But he didn’t need the sign to tell him he’d arrived at his destination. Just like last night, a little pixie was standing there staring at him. She was in the middle of the road, in a breast-hugging lavender top, her lavender skirts flirting with the tops of her mud-caked combat boots.
And just like last night, she was pointing a rifle at him.
Faye couldn’t believe her dumb luck and incredibly bad timing as she aimed the rifle at the grille of the black Dodge Charger. With the sun peeking through the trees behind her, she couldn’t see the driver through the glare on the windshield. But she didn’t need to. She’d seen that same car parked on the highway last night as she’d pushed Buddy’s ATV along the edge of the trees. She knew exactly who it belonged to—the incredibly hot, but potentially dangerous cop playing at private investigator, Jake Young.
Pointing a gun at him wasn’t the smartest decision she could have made. But as soon as she’d seen him rounding the curve she’d panicked. She’d tossed her purple backpack behind a tree and brought her rifle up. Now she had no choice but to “bravado” her way through this second meeting, and hope it was their last.
The engine cut off and the driver’s door opened.
“You might as well crank that engine and go back where you came from.” She tightened her fingers around the gun’s stock. “This is private property.”
“You own the whole town?” he quipped as he stood.
It took her several seconds to remember what they were talking about after she saw those broad shoulders again and those yummy muscular arms, that rock-hard-looking chest tapering to his narrow, powerful hips. Yum. Everything about him, from his dark, wavy hair to the boots he was sensible enough to wear out here, had her fighting not to drool. But now wasn’t the right time for those kinds of thoughts. And without knowing why he was trying to find Calvin, it was too dangerous for her to even consider being his friend, much less anything more intimate.
What a shame.
She cleared her throat and hoped she hadn’t stared long enough for him to realize what she’d been thinking.
“We’re all family here in town, more or less,” she said. “I speak for everyone when I tell you that you’re not welcome.” Unfortunately.
“I just want to talk. I need to ask you about Calvin Gillette.” He stepped out from behind the open door.
Faye almost whimpered. In the daylight, he looked even better than he had last night. Too bad she had to make him leave.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said, trying to think of how to make him want to go. She debated shooting the car’s radiator. But that would just disable it and give him an excuse to continue into town. And she really couldn’t stomach shooting such a fine car. It was exactly the kind of car she’d have chosen if she could afford one, and if she had a driver’s license. All shiny, glossy black with an engine that rumbled and purred like a well-fed cat.
“Now, why don’t I believe you?” he said.
“Not my problem.”
His boots crunched on the dirt-and-gravel road. She swung her rifle, following his progress.
“Stop right there,” she ordered.
He continued as if he didn’t think she’d really shoot.
Would she? Not normally. But desperate times...
She brought the rifle up to her shoulder and centered a bead on his chest.
He stopped about ten feet away, his eyes narrowing. “How about pointing that thing somewhere else before one of us gets hurt.”
“It’s pointed right where I want it. I’m going to start counting. If you don’t turn around and get back in your car by the time I reach five—”
He charged forward.
She was so surprised, she froze. He was almost on top of her before she swung the rifle a bit to the left and pulled the trigger, hoping to scare him into stopping.
Bam! The rifle cracked, barely missing him, just as she’d planned. But instead of stopping, he lunged forward and wrenched the gun out of her hands. He tossed it away and glared down at her, his dark eyes smoldering with fury.
“Give me one reason not to call the police to arrest you for shooting at me. Again,” he demanded.
She craned her neck back to meet his gaze. “Because your cell phone probably won’t work out here anyway?”
His eyes narrowed to a dangerous slit.
“Okay, okay.” She held her hands up in a placating gesture. “Don’t get so worked up. I wasn’t shooting at you. I missed on purpose.”
The skin across his jaw whitened beneath his tan. Obviously the man had no sense of humor and took things far too seriously.
“You’re one of those ill-tempered Aries, aren’t you?” she accused.
“Sagittarius,” he snapped. “And just how is that relevant to you shooting at me?”
His declaration that he was a Sagittarius surprised some of the sting out of his insult that she’d ever miss something she aimed at. She automatically reached for the chain around her neck, but stopped before pulling it out. “No reason. None at all.” She smoothed her hands down her skirts and tried to gauge his mood.
He took another step toward her, bringing them so close she could feel the delicious heat from his body. But her attraction to him was dwarfed by the formidable anger evident in every line in his body. He was as tense as a wound-up spring, ready to snap. And she was, unfortunately, the object of that anger.
If he were anyone else, she’d sweep his legs out from under him and go for her knife hidden in one of the many secret pockets in her skirt. But she realized two things at once. First, he didn’t seem like the kind of man to fall for the same trick twice. And second, if she didn’t hightail it out of here, right now, she might be in real trouble.
As if sensing she was about to flee, he grabbed for her. She ducked beneath his arms, taking advantage of their difference in height. She ran as if a whole nest of hungry gators was after her.
He shouted some impressively colorful phrases and took off in pursuit, his boots pounding against the hard ground, his long strides rapidly eating up the distance between them. But she figured she had the advantage. He might be spitting mad, but she firmly believed her very survival was at stake, which made her feet fairly fly.
There was only one place of refuge with him so close: his car. She skidded around the open driver’s door and jumped inside. She slammed it shut and punched the electric lock just as he reached her and yanked on the handle.
He leaned down, silently promising retribution as he glared at her through the window.
“Open. The. Door.” His deep voice vibrated with anger, pounding through her skin like a hammer against a nail.
She shook her head, her long hair flying around her face. “Not a good idea.”
“Now.”
Did he think making his voice sound as if he wanted to tear her apart with his bare hands would make her more inclined to remove the only barrier between them? That was the problem with a Sagittarius—too unwilling and impatient to slow down and look beneath the surface to all the