Inside Out (9 page)

The strange sense of glee that overwhelmed her soon threatened to disappear as she caught sight of a cop car up ahead, flagging her down. She quickly assessed the risks. There was no way. Not even Hunter would get past it. There simply wasn’t enough room to maneuver. Not at the speed she needed to move.

She braked and touched her feet to the ground, putting on her most charming smile.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she offered as he neared her, and his eyes widened. Yeah, she knew she was an eyeful, even in a pink frock. With her dark, sex-goddess good looks, she looked like a very naughty girl in a good little girl dress.

“Hello, luv, where are you going so fast?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I got carried away.”
If he falls for it, I’ll celebrate until I’m hammered.

The officer smiled. Young, hunky-looking, actually. But about to get a run for his money if she had any say in it. “Am I off the hook, Constable…?” she asked hopefully, batting her lashes as her mind raced for Plan B if Plan A failed.

“Davis. A smile like that? Absolutely, madam. I’ll only need to run a check on your license and registration number. A bike like this has just been stolen in this area. Normal procedure, madam, nothing to worry about.”

“Stolen? Oh my goodness! Yes, just one moment. My documentation is in here.”
Think, think, think.

The constable came around to stand next to her as she tugged at the glove compartment between her knees. His eyes practically bored through the pink frock riding up her thighs. Christ, even
she
had never seen thighs like these before.

“Oh, goodness, it seems stuck. I haven’t got the strength to open it. Would you mind helping me, Constable Davis?”

“Not at all,” the man said as he approached her with a wry smile.

When he was standing by her side, she turned her head his way and their noses almost touched. The policeman swallowed again. Aware of her heightened sensuality, Olivia licked her lips and moved in to kiss him. His Adam’s apple shifted again and his breath caught when he leaned in, his eyelids already heavy. She tilted her head to kiss him.

And then she head-butted him with all her strength, surprising even herself. Nose bleeding, he fell on the pavement with a
thud,
and she whirled around to make sure there were no witnesses.

Revving up, she eased the motorbike through the narrow space between his car and the wall and let out something between a victory and a jungle cry, leaving only a faint cloud of fumes in her wake.

Chapter Eleven

“Bloody hell, mate, of all the women in London you had to run into Hunter Orlando! She’s absolute trouble. Stay away from her,” Alfie had warned him.

Easy as staying away from a man magnet. If he believed in cellular memory, it was because every cell of his body remembered the tactile sensations of his skin on hers. And that hadn’t happened to him since Olivia—shy, innocent Olivia whom he’d loved with all his heart, especially for her fragility.

Hunter was the opposite. Hunter—the perfect name for her
,
with that long, lean body built for acrobatics. Amazing, with the moves of a panther. She had almost worn him out. Not an easy feat.

She radiated heat from inside out. She was full of life. Crazy. Yeah, he was in deep shit. He’d have turned the whole city upside down to find her. But now, he had a lead—The Hanged Highwayman and of course her tattoo parlor in Plumstead.

Above on deck, Alfie’s men took the shooter away and scouted around for evidence. He rubbed his face, and plunked himself down at the table. “Hunter Orlando is the bane of my life and has been for a while now with her famous heists.”

Shane’s eyebrows shot up. “Heists?”

Alfie stopped rubbing his face. “Man, you don’t know who you’ve been dealing with. The Lewisham Post Office last year? Hers. The Bank of Scotland in Bromley? Hers. The philatelists on Bond Street? You guessed it.”

Shane gaped at him.

“Oh, yeah. And it pisses me off because she comes from excellent stock. She is the daughter of Gualtiero Orlando of Orlando Foods. Warm, genuine-hearted people. Hunter’s even Oxford educated. Graduated with honors. Amazing athlete. I saw some footage years ago. You should have seen her on the parallel bars and rings. She was practically jet-propelled.”

Shane grinned inwardly. Not only in sports.

“Then one day she took off, and the family never heard from her again. They called me. She was only twenty-three. Her dad died of a heart attack and her mother of leukemia a year later. Hunter Orlando didn’t show her face at the funerals. No siblings, no relatives, nothing. Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve been on her case since then. And now that I’ve found her, no one cares anymore.”

“I care,” Shane reminded him.

Alfie shook his head. “Stay well away, my friend. She’s one tough sket.”

Shane’s fist tightened at the insult. “Easy, Alfie…”

Alfie’s eyes widened. “So you’ve already screwed her. Congrats. Record time. With a temperament and body like that, I bet she’s an amazing fuck.”

Shane stood up to his full six feet two inches and Alfie groaned. “Mate, she’s just a gang leader’s girl. A bloody biker chick. Don’t go there. There are gazillions of decent women out there waiting for someone like you.”

The gazillions of women out there didn’t interest him. He wanted Hunter, and he wanted her
now
.

“Listen to me. Hunter Orlando is elusive, unobtainable. She also has the highest, bloody IQ I’ve ever seen and is practically indestructible. Biggest waste of pussy and brains I’ve ever seen in my life. We should clone her and start an army.”

Shane thought of the way she had come above him, releasing her primitive need, meeting his wild thrusts, and demanding all of him. She was definitely sexy and fit. Those perfect breasts, luscious legs—but her eyes—her eyes killed him.

Alfie leaned onto the table with all his weight until it creaked. “The boat she rented? We found scuba-diving equipment in there. I’d give an arm and a leg to know what she was up to.”

Shane’s jaw clenched. “What do you mean?”

Alfie shrugged. “Smuggling, contraband, you name it, she can pull it off. Maybe she was doing it for Randy or behind his back. With someone like Hunter Orlando, you never can tell.”

“Wait—who the hell’s Randy?” Shane thundered, leaning over Alfie’s desk. The thought of another man in her life kicked him in the gut. Christ, this was serious shit. He’d never cared before about who women slept with, as long as they practiced safe sex. But now, he was jealous. Crazy jealous.

“Randolph Spencer, notorious gang leader in south-east London. Drugs, weapons, jewelry, you name it, he’s done it. But I know she pulls the strings.”

Shane raked a hand through his hair and grunted. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Alfie. She’s just a scared girl.”

“A scared girl? Hello, have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

Shane had heard every word, and the description matched, from the trapeze artist thing to the stuntwoman. He imagined her doing all those things easily, and with the same gusto she’d had sex with him. Only one thing didn’t compute. She had nothing of the hardened criminal in her. He didn’t get it. He shook his head and Alfie reached out to touch his wrist.

“She’s smart, I told you. She lets him play front man and blow his own horn, while in the background she pulls the strings. He’s been in the clink a few times, in and out, and she keeps bailing him out. She needs him so she can keep her own face clean.”

“No,” Shane muttered. “I don’t believe it.”

Alfie groaned. “When did you become so pigheaded? Believe it—she’s never been convicted despite all these heists being her ideas, and she’s done it again now, without us realizing. We don’t even know
what
she’s done this time, but she’s done it again—pure Hunter Orlando style.”

Shane sprang to his feet. “Why are
you
so damn bent on putting her away for the rest of her days, Alfie? What’s she done to you?”

Alfie stood to face Shane. Although Shane stood taller, Alfie was bigger, meaner-looking. Especially now.

“Because I keep thinking about her parents and what they must have gone through when she went maverick on them. And because I can’t believe she gets away with it every time. And this time,” his voice rose as he pointed at Shane, “she may have hit too close for comfort.”

Shane stared Alfie down, something he did with many men but not with his mate—they were too similar. And then Shane’s mind drifted to the beautiful—practically naked—goddess on deck, flirting with him, then staring past him, out to the horizon. Had she been hiding stolen goods in the water? Was she a criminal? Shane sat back down. The same girl who shivered so badly he had to wrap her in his arms to keep her still? The same one that backed away in horror at the sight of his gun? But…she had taken it with her all the same. He hadn’t told Alfie that. The less he knew the better. Shane sure as hell wasn’t going to give Alfie anymore ammo against her.

Alfie grunted. “There’s no use in looking at me like that. I’ve been on her case for six years now and still don’t get it. The woman’s worth millions of pounds.”

Shane grinned. He liked her more and more every second. The girl had guts. It excited him beyond belief. “Maybe she doesn’t do it for the money. Maybe she does it for the high.”

His friend threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Shane, you’re killing me. Money is
everything
to Orlando. She has no honor. She maimed a cop with a kick in the balls last year because he tried to stop her on her way out of a holdup at the Nat West branch on Eltham High Street. Only we can’t prove it because she has worn a disguise in every goddamn instance. The woman’s a terror.”

“The boy said someone hired him in The Hanged Highwayman.”

Alfie sighed. “That’s in Plumstead. Listen, Shane, I don’t want you falling for this girl. Screw her all you want, but remember she’s dangerous.”

“Not to me, she isn’t.”

“Yeah, right. Listen, normally I wouldn’t need you, but seeing as she’s partial to your lover-boy looks, asking you to step in is a no-brainer.”

Shane sighed. “Alfie, I only want to help her. She trusts me, bro.”

Or rather,
trusted
.

She’d run because she’d overheard his conversation with Alfie. Not much got past that girl, apparently. And Shane knew when he saw her again she’d avoid him like the plague. Not that he’d blame her. He’d been a right asshole to her, betraying her confidence not an hour after fucking her blind.

Alfie grinned. “I trust you too, Shane. Ever since you got your leg torn open to save my ass in Iraq, we’ve been better than brothers. Practically married, for fuck’s sake.”

Shane chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Don’t go there, mate. That isn’t fair and you know it.”

Alfie’s lips curled. “A man’s got to do what he’s got to do.”

Shane eyed him at length and groaned. “Right. I’ll do it. But I call the shots or you’re on your own.”

Alfie smacked his hands together. “Brilliant. Find out what they’re up to. What their next hit is, who their connections are—anything. And find out what she was doing with that damn scuba gear.”

Shane’s throat went dry. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, nor ignore the guilt that weighed down on his chest for helping Alfie. His jaw clenched at the thought of her out there on her own, running back to the so-called protection of a gang. Was there absolutely no one on her side? Someone whose name wasn’t in an APB?

He still needed to feel her again, feel her body rubbing up against his, smell the fragrance of her skin, and look into those eyes that made him feel like home—no matter what she’d done. And not because she had his gun. She had him by the balls, dammit.

Chapter Twelve

Near the Greenwich DLR Station, in the privacy of a deserted back street, Olivia hopped off the bike, still breathing hard, still high on adrenaline. Time to abandon this beauty. It would only point blue neon lights at her. The Underground service didn’t reach this far south, so from there she would take a bus to Plumstead.

Motorbikes, theft, head-butting policemen? Olivia simply didn’t do these things. She played the cello and pranced to work every morning in her designer dresses. And regularly met Shane at home at six every evening where they shared a glass of wine.

They were normal people.

Well, no. Shane was far from normal. A war hero with years of training and experience and a whole chest of drawers full of medals. Danger was his nature.

What the hell had possessed him to get down on his knees and propose ten years ago? They had nothing in common. Apart from her criminal streak,
Hunter
was the girl for him, not placid Olivia. It was Hunter’s legs that wrapped perfectly well around his waist, not hers. It was Hunter’s spine he’d licked, her breasts that fit perfectly in his hands, not hers.

“Hunter, what are you doing here?”

Olivia whirled to see a stunningly beautiful Asian woman. She had the grace of a princess, slight and slender, yet her eyes conveyed a sense of mystery.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?”

Olivia’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Uh…”

“Another rough night?”

“Yes.
Yeah.”

“Sweetie, you promised to dump Randy. And never set foot in The Hanged Highwayman again.”

Well, well…Randy again. A second boyfriend and a venue. “I know.”

The woman rested a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Promise?”

Olivia played along, feeling bad for tricking the girl who so obviously cared about her, but at the same time fighting not to laugh. “Girl-guide’s promise.”

“Come on, we’re going to be late for work.”

Work? In a pink dress?
What was the matter with that? She loved pink.
Shit. Is Hunter going to be stuck in my head for the rest of my goddamn life?
Or perhaps this could simply be an irrational reaction to the whole crazy situation. She had to find out more about Hunter, one way or the other, this being the quickest. Or she could try blatant. Hunter was the goddess of blatant.