them. And the house, our house, he called it-”
“Precious,” they said together.
“Yes…” She clutched his shirt. “We’ve got to get back. Kenny was right, it’s not what I thought. None of it is what I thought.” She gulped hard, then shook her head to clear it. “I’ve been on a wild goose chase. And…” She let out a helpless laugh. “And I’ve led the bad guys on a wild goose chase.”
As she said that, there was movement on the top floor of the hotel. A sliding glass door of the supposedly deserted penthouse suite opened.
A figure stepped out.
Stephen.
He looked down at them, right at them, and even from this distance Bailey had no trouble reading the malice and hate directed toward her. “Noah.”
“I see him.” She felt his hand settle on her arm as he leaned forward and spoke to the cab driver.
The cab driver nodded and pulled away. They were going, and she’d never been so glad to leave any place in her life.
Chapter 23
Maddie sat behind her desk at Sky High Air, working her keyboard, her cell phone, and her radio all at the same time, twisting in her chair to work a second keyboard as well. She was lining up her chicks: Noah was in a cab on the way to the Cabo airport, Shayne was due to land there any second, where they would hook up with each other, get Bailey out of Baja, and presumably all would be well.
A job well done.
But all her jobs were well done. She always saw to that. Perfection was incredibly important to her. Some called her anal, some called her obsessive, some just called her a coldhearted bitch.
She could be all of the above, she knew, but that was fine with her. She didn’t care what people thought.
Brody came out of his office, and she had to revise that, because she did care what he thought.
Of her.
Too bad he was a stubborn ass and never let a thing slip.
He walked as though he didn’t give a shit what people thought either, and she knew he didn’t. His stride was long-legged, easy, confident; all tall, dark and completely one hundred percent attitude-ridden as he headed directly toward the vending machine at the end of the hallway.
That he was doing so didn’t tell her a thing about his mood because he headed to the vending machine several times a day, always for a soda and something with milk chocolate, though in a pinch, dark chocolate would do.
Sometimes, in the deep, dark of the night, she had dreams about that, about covering herself in chocolate, just to see what he would do.
In her dreams, he licked it off.
All of it.
Every inch…
He was facing the vending machine, feet spread, hands on either side of the machine as he studied his choices. His shirt was stretched taut across his shoulders, his jeans soft and faded, fitted to his extremely nice butt. Then he unexpectedly glanced at her over his shoulder and caught her staring. “What?” he said.
“Nothing.”
He frowned. “You’re all flushed.”
“Just a little hot.” For you.
“Well, take a damn break. We’re not slave drivers here.”
“Right.” She slipped out of her sweater, which left her in an admittedly fabulous silky little tank that clung to her curves. She knew this because she’d picked it for this very reason. Plus, it was the same pale, pale blue as her eyes.
Also on purpose.
She had great eyes, and she lowered them now, then peeked at Brody from beneath her lashes.
He was staring at her, a slight scowl on his lips. When he realized she was still looking at him, he didn’t quickly turn away, or show any sign of being embarrassed to be caught staring.
That was probably because the man was never embarrassed about anything.
To have half that confidence and not have to fake the other half. “Oh,” she said casually, running a hand over her breast and down her belly. “Do I have something on me?”
“No.” He jammed his money into the vending machine. “I tried calling you last night. I couldn’t log onto the computer here. You weren’t home.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Figured you were on a date.”
If that was a fishing expedition, he was going to come up empty-handed. “You didn’t call my cell.”
“Didn’t want to bother you.” That said, he went back to studying his selection choices, as if he hadn’t done the same exact thing twice already today.
Damn stubborn mule. She tossed her earphones to the desk. A break. He was right, she needed a break.
She needed to break something right over his clueless head.
To keep from doing just that, she drew a deep breath, picked the earphones back up and tried to call Noah for his ETA, but got nothing. “Damn it.”
Brody stopped dealing with the vending machine and came close, his gaze on her face. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing.”
“But maybe something. Tell me.”
“Noah isn’t answering his cell.”
“Shit.”
The Baja landscape didn’t exactly whirl past them as the cab driver made his way toward the airport.
“Andale,” Noah said. Faster.
The cabby nodded but didn’t speed up, and Noah resisted the urge to tear his hair out one strand at a time. He looked at Bailey, who was sitting with her hands clenched, mouth tight, eyes worried. “We’ll get there,” he promised.
She nodded.
With a sigh, he slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer, pressing his mouth to her temple. “We will.”
“I know.” In his arms, she relaxed some, and the marvel of that was never going to get old.
“Nos estan siguiendo.”
Noah looked up and met the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They were being followed. Well, that was just perfect. He whipped around and indeed saw a dark SUV working its way around traffic to keep up with them. “Rapidamente.” He couldn’t stress enough the need to hurry, but neither did he want to risk having the cab driver pull over and kick them out. “Mas rapidamente.”
Again, the cabby nodded but didn’t speed up. In all fairness, he couldn’t. They were on a two-lane highway, with a huge rickety old truck weaving down the road in front of them, the back loaded to the brim with goats, all bleating mournfully in the afternoon air.
Coming the other way was a steady stream of traffic as well.
The cabby caught Noah’s eye in the rearview mirror again and helplessly shrugged.
“What?” Bailey asked, gripping Noah’s arm. “What’s the matter?”
The goat truck veered off to the right, and the cabby took his turn, revving the engine.
But nothing happened.
The cab was simply going top speed at approximately forty-eight miles an hour.
“What’s going on?” Bailey asked, searching his face. Clearly she could read him better than anyone else ever could because she looked scared. Hell. What had happened to his poker face? He was famous for it, but she seemed oblivious to the fact that no one was supposed to be able to read his thoughts and emotions like a damn book.
