Striking Distance Read online

  The strappy halter top showcased her flat belly and the contour of her spine, covering nothing except her breasts, and even then the gossamer-thin, lacy fabric scarcely left much to the imagination. A small leather bag, hardly large enough to hold some cash, a couple of loose cigarettes and her car keys, hung from a long, delicate gold chain that draped over her shoulder. The bag bounced against her hip with every step she took. An ankle-length jacket that was as sheer as air and designed from black netting so thin and fragile that it felt like a midnight fog against her skin completed the daring ensemble.

  She possessed all the bait and weapons required for a manhunt.

  At the main entrance she paused for the bouncer to wave his security wand around her body. She opened her purse to show her keys when the wand passed over it and hummed a warning.

  She smiled wickedly at him. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me,” she crooned. “The only thing I’m packing is a raging desire to find just the right guy.”

  His slick bald head stilled, his eyes level with her waist when the wand hummed another warning at the top of her right boot. He looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked in question.

  “It’s just my cell phone,” she insisted. She reached into her boot and tugged out the slim communicator that had triggered the metal detector. “See.” She waved it in front of his face before slipping it back into her boot. “Anything else you need to see?”

  He straightened, glanced at the crowd lining up behind her and then back at her. He wanted to see more. No doubt. The gleam in his eyes gave away his every thought.

  “Come on, man, we don’t got all night,” his co-worker groused. He waited impatiently, the official Metro Link stamp in his hand. A veteran on the job, she surmised. One who wouldn’t be impressed by a half-naked woman and a sexy come-on line.

  The guy with the wand waved her through. “Have a nice night,” he offered, his tone chock-full of innuendo.

  She leaned close to him and whispered, “Believe me, baby, I will.”

  “Let’s go,” the other guy grumped.

  Tasha squared her shoulders and gave him a look that said, Buddy, you need to get laid, and held out her hand. He glared at her then smacked the stamp in place. An eerie ML glowed on her skin between her wrist and knuckles. She flashed him a “bite me” smile and moved on.

  Heavy-metal music blasted from the surround-sound system as she strode into the crowded club. The maximum occupancy posted was five hundred, and she’d bet Martin’s Jag that they’d long passed that limit. Patrons were jam-packed into every available square foot. A long, sleek bar of black-and-mirrored glass flowed along one wall. Up front the crush of the crowd made it difficult to distinguish one couple from another on the dance floor. It more accurately resembled a sea of body parts, all connected somehow like a scene from a gruesome horror novel as they gyrated to the beat.

  A laser light show splashed across a screen high above the band jamming on the stage. Booze and beer abounded like manna from heaven, and she quickly spotted a number of other less-than-legal stimulants. Leather, lace and tattoos. Smoke, heat and sex. Women with men and all variations in between. It was all out there. Just like Sodom and Gomorrah.

  So this was his favorite haunt, she mused, scanning for her target. Tall, blond and deadly liked it trashy. Well, she could play any way necessary. Backup knew where she was at all times. The handy dandy tracking-monitoring device looked just like a skin patch, the kind people used for kicking the nicotine habit or for birth control. Skin colored and shaped like a small round bandage. Rafe “Maverick” Scott, one of the two men Lucas had assigned as her backup, had instructed her to place it under her left breast. The device would send out a constant signal providing her location as well as her cardio stats. If her heart rate escalated to panic level Maverick would come to her rescue.

  But she wasn’t going to need that kind of backup tonight.

  She did a double take, her gaze landing on Mr. John Doe himself.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she muttered under her breath. “You are one amazing Y chromosome.” For a killer, she added.

  John Doe sat on a stool about center of the long bar, those ice-blue eyes scanning the dance floor like a hungry panther ready to pounce on his dinner.

  Looking for a little action, big boy? Taking her time as she crossed the room, she took stock of his numerous physical assets. Whoever had estimated his height and weight had done a stellar job. Those broad shoulders tested the seams of his black shirt. Powerful thighs filled out a well-worn pair of jeans. Black ankle boots, the kind made for walking and climbing, soft leather uppers, ribbed soles. For stealth and traction. Smart.

  He wore a watch, but no other jewelry that she could readily see. The slight bulge at his left side about midway of his torso would indicate a shoulder holster. She wondered how he’d managed to get in here with a weapon. Official ID, perhaps? Just something else she’d need to check out.

  The couple sitting next to him got up and headed for the dance floor, presenting the perfect opportunity for her. “The gods are watching over me tonight,” she murmured.

  She slid onto the stool next to J.D., John Doe just sounded too cliché. “Great band,” she said when he glanced in her direction.

  He didn’t respond.

  Okay. She crossed one leg over the other, offering up a length of thigh for his perusal. He never even looked her way. She leaned toward him. “What time it is?” she asked, ensuring she spoke loud enough for him to hear her.

  He held up his wrist so that she could see the face of his watch. She splayed her fingers over his muscled forearm and drew it closer to her face. He tensed and pulled free even before she was ready to let go.

  Not the reaction she’d hoped for, but a reaction nonetheless.

  She leaned close again, ensuring that her shoulder rubbed against his. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  Again nothing.

  Five minutes passed with her sitting there gazing out over the mass of swaying, twitching bodies and him doing the same. Not one word was spoken.

  Time for drastic measures.

  She hopped off her stool, standing as close to him as possible. “Hey!” she shouted at the bartender. “How about a beer?”

  A long-necked bottle slid down the counter toward her. She snagged it and took a long draw. “Hmm,” she purred as she wiped her chin. She sighed and plunked her bottle back onto the counter. She resisted the urge to wince. Although her lipstick did a great job of camouflaging her split lip, the alcohol still burned on contact.

  She leaned against the bar and adjusted her position slightly so she could look her target directly in the eye…well, she could if he turned his head a mere five degrees and allowed her to. Jerk. Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood?

  Only one way to find out.

  She pulled a cigarette out of her purse, a girl never knew when she’d need a conversation starter, and provocatively leaned in his direction. “Do you have a light?” she asked, peering up at him as if the world just might come to an end if he gave the wrong answer.

  He looked at her, that piercing gaze cold enough to give her frostbite, then glared at her breasts for a fraction of a second. “No,” he growled before looking away, clearly unimpressed.

  Dammit.

  Well, at least he’d spoken to her.

  She tossed the cigarette onto the bar and propped fully against the counter, pressing her shoulder into his, as she drank her beer and contemplated her next move.

  The beer was cold and refreshing once it got past her lip, but he was making her sweat. Usually she didn’t have this much trouble getting a guy’s attention. Surely three months sitting behind a desk at Langley in a two-piece suit hadn’t thrown her off the game this badly. Giving herself grace, she hadn’t actually ever attempted to bait a killer. It must be tricky, she mused. Rising to the cha
llenge, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. His profile was strong, his jaw chiseled. A scar running from the corner of his mouth to the middle of his cheek served as a kind of permanent dimple. Otherwise, movie-star-quality features, but more rugged. She squinted for a better view. There was something in his hairline.

  Another scar…

  No.

  Tattoo.

  A number: 6…6…shit…

  She stiffened.

  He turned his head and pointed those laser-blue eyes directly at hers.

  She opened her mouth but it took about three seconds for the words to come out. “Is that…?”

  She couldn’t say the rest. He knew what she meant. She saw it in his eyes. Damn. Was this guy for real? Focus, Tasha. Stay calm. She forced her heart rate to slow before that cowboy Maverick could come bursting through the door.

  He was still staring at her.

  “What do you want from me?”

  An involuntary shiver raced over her skin at the sound of his voice. Or maybe she was just freaked out by the bizarre tattoo. But the deep, gravelly sound scraped over her flesh, leaving every single nerve ending raw and tingling.

  “I…” She moistened her lips and grappled for the cocky attitude she’d waltzed in here with. “My name’s Tasha. I just thought you were cute and that maybe we could—”

  He looked her up and down. Not a fast and furious sweep, but a slow, methodical perusal…as if he were devouring every square inch of her with his eyes. She shivered again. Jesus, what was wrong with her?

  When that unyielding blue gaze collided with hers once more, he said, “Go away.”

  Had this encounter tanked or what?

  She mustered up a properly pissed-off look and the body language to go with it. “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I like it right here.” She guzzled the rest of her beer. “You know,” she said, her gaze focused on the mirror behind the bar, but her voice just loud enough for him to hear, “I knew moving here would be a mistake. My first night on the town and I get the brush-off from the best-looking guy in the club.” She turned toward him then, pressed even more intimately against him. “Why is that, do you think?”

  He shifted just enough so that his face was about two inches from hers. “Maybe it has something to do with that big mouth.”

  She laughed softly and then sighed, allowing her breath to feather across his lips. “Well, now I know, don’t I?”

  He turned away as if he hadn’t even noticed her seduction attempts. How the hell was she supposed to crack this guy?

  Lucas’s offer echoed in her ears…succeed in this mission and you’ll come to work for me with the best of the best. Failure was not an option. The cell phone tucked into her boot vibrated. Maverick, no doubt.

  She braced a hand against J.D. as she fished out her phone. He flinched. Great, he didn’t even want her to touch him. “Yeah.” She turned away from the exasperating man, straining to hear over the music.

  “I take it we have contact.”

  Maverick’s call would show up as a cell phone listed to her fake roommate, Patti. Under normal circumstances he would call if he didn’t like what he saw on the monitor, if in distress she would say the right phrase or her inability to answer would equate to the same, and the cowboy would create a diversion, allowing her to escape whatever trouble she was in. But tonight’s call was just to ensure contact had been made and to tie her to his monitoring link. Once he’d put a call through to her cell phone, as long as that phone was turned on he could trace her. Backup to the other apparatus, he’d told her. He liked playing it safe. She glanced at the brooding man at her side. “Definitely. I thought you were coming back to pick me up, Patti.”

  “Our friend is nearby,” he said knowingly. “Very good.”

  “Yeah. Forget it, I’ll figure out something.” She hung up, closed her phone and tucked it back into her boot. She heaved a disgusted sigh. She couldn’t be certain how this would go from here, but at least she’d made contact. That’s all Lucas had wanted for tonight. But she wanted more. She wanted to prove how fast she could work…how deep she could go right from the start.

  Her target suddenly stood.

  Damn.

  He tossed a couple of bills onto the counter, clearly preparing to split.

  “You leaving already?” She shifted as close to him as possible. “We didn’t even get to dance.”

  She looked up at him with all the sensual invitation she could muster. For two beats he stared right back at her without a word…without a reaction at all.

  Abruptly he snagged her by the arm and moved away from the bar. Startled on one level but grateful on another, she allowed herself to be dragged around the fringes of the dance floor, zigzagging to avoid gyrating bodies. His fingers were like iron vises around her wrist. He didn’t slow down until they had cleared an emergency exit and were standing in the alley behind the club. Fear trickled through her but she quelled it instantly. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered vaguely why no alarm went off when they pushed through the exit. The fire marshal needed to start doing his job. She suddenly hoped like hell Maverick was doing his.

  “Decide you want to take me home with you?” she encouraged, blocking the internal alarm going off inside her head. She was playing with fire here. Pushing the limit…but at least she had his attention now. When she would have reached toward him he shoved her to her knees.

  “You know what to do,” he said savagely.

  Oh, damn.

  She took a breath, looked at his crotch and the sizeable bulge there, then peered up at him, careful not to let her uneasiness show. “You know, you’re really cute and all, but I don’t go down on a guy on a first date. Especially when I don’t even know his name.”

  When she would have pushed to her feet he snagged her chin in a punishing grip forcing her back down. “I guess you don’t know how to use that big mouth after all.”

  She glared right back into that icy gaze and countered, “Considering your attitude, I guess you’ll never know.”

  His gaze held hers a second longer before he released her and started to walk away.

  Tasha lunged to her feet and went after him. Dammit, she couldn’t let him get away. “Wait a minute. I—”

  “Shut up.” He kept moving…didn’t look back.

  She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Look, my roommate left me here. I really need a ride. Could you at least give me a ride?”

  This could go either way…all she wanted at this point was to find out where he called home while in the Windy City. That was more than Lucas had asked for, but then, that was the point. Considering this guy’s attitude, however, that might be all she could hope for period.

  Glancing down his shoulder at her, his stride never slowing, he growled, “Call a taxi.”

  “Wait!” She stayed right on his heels. “Don’t be a jerk. I just need a ride. Is that such a big deal?”

  He stopped. A straining ray of light from a distant streetlamp filtered through the darkness where they stood, softly illuminating those Arctic eyes and highlighting the hard planes of his face.

  She held her breath…all she needed was half a chance….

  “A ride, nothing else.”

  “Nothing else,” she promised.

  He turned and started walking again. She followed. Two blocks later he clicked the remote on his keychain and the headlights of an SUV came on.

  She climbed into the passenger seat while he slid behind the wheel. When she snapped her seat belt into place he asked, “What’s the address?”

  She gave him the address for her apartment and relaxed back against the seat as he pulled out onto the street. “Oh, no!” she groaned and smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “My roommate called me…” She looked over at him. “In the club, you k
now. She needs the apartment to herself tonight. I have to hang out somewhere else.”

  “A hotel, then.” This he said, as usual, with no emotion and without even sparing her a glance.

  She moistened her lips and reached way down deep for her whiniest voice. “But I don’t have any money for a hotel. It took most everything I had to pay my share of the rent when I got here. Couldn’t I just crash at your place for the night? I swear I won’t be any trouble. I’ll even sleep on the couch. I don’t usually go home with strangers but I don’t know anyone else in town and—”

  He slammed on the brakes. The seat belt was all that kept her from an up-close encounter with the dash.

  “Get out.”

  She glanced around the dark neighborhood. They’d already left the cluster of night spots behind. Rush Street and Division were safe enough, she knew from Maverick’s briefing, but it was after midnight…who knew? Of course, she had backup, but this guy didn’t know that. Mr. Coldhearted Snake apparently didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “Fine.” She muttered a couple of fitting expletives as she jerked the seat belt loose and scrambled out, then slammed the door as hard as she could.

  When she walked away she gave it everything she had, swaying her hips like a hooker on a desperate mission.

  She might not have his home address, but she had his license plate number. That was something.

  When he didn’t immediately drive away, an uneasy feeling quivered up her spine. She resisted the urge to turn around and assess his intent. If he gunned the engine she’d hear him in time to dive to safety.

  She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and to pretend he wasn’t even there, watching, waiting, for God knows what. The memory of that bizarre tattoo made her shiver again. There was something really wrong with this guy. Her sixth sense hadn’t stopped vying for her attention since she walked up to that bar.

  As if she didn’t have enough trouble already, a drunk staggered from an alley a few yards ahead. A friend joined him five seconds later. Both watched her steady progress without making a move. She braced herself for a scuffle.