Her statement finally triggered his response. “I’m not a threat,” he said.
“Then why are you packing a—?”
“I used to work for the FBI.”
She bunched her brow, disturbed that her interest hadn’t been quelled. And neither had his electrifying effect on her. She’d hoped that learning the truth would put the kibosh on it. Help her focus again. She should have known better.
“And why is an ex-FBI agent chasing me down?” she said.
He shifted to face her, his imposing presence no less intimidating after the truth. Just like love and hate, lawmen and criminals were just the flipside of the same dangerous coin. He said, “To ask how long you plan to use your family connections to harass me.”
Stunned, she tried not to gape as a flush washed through her body. Use her family connections? Apparently he was under the mistaken impression her father was an asset to her. And any discussions regarding her dad were bound to get intensely uncomfortable.
She hiked her chin, glad her excuse was real. “Unfortunately I don’t have time for a discussion. I have another interview to get to.”
His previously amused expression had crossed into decidedly un-amused territory, making him more intimidating than before. Apparently he had no intention of letting her go so easily, and her heart sank as her attempt at escape was nixed.
“In that case,” he said, “I’ll tag along.”
CHAPTER THREE
HUNTER sat in the back row of the old theater, empty save Carly, sitting beside him, the crew, and the three naked men on stage, dancing and singing Shakespeare to an electric guitar. “Hamlet, The Musical!” was unique enough, and he supposed nudity added that extra edge needed in a town as jaded as Miami. But if there was a god, and s/he was benevolent, this would end soon and he could get back to his regularly scheduled confrontation.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and whispered, “When are you supposed to interview Hamlet?”
Carly whispered back, “As soon as the dress rehearsal is over.”
He stared at the three actors, bereft of clothing. “They still call it that?”
“They have to do a run-through in costume. Or, in this case, in the nude.”
Hunter flinched as one of the male actors twirled across the stage, his male parts a victim to centrifugal forces. “This goes beyond nudity,” he muttered.
Her voice held more than a hint of humor. “Wednesday I’m interviewing a participant in the Pink Flamingo’s annual drag queen pageant, if you want to accompany me there as well.”
He shot her a skeptical look. “What kind of reporter are you, anyway?”
“A lifestyle journalist. I do arts and entertainment pieces.”
On stage, the actors formed a brief chorus line, and the image of the three naked gentlemen doing a cancan almost caused Hunter to throw in the towel and leave. “You’re a little liberal with your definition of entertainment,” he said dryly.
Carly leaned closer, her fresh scent teasing him, her amused voice almost…hopeful. “Are you feeling uncomfortable with the play?”
He stared down at her, not knowing which was worse: the intentionally flirty vibe emanating from her beautiful face or the monstrous scene on stage. One sight scorched his vision, and the other could leave him scarred for life.
She was a manipulator who used her charms at will, yet a part of him was impressed with her courage. A person had to be either stupid or brave to enter that alley in such a dangerous section of town. Initially he’d thought she was the first, but it was evident now that it was the second. And that hint of seduction beneath her pretense of assessing his clothes—all to get a look at his gun—had both tickled him and turned him on when it should have ticked him off. He was dismayed to realize he’d crossed the line. He liked her.
An unfortunate complication.
“No. I’m not uncomfortable with the play,” he lied, convinced she was hoping the outlandish musical would get him to bolt. But he had no intention of leaving without finishing their discussion. Like her or not, he would protect his interests. He turned his focus to the stage, hoping he had the fortitude to stick it out. “I will, however, admit I’m more comfortable in the back alley of a crime-infested neighborhood.”
“Two artistic gangsters are preferable to three actors?”
“They are when they wear clothes.”
“I suppose it makes it easier to hide their weapons if they’re hostile,” she said, obviously amused he’d misinterpreted the men’s intent.
“At least I have a concealed weapons permit. I doubt those two did. And I’m ninety-nine percent positive they were carrying,” he said. Then he nodded in the direction of the stage. “That’s a pretty hostile sight right there.”
“Just promise me you won’t shoot the actors.”
“My Glock is back in the glove compartment.” He risked a glance at the stage, wincing at an eyeful of a bouncing Hamlet dancing a Scottish jig. “Though I am tempted to retrieve it.”
“I never knew network security consulting was so dangerous it required a weapon,” she said.
Though her words were laced with her usual dry sarcasm, genuine curiosity radiated from her face, giving her amber eyes a warm glow, and the thrum of attraction settled deeper in his gut. Up until he’d pulled her against him in the alley she’d been just another beautiful woman he could ignore. After experiencing the dip at her waist and the soft curves firsthand, he was less confident. Since Mandy, and with the demands at Firewell, Inc., his relationships had been few and far between. Brief, superficial and uncomplicated worked best.
And it didn’t get any more complicated than Carly Wolfe.
Awareness burned through him, reaffirming that his vow not to touch her again was vital.
He pushed it all aside, and said, “My day is typically weapon-free. The Glock is only in my car because I visited the firing range before work.”
She shot him a look that went beyond mere curiosity. “Keeping up those skills, huh?”
Hunter’s stomach lurched and he turned to stare at the stage, grateful the increase in volume of the music gave him a reprieve from responding. His weekly trips to the firing range were unnecessary, but he couldn’t seem to let go of the last routine he’d maintained since he’d been forced to leave the FBI, leaving a massive hole in his life.
The sharp ache resurfaced and his jaw clenched. He enjoyed what he did now, but lately he’d been chafing at the monotony …
Carly must have decided he refused to respond to her indirect question. “Why did you leave the FBI?” she asked.
He turned to study her face. Though she was clearly digging for information, the genuine warmth he’d seen on the TV monitor that first day was back. What would she say if he told her part of the truth? There were bad parts he could share, and there were worse parts he could never divulge. In an effort to protect sensitive information the FBI had kept their investigation of him private. Outside of Mandy’s newspaper article about the case he’d been working on, no other information had been made available to the public.
“Off the record?” he said.
She hesitated longer than he would have liked. “Off the record.”
“I was stripped of my security clearance and put on administrative leave without pay.”
A