“Door-to-door service,” she explained. “Part of the job.”
“You don’t really need—”
“Yes, I do.”
She pulled the door shut, ending any further protest. When push came to shove, she could be rude and undiplomatic, too.
He smelled good.
It was a short hop to the hotel, which bordered the airport. In those brief minutes, the chilly limo filled with the faint scent of whatever exotic cologne he was wearing. It had her nose twitching and her meter ticking again. Because there was nowhere else to look, she found herself studying his hands. Clean, long fingered with neat nails. Not pale as she would have expected from a high-rise type, but lightly bronzed. Probably the tanner rather than the true outdoors. No wedding ring or sign that he’d ever worn one.
She felt his stare and slowly let her gaze lift to meet it. His directness unnerved her, and she was sure he knew it, but she matched it unflinchingly for a long silent minute. Then, feeling rather silly with their stare down, she broke the stalemate.
“Will you be needing me again tonight?”
“No. I’ll see you have an itinerary in the morning.”
She nodded. How frigidly professional of him. He had a nice voice, clipped but low, soft and a little gruff around the edges. In other circumstances, sexy as hell. Who was she kidding? Everything about him was sexy as hell. Except his attitude.
They pulled into the hotel circle, and again he gave her a questioning look when she climbed out with him. She relieved him of the need to ask.
“As long as you have that case, consider us Siamese twins.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t betray any displeasure. She began to wonder if he had a pulse.
She stood slightly behind him at the check-in desk, aware, without being distracted by the surrounding chaos of the casino behind them, of everyone within snatch-and-grab range. She didn’t offer to hold his bags. She wasn’t there to be his porter. She was there to protect his butt. A delicious duty had there been a little shorter stick up it.
When he had his key card in hand, she walked close to his elbow as they wound through the game floor. The noise and lights and mill of gamblers made her edgy. Nervously, she went over all that Chaney and his instructors had taught her about being ready and vigilant and…damn. She’d left her pistol under the seat of the Ranger. A lot of good it would do there if some collector-stamp junkie leaped on them from behind the nickel slots. Feeling sheepish, she adjusted her walk into ultra tough chick mode, hoping that would be enough to discourage anyone from a tussle. It must have worked, because no one approached them. Or it could have been the arctic blast exuded by Caufield.
The elavator doors closed and up they went. Just as she started to relax, she could see him give her a quick once over in the reflective strip above the door. Nothing flattering about it.
“Tomorrow, do you think you could wear something a little less…obvious?”
She didn’t turn. Instead, she met his gaze in the polished bronze. Her teeth bared in what he couldn’t mistake as a smile. “Whatever you like, Mr. Caufield. Would you prefer business casual or escort service?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly, she wanted to see his smile. She bet it would do glorious things to the sharp bone structure of his face. But no such luck.
“I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”
She marched him down to his room and slipped in first to give it a brief but thorough check, acting as if she’d performed this task with countless clients more important than himself. At her nod of all clear, he entered, hanging his garment bag in the closet and tossing the case on the bed. It gave a slight bounce on the taut spread and Mel wondered in wildly unprofessional and inappropriate curiosity how it would feel to take a similar bounce on that bed beneath Xander Caufield. Like being pressed between an iron and ironing board, she assumed, dismissing the fleeting fantasy with a grim smile.
“If you need me—”
“I have your cell number.”
He was levering out of his shiny shoes, peeling his socks off with them. As his bare toes curled into the nap of the carpet, a purely salacious chill raced through her. He was staring at her again, this time with slight impatience.
“Good night, Ms. Parrish.”
There was no reason to linger.
He latched the door behind her and released his pent-up breath. Slipping out of his jacket, Xander let it drop carelessly over the back of the desk chair before he settled on the edge of the bed. He snapped the catches on the case and pulled out the contents he’d brought with him. A fat insurance file and the real reason he was in Reno.
It wasn’t about stamps.
Chapter 2
Sipping the bottled water that came with his delivered meal, Xander leaned back on the bank of pillows he’d wedged against the backboard of his bed. He was wearing only his suit pants, needing the chill of the climate-controlled air against his bare chest and feet to keep his weary senses sharp. He opened his file and spread the reports across the bedspread to give them closer study. He had them memorized, but there was always the chance that he’d missed something. The way he had that afternoon.
His pilot wasn’t what he’d expected and he didn’t like to be surprised. Mel Parrish should have been a man. When she’d told him her name, he’d been knocked off balance, with all his preconceptions askew. The quick glimpse he’d dared take of her while scrambling for his composure revealed the worst. Young, attractive, female. How had those facts gotten under his radar? Need-to-know facts to a man who prided himself on details.
Her being a woman opened up a whole different avenue upon which to discover what he needed to know. But it didn’t change the facts in the file.
He was tracking an arsonist for hire. One who lit a torch for the insurance money. One who either used or created fires to cover his fraudulent activity. In the past seven years, Western Mutual Insurance had paid out in the billions for properties that went up in smoke. The policy owners all had something in common—a serious financial glitch that was solved by the influx of cash. Cash handed over by Western Mutual because they couldn’t prove any wrongdoing. And that made them decidedly displeased.
That’s where Xander came in.
He was the best there was at what he did. Meticulous, relentless, ruthless. He’d made his reputation on those three things. And upon his track record of always uncovering the truth. That’s how he could demand the price he did. A sometimes hard-to-swallow percentage of the policy payout. Money they would otherwise kiss goodbye. Money that didn’t really matter to him. It was the process and the end result that he enjoyed. He liked the challenge and he had to win. That’s why the companies came to him with the cases they couldn’t solve themselves.
For five years, he’d immersed himself in the minds and means of those who thought to cheat the system. He’d start with the obvious. Who had the most to gain? Then he’d follow the money. He didn’t work in an office, not after the first phase of investigation. He excelled in the field. Blending into the lives of those who thought to get away with a payout they didn’t deserve. He’d get close, he’d become their friend, their partner, their confidant and sooner or later, every time, they’d slip up and he’d have them. Infinite patience was its own reward.
Only in this case, the reward wasn’t his hefty fee.
Restless with his lack of progress, he set aside his handwritten notes and made a call on his cell. He made it a practice of never using traceable land lines. There wasn’t much he trusted, except the person who answered his call of “I’m