Skin Game

CHAPTER 2

The sun rayed from the sky, giving it the look of frayed blue velvet. Night would fall soon, and Lord knew she hated to travel backcountry roads after dark. Lightning bugs might be the brightest light she saw for miles.

They hadn’t been driving quite an hour, but Kyra was ready to get rid of her uninvited guest. He set off alarm bells, and she’d learned to respect her intuition, as it’d saved her ass more than once. So she’d stop for gas and ditch him.

He kept asking the same questions, no matter how many times she dodged, and that made him trouble with a capital T. Too bad, because otherwise she might have enjoyed killing a week in bed with him. The man had the hard, rugged look she found irresistible, but in her line of work, she couldn’t afford to hang around people who showed too much interest in what she did or how she did it.

Thankfully, the flickering white fluorescent of a filling station caught her eyes up ahead. She still felt tough, strong, and didn’t doubt she could deal with him, if he forced the issue. Leaving bodies behind would only get the authorities riled up, however, so she hoped it didn’t come to that.

“You ready to stretch your legs?” She hadn’t spoken in miles. “I could go for a convenience store sausage or maybe some burritos and a slushie. What’d you say?”

For a minute, she thought he was asleep, and then he asked, “You buying?”

She could do that, Kyra decided. Flush from her win at the roadhouse outside Eunice, she could afford to feed the man before she cut him loose. They weren’t far from Lake Charles, so he’d do fine with a meal in his belly.

“Yeah.”

Making the turn without flipping on a blinker, Kyra pulled into the parking lot. Two other cars sat alongside the building, but she didn’t see anybody. It was second nature for her to scan her surroundings, take stock before she made up her mind what to do. Being vigilant always paid off, one way or another.

She hopped out and tried to put some gas in the Marquis, but the lazy son of a bitch inside wouldn’t authorize the pumps. The machine said she could use a card to pay, but she didn’t have a bank account.

“I’ve got to go inside,” she called. “They probably require prepay after dark. Do you need to use the restroom?”

He had to get out of the car. How was she supposed to get rid of him if he stayed right there? The gas in the tank would take her to the next town, so she’d drive off as soon as he disappeared around the side of the building. It was a shitty thing to do, given they were in the middle of nowhere, but her conscience wouldn’t bother her overmuch. A man like him could take care of himself.

“Probably should,” came his laconic response. The guy unfolded from the passenger seat with easy grace. “No onions on my dog, please. Bean and cheese if you go for microwave burritos.”

Kyra stared at him, bemused. She’d intended to give him five bucks to buy his own dinner, but the way he sauntered off said he assumed she’d fetch it for him. He must be used to women waiting on him; that always made a man cocky.

Well, his loss. She wouldn’t be here when he got back and he’d denied himself a few dollars with his big ego. To make it look good, she started across the parking lot, watching him every step of the way, but he slowed as she did, evidently wanting to make sure she went into the shop. Just her luck—she’d picked up a suspicious-minded, knife-wielding stranger.

Dammit.

Well, she’d duck in and out quicker than he could take a leak. A bell jingled as Kyra opened the glass door, squinting at the shift from shadow to light. Instinct slowed her step when she saw nobody behind the counter. The clerk could be crouched down taking inventory, she supposed, so she angled her head to check the security mirror in the far corner of the store. Several cartons of cigarettes lay scattered back there, some smashed or split open.

Two cars, no attendant. Shit. This wasn’t good.

A muffled thump from the back room reinforced that impression. Robbery in progress—the idiot would be trying to get the cashier to open some hidden safe when most people knew convenience stores had drops in the floor that couldn’t be opened except at shift change. If she had a lick of sense, she’d get out and call 911 on her cell.

Since she found herself stealing toward the back of the store, taking cover behind half rows of shelving stocked with Vienna sausages and condoms, she obviously needed her head examined. Her intervention might save a man’s life, though. And while she loved taking money from suckers, she wouldn’t have it said she was a coward.

Her muscles vibrated with readiness. Every stolen instinct screamed for her to kick the office door open and solve the problem with brute force, but that might get the clerk killed. She didn’t want blood on her hands.

Never again.

So she had to marry caution to her martial prowess; they didn’t have to like each other, just coexist long enough for her to save the day. Kyra shook her head over that. Talk about your unlikely heroines.

Her heart thundered in her chest. She’d nearly reached the door when she heard a cry of pain, quickly throttled. What to do, what to do—

Well, going in seemed out of the question so she knocked a can of chili onto the floor and then spun to one side, watching it roll toward the manager’s office. The robber thought he was slick as he poked his head out, gun in hand, to check the situation.

Gotcha! She slammed both fists against his temples and then tangled her fingers in his greasy hair, yanking his head down as her knee came up. His gun went off as he fell, but the bullet only hit a two-liter bottle of grape soda on a distant shelf.

Kyra gave the would-be stickup artist a little one-two kick in the side, so easy it felt like dancing. No, this son of a bitch wasn’t getting up anytime soon. A shiver ran through her when she realized just how tough her passenger was. With his expertise, she could kill, not just easily, but casually.

Damn, she hoped this Natural Born Killer thing wore off soon. The throb had already started in her temples, too much feedback when she stole more than one skill in a single day. That was why, among other reasons, she didn’t like being touched by strangers. But it wasn’t like tall, dark, and scary had given her any choice, threatening her whitewalls like that. She hated not having a choice.

“You can come out now,” she called to the kid cowering in the office. “Might want to open a roll of that duct tape and get this son of a bitch wrapped up.”

The clerk came out slow, as if he thought it was some kind of wicked prank. His eyes rounded when he took in the man sprawled at her feet. “What did you . . . how . . .?”

People sure have been asking me that a lot today, Kyra thought with a sigh. This was why she preferred not to get involved, why it was better to keep moving and take only what she could carry.

“Karate lessons,” she said with a straight face. “You gonna get that tape or should I?”

“I—no . . . I will.” Finally the kid seemed to shake it off and he hurried over to the aisle next to the freezers, where he tore open a roll of electrical tape.

“You’ll want to call the sheriff,” Kyra prompted gently. “And if it’s not too much trouble, could you authorize pump four? I’ll take twenty in unleaded fuel, two hot dogs, and two slushies.”

“Are you shitting me?” The cashier, who was tall and thin, spattered with acne, raised a brow. “This is reality TV, right? People don’t do stuff like this.”

She shrugged. “I do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me when the cops get here. You can play hero. Put the fear in all armed robbers within a hundred miles.”

“Huh,” said the kid. “Okay, deal. I can’t comp the gas, but the dogs and slushies are on me.” He shook his head. “Damned if this hasn’t been the weirdest night.”

“You’re telling me.” Kyra stepped over the fallen robber, collected the food and drinks, and dropped a twenty on the counter for the gas.

When she stepped out into the humidity, she found mystery man waiting for her.

Reyes brooded.

The hot dog was not the worst thing he’d ever eaten, but he couldn’t imagine why anyone chose to drink a blue raspberry slushie. Still, it seemed impolite to complain, and out of character besides. A man down on his luck would be grateful for whatever he got.

He’d watched her from the front of the store. Saw how she’d waded in without regard for personal safety, and that was fine—her business if she had a death wish. But she didn’t get to die, not until he found out what he needed to know.

He’d been prepared to bail her out. He hadn’t been prepared to see her unleash his moves. Head to knee, double kick? Remembering made him feel strange and queasy, prickly from the inside out.

“We’re almost to Lake Charles.” Her voice interrupted his increasingly tangled thoughts. “Where should I drop you off?”

She thought they’d be parting ways once they hit the city. He shrugged. “Anywhere is fine. Thanks for dinner and the lift.”

More than an hour past, he’d pretended to lose interest in her. There was no surer way to disarm someone than to pretend you didn’t give a shit. Reyes realized he wished it were true, but damned if she didn’t fascinate him.

White lights sparkled ahead, dazzling proof of city and civilization, and he studied them instead of looking at her profile. Because he wanted to, he couldn’t allow himself to take pleasure in her features. Business, not pleasure, had drawn him here. Kyra had led him on a merry chase, but now he had her, and he couldn’t let himself become distracted.

“No problem.” She paused, and then went on reluctantly, “But I can’t just dump you off on the side of the road.”

“Why not?” Reyes thought it was a reasonable question.

“You didn’t want me along in the first place, and if you hadn’t gotten mixed up in trouble at the service station, you would’ve left me there.”

Aha, flash of guilt in the quick glance she cut his way. He’d use it.

“So . . .” He drew the word out and shrugged. “What does it matter? I had dinner and I got out of Eunice. I don’t feel like scuffling over the rest.”

That was a big, bold lie. Despite the hour, he felt energized. Reyes wanted to run his hand along the seat between them and curl it around her thigh, just to see how she’d react. He loved her mouth and her voice. It felt like he’d been listening to her for days instead of hours.

His muscles twitched like he’d been working out. It ran directly counter to his impression before that he wouldn’t know how to fight if he had to. Whatever she’d done to him—however little sense that made—had worn off. Christ, this woman would drive him crazy before he got the job done.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said finally. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

“Only to somebody who’s used to being left behind.” Reyes wished the words didn’t contain so much raw honesty, candor used to cloak deception.

“Oh.” She exhaled in a little sorrowful sound that made his hands curl up into fists on his knees. “Look, I’ll get you a room tonight,” she added. “I can afford it.”

He wore this persona like a second skin, but he’d never before permitted glimpses of himself to show through. Reyes refused to let her disconcert him further. He had a job to do.

So he forced a smile. “I don’t want one, unless you’re sharing it with me.”

“That’s not going to happen.” She tried to sound firm, but he caught the faintly breathless way she pronounced the h.

“No?”

That was when he decided to indulge himself. He wouldn’t cut loose, but he could play with her a little. Reyes finally slid his hand along the seat as he’d envisioned over the past hours.

His palm settled near her knee, just above the ripped fabric of her jeans. It wasn’t a threatening touch, more of a promise. And that same chain reaction shuddered through him, like an orgasm, only smaller, quieter. He felt drained again, but this time he was ready for the feeling, and he tried to capture its nuances for later study.

Her reaction betrayed her utterly. Instead of taking one hand off the wheel to slap him away, her fingers tightened at ten and two. Her thigh went rigid and then, ever so slightly, her knees splayed outward, as if willing him to go further. Wanting him to slide his hand higher.

Was that what got her off? Risk? Danger? He didn’t move. Heat spilled from his skin to hers. Then he began to draw delicate patterns along her nerves, etching with his blunt nails.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said then.

“About what?” She didn’t look at him. Didn’t ask him to stop. A shiver coursed through her, and he didn’t think it was from the wind blowing between their cracked windows.

“Your name.” He slid his hand a little higher.

Her top clung to her breasts, damped by perspiration. No more than a scrap of lace and thin layer of cotton covered them. In the tunnels of light cast by passing cars, he saw her nipples perk. Reyes stroked her inner thigh, caressing as if he touched bare skin.

“Mmm. Kyra. I’m Kyra.”

“Pretty.” Inwardly he exulted that she hadn’t lied. “I should know it if I’m going to keep doing this. Am I, Kyra? But understand—if I take my hand away, I won’t put it back. So be sure of what you want before you give your answer.”

Her reply came hushed and husky. “Don’t stop.”

Why did that make him hard as a spike? There was a certain adolescent lust mixed into what he was doing, feeling her up as she drove. They were on the highway now, cars speeding by on either side. She couldn’t respond, only sit with the big engine vibrating the seat beneath her ass while his fingers slowly worked up her thigh.

“What’s your name?” It was the first hint of curiosity she’d evinced toward him. Considering what he was thinking about doing to her, Reyes considered it a good sign. And then she slanted him a heavy-lidded look, belying the freckled simplicity of her face. Her eyes shone in the moonlight with maddening allure, as she quoted his words back at him. “I should know it, if you’re going to keep doing this.”

Despite himself, despite layers of calculation, he smiled. He heard himself say, “Rey—” before he managed to cut it off.

The woman was charming. Her dossier hadn’t included that.

Christ. His fingers curled between her thighs. So many aliases and he’d almost told her his name. Maybe he should retire after this job, settle down on some small island. He was either losing his edge, or Kyra Marie Beckwith was dangerous in a way nobody had warned him about.

“Rey,” she repeated. “Doesn’t that mean king?”

“King of the road.” He ran his fingers along her inseam, making her thighs tense.

“Cute.” She sounded really breathless, squirming against the seat.

Her foot increased the pressure on the gas as he went further. Reyes smoothed in slow circles, tantalizing her with the question of when he’d move on. The worn denim felt soft and smooth beneath his fingertips, but it would be nothing compared to the satin of her sun-kissed skin.

She would be wondering how long before he took the metal tab and unfastened her jeans, how long before his fingers delved into the open V of her fly. If he did, he would find her panties damp. He wanted to make her come, just like that, a furtive touch creating a complete loss of control on her part.

Desire gnawed with near painful ferocity, but he wouldn’t act on it. No, this was a calculated tease, an appetizer. Judging by her expression, she wanted more. It would be dangerous to go further with her behind the wheel of a car. He decided that was part of what appealed to her—that element of risk.

Good to know.

With a faint smile, he grazed the placket of her jeans, stroked the joined teeth of her zipper. She moaned softly, lifting her hips. Then trailed his fingers away. Eventually, she turned with a heated, foggy gaze, as if just figuring out he didn’t intend to go further.

“So . . .” he said. “One room then?”

In answer, Kyra pulled into a motel parking lot as if her precious whitewalls were on fire.