Dangerous Curves. Pamela Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ conspicuously devoid of files and clutter. Man, she didn’t even have one of those little stuffed toys most women hung on their monitor. Typical Cece Blackwell. She was about as feminine as a case of motor oil.

      “Hell-ooo,” she reminded him of her presence. As if he could forget.

      “You’re the best person for the job,” he stated.

      “Well, you can just un-request me.”

      His eyes swung back to hers. “No,” he surprised himself by saying—surprised, because during the whole trip from North Carolina he’d told himself he’d made a mistake in insisting she be assigned the case. He must be more shaken up over Randy’s death than he’d thought, because requesting that Cece Blackwell work the case when all he had were some half-baked rumors about her success as an FBI agent was pure craziness. And yet here he was.

      She’d changed, he thought, unable to stop himself from scanning her up and down. She looked like a woman. Granted, not the type of woman he’d be attracted to, but a woman nonetheless.

      And that kind of perplexed him. She’d grown breasts since he’d last seen her.

      “Excuse me, Blain, but I must have misunderstood you because I could have sworn you just said ‘it was me who requested you,’ which doesn’t make any sense because that would mean you were willing to work with me, something I know from experience would be the last thing on earth you’d want to do. So let’s go over this again. Did you or did you not just say that you requested me for this case?”

      “I did.”

      She gave him a look, one he remembered from their youth. It usually meant a shovelful of sand or a sharp-tipped acorn was about to be thrown his way.

      “Why in the heck would you do a stupid thing like that?”

      “Like I said. You’re the best.”

      “And just how do you know that?” she asked.

      His gaze snapped up. “People back home talk.”

      She smirked, painted red lips compressing. “I haven’t talked to anyone back home since my mom died.”

      “Not even Mr. Johnson?”

      She closed her eyes, obviously recognizing the name. Mr. Johnson, ex-cop-turned-P. E.-teacher who had taken a shine to Cecilia Blackwell all through high school, especially when she’d chosen to pursue a career in law enforcement. He was also a big race fan, which was how Blain had kept up with Cece’s life—though in an inadvertent way, because he wasn’t interested in her.

      He looked her up and down again.

      Not interested at all.

      “We talk on a regular basis,” Blain admitted.

      “I’m going to kill him,” she said, and this time Blain eyed the column of her neck. Her skin looked soft there. Funny. The memories he’d carried of little Cecilia Blackwell were that of a grease-covered kid. One who’d had puppy love dangling from her stray dog eyes. Not the woman standing before him now. Taller. Long blond hair. Hourglass figure.

      “Why? The old guy’s proud of you. You’re the only student of his that’s gone any further than the local police department.”

      And Blain felt grudging respect for her. Most of their former classmates had never left town. Not so Cece. Like him, she’d struck out on her own. He admired that, no matter how much it irked him to admit it.

      “Besides,” he added, “who cares how I found out? What’s important is that I know you’ll be straight with me.” He clenched his hands, trying to stifle emotions he didn’t want her to see. “The president of our association refuses to postpone the next few races because we don’t have proof that the wreck that killed my driver was no accident. All I have is a threatening letter that mentions a Cup race two weeks from now. Your bosses seem to think it’s probably just a nutcase. NASCAR seems to think the same thing. I’m not so certain.”

      Blain had to look away for a second, hoping she didn’t see how hard he fought for control at the memory of Randy.

      Got a tire going bad.

      They were the last words he’d said.

      “I heard he was your driver,” Cece said.

      “He was.” And his best friend. And his business partner.

      “Sorry about your loss,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

      Not for Cece the show of sympathy most women would give him: the concerned touch, the sympathetic hug. No. She just tilted her head as she said, “But it still doesn’t change the fact that this is a bad idea.”

      “I’m not going to beg.” And he wouldn’t, damn it. She owed him this.

      “You don’t have to. My answer is no.”

      He straightened and pulled out his trump card. “I’ll tell your boss about the felony.”

      She paled beneath the makeup covering up the freckles he remembered. About the only thing still the same.

      “What felony?” She tried to brazen it out.

      “The one you got for stealing that car when you were seventeen. The one sealed now because you were a minor, but the one I’m sure you didn’t tell the FBI about, since you were hired by them.”

      He found himself looking down at her, those wide green eyes. Pretty eyes, he’d always thought, despite the fact that he’d always teased her about them.

      “Bastard.”

      He crossed his arms again and shrugged.

      “You know damn well I didn’t steal that car. Tommy Pritchert set me up to take the fall. I just happened to be driving the wrong car at the wrong time.”

      “Tell that to your boss.”

      She looked as if she wanted to throttle him. “You know well and good I can’t do that.”

      “No. But I can.”

      And now she looked as if she wanted to bludgeon him.

      “Did it ever occur to you that my successes as an FBI agent might be severely overrated?”

      “Yeah.” He took another step toward her. A hint of something tickled his nose. “You wearing perfume?” he asked in shock.

      She tilted her head. “What of it?”

      You build that car? he’d asked after she’d roared into the high school parking lot when they were seventeen.

       What of it?

      Same response. Same woman.

      Or was it?

      “Nothing,” he answered—the same response he’d given her back then. “And even if Mr. Johnson has СКАЧАТЬ