Chill (5 page)

Made him want to get up and haul ass over there and offer her help.

Her eyes widened at his expression, and a tinge of red flushed her cheeks. The she plunked herself wearily down on a barstool and gave him her back.

Just as well. Luke still had issues when it came to women in need. Big fucking issues. The kind of issues that haunted his dreams and brought him screaming to consciousness, his body drenched in sweat.

His skin began to feel hot, and it wasn’t just from the strip of smooth skin peeking out between the bottom of her sweater and the waistband of her very lowcut jeans…He peered closer and caught a glimpse of a bit of lacy black thong above her jeans.

He’d seen that action on plenty of women, but on this one…shit. All his blood was heading south at full speed. Despite her attire, there was a level of innocent sensuality.

He inspected her more closely, needing to assimilate
as much information about her as possible, to explain his reaction to her. Her shoulder blades were strong, and her back narrowed into a trim waist and toned hips. The woman took care of herself. Yoga? Most of those wealthy women seemed to have so much time on their hands, they did nothing but spend hours in the gym to try to attract the powerful, rich men on whom they had set their sights.

Was that her? It didn’t feel right. He narrowed his eyes, quickly tabulating all the data so he could make an accurate assessment. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but the sweater appeared to be cashmere. High quality, given its lines. He’d guess upwards of a thousand bucks for it. And her jeans…he recognized the designer brand on that fine ass of hers. His gaze dropped to her boots…heels were low and practical, but the leather was clearly soft and supple, and the seams had that extra bit of style he recognized from his own mother’s closet. In fact, she seemed to be wearing exactly the kind of outfit all his dad’s women used to wear, once he finished dressing them up like the Barbie dolls they were willing to be for a chance at his money and his power.

From the brief glance he’d had at had her face, however, this woman was beautiful in a natural way. She didn’t need all the glam to look good, but she clearly did it anyway. She was refined, she was as far from Alaska and carnage as a woman got, and she was exactly what he wanted to bury himself in right now.

She turned toward him suddenly, as if sensing his continued perusal. When she saw him watching her, she sat up straighter, and he saw in her something he hadn’t expected. The woman was a survivor. Not a weak female. She was strong, and
that
put him over the top.

Weak, scared, defenseless women scared the shit out of him. Survivors? Hot. The cashmere? An escape from the Alaskan hell he’d been crawling in the last two days.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, but then she quickly averted her gaze, shutting him out.

“Too late, my dear,” he whispered under his breath. “Too damn late.”

He shoved back his chair and stood.

“You heading out?” Then Cort followed Luke’s gaze, and he grinned. “She’s a little too refined for these parts, isn’t she?”

“Damn straight she is.” And then Luke headed right for her.

Isabella hadn’t been prepared for Luke to look so much like his father. Or for him to be so handsome.

Luke had the same dark hair as his father and the same radiant blue eyes, but Luke’s were compelling and warm, so unlike Marcus’s icy gaze. Luke radiated energy and power. His presence was so strong, she’d felt him even after she’d stopped looking at him, until she’d been unable to resist the lure and she’d looked over at him again…only to find him still watching her.

Not just watching. Studying. Dissecting. Like he was picking apart every cell of her body and categorizing it in some system in his mind. He made her feel naked…and not in a good way. She felt exposed, as if he were trying to ferret out all the ugly things in her past so he could judge her by them.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and stared down at the glass of water the bartender had set in front of her. There was no way Luke could learn anything about her, no matter how long he stared at her. Even Marcus didn’t know all her secrets, and he’d tried to uncover them. But Luke…the way he’d studied her made her realize he was exactly as the rumors had claimed: the relentless scientist born to unravel mysteries,
to derive answers from the smallest clues, which was why he’d been so great at finding antiquities for Marcus before he’d left.

She’d never gotten a straight answer on why Luke had left, other than that Luke hated his father.

Which was why she was prepared to make Luke an offer he couldn’t refuse. But after seeing him in person…she had a bad feeling she was out of her league.

A man moved in beside her, and Isabella jerked her gaze up to see Luke settle himself at the next seat.

Heat shot through her body in response, but he didn’t even acknowledge her. He just propped his forearm on the bar, ordered a beer, and waited.

The woman smelled like lavender, like a field of spring flowers. Like the scent of spring—alive, fresh and vibrant.

Luke closed his eyes and breathed her in, allowing her fragrance to sift through his body, easing his tension. It was the scent of woman, of refinement, of understated sensuality lurking beneath the surface.

She adjusted her position on her seat beside him, and her scent shifted. Still flowers, but he caught the faintest hint of perspiration, of the unmitigated scent of her body beneath the delicate fragrance. It told him that it had been a while since she’d gotten dressed. Maybe she’d tossed on some perfume before coming in here, but she’d been going hard for a while.

And he liked that. He liked that there was more to her than this incredible aroma that made him want to bury his face in her neck and simply inhale. More than the cashmere and designer jeans.

She cleared her throat, and still he didn’t open his eyes.

Wasn’t ready to let go yet. Wanted to see what else he could glean from her scent.

A light touch brushed over his shoulder and he froze, his body going hard at the delicate sensation.

“Excuse me. You’re Luke Webber, aren’t you?”

Luke’s eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice. It was soft and tentative, with a musical underlay unlike anything he’d ever heard. It rolled beneath his skin like a thousand drops of morning dew glittering in the Alaskan sun.

Her accent was refined and perfect…utterly without inflection.

But it wasn’t natural. It had been learned.

The woman hadn’t always been cashmere and designer goods. She’d been rough, and she’d cleaned it up.

He turned his head slightly so he could look at her. She was white-knuckling the shoulder strap of her purse, and there were tension lines around the corners of her lips.

He nodded once. “I’m Luke.”

She swallowed hard, and he watched her throat work. Long and elegant, just like the rest of her…Then he noticed her necklace.

It wasn’t the flashy bling he’d have expected—just a well-worn black leather cord from which dangled a small turquoise pendant encased in antique silver. Both the stone and the silver had carvings on them, designs he couldn’t decipher, but which appeared intentional. He’d bet his ass the carvings had significance and weren’t just designs.

It looked old. Lots of scratches on the surface.

The piece didn’t match her outfit at all, but she was wearing it anyway, fashion be damned. It wasn’t particularly
valuable from a monetary perspective, which meant she was probably wearing it for sentimental reasons. It was significant to her. A woman who held on to her roots. He didn’t like that. The last thing he could afford was to widen the net of people connected to him. He would have to be careful with her. Keep her at a distance.

Because he was keeping her. At least for the night.

Tonight he needed to forget, needed to wipe death from his mind.

She put her hand over the pendant, obscuring his view. “My name is Isabella Kopas.”

“Isabella Kopas.” He rolled the name over his tongue, enjoying the sound of it. Exotic, exquisitely feminine, but the consonants gave it a harder edge, as he suspected the woman before him carried. “Where are you from?”

She gave him a brilliant smile that went straight to his core. “I need your help.”

He allowed her evasion of his question to stand. The fact that she’d avoiding answering it told him much, and he’d get the info later without her realizing she was even coughing it up. “You need a flight somewhere?” Her skin was dark, suggesting maybe a Greek or Italian heritage. Beautiful, if you liked that kind of look.

And he did.

Yeah, he’d take her on as a client. Fly her to the backwoods? In the line of duty, he’d be willing to make the sacrifice. A slow grin spread across his face, and her cheeks flushed and she looked down at her hands for a moment.

He waited for her to regain her composure, enjoying the effect he had on her.

She recovered almost immediately, and her jaw jutted
out when she raised her gaze to his. “I need your help for more than flying.”

“More than flying.” Luke narrowed his eyes and studied her more closely. “Explain.”

She hesitated, then pulled a handbag onto her lap. She winced at the movement and rubbed her shoulder again.

She was holding her body stiffly enough to make him think it was a new injury, and it hurt like hell. What had happened?

She unzipped the purse, drawing his attention back to it. The handbag was big enough to fit a couple of cats and maybe a horse or two, but he recognized the designer name on the blue striped flap. She had more labels on her than he’d seen cumulatively in the eight years he’d been living in Alaska.

He hadn’t seen designer duds like that since he’d been spending time around his father…

Oh,
shit.
He sat up suddenly, tension skyrocketing through him. Was that the rough edge of a Boston accent hiding beneath her cultured voice? A tendency to add
r
’s in the wrong places and drop them in others? He leaned forward, studying her more closely. No longer the leisurely perusal of a man who was enjoying absorbing a beautiful woman, but the measured analysis of a potential threat.

Isabella slipped her hand inside the handbag, removed a black leather case about the size of a legal envelope and handed it to him. “I’ll pay you.”

“Pay me?” His fingers brushed against hers as he took it from her, and she froze for a split second, then jerked her hand back and buried it her lap.

He let her take her hand back, but he was surprised at how cold her fingers had been. Icy cold. Fear? Terror?
Exhaustion? He inspected her face as he unzipped the bag. The bags under her eyes suggested exhaustion, but when she glanced over her shoulder for the third time since she’d sat down, he realized it was something more.

Fear.

Of what?

He carefully scanned the room. He knew everyone in the bar, and no one was paying attention to her, other than curiosity about a stranger. There were no threats here for her, at least not at the moment. But he still did two extra surveys, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone. “Whoever you’re looking for isn’t here. You’re safe.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, but that little gesture told him exactly how scared she was, and that his comment had eased her panic for just a minute.

The bartender let out a whistle, and when Luke looked at him, he nodded to the case Luke had just unzipped.

Luke looked down, and his gut hardened when he saw the wad of bills in the folder. He thumbed through them. All hundreds. It had to be upwards of fifty grand in there. Maybe more.
Jesus.
That was the kind of money people died for, and he knew that from firsthand experience.

Shit, this thing tasted sour as hell of all a sudden, and he felt his skin crawl.

This was the way his father operated.

Swearing, he took another careful survey around the room, suddenly itchy. But Marcus wasn’t there. None of his men.

Hell, he was getting paranoid. He needed to get out of there. He tossed the case back at her, and she barely caught it. “No thanks.”

“But—”

He leaned forward. “Listen—” He caught a sudden whiff of her incredible delicate floral scent. Regret that he’d have to turn her down flashed through him, but he quickly ditched it. He’d learned his lessons long ago, and self-preservation was as natural as remembering not to put his back toward the door in a public place. “I’m not interested in getting involved in anything where that kind of money is floating around. Go somewhere else.”

“But I need you!”

“Why?”

She blinked and stared at him, and he felt her withdrawal.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her close. “Why me?”

She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but he didn’t release her.

He kept his voice a low whisper, and let a thread of threat tinge it. “What are you bringing to my doorstep, Isabella Kopas?”

“Let go!” There was panic in her voice now, and he instantly relinquished her wrist.

She cradled her arm against her chest, tucking it against her as if it were an injured wing. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

He closed his eyes against the sudden hit of raw fury.
Not again.
“For that money,” he gritted out, “you can hire an expert.” He opened his eyes. “And yet, you sit here with me.” He clenched his fist against the urge to grab her again. “
Why me?
”

She licked her lips. “Because I need your expertise. I don’t know my way around Alaska and—”

“Bullshit. Tell me what’s really going on. Three seconds or I’m gone.” Luke inspected the occupants of the bar again. He was being careful. He was on edge, in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He met Cort’s gaze, and his partner sat up straighter. Cort raised a brow at him, and Luke gave him a single shake of the head. No action to take. Not yet. He returned his attention to Isabella. “Talk.”

She cleared her throat and visibly summoned her strength. Her shoulders went back and she met his gaze without flinching. “Your father is in trouble.”

Luke went still. Surely she couldn’t know who he really was. His skin went ice cold and a steel cage settled around his chest. “My father,” he repeated. “You mean”—he thought fast to make up a name—“Mike Webber?”

She frowned. “No, Marcus Fie.”

Luke felt as if he’d just been sucker punched in the kidney. Jesus. How had he been found? His mind started racing, carefully drilling over every move he’d made in the last eight years. No mistakes. He knew he’d covered his trail impeccably. What the fuck was going on? “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. My father is Mike Webber. Good luck with whoever you’re trying to find. Have a nice day.” He stood and headed for the door without another word. Had to get outside. Had to clear his head.

How in the
hell
had he been found? Who the fuck was this woman, and how in the world had she tracked Adam Fie here? And who else had she led to him?

He shoved the door open and stepped outside. It was in the twenties now, and the air bit at him. It felt good
to be smacked in the face by the cold. To clear his head. A car roared by on the highway, and his senses jerked into high alert.

His mind was racing with an intensity it hadn’t been forced into for eight years, as Luke rapidly dissected the scenery. No car out of place, except one white rental at the end of the lot that was probably Isabella’s.

As far as he could see, it was empty.

Had she come alone?

“Hey!” The door slammed open and Isabella followed him outside. “I know you’re Adam Fie—”

“No,” he snarled. The sound of his former name was like an ice pick being slammed right through his temple. How had she found him? Why? He turned on her, and glared her into silence. “Adam Fie?” he repeated, allowing himself to inject fury into his tone.

He was humming with tension he hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t need this back in his life again. The brand on his wrist began to burn. “I remember that son of a bitch.”

Isabella got a skeptical look on her face. “What are you talking about?”

Luke nodded. “Adam came through here eight years ago. Worked on a couple planes for us. Stole some money and then disappeared. If you find him, I’d love to have a few moments alone with him to get my money back.”

Isabella’s brows knitted. “Adam wouldn’t steal.”

“No?” The woman was a fool. That was all Adam Fie had done. Besides knock off anyone who got in his way. And the rest of it…Shit. He wasn’t going there. Another car roared past on the highway—a new pickup, and it didn’t slow as it raced by. Alaska plates. He’d forgotten what it was like to hear every sound, to notice
every detail of his surroundings. He didn’t like it. “Why do you want Adam?”

She eyed him. “You look exactly like Marcus, you know.”

“Marcus?” Luke spat the name. It tasted like poison on his tongue. He caught Isabella’s wrist and pulled her toward him. Shit, her wrist was small. Her whole body was petite. She barely came up to his chin, and he was pretty sure he could span her waist with his hands.

He had a sudden urge to pull up that cashmere sweater of hers and test his theory.