The Survivor (3 page)

Bess frowned, puzzled over his reaction, and shot a look at Elsie, who seemed to have wilted against the stool behind the counter. The older woman very rarely looked her age—on purpose—but at the
moment she seemed every one of her seventy-five years. What had happened? Bess wondered.

Elsie finally seemed to snap out of whatever had a hold of her. “Go? Go where?”

Lex smiled uncertainly. “After the man who has stolen your hard drive and is harassing your customers,” he reminded her, and it was obvious he thought she was a touch senile.

Elsie chuckled. “Oh, I'm not going,” she told him, as if he were the one who was confused.

He blinked. “You're not?”

“No, Bess is,” she explained.

He gave his head a shake. “You're not Bess?”

Elsie positively cackled with laughter. “Goodness, no,” she said. “But I wouldn't mind being her for a few days,” she confided with a wink and, though Elsie's comment was wasted on Lex, Bess knew it was in reference to her youth. Elsie often accused her of “squandering” it with old junk, cable internet and reality television, which was hardly fair when she'd caught Elsie watching
Real Housewives,
as well.

Elsie looked past Lex's shoulder and he instinctively turned around.

“I'm Bess,” she said, coming forward. His gaze slammed into hers and, though she knew it was impossible, she practically floated the rest of the way across the room, tugged inexplicably by the pull of
his stare. She felt a smile drift over her lips and released a slow steady breath.

Mystery solved, she thought.

His eyes were blue. And she was drowning.

H
E COULDN'T HAVE BEEN
more stunned if he'd been knocked over the head with a frying pan, Lex thought as he watched the woman come toward him.

In the first place, she was young. As in
not
old. Or not as old as he'd assumed she would be, at any rate. He struggled to get a handle on this change of events. Just a second ago he'd been certain he'd walked into his worst nightmare, a geriatric cougar bent on hunting him the entire trip.

In the second place, she was beautiful. Not mildly attractive or merely pretty.

Bess Cantrell was beautiful.

She had long wavy auburn hair and big green eyes that tilted upward at the corners, giving her an exotic edge. Curly lashes framed those compelling eyes, especially high cheekbones carved lovely hollows beneath them, and her nose was small and finely made.
She had the clearest, smoothest skin he'd ever seen, and though he'd never understood the phrase “porcelain complexion,” he did now. The mouth that tied this all together was lush and bow-shaped and curled just so on the upper lip to make one think she was enjoying a bit of a private joke. At your expense.

She was petite and very curvy, probably carrying more weight than was currently fashionable, but he'd never liked a scrawny girl. He'd always imagined sex with a so-called supermodel would be like bedding a praying mantis. Sorry, not for him. He preferred the soft womanly frame of the old Hollywood stars—the pinup girls circa WWII—and this girl would have been right at home on the nose of a B-52.

The private joke he'd caught between his employers now made perfect sense and he felt his own lips twist with belated humor. A warning would have been nice, but wouldn't have been nearly as enjoyable for them. Sneaky bastards. Perversely, he liked them even more now than he did before.

Bess shook his hand, the small touch resonating to the soles of his feet, then leaned forward and spoke in conspiratorial undertones. “I hope I'm the lesser of two evils,” she said with a tiny significant jerk of her head toward the woman behind the counter. Her voice was light and musical with a husky finish that put him in mind of tangled sheets and naked skin.

Hers
specifically.

Lex smiled. He wasn't touching that loaded remark with a ten-foot pole. “Lex Sanborn,” he said. “With Ranger Security.”

She nodded. “Bess Cantrell. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Her gaze dropped down to his dog and her naturally pink tinted lips slid into a friendly grin. “And who is this?”

“Honey,” he said. “I hope you don't mind that I've brought her along.”

“Not at all,” she said. “She's a pretty dog.” She dropped down to face Honey and held her hand out so that the animal could get a sniff. Honey looked up at him, evidently seeking approval, and, at his nod, she nosed Bess's palm. The ice broken, Bess petted her head and scratched her behind the ears. “Ahhh,” she said, grinning at the animal. “You like that, do you? You're a good girl.” She was completely at ease talking to the dog. Some people weren't, which he thought was odd. He'd always found it easier to get along with animals than people, a fact he'd forgotten until he'd found Honey.

Bess stood again and looked up at him. “So we'd better be going then?”

He nodded, annoyed that she'd had to remind him and not the other way around. What the hell was wrong with him? It's not like he'd never seen a beautiful woman. Not like he hadn't been with more than a few actually. So what was it about
this
one that had
made him forget himself already? What was it about this one that had his balls tightening and his chest in knots? After less than
thirty seconds
in her company?

Bess went over and hugged the woman behind the counter. “I'll check in often, Elsie, and call me if something important comes up.” She lingered purposely over the “important” part, leading him to believe that the bizarre Elsie was prone to contacting her about things that weren't. Given what he'd observed in the minute he'd known Elsie, he could see where that would definitely have been the case. When she'd refused to release his hand and made the you've-come-close remark, he'd gotten the strangest sensation that the older woman had been peering directly into his brain, picking his secrets out, leaving him more than a little unnerved.

His gaze slid to Bess once more and lingered over her ripe rear end. Most definitely the lesser of two evils, he thought.

“Of course,” Elsie said with an innocent bat of her lashes.

“And you'll feed Severus for me?”

“Every morning and afternoon to make sure that his blood sugar stays normal.” She snorted. “And cats are supposed to be low-maintenance pets.”

Bess smiled gratefully at the older woman. “Thanks, Elsie. You're a peach.” She turned to face
him once again and then headed toward the door and picked up an overnight bag. “I'm ready when you are.”

He hurried forward and took the bag from her hand, then opened the door for her, making the effort to remember that he
was
a gentleman and had been taught common courtesies.

“I could have gotten that,” she said. “Believe me, I'm used to carrying things a lot heavier.”

He imagined so. Nevertheless, he'd do the heavy lifting on this trip. He opened the car door for her and tried not to watch the way the denim clung to her luscious heart-shaped ass as she slipped into the passenger seat. Muttering a plea for self-restraint, he stored her bag in the back of the SUV next to his, then helped Honey into the backseat and unclipped her leash.

“She's going to hate me for riding shotgun, isn't she?” Bess remarked, glancing back at his dog. He loved the way her hair curved along her sleek jaw, over her shoulders and around one breast. It was sexy and sensual and utterly effortless on her part, which naturally made it all the more appealing. His dick stirred behind his zipper, forcing him to shift into a more comfortable position. This was
so
not good, Lex thought as he slid the key into the ignition and started the car. He looked over his shoulder and then pulled out into traffic, be
latedly realizing that he had no idea where they were going. In retrospect, he should have gone over that with her
before
leaving the store.

Too late now.

Not off to a very auspicious start, Lex thought, feeling more and more out of control.

“She'll be fine,” he said, finally answering her question about the dog. “Payne brought me up to speed on what is going on and mentioned that your thief has been moving from one address to the next closest. Is this correct?” There, he thought. That sounded semiprofessional.

“It is,” she confirmed. She pulled a paper from a folder she'd had in her bag and consulted it for a moment. “Based on the address of the last incident he should be going down toward Waycross.”

“Waycross?”

“Yes, if he's continuing to the next closest address. I figure he'll stay within Georgia before going toward Mississippi, Tennessee or the Carolinas.”

He felt his eyes widen. Good grief, he'd had no idea they could potentially be covering that kind of ground, much less that in her quest for junk
she
covered that kind of ground. Had Payne left that little tidbit out of the briefing? Lex wondered, or had he just missed it?

“Have you alerted your clients in Waycross?” he asked, trying to quickly pull together a plan.

“Client,”
she corrected. “And yes I have. Gus has been put on alert, knows that I haven't sent anyone as my representative and he doesn't have anything remotely resembling the book. He's armed, and if anyone comes up on his property and doesn't heed him, they're liable to get the shock of their lives.”

“Sounds like this guy needs it,” Lex remarked with a grunt. “Have you had breakfast?”

She blinked, seemingly confused by the sudden subject change. “Breakfast?”

“First meal of the day,” he said. “From the late Middle English
breakfast,
meaning to break one's fast.”

“I know what it is,” she said, shooting him an exasperated smile. “But thanks for the etymology lesson all the same.”

He couldn't help it. It wasn't enough to know what a word meant, he wanted to know where it had come from, as well. He was an avid crossword fan and he found that knowing a word's origin often helped him figure things out. He'd picked the habit up from his grandfather, who'd also been in the service, and had been working them ever since.

“Well?” he pressed.

She looked confused again, as though they weren't having the same conversation. “Well what?”

He chuckled. “Have you had breakfast?”

She grinned. “I have, actually, but if you haven't, then I certainly don't mind watching you eat.”

“I've already eaten, too,” he told her. “But I think we need to plot our route a little more thoroughly, so why don't we stop for a quick cup of coffee and work that out?”

She nodded. “Sure. That sounds good.”

He found a coffeehouse with an outside eating area for Honey, and Bess stayed with the dog while he went in and ordered for them. The air had a bit of a chill to it, but thankfully not so cold as to be unpleasant. Bess had tied Honey's leash to a chair and was busy petting the dog, who naturally had her head angled toward the store until he came out.

“She doesn't like it when she can't see you,” Bess remarked when he returned with their drinks and a Danish apiece. He handed Bess her spiced apple cider and took a chair opposite her. Honey immediately came to sit at his feet, resting her chin against his knee. He patted her head and rubbed her velvety ears. “She's awfully devoted. How long have you had her?”

“About five months,” Lex told her.

She took a sip of her drink and he noticed she'd donned a kelly green hat, a matching scarf and fingerless gloves. Impossibly, she looked even more gorgeous. “So she wasn't a puppy when you got her?”

“No. According to the vet she's about a year and
a half.” He tore off a piece of apple tart and put it in his mouth. “What about you? What's a Severus?” he asked, remembering her instructions to Elsie.

She laughed softly. “A Severus is a black cat and he's the unofficial boss of my house.”

“Unofficial boss?”

“I'm the official one,” she confided. “I just don't tell him that.”

“And this is Severus, as in Severus Snape, the much-vilified and hated Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

She gasped delightedly. “A hobby etymologist
and
you know your Harry Potter.”

He'd read the books while he'd been recovering. It was the first time in years that he'd had so much time to simply be still, and he'd heard the books were filled with a lot of literary references and mythology. He'd enjoyed every minute of them.

“They were incredible,” he said. But nice as this was, it wasn't getting them any closer to their goal. He snagged the maps on the table and picked up a red ink pen. “In order to make sure we know exactly where we're going and where we are in relation to where he might be, I think we need to mark everything off on the map and then go from there.”

She pulled an atlas from her bag and opened it to Georgia. “You mean like this?” she asked.

Lex was genuinely beginning to wonder exactly
why he was here. “Yes, like that exactly,” he said, shooting her a forced smile.

Evidently catching the slight snarl behind his grin, she chuckled. “I'm sorry,” she said, her green eyes twinkling with humor. “I did this last night. As I understood it, they were only bringing you up to speed this morning and I thought it might be helpful.”

It was helpful and he had no reason to be irritated or feel like she'd lopped his balls off and handed them to him, but he did. This was his first assignment and so far she'd done all the work. It was time for him to start earning his money.

“It is helpful,” he said. He snagged the book and flipped through it. She'd marked up all the surrounding states, as well, everywhere she'd been. It was very thorough, very meticulous and he couldn't have done a better job himself. Still, he hadn't done it, and that was the problem.

He looked up at her and released a pent-up breath. “Let me ask you something, Bess.”

“Sure.”

“Are you a good shot?”

She frowned, seemingly confused. “You mean with a gun?”

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath, released it and shrugged. “Not particularly,” she demurred.

Good, he thought. Then maybe he'd be of some
actual use on this assignment. Provided he got to shoot at someone. Preferably not himself, though intuition told him he was going to need some form of distraction to put him out of his misery—that of the sexual variety—before this was over.

 

S
HE HADN'T REALLY LIED
, Bess thought. She wasn't a good shot—she was an
excellent
shot. Good implied mediocre, and she was far from just good. After her mother had committed suicide, Bess had been utterly terrified of guns. She'd go into a fit of terror if a car backfired, if she heard a fake gunshot on television. Simply seeing one sent her into a panic.

Given the way she'd reacted, one would have thought that she'd been in the house when her mother had taken her own life, but that wasn't the case. Her mother, bereaved and out of her right mind as she was, had at least had the forethought and kindness to send Bess over to a friend's to play. She'd attached a note to the front door to prevent anyone from letting her child into the house so that Bess wouldn't be the one to find her. A second note for Bess, with a simple “I'm sorry” at the end of it for her, was tucked behind a picture of the three of them together, Bess and her mom and dad, one of the few she had from her childhood.