Bounty Hunters: 03 Stay Hungry (22 page)

"
Mi amore,
you are quite spoiled," he said, his tone a deadly purr. Mario walked to her windows, pulled the cord, and made the curtains flutter open. "Look at this view. I find this rather to my liking." He shifted his attention to her bed and moved farther into her suite. "I'm glad you told me you didn't sleep well last night."

"What?" She was forced to follow him or she'd lose sight of him. His eyes were so dark they looked black, and his face was twisted in a rather demonic glare. But he was purring almost affectionately when he spoke to her. His tone contradicted his appearance.

"If you hadn't, I might be jealous, thinking you didn't sleep alone. Your bed is rather torn up."

If he expected her to apologize for the condition of her room when she hadn't thought they would stay here, he would be disappointed. "I'll call Housekeeping." Knowing someone would be interrupting them soon sounded like a solid plan. She grabbed the phone before Mario could say anything, pushed the button, and gripped it to her ear, keeping her back to him as it buzzed in her ear. "Yes, room twelve-twelve. I'm entertaining this morning and need Housekeeping here immediately to clean the room." Her spoiled tone was enough to make her puke and didn't impress the woman on the other end of the line, either. But the woman told Angela she'd have someone there soon and hung up.

"That wasn't necessary,
mi amore,
" Mario grumbled, his voice even more threatening with his soft, slow drawl. "Unless for some reason you're suddenly nervous to be alone with me."

That was her cue and she'd rehearsed the tar out of this moment in her head ever since leaving his house the night before. Angela spun around, her jaw dropping, then closed it slowly as she started toward him.

"Do you think I'm some stupid hypocrite?" she asked, keeping her voice as soft as his had been. "I told you I understand what you do and am cool with it." As quickly as she'd sounded accusatory, she changed her expression, shifted her weight to her other foot, and waved her hand at him dismissively. "My father has had to make an example to his employees before. You aren't that different, you know."

Mario found the glass doors that separated the bedroom area from the living room and gestured for her to enter her bedroom. Since this also shut them off from the closet where her suitcase was, Angela obediently left the phone by her round table and joined him, not saying a word when he closed the doors, closing them in the master bedroom.

He didn't say a word as he made himself comfortable on the love seat in the corner of the bedroom, then pulled out his phone. "Tomas will bring us coffee. Sit," he ordered, patting the space next to him.

She didn't know his game but reassured herself that he didn't know her game, either. She moved across her room, still barefoot but knowing the dress she wore would appeal to Mario. One glance at his face and she knew he was paying attention to how her outfit hugged all of her curves. She didn't have to sleep with the enemy to use sexuality against him.

"There is a Starbucks across the street," she offered, sitting on the couch next to him and twisting to face him, with her back in the corner at her end.

Mario nodded, gave Tomas instructions, and clasped his phone shut. He placed it on the coffee table, then rested his hand on her knee. If either of them looked straight ahead and not at each other, they would be able to stare at her destroyed bed, the bed where Jake had made her come harder than she had in her entire life. It hit her Mario probably chose this location with that view intentionally, believing if she had slept with someone else, it would rattle her and expose her guilt if made to sit facing the scene of the crime,

"Did you resolve the problem with your hired help last night?" she asked before Mario could say whatever he was about to say. She needed to lead this conversation. "I'm sorry I ran out on you, but men fighting have always upset me. I've always hated it," she added, wrinkling her nose again in a look she had discovered Mario interpreted as indicating her being spoiled.

This time he didn't comment on her being spoiled. He was probing, studying her, and making no qualms about the fact that he was doing so. If she remained steady under his gaze, he might grow even more suspicious and start believing she was raised around interrogations and not businessmen making deals with their fists.

She sighed loudly when he remained quiet after a moment. "I just said I was sorry I ran out," she whined, feeling like an idiot and sounding like a child. All part of the job, she told herself. "Maybe next time when your men are out of line and bugging you, take them away from me and then make them obey you." She puffed out her lower lip, tilted her head slightly, and stared him in the eye.

"I don't want you to worry about any of this anymore," he said, his voice gentle.

"How could I not when you wouldn't let me back into your home last night?" She threw her hands up in the air and let them fall and slap her legs. It would be one hell of an acting job to pull off a temper tantrum, but if it would convince him her intelligence wrapped around social events and shopping she would damn well do it.

"I wasn't there,
amore,
" he crooned. "My staff has already been instructed to allow you inside if I'm not there and make sure you are made comfortable until I return."

She seriously doubted any of that was true. "There is nothing worse than disobedient staff. I'm sure you have the matter under control, but if you don't, I can get you references to replace your house servants." She banked on him turning down her request, since she didn't have a clue where someone would hire maids and butlers.

"That won't be necessary." Mario placed his hand over both of her hands. His skin was cold and smooth, not warm and a bit rough like Jake's. "Like I said, this isn't something you will worry about. The matter is well under control."

"Good," she said, and moved her hands farther down her legs. He tightened his grip on her, but at least his hand wasn't so close to her crotch now.

"I have a question for you, and I'll know whether you answer truthfully or not."

"Sure." She shrugged with one shoulder as she studied his face. More than anything she wished the coffee or Housekeeping would arrive.

"Who is your father?" Mario asked.

"You know who my father is." She blurted out the line she had come up with if he asked her that question. "Are you doing business with him?" she asked, her eyes going wide as she leaned forward just a bit, as if excited to learn new gossip. Holding the pose for only a moment, she leaned back against the love seat and forced herself to look determined. "Nope. I don't care if you are," she announced. "I hate him. I told you that already."

"I'll get more to the point." He tightened his grip, pinching her fingers together and piercing her with a look that made her feel a twinge of nervousness for the first time since sitting with him. "Is your father a detective?"

Angela stared back at Mario, holding her facial expression as she stared blankly at him. No way would she let him catch her off guard. Men like Mario played on throwing out the unexpected, maneuvering their prey into a corner, and pouncing the moment their target's defenses were down. What they never seemed to take into consideration was that all criminals seemed to use the same tactics for intimidation. She'd rehearsed this conversation in her head several times before going live with Mario now. It was a plan of attack her father had taught her years ago. There was never a way of knowing exactly what a criminal would say, but with good forethought, several plausible comments or questions could be predicted. It was imperative to rehearse not only her responses but her body language during the conversation as well.

"Yes," she said, nodding once, having decided last night confirming her father was a detective would be the best way to maintain her cover. It would also be the last answer Mario would expect her to give, which helped her hold on to the lead. "But you know that already."

"I know that now," he said, not hesitating, although it seemed something shifted in his gaze. "Why is it something you kept from me?"

"I haven't kept that from you. His success makes him a hard secret to keep," she mumbled, sounding disgusted. "If I could keep the world from knowing I'm his daughter, I would do that." Angela laughed, watching Mario's expression change, the hard lines dissipating as he continued studying her. "Wait a minute," she continued, her nerves relaxing as her confidence built and she finished her lines. "Don't use me to get to him, please. He's such a worm." She turned her hands under Mario's, knowing this was where she needed to be a bit affectionate. Her stomach twisted when she squeezed his hand and his fingers quickly intertwined with hers. "I already know you're much more intelligent, quick on your toes. If my father is giving you grief, he doesn't stand a chance against you. You can handle him," she finished, whispering her last sentence as if she were seducing Mario. "He doesn't even handle his investments as well as you do."

He hadn't expected her response. And she'd known he wouldn't, which was why she'd decided it was the best angle to go with. Tomas couldn't show up with that coffee soon enough.

Mario laughed and for the first time his focus dropped to her breasts.

"I'm not concerned about what your father thinks of me," Mario said, sounding amused. He released her hands and began stroking her leg. "You,
mi amore,
are all I'm worried about."

"Mario, don't worry about me," she said. "I know how to take care of myself."

"I'm not so sure about that." His phone rang and he reached for it, answering it without saying a word. Then standing as he closed the phone, he opened the glass doors and disappeared toward the hotel door.

Angela followed him, closing the glass doors again, this time shutting them in the living room half of her suite. Mario let Tomas into her room and took a cardboard box with tall cups in it from Tomas. She hurried forward, grinning easily at Tomas, and slipped one of the cups out of Mario's hands.

"I'm leaving town and I've decided to take you with me," Mario announced. "I've researched your father and although I know you aren't a detective, and wouldn't possess any of those skills, someone like your father would keep a very close rein on those dear to him. You tell me you two aren't close, but that doesn't mean James Huxtable wouldn't have a vested interest in what his daughter does and who she associates with. When I travel, I would like you at my side. We will make good traveling companions, and knowing you're safe with me will resolve any issues that might arise otherwise."

* * *

Jake pulled into the driveway and stared at the stucco house. It was well kept, with a screened-in front porch and brick path that led from the curb to the porch stairs. Angela sat with her hands clutched together in her lap, staring out the window. She'd been quiet most of the way over here. Mandela's conversation had upset her, although she'd tried making light of it, even going as far as bragging up her acting skills when she told Jake how Mandela had looked stupefied when she had admitted her father was a detective. It had been a good move on her part but didn't buy them very much time. First, Mandela thought he was taking Angela out of town, which would happen when hell froze over. And second, which was equally as important, Mandela wouldn't leave Huxtable alone now. If anything, Mandela would track him down with more energy and motivation now, using him to keep Angela at his side and behaving how he wanted her to behave.

"Ever been here before?" Jake asked, studying her profile.

The moment she snapped out of her thoughts, she pursed her lips, then turned to meet his gaze. "Never. And he's going to hear about it, too." She shook her head, looking more disgusted than pleased.

A few of the bricks were loose in the path up to the house, and there was a really simple doorbell system in use. The moment Jake stepped onto the porch steps, several dogs started barking frantically inside.

"May I help you?" a woman asked when she opened the front door and stared at Jake, then Angela, through the dark screen door. The woman didn't give any indication she suspected who Angela was, which was interesting in itself.

"I have an appointment," he said, repeating the words Huxtable had instructed him to use when he'd arrived. Jake hadn't mentioned bringing Angela along, although Huxtable never asked whether she would be there or not.

The woman could have been somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five. Jake had never been really good at guessing an age with ladies, especially when they kept themselves in good shape, as this woman obviously did. There were silver streaks in her hair, which was straight and curled under at her neck. She wore a T-shirt and shorts, and when she used her leg to block the two dogs and open the screen he noticed not only that she was barefoot but also that, judging by her muscle tone, she probably did a lot of bike riding, jogging, or both.

"Umm, yes. Okay, come in," she said, sounding hesitant. The pensive looks she shot him and Angela were curious. If this were her home, Jake would think she'd be accustomed to people coming here with appointments, unless Huxtable had just set up shop with this woman. "The dogs are harmless," she offered, leading the way across the screened-in porch and into the house, leaving Jake and Angela to find that fact out for themselves.

The dogs quit barking without instruction when they followed the woman into a dark, small living room. Jake prayed she was right about her pets and focused his attention on her, instead of the two dogs.

"I'm Jake," he began.

Angela was doing an incredible job of remaining quiet, his requirement for her coming along, since he'd arranged to meet Huxtable without mentioning anything about Angela. She'd balked at first but finally promised she wouldn't say a word until they were alone with her father. The look on her face showed the torture she was enduring. Angela watched the woman like a hawk, barely aware of the dogs, and probably was biting her tongue to keep herself from lashing out with a hundred questions as to who this woman was and what she was doing in Angela's father's life.