Bulletproof Princess (9 page)

His lame joke made her lips curl briefly into an almost-smile. “I didn’t mean…” she trailed off and gestured vaguely at his shirt. It didn’t take a translator to understand the rest of what she wasn’t saying.

He hugged her closer for a second before releasing her to sit next to him on the sofa. “I’d be surprised if it didn’t happen a couple more times. You just had your whole life turned upside down, your friend taken from you in the most brutal way possible. If you didn’t cry, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”

She snorted and swiped her eye with the heel of her hand. “I guess we can’t have that, now, can we?”

Mack nodded solemnly. “It does make sleeping difficult, yes.”

Cassie smiled tremulously and rose from the couch. Her look around the room was obvious to him. “I need to clean up my face.”

He didn’t begrudge her some alone time. Having that kind of emotional outburst was exhausting, something he knew better than he’d ever admit out loud. “I’ll clean up down here. Head upstairs and I’ll check on you before I turn in.”

Cassie nodded and walked to the stairs, pausing as he passed her in the foyer. “Mackenzie.”

He turned with raised eyebrows, curious to know what was on her mind. “Cassandra.”

“Thank you.”

The simple phrase hung between them until he nodded and turned back to the kitchen.

“Don’t mention it.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, attending to the glassware and liquor instead, for no other reason than self-preservation. In a lot of ways, he felt closer to her than he’d been to any woman in a long time—with the exception of his partner—and they hadn’t even been naked. It was a difficult thing for him to process and not really one he wanted to tackle at midnight with whiskey in his system and more available.

“She’s my witness,” he growled to the empty room, though he didn’t really expect or want an answer in return. He knew damn good and well what the correct response should be; he just wasn’t trying to hear it.

* * *

“What do you mean when you say ‘fell off the map’?” Grambling sipped his sparkling water while poring over news sites on the web. Keeping his voice from thundering through his office took all his energy. He didn’t even look up from his computer knowing if he looked away from the screen, he’d be launching the monitor at his investigator, which, while gratifying in the short term, would be difficult to explain in the long term. “He has a cell phone. You’re telling me a grown adult in these United States has actually turned off their cell phone for more than the length of a feature film? Is that what I’m hearing, Daviess?”

His designated computer minion, a country boy from Wetumpka, Alabama with surprisingly nimble mind and fingers in addition to his soothingly slow drawl, took a step further in the room, and didn’t flinch under his wrath. He might actually keep this one. “No Facebook profile, no Twitter handle, no presence in social media at all, but not unusual given the secretive nature of the job. His phone GPS pinged last at his house an hour after you met with him and hasn’t moved since.”

“Any movement on his financials?”

“Stagnant.”

That single word caught Grambling’s attention and had him peering at the slender man in the plaid shirt and navy tie over his monitor. “Not even an ATM withdrawal?” He knew Jefferson came from money, unfathomably large amounts of money that made him damn near unimpeachable in terms of bribery, but still, he didn’t strike him as an ‘off the grid’ kind of guy.

Daviess shook his head and adjusted his tie. “Other than right after your meeting with him the other night, not even so much as a Slushie from Circle K. Add that to his empty house which we’ve been monitoring regularly, his truck’s alarming lack of GPS uplinks, and his partner’s solo adventure in Las Vegas, and he’s a ghost.”

And with the lack of news on Cassie beyond press releases of her time in seclusion to grieve and her million-and-a-half album sales, none of what he wanted to know was available to him. His boss, the man who paid him the money he planned to retire on, was going to come unglued. She was the one who could tie him to his hitman and bring down a very large—and highly lucrative—underground business. The mother of all loose ends, and loose ends made his boss livid. Livid Guillermo meant Dead Austin, if he couldn’t find a way to locate Mack and, by extension, Cassandra.

“No one simply disappears, even someone uniquely suited for the task.” Austin pushed away from the desk just far enough to prop his feet up on the corner and cross them at the ankles. Even if he was rapidly becoming terrified of a slow death at the hands of a frighteningly sane man, he was determined it would never show. “Start hunting through his background. There has to be somewhere he would go to ground. Somewhere not obvious…”

“Or conversely, somewhere so obvious it wouldn’t appear reasonable on the surface.” Daviess got the look in his eye of a man on a mission, a trait Grambling liked in the young man. He was like a wind-up toy, just point him in the chosen direction and watch him go. “Friends, family, school acquaintances…”

Liking where the young man was headed with this, Grambling moved back to his search position. “Are you still here?”

Sunlight was an evil creation designed to drive spikes into her head and wring all the moisture out of her body. Cassie didn’t think she’d been that affected by the whiskey last night, but her sandpaper eyelids begged to disagree. Her hair also expressed its displeasure as she fought with it for ten minutes in the shower. It was that or focus on the closed door on the other side of the bathroom from her own room.

Mack was confusing to her. His protectiveness of her was undeniable, or else she wouldn’t be holed up in these admittedly lush accommodations. But there were other things about him, forbidden things that drew her to him even if it was expressly off limits. Part of her figured it was just a side effect of being emotionally leveled by Clint’s death and separated from her friends. That seemed like a reasonable explanation for her meltdown yesterday, and the comfort he provided to her, but a small part… A small part of her really liked the way it felt when he held her, not that she expected it to continue. She didn’t plan on crying any more in front of him at all, if she could help it. That just wasn’t her.

Fishing her swimsuit out of her suitcase, she decided to get a grip on the rest of her day and hopefully her life, eventually. The white and black polka dotted bikini was a retro throwback and made her feel like a Bond Girl, sexy and sassy, then she threw on some cutoffs, sunglasses, and her flip flops. Guitar and notebook in hand, she headed out to the door to camp by the pool.

The cabana was bright yellow and white stripes, with a circus-type roof and canvas walls. She tied back the doors to reveal another opulent rattan chaise big enough for her and the whole of the backup band, even cushier than the ones poolside, a long table full of towels, and a matching rattan side table. Even in the heat of the day, the shade made it wonderfully cool. The whole setting was relaxing and peaceful, exactly what she needed. Quality time with her notebook and Betsy, the time when she felt the most whole and real.

* * *

Mack had been awake since he heard the water start for the shower. It was early enough in the morning that he let his thoughts drift, unmoored, as he imagined her soaped up and soft, her hair pinned up, showing off her sexy shoulders and back. He could trace the droplets of water sluicing down the line of her jaw, her neck, her chest… It was a dangerous path to wander down, and he knew, but he didn’t intend to meander too far. He was only human, and if he kept himself ruthlessly in check the rest of the time, he could indulge in his harmless little morning fantasy without guilt. Plus, she was grieving, and it took a special kind of asshat to even ponder moving in that direction when she was emotionally compromised.

He made the mistake of stepping into the bathroom not long after Cassie vacated the shower, only to be struck full-on by her spicy cinnamon scent carried on the moist air. His body reacted immediately, and all thoughts of merciless self-control incinerated in front of him. It was going to be a long day.

As much as he probably needed it, he decided to forego the cold shower and to suit up for a swim. It was another benefit to being at his parents’ house, free access to the most scenic pool in the state of Arizona. Mountain views, sunshine, cool water, and iced tea, it made for a perfect day, especially without his family present. Conchita was around somewhere, he knew that when he found makings of flautas chilling in the fridge, a pot of pinto beans soaking on the stove, and a block of manteca on the counter. Every time he came home, she did her level best to put twenty pounds on him. He let her, honestly, because her food was just that good, and the love it represented was even better.

Mack checked his phone, again, for any sign of life from Las Vegas. He knew Ange would call him the moment she had any kind of movement in any direction on the case. She was damn good at the job, and he’d never been more grateful. It was unbelievably difficult to be on this end of the waiting game instead of out kicking in doors and knocking heads together. He much preferred his method.

He was on his way out the door with a sweating glass of tea when he heard the music. It was familiar in the sense that he knew the song, an old one, and an unusual choice for the voice spinning it into gold. Following the sound, he found himself at the cabana. Kicked back in the shade, golden hair held back by her sunglasses, her eyes closed and fingers moving as she laid waste to a Roy Orbison song, Cassie—bare-legged and beatific—appeared angelic.

Transitioning smoothly into some Marshall Tucker, no mean feat by any stretch, she carried on through the first chorus and refrain before he decided to join her in the shade. She jumped a good three feet when the cushion moved under his weight.

“Holy crap, Mackenzie!”

It sounded like ‘holycrapmonkeys!’ accompanied by the most entertaining wide-eyed look he’d ever seen. The laughter he tried to contain had him collapsing over sideways onto the lounger next to her in full-blown guffaws.

Eyes still wide, she set the guitar next to her on the lounge and shoved her bangs out of her face. “You scared the bejesus out of me, Mackenzie!” She gestured to the glass of tea that had been knocked to the ground and was leaking its rapidly evaporating contents onto the concrete. “See? Bejesus, all over the ground!”

Still amused, he leaned down and picked up the glass, secretly glad it didn’t break on impact because Conchita’s reaction would have been less than pleasant, not to mention his phone was still in his hand. “Technically, it was
my
bejesus and I’m sorry for startling you.”

Her cheeks darkened to a deep rose as she grinned at him shyly and set her guitar in the seat beside her. Again, Mack reminded himself this was not that kind of party, regardless of how cute her little bikini with the polka dots was, or how the pristine white fabric made her skin look that much tanner. Nah, he was good.

“I don’t know why, but I guess I didn’t expect you to be up yet, or out here, or…” her blush darkened as she fumbled through her excuses.

He shrugged and stood, taking his now-empty glass with him. “I just came out for a swim and I heard the music. You didn’t strike me as a Roy Orbison fan.”

He held the glass up as an offer and she nodded. He was back in a flash with another glass full of ice and a pitcher of tea to share. Feeling uncomfortably like Suzy Homemaker, he resumed his perch on the edge of the lounger near her delicate hot-pink toed feet.

“So,” she started as she stirred the ice in her glass with her fingernail, “you figured that because the majority of my fan base is thirteen to fifteen years old, my musical tastes would stop before the mid-nineties?”

The slightly censuring tone of her question had him blushing now, too. “Yeah, well, no, I mean…”

Cassie leaned over with a mischievous smile and laid a cool hand on his arm. “Why don’t you quit before you actually swallow that foot completely? They may be able to save it and reattach it without too much effort.”

This little slip of a woman with a blonde ponytail and sexy little bikini top had rendered him tongue-tied. This was his element! This was where he shone! Stepping forward to get the girl when all others got tangled in their own insecurities, and now… he couldn’t complete a sentence. It’d be galling if she hadn’t been so cute. His eyes fell to the notebook beside her with numerous blue scribbles. “Whatcha up to?” he asked as he reached for it.

Moving faster than he anticipated, Cassie snatched the notebook up, closed it, and dropped it into her open guitar case on the ground next to her. “Working, same as you.”

He took his hand back with a smile at her coyness. “I see. I didn’t realize playing acoustic covers constituted work.”

With a slowness that demonstrated her purposefulness, she dropped her shades onto her face and shook out her hair. “And I didn’t realize sunbathing in an unreasonably expensive watch constituted working, either.” Hooking a manicured nail over the temple of her glasses, she pulled them down her nose to make a show of taking in his shirtlessness and black board shorts before returning to his face with a quirked eyebrow.

He pursed his lips at her verbal parry as he resisted the urge to touch his watch. “Touché, little missy.” It was suddenly much hotter than it had been when he’d ventured outside originally, but then, smart women had a tendency to do that to him. “So you gonna sit here and play all day or join me in the water?”

Cassie tapped her chin and pooched out her lip while closely examining the heavy canvas ceiling of the cabana. “I suppose so. What happens if Ange calls?”

Mack rose and stretched, leaving his phone in his spot while casually making his way to her side of the lounge chair. “Then I’ll get out and answer her. C’mon, it’s not getting any cooler in here.” With his pronouncement and to the sound of her ear-splitting squealing, he picked her up and spirited her to edge of the pool. Not even giving her time to take off her sunglasses, he plunged them both into the bracingly cold water.

* * *

Cassie surfaced first, sputtering and swearing as she made her way to the shallow end. Mack hadn’t even given her a chance to take off her sunglasses or ditch her cutoffs. Good thing she didn’t have anything in her pockets but guitar picks. “What the hell is the matter with you?” she hollered as he surfaced, making no attempts at hiding his laughter.

“You looked hot.” His toothy grin was wicked, unrepentantly so.

“I did, did I?” She stomped as best she could to the side and tossed her sodden shorts onto the concrete with an angry slap. “Oh, it is so on.”

The ensuing water fight lasted about twenty minutes, leaving them both hoarse from laughter and coughing up water. It was a no-holds-barred affair and she appreciated that he didn’t treat her like she was terribly fragile, like most people in her life did. As he took a rest in the deeper end, she figured it would be the perfect time to creep up on him and dunk him like he’d been doing to her. Cutting silently through the water, she was right behind him when he turned suddenly and scooped her up.

The surprise of being tossed halfway across the pool had her inhaling enough water to float a toy sailboat. When the coughing and choking didn’t stop after a minute, she tried to make her way to the stairs at the far end of the pool, but tripped over her own feet and went under again. Panic washed over her as the water covered her, and the next thing she knew she was lifted from the water and hustled back to the lounge chair.

Mack was gentle as he set her down and covered her with her towel. He then relocated her guitar into its case to the ground and moved in to sit next to her with his arm around her shoulders. “I am so sorry, Cass.”

She would have laughed at the contrition on his face and in his voice if she could have gotten a breath in. “I’m… Fine… Really,” she croaked as she patted his leg, then winced. Not a good thing for a woman who made her living singing. Better to sit in silence and let her voice and breathing recover than to screw something up irrevocably.

Mack pursed his lips at her protestations to the contrary. “Drink your tea.” He pressed the glass into her hand and made her suffer through several weak and watery swallows before he moved away just far enough to grab the pitcher and refill her glass. “You doing better?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” When she spoke, it didn’t feel like her throat was about to peel back like a roasted onion. His arm across her shoulder felt warm and heavy, and it was definitely comforting being close to him.

He shifted a little and looked her over like he doubted her honesty. “You sure? Are you hungry? I can make you something—”

Giggling probably wasn’t the most appropriate response, but she couldn’t help it. He looked more freaked out now than he did when they were compromised at the safe house. “I really am fine, Mackenzie. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Mack scoffed as he turned to face her a little better. “Yeah, I do. I damn near drowned you.” He reached out like he was going to touch her face, but pulled his hand back, dropping it to his lap in an unusual display of uncertainty.

Rather than call attention to it, she dismissed his concern with a shrug. “Eh, I lived. No harm, no foul.” She laid her hand over his, feeling much more sure about the action than he did. When he didn’t recoil from her touch, she trailed her fingertips from his hand to his watch before travelling slowly up his arm along the path mapped out in the lines of his tattoos. In the style of the walls of carved rock that she’d seen earlier in the week on a trip to Red Rock Canyon, figures and images danced up his soft skin. All of them strikingly beautiful in full color, she could see how wearing that much ink could be quite the commitment in addition to making a statement. He seemed to be holding his breath as he watched her progress to his shoulder, the stillness of prey in the sights of a hunter. “Tell me about them?”