Headstrong Page 3

  Ah, right.

  “And my finger is feeling much better, thanks for asking.”

  Reece ignored the provocation.

  “I know who you are,” she repeated. “Reece Nolan.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks, chest heaving under his sweat-soaked T-shirt. The harsh wind coming off the ocean stung his face, and he squinted. “How do you know that?”

  “You know who I am. Why shouldn’t I have the same advantage?” Libby held his gaze and licked the coffee off the back of her hand. Her hair whipped around, and the fact that their eyes were nearly level was disconcerting.

  “How did you—”

  “It’s not rocket science, loverboy. Your little Bruce Lee move. I googled ‘Wellington martial artist’ and your picture came up in like the first five entries. Lucky me. Reece Nolan, national tae kwon do champion and finalist for a multitude of years.” She waved her hand grandly as she rattled off his distinctions. “The internet still thinks you’re teaching in England, but your family’s from Kaiwharawhara.” Her pronunciation was impeccable.

  Reece locked his arms over his chest. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “How come you didn’t end up going to the Olympics, Mr. Nolan? You were slated to compete for New Zealand but withdrew for personal reasons a week before the second-to-last Summer Games started.”

  Reece ran a hand across his jaw, never breaking their eye contact, though he feared his discomfort was evident. The wind howled. “Level with me.”

  Her expression turned scheming. “I know what you’re doing. My dad’s hired you, hasn’t he?”

  Reece pushed a breath through his nose and glanced condemningly to one side.

  “I knew it! My goddamn father.” She gave him another savage, appraising look. “He’s really getting desperate.”

  Reece snapped his gaze back to hers, irritated.

  Libby crossed one long arm over her ribs and pointed her cup at him. “If you’re trying to get dirt on me, don’t bother. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  “I’m not trying to get dirt,” he fibbed. “I’m just supposed to keep an eye on you. And make sure you stay safe—”

  Libby snorted. “That’s so insulting. You must know I’m twenty-eight.”

  “I was just trying to do a job. It doesn’t matter now anyway—you can go and tell your old man you know who I am. I’m only in this for the money. The jig’s up. I get it.”

  “I never said I was going to tell anybody, loverboy.” She sipped her coffee. “There might be something in this for me, too.”

  “I’m not interested in bargaining with you. Just forget it.” He tossed his hands up in surrender. “I’m out. You’re twisted, you and your father both.”

  “This from the man lurking in the bushes.” Libby cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in a way that equaled sex in some odd, irrefutable way. Her tongue flirted with the corner of her lips. “You give up so easily.”

  Reece kept his cool. “I’ll see you,” he said, meaning just the opposite. Yank nutters. He resumed his jog. At least the question of whether or not to continue this ridiculous assignment was settled.

  Libby kept his pace and he looked her over. Not lasciviously—with calculation.

  Libby leered back, definitely lascivious. “What do you need the money for?”

  He let the remark pass, as well as the nauseous gurgle it triggered in his gut. He addressed her shoes instead. “You shouldn’t run in Chuck Taylors.”

  “Rocky Balboa did.”

  “You’ll wreck your ankles.”

  “Look at me shaking.”

  He frowned. “I just want to be left alone, Libby.”

  Her tone went saccharine, fake and overly sweet even through the panting. “Oh, you weren’t looking for company? Funny, I wasn’t looking for company the other night on the beach. I know just how you feel.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I was just trying to do a job. It wasn’t personal. I don’t have anything against you.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “I said I’m sorry. Can we please leave it at that?”

  “Why don’t you meet me for a quiet chat this week? Thursday night?” She told him an address on Ghuznee Street. “I’m there every week.”

  Reece let his silence make his supreme disinterest crystal clear.

  “Just remember the money,” she said. “I won’t tell my father what I know yet… So where are you in such a hurry to get off to?”

  Reece ignored her.

  “Rudeness doesn’t become you, Agent Nolan. I may be your future co-conspirator, after all.”

  “I’ve got six kilometers left before I have to be at work,” Reece snapped.

  “Oh, well don’t let me keep you.” Libby cast him a final ruthless look before letting him get away. “I’ll see you around, loverboy,” she called in a fading voice, then shouted the address again. “Every Thursday!”

  Bloody brilliant.

  “This is such a bad idea.” Reece stared into the dark interior of the noisy club and realized he’d been led here under false pretenses. There’d be no quiet chats taking place here.

  “Karaoke night, mate.” Colin grinned his approval, scanning the venue.

  “This is a mistake.” Reece glanced around, scouting for Libby’s unruly white-blonde mane through the crowd. It was only eight but the night was already promising to grow to chaotic proportions. On the stage, at the far end of the club, a university-aged kid was belting out a tone-deaf rendition of “My Way”.

  “Could she have meant upstairs? Maybe she’s got a flat above the pub.” Colin’s face said he hoped this wasn’t the case. Reece could sense him selecting tracks in his mind.

  “Very moving, thank you, Sanjay!” the DJ announced over the speakers as the kid descended to polite applause and beer-fueled hoots from his friends.

  Reece felt a headache brewing between his eyes. “She’s not here. Let’s forget it. It was a joke—”

  “Libby,” the DJ shouted. “Gimme, gimme, gimme some ABBA, sweetheart!”

  Reece’s head jerked up, and he spotted Libby’s unmistakably tall frame wending between the high tables to the stage. The crowd clapped and cheered.

  “Blimey, is that her?” Colin looked shocked. “I know her…sort of. I met her last week. Right outside here.”

  Reece shuddered, knowing the list of women his younger brother might remember in such a vague but meaningful way was considerable.

  “That was really her photo?” Colin asked.

  Libby had on the same jeans and red high-tops as when she’d accosted Reece during his jog. She also wore a track jacket, red with white piping, zipped up into a turtleneck. She was all long limbs and wild hair, messy tendrils bouncing as she ascended the steps. She wasn’t made up or dressed sexily, but the audience made it sound as if she were.

  “Hang on, baby,” she breathed into the mic, addressing the DJ. He paused the opening notes of “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” The club went near-silent as Libby dug in her jeans’ pocket and extracted a tube of lipstick, drawing a scarlet smile onto her otherwise nude face. She pocketed it and spoke in a voice ten times more seductive than before. “Thanks, Tim. Lay it on me.” The crowd whooped. Libby Prentiss was a ringmaster—she made karaoke night feel like a burlesque and she hadn’t sung a note yet.

  The song began again, and she slid the mic from its stand, holding it with both hands. “Why do you always give me this white-girl shit?” she asked the DJ over the intro to scattered laughter. The audience seemed to know what they were in for. Reece shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

  Libby swallowed a deep breath, and the voice of a formidable black woman from Memphis erupted from her throat. It was ABBA, as sung by Gladys Knight. How a bony white chick in an Adidas jacket could produce that kind of sound, Reece could not comprehend.

  “Holy hell, Reece,” Colin said, summing up the experience perfectly.

  Libby made the bar feel like a stadium. She owned the hundred people in the audience a
nd turned them into an ocean of fans. It wasn’t effortless—it took her whole body. Even from all the way across the room, Reece could see her throat vibrating with the sound, her eyes clenched tight and head thrown back to create this experience.

  Libby straightened up during the song’s slap-bass interlude, ran her hand over her forehead to mock-mop her brow of sweat. She smiled exuberantly and squinted out over the crowd. Her eyes locked on Reece, and a grin engulfed her face.

  “I’d like to dedicate this song to a very special new guy in my life,” she purred into the mic. “My very own man after midnight, Reece Nolan. Take a bow, lover!” She aimed her cast-clad finger across the room at him.

  Reece went numb as club goers craned their heads to stare. Colin smiled and hooked his thumb to the side to indicate which of them deserved this humiliation. Reece kept his face as blank as possible, praying he might magically disappear.

  After a minute that felt suspiciously like an eternity, Libby finished her song and left the stage to thunderous applause. A timid-looking girl replaced her and began to fumble through a current pop hit.

  “Jesus, Reece,” Colin murmured. “I didn’t realize you were stalking Disco Barbie.”

  “We’re going. This is a wind-up. She didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to get even.”

  “How paranoid do you sound? Give her a chance to explain. She seemed normal enough when I met her.” Colin looked eager for the opportunity to examine Libby up close again.

  “No way.”

  “Jesus,” Colin repeated. “She’s like a flipping siren or something.”

  “More like a banshee. Get your jacket.”

  “I’m still wearing it.”

  “Right.” Reece hated that he was getting flustered. He couldn’t give Libby Prentiss that satisfaction.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  Reece turned to his side, and she’d materialized, looking as if she’d been standing at the bar for hours.

  “What the hell, Libby?”

  She smiled innocently. “I’m so glad you came out.” She looked to Reece’s other side, and her expression brightened as she gave Colin a double take. “My my my. If it isn’t my gallant knight…?”

  He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Colin. Reece’s brother. Nice to meet you properly, Libby.”

  Libby’s lips gave a little twitch at “brother”.

  “Ditto. How nice of you to introduce us,” she added unctuously to Reece and shook the younger Nolan’s hand, her injured finger sticking out above his grip, bracelets jangling.

  “That was choice,” Colin offered.

  “Oh, that was nothing.” She slipped her hair behind her ears with a precision that made it seem as though she were removing an article of clothing.

  Reece kept himself cold. “We have to head out. I thought you wanted to talk about something, but I was obviously mistaken.” He said the last word in a way that plainly translated to “lied to”.

  “Don’t go yet—I do want to talk. I just didn’t think you’d come so early. Colin, do you sing?” She turned all her attention away from Reece, and he knew he was doomed to this.

  “Sure thing. Reece, grab me a drink?” Colin added as Libby steered him off toward the DJ’s table.

  “Bugger.”

  Libby returned minutes later, Colin nowhere in sight.

  “Are you sure you’re brothers?” she asked, sidling up to Reece.

  “What’s he up to?”

  “I don’t know, he didn’t let me see what he picked.”

  God, there’s two of them. Reece took a fortifying breath. The chaos and charisma of Libby was bad enough on its own, but to add—

  “Colin!” the DJ announced.

  Reece watched his brother trot fearlessly up the steps and slide the mic stand higher. Reece had an idea what this might be about, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t looking forward to it, just a tiny bit. He could use a laugh.

  Sure enough, the twangy bass of “She’s a Lady” started up, and it was like seeing Colin as a teenager again, all boundless energy and bravado.

  “Holy crap. He does a mean Tom Jones,” Libby said.

  What Colin could do was practically an impersonation, hips and all. It ran completely counter to his intimidating shell.

  “Where did he learn to do that?”

  Reece was enjoying this enough to submit to small talk. He even cracked a tight smile. “He’s been doing that since he was twelve. At first to make fun of our mum, who’s in love with Tom Jones. He’s gotten sort of good at it over the years.”

  “I’ll say. What are you going to sing?” Libby turned to stare at Reece over the rim of her wine glass.

  “Shove off.”

  “Actually, I should. I think I’m up next.” She flashed him a million-dollar smile and slipped back into the crowd.

  Reece was resigned to another hour of flamboyant torture as Libby evaded him and Colin refused to leave. Downing glass after glass of soda, he watched with fascination masquerading as apathy when Libby and his brother collaborated in a makeshift duet of David Bowie’s “Suffragette City” that brought the house down.

  Agreeing to let Colin come had been a huge mistake. Reece knew this girl was a black widow but Colin hadn’t even spotted the web yet—he was enjoying the struggle far too much. He returned to the bar after the song wrapped, looking energized as he accepted the glass Reece held out. “Cheers. Holy hell, she is something else, eh?”

  “We’ve got to go. Finish your drink.”

  Colin turned to stare at him, brow furrowed. “What is your bloody problem, mate? She’s a right laugh. We should invite her ’round.”

  “Oh, fuck no.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a flipping wing-nut. There’s something…off about her.”

  “You’re paranoid. She’s just American. Americans are always a little loopy.”

  “Trust me on this one. Please. I do not want her knowing where we live—”

  “Allllllright!” the DJ boomed over their argument as another song ended. “Libby, you got another one in you? I thought so!”

  Libby jogged from the table she’d been chatting to and up onto the stage. “Whatchoo got for me, baby?” she asked through the mic in a sassy black woman’s voice.

  The DJ fiddled with his console and “Chain of Fools” came on, sending the audience into rapturous hoots of excitement. Reece couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little blown away. The sounds that came out of this lanky girl were shocking. She sang Aretha Franklin better than Aretha Franklin. Well…maybe not quite, but at this moment, it sure felt that way.

  Libby wrapped her song, panting. “I’m done, Timmy. You’ve broken me.” The crowd groaned its disappointment as she hopped down, blowing an appreciative kiss toward the DJ. She grabbed her glass from the edge of the stage and made a beeline to the Nolans.

  She glanced between their matching tumblers of soda. “You boys sure know how to cut loose.”

  “I don’t drink. Or drive.” Colin nodded to Reece. “And he doesn’t drink and drive.”

  She smirked. “Such good little Boy Scouts.”

  Reece cut in. “You told me to meet you for a quiet chat. Is this a wind-up?”

  “I’ve forgotten what it was I wanted to talk about.” Libby smiled way-too-sweetly in an imitation of an apology. “But since you’re here, I could use a ride home.”

  “Where do you live?” Colin asked, before Reece could tell her to go to hell, in about as many words.

  “Off Oriental Parade.”

  Reece cut in. “You can walk.”

  “Jesus, Reece,” Colin said.

  “It’s practically raining out,” Libby added with an intentionally obnoxious, plaintive curl of her lip.

  “Not even close. You’ve wasted enough of my time already tonight.”

  Colin set his glass on the bar. “Reece, it’s a five-minute ride. Let’s just drop her off, eh?”

  “Yeah, Reece, let’s just drop me off. I do want a chat a
fter. A real quick one.”

  Knowing he was outnumbered, Reece did the math and decided the time lost on the ride would be less than the time spent arguing about the ride. He fixed Libby with a steady, neutral eye. “Fine.”

  “Excellent. Just let me settle my tab.” She flashed an amazingly sincere-looking smile, white teeth framed in that deadly mouth.

  Colin turned as she disappeared toward the other end of the bar. “Crikey, Reece, what is your problem?”

  “She is. You don’t know her. She’s a nutter.”

  “She’s got you all flustered,” Colin said, grinning his approval.

  “She hasn’t. But she’s got you by the balls, and you’ve known her an hour.”

  “Mate, she’s got to be by far the hottest woman you’ve ever talked to.”

  “That’s not true,” Reece said. “And she’s way too…too much. I’m not interested. And neither are you. I don’t want to speak to her ever again after this flipping ride.”

  Reece kept his eyes and brain focused on the road as the Laser made its way down Taranaki Street.

  “How in the hell did you do that?” Colin asked Libby from the backseat. “Sing like that?”

  “It’s my secret super power,” she replied, a smug grin in her voice.

  “Impressive.”

  “Yeah, but I won’t be able to talk tomorrow.”

  “Still,” Colin said. “That was choice, eh, Reece? I can’t believe I’ve gone my whole life without ever doing karaoke before.”

  Libby whipped her head around, hair nearly catching Reece in the face. “You haven’t? Damn, you’re a natural.”

  “Not compared to some,” Colin countered.

  Reece wished they’d stop flirting.

  “Reece has secret powers as well,” Libby cooed. “His little ninja trick broke my most useful finger.” Reece saw her raise her cast in his periphery.

  “You what?” Colin grabbed the back of Reece’s seat and pulled himself near to his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Reece said. “And we’re not discussing it.”

  Libby settled back into her seat. “It was an unprovoked attack,” she murmured, pure evil.