spy’s modus operandi, he couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” he said quietly. Only as the words escaped did he feel the cold, sickening dread ooze into his stomach. What had her father said? That girl cannot be given the upper hand. Not under any circumstances.

  Libby turned to stare at him, a cat eyeing a bird on an open windowsill.

  “You’re not sorry, loverboy. But you will be.”

  Chapter Two

  The door to Paul Nolan’s Pub swung in at precisely ten o’clock. Colin folded and stowed his newspaper, and straightened up behind the taps as his older brother stepped inside. Waving to a couple of the regulars, Reece tossed his gym bag on the floor beside a stool. He took a seat, propping his elbows on the bar and burying his face in his hands.

  “What’ll it be, old-timer?”

  Reece glanced up, misery etched all over his normally unreadable face. “A half. No, a pint. Maybe a whiskey.”

  “Spying’s thirsty work then.” Colin poured him a lager. “How did you get on?”

  “It was singly the most I have ever buggered anything up in my entire life.”

  “That’s not saying much. You’ve never buggered anything up before.”

  Reece ignored the remark.

  “So, tell me about it.” Colin leaned on the bar. “Was she as hot as the photo? All wholesome pearls and twinsets?”

  “She was nothing like the photograph.”

  “Maybe you were spying on the wrong girl,” Colin offered.

  “No, it was her. But she’s insane.”

  “Ooh, definitely hot, then.”

  “No. And she caught me. In like, five minutes. I think I’ve fucked this up already.”

  “Bad luck. Sounded too good to be true, anyhow. Back to square one, eh? You can always sell your body. Can’t be worse punishment than it takes now. Oh, and incidentally, if you’re looking for hot American girls to spy on, I bumped into a stunner the other night on Ghuznee.”

  Reece wasn’t listening. “Do you reckon I should bother trying again? If I can manage to not be seen? I mean, she doesn’t know who I am or anything…although she’s seen the Laser.” Reece’s gaze drifted to Colin’s bike, propped inside the front door.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Reece took a long drink, looking hopeless.

  “Reecie, I have never seen you doubt yourself before. It’s deeply disturbing.”

  “It was a very weird night.” Reece swiveled his glass on its coaster. “Shit. The money is so good, though.”

  “Good if the cops don’t find out, you mean,
” Colin said. “A quick fix is one thing. Wrecking your big picture is another.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why not sleep on it? Maybe things will look a bit less pear-shaped in the morning.”

  Reece blew out a loaded breath. “I just spent three hours in the emergency department. They can’t possibly look any worse than they do right now.”

  “Crikey, you all right?” Colin looked his brother up and down, searching for an injury, aside from the obvious one to his ego.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Crikey,” Colin repeated.

  “You have no idea.”

  A long expanse of blue-gray ocean signaled the start of the punishing wind on Oriental Parade. Reece hated this stretch of his morning run, but the brutal gusts had little to do with it. He fixed his eyes on the sidewalk and the road, anywhere but the water. He passed the marina, its rows of boats making his stomach churn with the unmade decision weighing on him.

  A minute later the sounds of rhythmic scuffing began on the pavement behind him, then grew. Reece was a fast runner. Whoever it was would have to be sprinting to overtake him so suddenly. Footsteps reached and flanked him, and Reece looked to his side. His heart jolted.

  Libby Prentiss, matching him beat for beat in jeans and canvas sneakers. Thick silver bracelets jingled at her wrists, and a lidded paper cup splashed coffee over the tiny white cast on her index finger.

  Shit. She’d caught Reece twice in twelve hours, and he wasn’t even spying this time.

  He slowed. “What do you want?”

  “I know who you are.” Libby huffed with the effort of keeping his pace. Her long hair flapped behind her, the flag of an approaching pirate ship looking to pillage.

  Reece met her eyes. “I said I was sorry. I said I’d leave you alone. What do you want?”

  “Oh,” she said, scanning him from head to toe. “Plenty.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Me? Find you? Like you don’t know where I live,” Libby said. “Like I believe you practically running through my front yard is just an amazing coincidence.”