Mastered By The Mavericks(49)

Well … hell.

Did she suck that bad at nerdy sex freak?

Wait. There was still hope. Dimples gave her a once-over-a fast  one-before bolting his gaze to her face once more and querying, "So are  you staying at this property, Miss Monet?"

That's more like it.

Perhaps.

Had she just dug herself into a really deep rabbit hole? She was going  for alluring, not let-me-fuck-my-way-out-of-a-traffic ticket. A bogus  one, at that. What the hell had she done wrong?

"Yes." Did no harm to relent at least that. It validated her presence  here, so they couldn't trump up some bullshit like trespassing. Or  practically fornicating in the middle of the parking lot.

"What room?"

Shit.

"I don't see how that's relevant. And why aren't you guys out on the  highway? Doesn't this qualify as the jurisdiction of Austin City Police,  instead?"

"What room number, Miss Monet?"

She huffed. Rolled her eyes. Finally mumbled, "One twelve."

Clown Number Two, whose rugged face and stark lips said he didn't do a  lot of laughing during his down time-pressed a shoulder-mounted radio  and repeated the number. Didn't take a rocket scientist to determine  their intention from there. Frankly, if time wasn't such an issue, she  wouldn't have cared if they turned her room upside down. If they were  after some expensive hair product and a brand-new case of MAC cosmetics,  they were going to be thrilled. Otherwise, they clearly had mistaken  her for someone else, and were now wasting precious minutes to discover  it.                       
       
           



       

The rabbit hole was getting too freaking deep. And damn it, she didn't  have time to play any more with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Which meant a new plan. And a huge new risk. Huge, as in the possibility  of Rhett and Rebel plastering her face on their target practice  silhouettes from now on-if they chose to acknowledge her presence in the  world at all.

Her eyes stung. Her throat thudded. And her frustration raged.

Like they were going to acknowledge your presence after all this, anyway?

The three of them owed each other nothing. They'd come together for this  mission only-learning ways to help each other through the stress that  were, admittedly, off-the-charts amazing-but thinking of it as anything  more was only digging herself farther down the hole.

It was time to take care of business, no matter how rough the decisions to accomplish that.

She dumped the seductive stance. Lifted her shoulders, firmed her chin.  "Okay, listen. I'm going to be straight-up with you guys now-because I  really need your help." She nervously wet her lips. "This is going to  sound insane, but I swear it's the truth. I have to get to the old Verge  pharma building, and soon. I'm-I'm undercover." She tacked on in a  rush, "Deeply undercover."

No-Nonsense crunched his brows. "With what entity?"

"I-I can't tell you that, either. Uh … way above your pay grade." And if  he swallowed that, she was going to take El's advice and really start an  acting career. "But there are men on their way who want to stop me, and  if I don't get to the Verge building before them, my whole op could be  blown. There are things happening in that building that nobody knows  about-"

Whiskey Eyes stopped her with a raised hand. "We're aware, Miss Monet."

The thud in her throat took over her chest. "Wait. What?"

He tilted his head. "You … are referring to Doctor Royce, aren't you?"

Her whole body trembled. "You know about him already?"

The second cop shot a skeptical look. "Only that the work he's doing has  to be kept super secure, because it has the potential to help so many.  If any of our country's enemies got wind of his scientific advances,  we'd have an international incident occurring on native soil-right under  our watch."

"Are you kidding-" But they weren't. That much was clear. "Royce," she  blurted. He was the face of Adler's operation now, and had the cops  buried so far under his snow job, a hundred blowers weren't going to  clear the shit. "That's all you know, huh? You guys aren't even aware of  Homer Adler, are you?"

"You mean the nutwing who used to run the freak show at Verge's back  door?" The cop gave her a patient smile. "He's long gone, we promise. On  the run now. Likely overseas somewhere-"

"No." Brynn surged forward but yanked herself back. All she needed was  to look like a fruit-loop herself now. "No, he's not. That's what I'm  trying to tell you. Adler's got you all drinking the same Kool-Aid. He's  let Royce be the public face of this thing, only he's running the exact  same game out of that building-and now my best friend is one of his  freaks. He had her kidnapped five days ago, out of Las Vegas. Get on  your smart pads and confirm it. Her name is Zoe Bommer."

She stopped, forcing in a breath. Stay calm. Losing your shit isn't going to convince them of anything.

The clowns actually looked ready to believe her-until Whiskey Eyes shook  his head in obvious bafflement. "Why weren't we notified about any of  this?"

"Because Adler's that dangerous!" She threw up her hands. "It makes the  most sense, I guess. I've been down here, at a place in Marble Falls,  helping out my-errrr-a couple of friends-at least I thought so, until-"

Hole. Deeper. Damn it. Damn it.

But sometimes, as any performer knew, committing to the mistake was better than struggling through a cover-up.

"Okay, so they're Special Forces, but have been working off-grid,  because Adler and Royce are monitoring everyone-I mean everyone, you  guys included. Alerting you all would've instantly alerted them, as  well."

"Them? You mean Royce."

"And Adler."

"Right." Clearly, neither of them bought her account by even a penny. "Adler."

Commit to it. "I begged to be allowed to help. Zoe's my best friend, and Adler has this kinky thing for redheads-"

"Of course he does."                       
       
           



       

"But nothing was happening," She pushed on. "For three days, we  monitored and monitored, and now-well-Zoe is still in danger, and-"

"Whoa." The contrast of No-Nonsense's calm hands, countering her  wild-waving ones, wasn't lost on her. She'd committed, all right-and  look where it had gotten her. "Okay, whoa now, sugar. Back it up and  chill it out."

Wise words. And yet, no. All the logic that had made sense in her head,  just half a minute ago, was lost on them. She'd wasted the time for  nothing. Brynn bit back a sob as desperation bit in with freshly  sharpened teeth.

"‘Chill it out'?" It was a snarl and she didn't care. "Respectfully  speaking, that's all I've been doing for four damn days now. Officer,  I'm really done with ‘chilling it out'. And I'm really done with all of  this, too. So unless you're going to ticket me-"

"Ticket you?" Whiskey Eyes let his partner join in his soft laugh before  concluding, "Miss Monet, we're wondering whether or not to arrest you."

She flashed a glare between the two of them. Their stares were as steady as Tibetan yogis. "Arrest me? What the hell for?"

"Stolen vehicle."

The response had her gawking at them again in confusion-

Because neither of them had issued it.

The drums in her chest froze to silence-as her ears connected to her  brain, finally registering who had. That voice … resonating with the dark  command that had teased at her memories and haunted her blood for four  days, since its seduction had first mingled with a Piper plane's engines  and forever changed how she thought of the words mile high …

That voice.

Impossible.

But she pivoted her head to find her sights sucked toward the towering,  glowering pirate of a man, suddenly manifested from thin air, about ten  feet away. What other explanation could there be for how he was suddenly  here, long legs braced, inked arms folded, cobalt eyes drilling into  her? And oh yeah … there was the whole turning her blood to lava thing,  too. As if she needed any more proof that this hallucination was  actually real.

"How-" She stopped herself. For some reason, time still felt of the  essence, and wasting it on worthless questions wasn't an option. She had  to focus on the subject at hand. What the hell had he just said?  "Stolen vehicle?" She fired it back as an accusation of her own. "Excuse  me? In what universe does this qualify-"

"In the universe that your name is listed nowhere on the rental  agreements in that car, cher." A breeze kicked up, smelling weirdly of  magnolia blossoms crossed with french fries, lifting his glossy black  waves off his proud forehead. "And the one in which my wallet is still  in the glove compartment, which adds to your list of stolen goods. On  top of that, these fine men can probably run one of their fancy checks  on that speedometer, to discover you were likely in breach of the  state's posted highway speed limits on your way down here." He scooted a  finger up, tapping it thoughtfully at his lips. "Hold on. I'm sure I've  missed a few."