He was lying. Leaving wasn’t so hard. He’d done it a million times. He just left. What held him back this time was the fact that he couldn’t think of a single place to go. Hell of a situation for a man to find himself in.

Rodriguez turned toward his computer terminal and touched a few buttons. “They’re getting closer, Nick. If they blow your cover, you’re dead in less than four hours. Southport Beach is too small to keep you safe. Leave the city. Leave Southern California.”

“Yeah, I will.” Just as soon as he figured out where he was going. May was a nice month just about anywhere. Maybe Vegas. He could get real lost there and not surface for days. “I’ll let you know when I get there,” he continued. “And I’ll make sure I’m close to a phone.”

“Good idea,” the captain said. Concern drew his mouth straight. “You’ve risked it all for this assignment, Nick. Just give it a few more days. A couple of weeks at most. By then the Feds will have what they need and we can issue the arrest warrants. By the end of the month, you’ll be back at the Santa Barbara Police Department.”

“Great.”

Nick had been undercover for over a year. It was difficult to imagine returning to Santa Barbara and picking up the threads of his life. After a year, how much of a life would he have to pick up?

He stood and walked to the door. When he pulled it open, the captain frowned and said in a voice loud enough to carry, “If you want Pentleman out of jail, you’re going to have to spring for bail. This time, we’re not cutting a deal.”

Pentleman was a small-time crook picked up for robbery earlier this morning. He was one of Nick’s “employees” and had given him an excuse to come to the station and talk to Rodriguez. Only his captain back in Santa Barbara, Rodriguez here in Southport Beach and the FBI agent coordinating the sting knew Nick’s real identity. The rest of the world considered him a successful criminal.

Nick gave the captain a mock salute and headed for the front desk. He would make Pentleman’s bail, then leave town. The issue of where to go nagged at him until he saw Hannah Pace coming off her shift. She spoke to the young officer taking her place at the communications console. As she turned to step into the corridor, she spotted Nick. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Nick jogged the last couple of steps to catch up with her. She was tall, nearly five-ten, with long legs and an awkward grace that made him think about foals loping through pastures. At six foot four, he could easily match her stride, which he did. She ignored him. It was a ritual between them. One he enjoyed more than he wanted to admit.

“Hey, beautiful, you off work?”

“Obviously.” The single word was clipped.

She didn’t look at him, not even when he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. She simply grabbed his wrist and let it fall behind her. Nick took advantage of the position to pat her curvy rear. That earned him a quick glare.

“I’m armed,” she said, heading for the side door and the officers’ parking lot. “And I’m not afraid to use it on low-life scum like you.”

“Hannah, you’ve got me all wrong. I respect you.”

“Yeah, right. What does that mean? You don’t expect to pay for sex with me?”

He winced audibly and pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m deeply wounded.”

She pulled open the door and stepped outside. Warm air, smelling of sea and sunshine, enveloped them. The sky was clear and California blue. If he’d bothered glancing out at the ocean, he would have been able to see all the way to Catalina. But he doubted any view was lovelier than the woman in front of him.

Hannah paused, inhaled deeply and stared up at him. Her eyes were big and brown, the color of milk chocolate. He’d always had a thing for chocolate. Apparently, he also had a thing for women in uniform, although he hadn’t realized that until he’d seen Hannah in hers. There was something about a sensibly cut garment hugging the female form that got his blood hot and his body bothered. Only it wasn’t just any female form; it was very specifically Hannah’s.

“What do you want, Nick?”

The defensiveness was gone. She sounded tired. He looked closer and saw shadows under her eyes. Thick, shiny, dark hair had been pulled back into a prim bun. Not even one tendril escaped to taunt him. Yet the thought of releasing her heavy hair, of running his fingers through the loose strands, made his fingers itch.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he said and gave her his best grin. It usually worked. He’d used it on countless women before and had been successful enough to make his friends grumble. The only person who seemed immune was Hannah. For a year she’d ignored his teasing, his compliments, his lines and his invitations. He suspected she viewed him as a life-form only slightly higher than a cockroach.

She stared at him a long time. “You don’t give up, do you?”

His grin turned wicked. “On you? Never.”

“Why? СКАЧАТЬ

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