A Wicked Seduction (2 page)

She folded her arms over her chest, refusing to back down, a stubborn trait she'd learned from the very guy standing in front of her. “You know, for someone who showed me the tricks of the trade, you certainly have a way of making me sound inept,
despite
my training.”

His gaze narrowed at her attempt to heap guilt onto his conscience. “I'm not trying to make you feel inept,” he countered. “Dammit, Joelle, you shouldn't be out gallivanting after criminals. That's why you quit the police force.”

That wasn't why she'd resigned, and they both knew it. But it was a moot point she didn't wish to argue. “I need the extra money to help supplement my lower-income cases.”

“
I'll
help fund those cases. I've told you that.”

“No, thank you.” She appreciated her brother's support, but as always she refused to accept his offer. While the agency made damn good money from locating missing persons and other investigative services, which in turn fattened her own paycheck, she didn't feel right about draining his finances, or the company's, to support her own personal cause.

Ignoring any further protests, she plucked the folder from his grasp and didn't even flinch when he growled in response. Having been raised by Cole since the age of sixteen, she knew he was more bark and growl than bite.

He dropped into the chair Melodie had recently vacated, and Jo skimmed the contents of the file without his interference. She found all the pertinent information enclosed—a bail bond agreement, a certified copy of the bail, a booking slip, a picture of the fugitive and a copy of his Washington State driver's license. Though the guy had committed his crimes in San Francisco, he apparently hadn't bothered with a California renewal.

She took in his statistics. Dean Colter, age 32. Six feet tall and one hundred and ninety-five pounds. Judging by the date of birth on the document, he'd be celebrating his thirty-third birthday behind bars, since that date was next week Friday.

Her gaze traveled between the booking photo and the one on the license, comparing the two. The man had pitch-black hair, and though the license stated his eyes were green, she couldn't confirm that with either photograph. While the driver's license showed Dean Colter with a short, executive haircut and an easy grin, the booking picture captured a grown-out shaggy hairstyle and a cocky smirk. Obviously, the former photo had been taken
before
Dean's penchant for a life of crime.

Her finger skimmed down the attached report, absorbing more details and what he'd been charged with. Grand theft auto. “This is hardly a threatening skip.” She met her brother's gaze. “Come on, Cole, cut me some slack. It's not as though I'll be dealing with a murderer here.” She'd certainly come up against much worse.

“How do you know?” he challenged.

She perched her jean-clad bottom on the edge of her desk. “Because it states that he's a first-time offender with no priors. How dangerous can he be?”

Cole elevated a dark brow in response. “Did you happen to notice that his bail was set at a hundred thousand dollars?”

She glanced back to confirm Cole's claim, and her jaw nearly dropped in shock. She'd definitely missed that tidbit. “Why? He was only charged with GTA. That's a felony, yes, but a minor crime in general.”

“He was arrested with half a dozen high-end vehicles that were headed for a chop shop and theft ring that the local police have been trying to bust for the
past three months. The guy knows the contact's name, and he was willing to testify against him. The bail was set at such a high amount to keep him honest, but being a first-timer, he was very predictable and hightailed it back to his home address in Washington.”

“He's easy money then,” she said, very aware that her cut would be a cool ten grand, which would go a long way in filling her professional reservoir.

Cole sighed, the sound rife with resignation. “It's a good fifteen-hour drive to Seattle from Oakland.”

As if that minor inconvenience would deflate her determination! She figured out the time line in her mind. “If I leave within the hour and spend the night at a motel on the way, I'll be there by tomorrow afternoon.” She flashed Cole a quick grin that reflected the tide of exhilaration blossoming within her and warded off any further argument from him. “I'll be back before the weekend is over.”

She'd return with her guy in tow, and an easy ten grand in her pocket.

“W
HAT ARE YOU STILL DOING
at home?” Brett Rivers, the CEO of Colter Traffic Control asked his boss, the disapproval in his tone clearly drifting through the phone line. “You should have been long gone by now.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean tucked the cordless phone more comfortably against his ear as he walked out of his master bath with everything he needed for his spontaneous getaway. Brett was his right-hand man, a good friend, and someone Dean trusted implicitly to hold down the fort in his absence. “I keep telling myself the same thing,” he said, shoving his shaving kit into his duffle bag on top of the casual clothing he'd packed. “And I promise I'm almost out the door.”

After three years of working day in and day out to the point of mental exhaustion and burnout, Dean was anxious to taste a bit of freedom and indulge in a week of pure relaxation and solitude—with a cold beer in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. While basking in the sun and waiting for the trout to bite, he had some serious thinking to do about his future and the direction of his father's company. To make
the important decisions awaiting him, he needed a mind free and clear of any distractions or influences.

Dean gave his bedroom one last quick glance, found nothing he couldn't live without, and addressed Brett's question while zipping up his piece of luggage. “I know I told you I'd be leaving early this morning, but I had a few things to wrap up at the office and it took longer than I expected.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he groaned, realizing that he sounded just like his father, who'd passed away three years ago from a stroke. How many times had Dean been on the receiving end of that same excuse while growing up? And how many times had he resented that flippant explanation and sworn he'd never be like his father, who'd been obsessed with work to the point of excluding everything else in his life?

Too many times to count, yet here Dean was, careening down that same path to emotional and physical destruction. Sure, he had some work-related success to show for his efforts. He also had a broken engagement.

On a personal level his life was sorely lacking, and that knowledge was beginning to bother him. Especially since he'd lived such a carefree, easygoing life before taking on the family business. Hard to believe how much of a rebel he'd been back then. Now, when he came home in the evening after a twelve-hour day, or a week-long business trip, he was too aware that there was nothing or no one waiting for him. Hell, he didn't even have the time to care for a pet, let alone
give attention and affection to a woman. And the truth of the matter was, what woman would endure his rigorous schedule for the long run?

Certainly not Lora, the woman he'd been engaged to before taking over the reins of Colter Traffic Control for his father—before the demands of his job had taken over his life. Since then, he'd discovered that developing something deeper than an amicable acquaintance was difficult. He didn't have the time to get to know a woman well enough to establish something more than a brief fling. Nurturing a meaningful relationship took time and energy, and after handling each day's busy, exhausting workload he depleted both.

And now, a life-altering opportunity loomed in front of him, beckoning him, tempting him to seriously consider the offer that could change the course of his future and give him his old life back. Yet years of obligations and responsibilities told him to stay firmly grounded. The decision had him torn in two.

Grabbing his duffle bag, Dean headed downstairs to the kitchen, shoving those thoughts out of his mind. He'd have plenty of free, quiet time at the lakeside cabin he'd rented to mull over those issues and make decisions.

“So, what's with the phone call?” Brett prompted. “It's Saturday, my day off, and I've got a gorgeous redhead in a short, tight dress awaiting my attention.”

Dean grinned. At least his friend had his priorities straight. “I wanted to check in with you one last time before I hit the road, and wanted to let you know I
put a few contracts on your desk for you to handle while I'm gone.”

“Consider it done.”

Dean dropped his canvas bag on the kitchen table, then loaded a small cooler with a few sodas and snacks for the drive. “Also, Clairmont Construction increased their order of arrowboards, traffic beacons and portable light towers for that repair work they've got going on the freeway. The unexpected rain has put them behind, and they're working double shifts to bring the project in on time.”

“Dean, I've got it handled,” Brett drawled good-naturedly. “Get the hell out of Dodge, already. By the way, are you taking any company with you?”

“Nope.” He snapped the lid to the cooler shut and set the insulated container next to his bag. “It'll be just me and Mother Nature.”

“Man, you have no sense of fun at all, do you?” Brett said, sounding disappointed at Dean's lack of creativity in the opposite sex department. “Give me the address of the cabin and I'll send someone to keep you occupied during the day, warm at night, and help celebrate your birthday. Trust me, you'll come back to Seattle a new man.”

He'd been so caught up in work and his last business trip to San Francisco that he'd forgotten all about his birthday. Not that he normally did much more than join his friends for a drink, or have dinner with his mother. And the sad thing was, three years ago he would have jumped at the opportunity to celebrate
his birthday exactly as Brett was suggesting, but now his mind was consumed with business matters.

He didn't doubt the sincerity of Brett's generous offer and was quick to set his friend straight. “Thanks, but I'd just as soon find my own woman.”

After a few more minutes of ribbing from his friend to get a real life, Dean hung up the phone, shaking his head. He spent the next half hour loading his car with the cooler, camping gear, and fishing supplies he'd recently purchased through the Internet. After one final walk through the house to make sure everything was secured, he grabbed his duffle and keys from the table and headed out to the garage where his cherry-red, vintage '65 Mustang convertible awaited him.

Along with a woman holding a shotgun.

Startled to find he had company, he came to an abrupt halt. On the heels of realizing he wasn't alone came a twinge of apprehension as he warily eyed that lethal-looking weapon she cradled in one arm. Thankfully, it was pointed at the ground and not at him. She stood just where the rolling garage door opened, feet planted apart in a military type stance, and an air of boldness and presumptuousness radiating off her.

Despite the gun, she didn't
look
like a rough and tumble G.I. Jane. She wore her rich brown hair in a sleek ponytail, which served to emphasize a pretty face that seemed only to need the most basic of cosmetics to enhance her beguiling features. She was average in height, slender in stature, and undeniably
feminine, but there was no mistaking she was physically fit.

He shifted on his feet and returned his gaze to her face. Her lashes blinked lazily over eyes a velvet shade of blue, and a slow, confident smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

Despite the circumstances, a warm frisson of awareness trickled through him. Damn if he didn't find all that brazen confidence sexy. And exciting. The gleam in her eye was predatory with a definite challenge, and his body responded in an instinctive way that reminded him just how long it had been since he'd had a woman in his bed. More months than he cared to recall.

Cautiously, he stepped closer to the passenger side of the car and tossed his bag in the back seat. “Can I help you?”

She moved forward slowly, her stroll deceptively casual, that intimidating shotgun gripped loosely in her hand. Her hips, encased in button-fly jeans, swayed gently with each step. The blouse overlaying a white cotton tank top fluttered open, and he experienced a jolt of surprise to catch a glimpse of silver handcuffs clipped to the waistband of her jeans.

She stopped near the trunk of the Mustang, keeping distance between them, and tipped her head inquiringly. “Are you Dean Colter?” she asked, her voice low, throaty and assuming.

She knew his name. The knowledge registered, momentarily diverting his thoughts from those handcuffs and what she intended to do with them. “Yeah, I'm
Dean Colter,” he verified, suddenly feeling at a disadvantage. “And you are?”

“Jo Sommers,” she supplied easily. “Your personal escort.”

He frowned at her.
His personal escort?
Then his confusion ebbed as his earlier conversation with Brett tumbled through his mind. Obviously, his friend had meant what he'd said about sending him a woman for his birthday, but how had Brett arranged for her arrival so quickly?

The answer didn't really matter, not when Dean was coming to understand, and appreciate, that this woman's attire and realistic props were all part of some kind of law enforcement costume. One she'd most likely remove, piece by piece, until that luscious body was completely exposed for his eyes only. She'd said herself that she was his personal escort—a new, politically correct title for a stripper, he was guessing—sent for his pleasure and entertainment.

And he planned to cooperate.

He had no place more important to be at the moment, and his vacation could wait a few more minutes in view of the fun this gorgeous woman promised. He'd made a vow to lighten up and take life less seriously, to recapture some of the fun and spontaneity he'd enjoyed before his father's death. What could be more frivolous than playing along with her skit and enjoying the show?

She peered through the rear window to the back seat, taking in the items he'd packed for his trip, then
slanted him a challenging look. “Going somewhere?”

He'd go wherever she led him. Giving her his most charming, persuasive smile, he tossed out a dare of his own. “Well, now, that all depends on what
you
have in mind, sweetheart.”

A slow, reciprocating smile curved her mouth. “I think you know
exactly
what I have in mind. Don't make any sudden moves, do exactly as I say, and we'll get along just fine.”

Her voice was smooth, but her words were firm and commanding. Too curious to see what she intended, he held up his hands in supplication. “You've got my full cooperation.”

“That's good to hear, because your cooperation will make what I've got to do much easier for the both of us.” The barrel of her toy shotgun gestured him toward the back of the vehicle, closer to where she stood. “Put your hands on the trunk of the car, keep them there, and spread your legs.”

His brows shot upward in surprise, but he did as she ordered. He'd expected a striptease, nothing more, but who was he to put a crimp into her presentation? Pocketing his keys, he assumed the position.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, enjoying the kind of lighthearted, playful moment so reminiscent of the wild past he'd left behind. “I take it this is where I get frisked?” he asked, attempting to inject a bit of teasing between them.

She moved behind him, bringing with her a subtle scent of something soft and feminine. “Ahh, been
through this before, have you?” Her voice held a slight cynical edge that added to the realism of her act.

“Actually, no,” he replied with a grin. “But I guess there's a first time for everything.”

Pressing a hand against the center of his back, she holstered her shotgun in a leather loop on her belt. “It's a standard search, Mr. Colter, just to be sure you aren't carrying any concealed weapons.”

That all depends on what kind of concealed weapon you're searching for.
“It's your show,” he drawled, “And I'm all yours, to do with as you please.”

She uttered a soft snort of laughter that stirred the hair at the back of his neck and sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine. With a booted foot tucked against his sneakered one, she widened his stance even more, then skimmed her slender hands along his shoulders and under his arms. She leaned closer to sweep her palms over his chest and abdomen, causing the lush fullness of her breasts to brush his back and her hips to graze his. Heat pooled in his groin and ignited like wildfire wherever she touched.

And she touched him
everywhere.
Impersonal, yet intimate at the same time. Her fingers dipped into the waistband of his jeans and followed the circumference around to his back where her splayed hands dragged over his back pockets. The curve of his buttocks received equal treatment, and then her thumbs followed the crease between his thighs.

He sucked in a quick breath as the tips of her fin
gers grazed very masculine territory. But the tantalizing caress didn't last long—just fleeting enough to tempt and tease and arouse. She continued on, those capable hands traveling down the outside length of his legs, then she squatted to pat around his ankles and smooth her palms back up the inseam of his pants, all the way to the crotch of his jeans.

And still, she wasn't done with her shameless exploration. Her hands slid around to the front of his thighs, checking the contents of his pockets through denim by grasping the material. She came into contact with his keys and loose change, and moved toward the fly of his jeans.

Every molecule in his body tensed, including that inherently male part of him she was about to frisk. He felt compelled to issue a warning. “If you're not careful, sweetheart, you're gonna end up finding the only concealed weapon I've got on me.”

“Luckily for you I'm trained in handling fire-arms.” Her sultry voice, laced with wry humor, drifted into his ear from behind him. “And I haven't had one accidentally discharge on me yet.” She proved her claim by handling him gently and efficiently, finishing her search with quick precision.

An amused chuckle rumbled up from Dean's chest. Not only was Jo Sommers gorgeous and sexy, but she was witty and sassy, too. Obviously, Brett had known she was exactly what he needed to alleviate the stress and seriousness that had consumed his life for too long.