But not once had he envisioned the sputtering disbelief—no, make that fury—on her face.
“What kind of sick joke is this?” She actually trembled with anger, her shoulders shaking with it, and he wondered if he could be missing some piece of the puzzle. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman to play on an old man’s sympathies, but damn it, the Escalade he’d seen in the parking lot told him she didn’t mind reaping the benefits of her deeds.
“It’s no joke.” He reached in his pants pocket for his business license, regretting he’d let things get so far out of hand. He’d overestimated his willpower when he had allowed her to massage him, a mistake that had made it impossible not to kiss her. He’d avoided relationships since his accident, a conscious choice since he hadn’t been fit company for anyone with the anger and resentment weighing bitterly on him at all times.
But, of course, that meant he’d avoided sex, too.
Touching Jessica had been too much, too soon after a celibate stretch. His blood still pounded so heavily through his veins he swore he could hear a percussion section jamming in his head.
“Of course it’s a joke,” she spit back at him, yanking the chopstick device out of her hair until the auburn waves tumbled freely to bounce on her shoulders. “Either that or you’re the sorriest excuse for a repo man I’ve ever met. I have credit card statements that show my payments for the last six months. For that matter, I have the most recent printout in my vehicle. We can retrieve it before I let the security guards all over this hotel know that you’ve been harassing me.”
“A bill can’t always be considered proof.” No doubt she had a house full of bills if she was the kind of person who defaulted on her purchases. “I’d need proof those bills were paid. And the finance company says they haven’t been.”
“I haven’t even received a late notice.” Her voice pitched higher, her frustration level revving up fast for someone he’d suspected of being a smooth operator. From the surveillance tape footage, he’d suspected her game would be tight. But right now she didn’t appear to have much experience scamming anyone. Damn it, he’d approached this thing all wrong. He was better at covert operations, staying behind the scenes and only moving in at night under the cover of dark. That strategy had been his go-to move as a SEAL and it was a strength he’d carried into the repo business. Why couldn’t he have stuck with what he did best?
The answer came to him instantly. He’d messed up because this had been personal. His father had been stressed and Rocco had wanted to clear it all up as fast as possible.
“Look. I’m sorry that I let things get personal.” He’d been an idiot to kiss her, even if it was proving damn tough to regret it. “I planned to come in here and get a feel for what kind of person you are—”
The whole situation sounded ludicrous, all the more so because he’d let himself touch her. Taste her. Want her in spite of everything.
“So help me, if you had dared to make any false accusations in front of my hard-earned clients, I would have sued your sorry ass for everything you’re worth.” She stomped across the floor to retrieve his white jacket and tossed it at him. “In fact, why don’t you give me the name of your company and your supervisor and I’ll make sure that person knows how close you came to landing your company in court tonight.”
A thread of unease tickled his instincts. Either she was a hell of an actress, or he’d wronged her in a big way.
“I saw you on the surveillance tape from my father’s dealership.” He spoke more to himself than to her, going over the evidence in his mind.
But what had he really seen? A black-and-white tape of a woman who looked like Jessica from a foot or two above eye level. A woman with her body. Her hair. And of course, her car.
Ah, shit. All at once it occurred to him that after his preliminary viewing of the tape, he’d handed the case over to his new assistant investigator to do the legwork. Rocco had wanted to move on it quickly and he’d been tied up with other business. Could the other investigator have overlooked something obvious?
“I’m waiting.” She had retrieved the pad of hotel stationery from a small desk and stood with pen poised above it.
Frustration hummed like a deerfly around his head at the possibility that someone at his company hadn’t triple-checked their paperwork. In the Navy, his buddies had always backed him up, but in the outside world, good backup wasn’t a given. Yet another aspect of how life as a civilian sucked.
“I need to check the VIN number on your vehicle.” He set his jacket back down on the chaise, knowing he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw some proof of Jessica’s alleged fraud for himself.
“Excuse me?” The glare she sent him would have withered a lesser man. “I’m the one entitled to information here and I’ll be damned if I let you wiggle your way out of it.”
Okay, he resented the image of himself wiggling. After all, he hadn’t hurt her—he’d kissed her, for Chrissake.
“I work for myself. I’m the company. Sue me.” He removed a business card from his wallet and slapped it on the minibar. “Now I’m going to check out the VIN on the Escalade and see if you have a legitimate beef before we take this discussion any further.”
He had an extra set of keys in his pocket. He didn’t need her permission to check out a vehicle he was here to take into custody anyway.
Unless, of course, it was a different vehicle.
Anger flared hot inside him as he opened the door into the hall. He’d been overwhelmed with new cases this past week and he’d given a higher priority to firming up new accounts than taking care of detail work on recoveries in process.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jessica had set down her pen and paper before following him into the quiet corridor. “You’re not touching my vehicle without my permission.”
“You can sue me for that, too. First I’m going to find out if there’s been some kind of mistake and we’ve got the wrong vehicle.”
He’d owe her one monster of an apology if that was the case. Except he’d seen the security tape of her buying the car. It had looked just like her, damn it. Same killer body. Same sexy-as-hell red hair. Even the same mannerisms, right down to a little habit she had of spinning her bracelet around her wrist.
“Of course you’re wrong.” She hastened her step, her sweetly endowed form jiggling enticingly with the effort.
Why the hell couldn’t he keep his eyes in his head around her?
He pushed the elevator button to go down to the main floor, intrigued in spite of himself at how quickly she’d transformed from a reserved professional to a hot-blooded lover and then to a spitting-mad, in-your-face, woman as tough as any debtor who’d ever followed his tow truck into the night while shaking a fist.
Now, she gave him a wary glance before stepping into the elevator with him. Folding her arms, she managed to cover only a small portion of her considerable personal assets.
“So what’s a vin and why didn’t you look at it before you attempted to humiliate a taxpaying entrepreneur struggling to make ends meet?”
“Vehicle Identification Number. It’s etched into the dashboard under the windshield of every vehicle made and each one’s unique. Like a Social Security number for cars.” The elevator door opened and he stepped off onto the main floor of the famous Victorian-era hotel. “And I didn’t try to humiliate you.”
It was just that he’d been stressed about his father for months. His dad had taken it to heart when Rocco got a medical discharge and he’d been trying to compensate for the letdown by starting a business that could help the old man. But maybe he’d been so focused on making it up to his father that he’d unwittingly hurt someone else.