Mastered By The Mavericks(50)

"Probably." Dimples the clown cop hooked thumbs into his front belt  loops. "That list doesn't sound nearly as complete as it should."

Rebel smiled at the guy. "Beaucoup kind of you to offer, Jake-but I couldn't impose any further."

The whiskey in Jake's eyes caught some light. "You're starting to piss  me off, Stafford. For the hundredth time, escorting you and Lange into  town was a privilege, not an imposition."

Brynna barely kept her jaw from hitting the pavement. Well, that  explained Reb's "teleportation" trick. He and Rhett had been "escorted"  into Austin by the Highway Patrol, likely with lights blazing, sirens  blaring, and pedals to the proverbial metal. It did nothing to explain  Rhett's absence now but she had bigger-much bigger-fish to worry about  skinning.

Skinning quite a few creatures around here was suddenly a damn nice idea.

"As I recall, somebody insisted on using the SUV for a frozen yogurt run  last night," she retaliated. "So whose fault is it that said person's  wallet is still in the damn car?"

Jake swiveled back around, re-arching a tawny brow. "Our concern isn't  about last night, Miss Monet-only what was reported about the car today.  According to Sergeants Stafford and Lange, this SUV disappeared from  the driveway of the ranch where they're enjoying a well-deserved spring  vacation with a sweet little lady friend."                       
       
           



       

She swung a venomous glance at Rebel. "Oh, I'll show them ‘sweet'."

"It was their opinion that the perpetrator of this crime was headed this  way, apparently to cause some havoc at Nyles Royce's building." Gone  was the ribbing he'd shared with Rebel. He gazed at her with all the  earnestness of a male lead in a Zeferelli film. "With all due respect,  Miss Monet, everything you've just stated-"

"Walked me right into that trap." Brynn seethed through her locked teeth. "Didn't it?"

Jake and his partner, who went by H. Osten according to the name badge  he finally turned her way, shared a weighted glance. "Traps aren't  always what they seem," Osten finally stated. "Depends on how you look  at them."

The man clearly spoke from the standpoint of been-there-done-that-which  would have intrigued the hell out of her under normal circumstances. But  nothing about her life had been normal since taking Rebel Stafford's  hand and climbing into a Piper airplane four days ago.

Where was he going to take her this time?

And where the hell was Rhett?

And why did the possibilities of both answers make her shiver with anticipation as much as rage?

"Is that so, Officer Osten?" She made the mistake of emphasizing that by  glancing back at the infuriating pirate. Reb was ready for her glare,  rocking back on his heels, muscles pushing in all the right places at  his jeans and T-shirt. Damn it. If he had to be so smug, couldn't he be  less stunning about it? "How I look at it, hmmm? And let me take a  wild-ass guess about who's holding my rose-colored glasses."

Osten held up both hands. "Nobody's holding the reins but you, little lady. Choice is totally yours."

She snorted. "And that choice would be … ?"

"Fairly simple." Rebel flashed a smirk that made her yearn to slap him  and climb him at once. "Turn over the car keys-and yourself-right now to  the guy who is listed on the rental agreement."

He braced to both legs now, his stance matching the strength of his jaw  and the audacity of his eyes. Brynna pivoted, feeling like a dorky David  up against a bold, breathtaking Goliath. She cocked her head, openly  accusing. "Oh, is that all?"

"Yep. That's all."

"So walk away with you-or them?"

"Technically, you'd ride away with us," Jake inserted. "I've been told  that the cruiser's back seat is comfy, all factors considered."

Osten nodded. "Me, too. And the women's holding cell should be fun for  you, at least. We always have at least a few characters in there during  festival days."

"Did we release Madame Curie yet?" Jake threw a sardonic look to Rebel.  "You know how hard it is to locate family for a scientist who's been  dead for eighty years?"

"Not yet," Osten replied. "Though Davis told me she'd changed her mind.  Today, she's Susan B. Anthony. Made for a colorful exchange with the  three lovelies in black latex bikinis brought in by second shift."

Jake laughed. "I'll bet it did."

There was more where that came from, Brynna was positive of it-and she  was damn tempted to let them string out the performance, even at her  expense-but in the end, she recognized a deck of stacked cards when she  saw one. It was time to throw up her own hands, jog up her chin, and  capitulate while she still had some dignity left.

"Fine. You win." She shot a glare at the gallingly serene man across the pavement. "You win, asshole. Happy?"

She braced herself for Rebel's gloat. Instead, with unfaltering  composure, the man strode forward and hooked a hand around her elbow.  "Not by a longshot, minette petite."

His snarl was menacing and low. His grip closed in, painful and tight.  But before taking another step, he stopped to address the two uniformed  men now behind them-for all intents and purposes, the bastard's partners  in crime.

"Gentlemen, it's been a supreme pleasure. I'm certain Double-Oh agrees.  Thank you again for the help with the interest­ing … errrmm … pre­dicament  today."

Both officers shot back more loaded laughs. "Moonstormer, when have your predicaments not been interesting?" Osten drawled.

"Just happy that this time, he has his pants on," Jake rejoined.

"For the time being." Osten retrieved the keys from the SUV, pushed the  lock button on the fob then tossed the whole set to Rebel.

The pair chuckled harder, enjoying the air sliced by Rebel's raised  middle finger. Seeming to forget his parting shot as rapidly as he'd  dealt it, the man dug the full force of his deep blues back down into  Brynna. He'd left his cocky smirk behind, too-leaving her with a bunch  of residual wrath and not a shred of courage with which to hurl it at  him. No action felt right except the lead brick of a gulp now thudding  down her throat, while she endured more of the storm that had invaded  his face.                       
       
           



       

He leaned tighter over her. Lowered his mouth next to her ear. She  swallowed again, breathing hard from the fresh fire fall that tumbled  down through her body. Against even her strongest will, her head fell  back-more; please more!-until he snapped it back up, using only an  unfaltering grip on her nape.

"March." His mandate was as hard and rough as his hold. "And don't stop  until we get to your room. One hesitation or word of backtalk, and  you'll be looking at the world from over my shoulder. Understood?" After  a long moment, he dug his fingers into her scalp. "I don't think I  heard you, mon chou."

"Yes," Brynn finally retorted. "Yes, I understand you." Then in a bitter mutter, "Asshole."

Tension poured off of him, making her tense in expectation of being  thrown over his shoulder. He only pushed harder at her neck, guiding her  to the little room at the back of the main building's bottom floor,  located across from an old ice maker and soda machine. Brynn wasn't  surprised to find the door already opened by a crack, kept open by the  safety latch from inside, undoubtedly the result of more fancy Rebel  Stafford string pulling.

Through the opening, she smelled dusty air conditioning tinged by the  Shalimar perfume she'd reluctantly dabbed on before leaving. She was  shocked by how much the stuff permeated the air, but what the hell did  she know from fancy perfume? She liked light body spray that kept as  close to her as possible; as it was, the Shalimar had spent years in her  bathroom cabinet before she tossed it into her bag as a last-minute  "what if" essential for this trip.

That list of ‘what ifs" had been a long one.

It had never included a contingency for this.

Especially because she wasn't even sure what this was.

Strangely, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Between one step and the next, almost like a time warp effect in a  movie, everything … changed. The focus of her world was completely  different. The breeze on her face, nonexistent. The echoes of their  steps on the concrete hall, now muted. The creak of the door as Rebel  pushed it open, nearly silent.

But her heartbeat … pure thunder.

The potency of Rebel's form behind her … painful.

The throb of his breath against her neck … excruciating.