Beauty and the Brit (3 page)

“I understand if you’re not comfortable with a stranger after what you’ve been through. But I’m certainly happy to help. You said you have to work in the morning, that’s all.”

She could think of ten reasons having this man drive down Lake Street to her neighborhood at this time of night was a bad idea. Aside from the fact he’d show up like a spotlight in a coal mine, he could get lost, he could get his car keyed, he could find Hector lying in wait and get his English ass handed to him . . . and she’d have to rescue him right along with everyone else.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Chase said. “Less time for Paul to get antsy and leave to go solve things on his own.”

That point was worth considering.

“I’d be honored to do more than stand around gawping.”

Honored?
She sighed. She didn’t want to be responsible for him out on the streets, but when that patient smile slipped onto his lips, her brain tilted off balance yet again.

“All right,” she said, before she could stop herself. “But let me warn you, where we’re going isn’t an English garden. It’s about as un-pretty as it gets.”

“It’s quite all right.” He nodded, unperturbed. “I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

She remembered her manners just in time to stop a snort of disbelief.

Chapter Two

“T
HERE, ON THE
right. With the outside light.”

David peered down the dark street in the direction of Rio’s outstretched finger. “The two-story, just there?”

“Yes.”

He found an empty spot along the curb and executed an impressive parallel park for a Brit from Yorkshire.

“I can’t see if anyone’s there.” Bonnie, in the backseat, pressed her nose to the window.

“No lights in the house,” Rio said. “Doesn’t
look
like Paul’s come back.”

The young man with whom David had crashed to the floor half an hour before had disappeared as soon as Chase had turned his back. David’s gut clenched. First the guy had, if Rio’s story was to be believed, nearly allowed his young sister to be prostituted. Now he’d run out on keeping them safe. Brother or not, Paul Montoya was a lowlife if ever one had crawled out of the primordial ooze.

He swallowed the anger. There was nothing he could do about the girls’ brother, so he concentrated on getting them safely to the house the three siblings shared. It had been left to them after their parents’ death, he’d learned. He searched the dark, tree-lined street. At least Rio’s small house had a well-lit sidewalk and seemed secure.

“This is nice,” he said, hoping to put a little lightness back in Rio’s face. “You made it sound as though you lived in a carton in the middle of the street.”

She offered a rueful smile. “It’s not a lot bigger than that, but at least we have locks on our carton. Some people don’t.”

“I don’t see anyone lurking about.” David automatically scanned the overgrowth around the house foundation looking for movement in the shadows. “But let’s get you in as promised.”

“You don’t need to do that.” She faced him with the frank, sapphire stare that had fascinated him at first sight. Her entire spring-loaded body fascinated him, with its lithe, wary grace and rich, paprika hair so different from her siblings’ black curls. “You probably don’t want to leave this car unattended.”

“Why ever not?” He laughed. “It’s a Subaru not a Lamborghini.”

“Is it stolen?” she countered. “Has the odometer been tampered with? Does it have a single scratch on it? Believe me—this might as well be a Porsche made of platinum out here.”

Her seriousness made its impression and he nodded. “All right, so noted. With that in mind, I’ll take two minutes’ worth of chance.”

Exiting the car into the unseasonably cool, early-August night, he stared up through the boulevard trees and made out ragged wisps of clouds bearding a waning moon. He gave his upper arms a couple of warming scrubs and hurried around the front of the car to where Rio had already thrown the passenger door open. When he offered her a hand, she stared as if she had no idea what he wanted. As if she hadn’t been treated like a lady in a long time.

Bonnie, on the other hand, beamed when he reached for her hand.

“You know, I wouldn’t do this chivalry thing in front of the punks around here.” Rio’s eyes clearly mocked him as he guided Bonnie protectively to the front of their parade of three. “I can’t imagine what kind of field day the Whites and Browns would have over such eccentric manners. Not to mention with you if you opened your mouth.”

“Are you making fun of my accent?” After ten years in the United States, he was used to the attention his voice drew and, thanks to BBC America, people gave it readily.

“Just keeping it real. Around here, they’d call your accent ‘pansy-assed’ and give you a beating for fun.”

Was she just trying to shock him now? He wasn’t shocked, but he was confused at the way she’d grown ever cooler and warier. “Well, thanks much for the warning,” he said. “Clearly I need to keep very quiet while I walk you to the door.”

A quick, amused light flared in her eyes, and she allowed her sensuous mouth to twitch upward. “You should be a lot more nervous than you are. That’s all.” She turned and headed for the house.

“You live here,” he replied. “If you’re not afraid, why should I be? I’m just a possible deterrent to someone jumping out of the bushes.”

“All the more reason not to look or sound like a dude from
Men in Tights
.”

“Ah,” he replied, smiled, and raised the pitch of his voice slightly to quote. “But they’ll listen to me because, unlike some other Robin Hoods, I
can
speak with an English accent.”

Bonnie giggled. Rio stopped and stared as if he’d just belched in church. He laughed and took her upper arm gently, continuing toward her door. “It’s from the movie?” he offered. “
Robin Hood: Men in Tights
?”

“I
know
that. I just think you must be insane.”

“Inappropriate perhaps. Not insane. A bit of levity on a tense night, sorry. I don’t mean to make light of your fear.”

“Hey.” She pulled free of his hold. “You said it yourself a minute ago. I’m not afraid. So don’t think you have to be any kind of superhero.”

He grinned at her ruffled feathers. Her hair, piled on her head like thick, maroon silk, shone in the light from the porch, a few stray strands hinting at its length. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. On the one hand she was wise enough to seek sanctuary when she needed it. On the other hand, she clearly had her act—or her foolish bravery—together.

She moved like a gorgeous, jungle-raised cat, watchful and smart, graceful but far from tamed. She very likely
didn’t
need him to play bodyguard. Nonetheless her unexpected and fascinating presence in his life had his interest temporarily piqued. No way was he shirking this responsibility.

They reached a four-step stoop. Brick-red paint flaked off the cement in sharp-edged chips. Bonnie pulled open the aluminum storm door revealing a worn but solid wooden inner door. Rio jangled a small ring of keys and isolated one, but before she could insert it into the lock, the door swung open under Bonnie’s hand. For the first time since he’d met her, Rio’s skin drained of color.

“I locked that door.” Her voice didn’t shake, but it lowered to a croaking whisper. “I always lock the door.”

An unwelcome flash from his days patrolling in Basra overtook him, and he swept Bonnie behind him. “I’m going in first,” he said. “Stay here until I call you.”

“Are you nuts?”

Her indignant cry dispelled all thoughts of wartime. He chuckled despite their tension. “Probably.” At her intake of breath he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not nuts. Just let me have a look ’round first, right?”

He stepped into a tiny entry foyer maybe six feet square. The room beyond was dark and quiet. Cocking his head, he listened before sweeping one hand along the wall to his right in search of a light switch. When he felt nothing obvious, he half-turned. “Is there a light—?”

He banged into Rio not two inches behind him.

“Ow!” she cried, and rocked backward. “Cripe sakes!”

He grabbed her to keep from tripping like he’d done with her brother. “I told you to wait outside.”

“It’s my house, excuse me to pieces.”

She was so close wisps of her hair brushed his chin, and the heat of her words tickled his throat. The soft touches made her seem vulnerable when she was the furthest thing from vulnerable he’d met in a very long time. He cleared his throat and released her. “We’ve definitely lost any element of surprise we might have had. Where’s the light?”

She scooted around him, brushing torso to torso far too intimately. A moment later light flooded the entryway as well as the room beyond. David blinked and then lost all control of the situation when Rio pushed into the living room and searched the perimeter like a bloody narcotics dog.

“No one’s here,” she announced. “But I see Paul’s cap. Wasn’t that the one he was wearing tonight, Bons?”

A battered San Diego Chargers hat lay on a threadbare sofa. David remembered the incongruous California team logo.

“Yeah.” Bonnie tossed her fabric bag purse beside the cap.

“My butt-headed brother left the door unlocked.” Rio shot an exasperated glance around the room. “He’s not detail oriented, to put it mildly.”

“Can I look around with you to be sure?” David asked. “You know Chase will grill me on whether you got in safely.”

A dubious look crossed her face, but she must have decided he was right. “Fine. Look around down here. I’ll check upstairs.”

He’d already figured out enough about Rio Montoya to know that if she wanted to check upstairs, Heaven help anyone she found awaiting her. She disappeared up an interior staircase, her footsteps echoing on the uncarpeted treads.

“Can you show me the rest of what’s down here?” he asked Bonnie.

“Yes. Come on, the kitchen’s back here.”

Memories of moving through small, dark houses in Iraq hovered like ghosts. David couldn’t help but compare this small, neat home to the quickly abandoned, often ransacked Iraqi dwellings he’d been ordered to enter in search of insurgents. Tidiness ruled here, although it couldn’t hide the worn state of the furnishings. Traffic paths crisscrossed the faded blue carpeting, and the upholstery on the mismatched sofa and three chairs needed repair.

The walls seemed freshly painted, however, and were filled with artwork. Two companion landscapes of barren, rolling hills and distant mountains hung side by side. A line of wild horses appeared in the distance on each picture, and David smiled.

Half a dozen prints around the room followed the theme, depicting similar isolated spaces. He didn’t know if they indicated a love for such scenery or just inexpensive artwork that sort of matched. They reminded him of places he’d camped during his youth.

The same neat shabbiness greeted him in the kitchen. A beat-up wooden table and four chairs stood in one corner. The cupboards were a thinly veneered chestnut brown, and the linoleum was a faded gold and cream pattern of swirls. Most curiously, piles of old, dog-eared books covered three of the stove’s four burners.

“Nobody’s upstairs.” Rio popped in behind them.

“That was quick. Are you some sort of superhuman speed searcher?”

“We haven’t got a full second story. So although I do have ninja powers I can call on if needed, this only took forty-five human seconds.”

The mix of impishness and snark in her voice was downright sexy. Her features—so perfectly shaped—beamed with sassy satisfaction. Despite the outward smile, however, her eyes remained sharply vigilant. She might pretend to blow off the whole check-the-house mission as ridiculous, but she hadn’t taken her upstairs search lightly.

“Wise choice to conserve superpowers,” he replied, refusing to acknowledge a wave of desire to hold her close and protect her from having to be so strong. “Never know when you’ll need them for something important.”

He glanced at the grayish-blue walls and saw three multi-color paint samples, the kind from a home or decorating store, taped beside the room’s only window.

“Redecorating?” He pointed.

“It’s on the wish list,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Next extra forty-five dollars I have for paint.”

“I like the lighter gold color,” he said, and smiled inwardly when she stared.

A tiny, attractive smirk formed on her lips. “You don’t act like an interior designer.”

“Oh? Does an interior designer act a certain way? Or was that an insensitive, stereotyped slur against men who appreciate how to pick paint colors?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Not men in general, just proper English
dukes
who appreciate how to pick paint colors.” She rattled the knob of a door David assumed led to the basement, gave a satisfied nod, and faced him. “I mean, who doesn’t like a guy who knows his golds?”

“I train horses,” he told her. “But in my spare time, I’m finishing the inside of my older house. I’ve spent far too long looking at paint samples, actually.”

She’d frozen in place, her hand still on the doorknob, her mouth parted in surprise.

“Anything wrong?”

“Did you say you train horses?” Her severe eyes gentled. A childlike excitement lightened the already-bright blue of her eyes.

“I do.”

“Do you
have
horses?” Bonnie’s eyes did the same bright dance.

“Several. You’re into horses, are you?”

“I love them, but you should see Rio’s room!”

“Oh?” David chuckled, and a flush of pink crept up Rio’s face.

“No. I don’t think you should.” She glared at her sister.

But Bonnie tugged on his jacket sleeve. “Come on. You wanted to check the whole house.”

Rio followed, flustered in a way he hadn’t seen even when discussing gang retribution. The reaction piqued his curiosity, but one thing he understood was personal boundaries. He’d lost enough of his own growing up in his father’s shadow.

“Show me your room if you like,” he said to Bonnie. “Rio needn’t show anyone her space.”

Her eyes shone with gratitude, although he wondered if she realized it.