“You have to get by me first,” Pete said.
“By you? I don’t understand—”
“Me and the security boys. Background search,” he added and, tipping his hat, turned on his heels and strode off toward the stable his employer had disappeared into minutes before.
Background search? Her mind raced as she studied Pete’s retreat, the way he looked in jeans and his long-legged stride both as troubling as the slight bulge above his waistband that pooched out the back of his vest. She knew what a bodyguard would carry in such a spot.
Damn. He was armed.
Of course he’s armed, you dummy, he’s a blasted bodyguard! And before that he was probably in the military or a cop or something.
The trick would be to stay off his radar, that’s all. If she played her cards right, she’d never fall under his watchful gaze again.
Until it was too late.
No, don’t think too far ahead….
She shoved trembling hands in her pockets. Now that Pete was gone, the enormity of her success hit full force. She slid to the ground and leaned against the fence, fighting to get her heartbeat back to normal.
She told herself the background search would come up empty. She’d appear to be exactly what she was, a twenty-five-year old college graduate who had loved horses her whole life, a woman taking a break before finishing graduate school.
Just an ordinary woman. No one knew her motives.
Except her grandfather, and they’d made a pact.
More worrisome than the background search was news of a death threat. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as she pushed herself away from the fence.
Someone else was out to get Alazandro.
She’d have to work fast.
Chapter Two
Pete Walker, a.k.a. Pete Waters, turned at the stable entrance and looked back over his shoulder in time to catch Elle Medina push herself away from the fence and take off toward the barn on the far side of the corral.
Funny that she’d stood there a while.
He entered the stable, pausing for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Alazandro and Peg Stiles had made it halfway down the walkway. All along the corridor, horses looked out of their stalls as though curious about the visitors. A palomino close to him whinnied as it tossed its head. The horse reminded him of Elle Medina. Same fair coloring, same liquid brown eyes.
This job was complicated enough without some sexy little bombshell getting in the way.
Did she have any idea what Alazandro really wanted with her? The mud hadn’t distracted a bit from her looks. Hard to tell about her hair, but she sported a curvy figure that looked great in skintight wet clothes and a face pretty enough to pay her bills. And she was young. Alazandro appreciated nubile young women with flawless skin and tight little bodies, women burning with the desire to please.
Judging from her behavior, Elle Medina knew what Alazandro had in mind and welcomed it. Some women were like that, turned on by power and money and he guessed she was one of them.
What did it matter to him? If she passed a routine background check, what she and Alazandro proceeded to do or not do was none of his business.
He had bigger fish to fry.
And yet, there was something about her. She was different from Alazandro’s other conquests, her sexuality provocative but clumsy as though there were two separate women inhabiting the same body. One, a flirt, a seductress. The other, nervous, fidgety, full of questions, anxiety behind her eyes.
His brow furrowed as a thought raced through his mind, retraced its steps, and sat down to stay. Maybe he could capitalize on this woman’s willingness to be used by a man to further his own goals.
He paused for a second, absently running a hand down the palomino’s nose.
He wouldn’t put Elle in danger, of course. Well, not overtly. And if danger arose, he’d be close by to protect her. He wouldn’t let her be hurt which was a lot more than Alazandro could or would say.
Okay, okay, it wasn’t very nice of him to think of using her this way. But the world Elle had just thrust herself into didn’t allow for such old-fashioned concepts as fair play and decency. She thought she was flirting with a wealthy entrepreneur, a playboy, a man who could shower her with all the best money could buy. She didn’t know about his drug connections or about the evil rumors that had followed this man for years.
No matter. The hungry way Alazandro’s dark eyes had devoured Elle Medina was too big a gift to ignore. And the wave of disgust that interest engendered in Pete just didn’t matter.
Pete took a cell phone from his pocket and turning his back to the others, punched in a few numbers. It rang only once before it was answered. Using the palomino’s golden head for cover, he lowered his voice. “It’s me. I have someone I need checked out right away. Name, Elle Medina. Age, early twenties. Currently working at Tahoe Stables on Lake Tahoe. I’ll call back in an hour.”
Pocketing the phone, he caught up with Alazandro and Stiles. The former, expounding his plans, talked about tearing down the old stable and replacing it with “something decent.” Something with a heated, bigger indoor arena in which to exercise the horses and amuse the patrons as winters were cold and snowy at this elevation. Perhaps an attached arcade with viewing rooms looking down over the arena. Better footing in the arena. Quality work. Something family friendly.
Peg Stiles looked mad enough to string up a rope and hang Alazandro from an overhead rafter.
Pete took his place, hanging back, appearing watchful while his mind raced along twisted paths.
If Elle Medina checked out okay, she might prove to be the key he’d been looking for. Alazandro was going to Puerta Del Sol for a reason that surpassed his stated goal of looking around to see how things were progressing. He had minions to do that for him, though it was true he’d just fired his latest in a string of resort managers. Rumors were flying that a meeting of some kind was in the offing. But Pete couldn’t get close enough to pin down any dates or names.
He needed a way to get closer to the man. To find out—
“Did you call my security people?” Alazandro demanded. “Did you start a background search on the girl?”
Pete blinked away his thoughts and answered, “Not yet. Sir.”
A flash of irritation ignited the man’s eyes for just a moment. Alazandro was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. He said, “Make sure she has a passport. I want her to fly south with us tomorrow on my private jet. That Meacham fellow is proving to be a pain in the neck. I should never have hired him.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir.” Pete all but fawned. He hated this job.
Peg Stiles said, “Isn’t this all happening kind of fast? Your fancy resort doesn’t open for a while yet. What’s the rush? Elle will be hard for me to replace. The season is almost over—”
“Elle Medina is just what I need down there. Bright, pretty, trilingual. She’s perfect.”
Stiles, going on sixty, had the wiry look of a woman who rarely sat unless it was on the back of a horse. Pete knew she was recently widowed. From the look of her, he’d guess she’d put as much heart and soul and elbow grease into this place as her late husband had. He’d glanced around the inside of her house when they first arrived and found old furniture, worn-out carpets and antiquated appliances. The barn they stood in was swanky by her standards.
The woman was invested in this property. And she was losing it, and she knew it.
Measuring her words, Peg said, “I wouldn’t want to hear you took advantage of that