"I assume you came to town for the parade?"
He paused. "I arrived today."
An evasive answer. "To celebrate or for business?"
The corner of his mouth tilted up. "Are ye curious about me, lass?"
She shrugged. "Professional curiosity. I'm in law enforcement, so I have to wonder why you're carrying a lethal weapon."
His smile grew wider. "Perhaps ye should disarm me."
Her chin went up. "Make no mistake, I could if I needed to."
"And how would ye do that?" He pointed at her bag. "Will ye take on my claymore with yer wee sticks?"
She wasn't about to explain why she was carrying wooden stakes. So she folded her arms across her chest and changed the subject. "How did you get the sword on a plane?
Or through customs?"
He mimicked her move, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why are ye wandering about the park all alone?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "I like to jog. Now it's your turn to answer."
"Dinna anyone tell ye'tis dangerous to run with a pointed stick?"
"It's my protection. And it's still your turn to answer. Why do you have a sword?"
"'Tis my protection. It chased that wee man away."
"A loud boo would have chased him away."
He grinned. "I believe ye're right."
She bit her lip to keep from smiling back. The blasted man was aggravating and attractive at the same time. And he still hadn't answered her question. "You were about to tell me why you're wandering about Central Park with a sword?"
"'Tis called a claymore. And I like to keep it handy at all times."
An image flitted through her head of the Scotsman naked in bed with his huge weapon. And the sword. "I fail to see why you need the claymore. You certainly look muscular enough to protect yourself."
"How kind of ye to notice."
Notice? She was doing a lot more than that. Her brain was busy undressing him, and if the rascal's twinkling eyes were any indication, he'd guessed she was enjoying the view.
Her gaze ventured south once again, past his blue and green plaid kilt, and this time, she noticed the hilt of a knife peeking from the edge of his sock. Her heart raced faster. The man was packing multiple weapons. Maybe she should frisk him. Maybe she should call the paramedics first. "Do you have a name?"
"Aye."
She raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response, but he merely smiled. Aggravating man.
"Let me guess. You're Conan, the Barbarian?"
He laughed. "I'm Angus."
As in prime beefcake? She should have known. "Do you have a last name?"
"Aye." He opened the leather bag hanging from his belt.
She stepped back, wondering if he was packing heat. "What do you have in there?" His sporran looked well-worn, as if he used it every day.
"Doona worry, lass. I'm looking for a business card." He removed the metal flask she'd noticed earlier so he could rummage through the remaining contents of the brown leather pouch.
She folded her arms while she waited. "Whenever you need something, it's on the bottom. I have the same problem with my purse."
He shot her an irritated look. "This is no' a purse. 'Tis a fine, manly tradition amongst the Scots."
Aha. She'd found a weak spot. She gave him a wide-eyed Bambi look. "Looks like a purse to me."
He gritted his teeth. "'Tis called a sporran."
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. No wonder she found this guy appealing. He made her smile, and it had been a long time since she'd acted happy and playful. Her mission dominated her life, and she had to take it seriously. The enemy was deadly. "So, what do you keep in there? Besides the whisky. Do you have any shortbread or leftover haggis?"
"Verra funny," he grumbled, although his mouth was curling into another smile. "If ye must know, I have a cell phone, a roll of duct tape—"
"Duct tape?"
He arched a brow. "Doona mock a man's duct tape. It comes in verra handy for binding wrists and ankles."
"Why would you bind someone?" She gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh, poor baby. Is it that hard to get a date these days?"
He grinned. "'Tis also good for covering up a saucy mouth." His gaze lowered to her mouth. And stayed. His smile faded.
Her heart stuttered. His gaze moved back to her eyes with an intensity that squeezed the air out of her lungs. And made her nerves tingle. Even her toes were curling under.