Hot Pursuit (7 page)

Angel didn’t hate her father. She’d grown up knowing she would take on the family business after all. Bob’s Bobbins and Books had become Angelina’s Bookstore six years ago when she’d turned twenty-five. By that time, she had worked in the store for ten years and had considered it her own for at least as long. Her mother and father had owned the store together, having been Zounds natives, which made Angel second generation. When Angel took over, the seamstress part of the store, where her mother had sat in her corner and mended, altered, or created whatever needed to be done, had been closed down. Angel could barely thread a needle. As her mother used to complain, Angel spent too much of her time buried in books to know one end of the needle from the other.

“Isn’t this room gorgeous?” Maggie asked. She had the brightest, prettiest eyes, which were the only part of Maggie that belied Angel’s suspicion that Maggie was abused. Her eyes and face always glowed of happiness.

Angel looked at the glossy page in the book Maggie held up. “Yes, it is.” She envied Maggie. Angel’s friend had been coming into the bookstore almost daily since she and her husband had moved here, and although Maggie was chatty, this was the most she’d spoken about her home life, and it wasn’t much. Angel lived over the store, and there would never be any remodeling. Especially with Emilio Cortez owning the building Angelina’s Bookstore was in. His rent was so exorbitant it was all she could do to get it paid each month, let alone think about remodeling.

The bell over the door tinkled again, and Angel peered around the bookshelves. “Over here!” she called out.

When Zoey walked around the corner into their aisle, Angel shoved thoughts of Cortez out of her head. As evil as the asshole was, his daughter, Zoey, was the epitome of perfection. She neared both women in a cloud of wonderful-smelling perfume, and her incredibly straight—not a wave anywhere—black hair was pulled away from her face in a blue headband. Angel’s hair was also pulled back in a headband, but her plain short brown hair was an uncontrollable mass of waves and curls that not even her pristine mother had ever been able to control.

“Hi, Angel,” Zoey said in her soft voice. She shot a wary look at Maggie. “Hi there,” she said, and smiled.

Angel didn’t get these two. Both of them seemed like broken souls to her, but for different reasons. Zoey lived under the rule of her tyrant of a father, although she had sworn multiple times that he’d never hit her. And Maggie lived the life of a recluse yet had this look in her eyes at times that made Angel think she wasn’t as concerned about being around people as she let on.

Although neither would probably ever confide in her, Angel suspected both were battered women. Some men thought a black eye on a woman marked her as his property and kept other men from looking at her. Other equally sadistic bastards kept the pain more personal, making sure bruises were left where no one would see. Zoey and Maggie both needed mending. Maybe Angel couldn’t replace a broken zipper, but she ached to fix these two women. As her mom would say when someone brought in a piece of clothing for alteration,
Oh, there is a lot of life still left in them.

There was so much life inside Maggie and Zoey, which was why Angel liked both of them.

“Hi there, Zoey,” Maggie greeted with a smile, and flipped the page of the large hardback book she had in her hands. “Oh my, look at this room. Isn’t this gorgeous? Angel, I’m buying this book. And this one,” she added.

Angel hurried over to the romance section and grabbed the next book in the series that Maggie had originally asked about and brought it to the counter. The Pointers met her, each one of them shoving books at her. After checking them out and watching all of them traipse out her door, Angel turned and smiled at Zoey, who had come to the counter. Maggie was right behind her. Angel rang both of them up.

“Busy day?” Zoey asked. She looked after the Pointers and continued staring out the large windows facing the street and courtyard outside the store.

“It’s been steady. I’m getting some work done.” Angel nodded toward her back room.

Zoey snapped her attention back to Angel. “You got more books in? Any of them biographies?”

“I haven’t unloaded that far,” Angel told her.

Zoey bit her lip. Angel knew damn good and well what she’d ordered. She’d learned a long time ago to make her customers wait until she was able to shelve new stock.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Zoey reached into her purse and pulled out a thick envelope. “I’m supposed to give this to you,” she mumbled, and held the envelope for Angel to take as she glanced back toward the street, not making eye contact. Her fingers trembled when she dropped it on the counter.

Angel looked at the envelope as if it might reach out and bite her. Even Maggie paused before leaving and stared at the thick envelope. Zoey looked as if she wanted to fade into the woodwork.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what it is. My father asked me to give it to you when I told him where I was going.”

“Next time don’t tell him where you’re going,” Maggie said, and smiled when Zoey looked at her, terrified. “It was a joke,” Maggie said, her pretty blue eyes glowing with laughter.

“No use prolonging the pain,” Angel said, and ripped open the envelope.

“Wow, would you look out there? He’s gorgeous,” Zoey whispered, apparently aching to change the subject off her tyrant of a father and whatever was in the envelope.

Angel didn’t blame her. One glance at the legal-looking form in the envelope and she knew it wasn’t good news. She looked outside just as a silver Escalade with black windows circled the courtyard slowly. The driver’s side window was rolled down. Dark curls and well-defined arm muscles grabbed her attention before she took in the barrel chest and profile of the face of the man driving the SUV.

“I’ll say,” Angel humphed. “New blood in town.”

“I saw him first,” Zoey teased, but then shrugged her shoulders. It wasn’t as if she’d ever pursue a man, no matter how gorgeous. Her father would never allow it.

“Darling, I think he’s a bit too old for you.” Angel tried patting her curls into place.

“With those perfect curls,” Zoey said, and dragged her delicate-looking fingers down a long strand of straight hair, “you would probably snag him the moment he came in to buy a book.”

“Sweetheart, these curls are a nightmare.” Angel laughed. “I am just the right age for a man driving a Cadillac Escalade. Anyone who can afford that has paid his dues, and I certainly don’t want a pup.”

“A what?” Zoey searched outside the windows that faced the circular-drive courtyard on the edge of downtown Zounds. “I was talking about the guy on the motorcycle.”

“It’s a Harley-Davidson,” Maggie informed her. “I’ve got to go, ladies. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Maggie!” Angel called out. She then frowned at Zoey. “I didn’t even see a guy on a bike. I was too busy drooling over the man driving that Escalade. Did you see how muscular his arm was as it rested on his open window?”

“I didn’t notice.” Zoey turned to leave, then remembered the book she’d just bought and grabbed it from the counter. “See you soon. And Angel,” she added, her large dark eyes sincerely forlorn, “I’m so sorry about the envelope. My father is such an asshole,” she said, whispering her final comment.

Zoey was glad to leave the bookstore before Angel read whatever was in the envelope from her father. It wouldn’t be good news. With her father it never was. He was an evil, vindictive man, who got pure pleasure out of making others suffer, her in particular. If he mentioned Hector Isley to her one more time, Zoey would scream. Her father had ranted all of her life about how she would marry in the church, which was his way of saying she’d marry a Catholic Mexican. He and Hector’s father had both decided that their children’s marrying each other would create an invincible financial dynasty. Hector had agreed to the marriage. Her father didn’t care if Zoey wanted to marry Hector, or not.

Zoey got sick every time her father brought it up. Not to mention, he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church her entire life. Well, he might have once they moved to Zounds, but only to inform the poor priests that he now owned their church and all tithings would go to him. Which was fitting. Her father did think he was God.

She walked down the street with her head held high, knowing anyone who noticed her hated her for being Cortez’s daughter. She wanted to scream to everyone who looked away when they saw her that she hated him even more than they did.

Especially now. Her father would not shut up about how once she married Hector they would all be incredibly rich and unbelievably powerful. He would then pat her on the shoulder and remind her she would be secure for life. As if she cared a bit for any of his bloodstained money or abusive power.

Zoey knew what her father did. She knew he was sucking this town dry. And that was simply because it entertained him. Emilio Cortez had moved to Zounds ten years ago because it was directly in between San Francisco and Seattle, two cities he held onto by the balls, as he would put it. Zounds was the perfect place for him to hide from all of the criminal activity he oversaw in both of the large cities.

When she reached the other end of downtown, Zoey turned toward the library, where she’d parked her car. Zounds wasn’t big enough for her to entertain herself for long. But since her father ruled over her as cruelly as he did everything and everyone else, Zoey wasn’t allowed to leave town. She seriously jonesed for a large shopping mall or a movie theater that showed more than two movies at any given time. Or a classy restaurant with a classy man at her side.

Images of the man on the motorcycle, the Harley-Davidson, popped into her mind. He had looked tall, which meant he probably wouldn’t look twice at someone as short as her. She’d reached five feet, two inches by the eighth grade and had never grown another inch. Even in her three-inch heels that clicked against the paved sidewalk, Zoey only hit five feet, five inches.

The man on the Harley had to be at least six feet tall. He’d rode around the courtyard in front of the bookstore long enough for Zoey to get a pretty good look at him. His helmet had covered his face, but she had almost hyperventilated over all of that packed muscle under his T-shirt. He might have been riding for a while, because his shirt clung to him, as did his faded jeans.

She slowed when she reached the library, which was on the opposite side of the street. Zoey didn’t cross the street, though, but stared straight ahead. The bed-and-breakfast was on the corner in one of the town’s historical Victorian homes. A blond man relaxed on the front steps that led up to the wide, long front porch. Zoey came to a complete stop when she was sure he was looking right at her.

The man was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they were light. And they pierced right through her. Zoey wasn’t sure she could have moved if she’d tried. At the moment, though, she wasn’t thinking about walking. She was trying to remember how to breathe.

He was gorgeous, absolutely sinfully perfect. Her mouth went dry staring at him. Her heart began pounding too hard in her chest. She felt her breasts swell and her nipples harden. They pressed against her low-cut silk bra and itched painfully. It was all she could do not to twist or fidget, anything to relieve the sudden pressure that built inside her until it sunk deep between her legs.

The man stood. It was a lazy movement, and Zoey caught herself tilting her head and admiring his lethal body as he pushed away from the steps and straightened. He tugged on his T-shirt, making it stretch over too many rippling muscles. Then he was walking toward her.

Zoey suddenly came to her senses. She couldn’t be talking to some stranger passing through town. There were eyes everywhere. She knew this to be true. If she even had a polite conversation with this man her father, would hear about it. If not tonight, soon. He would chastise her, lock her in her room, or force one of his thugs to escort her around town until she remembered how to behave as a Cortez should.

“How’s it going?” the man asked before he reached her.

Why did he have to speak to her? Her pride and self-esteem had been thrashed by this town as long as she’d lived here. Damn her father! She wouldn’t be rude.

“Fine,” she said, glancing at him, and caught herself staring at a rippling six-pack as it pressed against his shirt.

Polite or not, she wouldn’t stand and gawk and pray he continued to speak to her. She turned to cross the street. He held out his hand, and for a moment it looked like he would grab her arm.

“Don’t walk away now.” He didn’t touch her but simply raised his hand to detain her, then dropped it to his side. “You noticed me staring at you, and I couldn’t help see that you were staring back at me.”

“Of course I was,” she said curtly, and didn’t look up so he wouldn’t see her burning cheeks. “You were looking right at me, and I thought maybe I knew you.”

She again tried crossing the street. This time Zoey walked into a rock-hard muscular arm. She looked at the taut, well-formed muscles in his forearm and bicep as she took a step backward and licked her suddenly dry lips. Zoey bet every inch of him was packed as hard as steel. Every inch of him.

“My name is Ben,” he said hurriedly. “Don’t run off. I don’t know anyone here.”

A thought hit her, and she almost choked from the truth that might be in it.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, facing him and this time looking up at his face. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

If he even indirectly mentioned her father, she was bolting across the street. It would be just her luck for the sexiest man alive to be talking to her because she was Emilio Cortez’s daughter.

“Looking for work.” His light blue eyes were clear and alert as he stared down at her.

“What kind of work?” Zoey asked, not convinced yet that he wasn’t here because her father had brought him here. Or, worse yet, because he was after her father.

“I can do anything, pretty much. But hunting, trapping,” he told her, his eyes lowering and taking in her body as he spoke. They were back on her face when he finished. “I’m at home doing those sorts of things. But like I said, any kind of work as long as it pays a fair wage.”