Bounty Hunter's Woman. Linda Turner

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СКАЧАТЬ we’re being followed? Oh, God! Where—”

      He checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time in two minutes, but the fog that surrounded them was all encompassing. “Relax,” he told her. “Nothing short of a bloodhound’s following us in this fog. By the time it lifts, we’ll have left London far behind. Not that anyone needs to follow us,” he added. “All your kidnappers have to do is watch the airports…and the Paris tunnel. Those are the only two ways to get off this island, which is why we’re avoiding them.”

      “Then where are we going?”

      “I’m still working on that. Buck caught me off guard,” he admitted. “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

      After everything she’d been through, trust was no longer something she gave easily. Eyeing him warily in the dim glow of the dash lights, she lifted a delicately arched brow. “Really? I’m supposed to trust you, just like that? How do I know you’re not working with my kidnappers and taking me back to them?”

      “You talked to Buck,” he reminded her. “He told you himself that he hired me.”

      “But how did he get your name? You’re a bounty hunter. Why didn’t he hire a private investigator instead? Who recommended you to him?”

      He shrugged. “That’s something you’ll have to ask him.”

      “I can’t. He’s on a plane for the next ten hours.”

      Not the least disturbed, he said, “That’s your problem, Miss Priss. Some things you just have to take on faith.”

      “No, I don’t,” she said sharply. “Not when my life is on the line.

      “Your life won’t be on the line as long as you do what I say,” he reminded her. “So from now on, you don’t ask questions, you don’t hesitate, you don’t argue. Understood?”

      Lifting her chin, she gave him a cool look. “Not in a million years. I’m not one of the low-life criminals you make your living catching, so save your little speech for someone who needs a keeper. Believe it or not, I have a brain under all this strawberry-blond hair, and I don’t need you to tell me I’m in danger. I was the one who was kidnapped, remember?”

      “And the one who opened the door to your kidnapper,” he reminded her mockingly. “So tell me again about the brain under all that blond hair.”

      “Go to hell.”

      He only grinned. “I’ve already been there and back, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

      Fuming, she was tempted to smack him, but she wasn’t that kind of woman. “He told me he was a cop,” she said stiffly. “He had a badge—”

      “I can’t believe you fell for that,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “That’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. I’ve used it myself.”

      “Trust me—I won’t make that mistake again. I felt like a fool.”

      “Good. There’s hope for you yet. Don’t trust anyone—I don’t care what badge they’re flashing or what story they tell you. As far as you’re concerned, everyone you see and talk to is after you.”

      She lifted a delicately arched brow at him. “Including you?”

      He grinned. “I don’t go after the chicks in my custody. Afterward…” He shrugged. “Give me a call, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it.”

      “In your dreams,” she sniffed.

      When she lifted her pert little nose in the air, Donovan laughed. So he wasn’t good enough for her, huh? They’d see about that. The day would come when he would make the lady purr just to prove he could. But not now. Not when they were practically shackled and stuck with each other for the next month. For now, he had to come up with a plan to keep her safe.

      His phone rang then, shattering the silence that had fallen between then. Looking at the caller ID, he swore. Tim Elliot. He was a snitch with a taste for scotch who knew more about what was going on in the back alleys of London than just about anyone Donovan knew. And he didn’t call unless he had a lead he knew Donovan was willing to pay for.

      His timing couldn’t have been worse, but Donovan knew he couldn’t afford to ignore the call. If Tim was in need of a drink, he’d go to the perp himself and give Donovan up without a thought for a bottle of scotch.

      Snatching up the phone, he barked, “What?”

      “I just had a drink with Leo Guardino.”

      Donovan clenched his teeth. Leo Guardino was one of the biggest prizes out there—wanted for murder and drug smuggling, he had a 20,000 quid price on his head. Rumors had floated around for the last year that he was dead, but Donovan knew better. There’d been times when he’d been so close to the bastard that he could smell him, but he’d always managed to disappear like smoke in the wind. How the devil had Tim found him?

      “Where?”

      “The Pirate’s Cove.”

      Donovan knew the pub well. It was a dive on a dark, ancient street in the heart of London where no decent person would step foot. The patrons there dealt in drugs and weapons and every kind of contraband known to man, and few, if any of them, remembered what it was like to have a soul. Even the cops didn’t go there if they could avoid it, and Donovan couldn’t blame them. It was a sinister place.

      “You didn’t give me up, did you, Tim? You wouldn’t do that to a friend, would you?”

      “No. No! No way, man! You know me better than that. I work with you all the time. You can trust me.”

      Donovan could practically feel him sweating through the phone. Trust him? Not in a million years. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said coolly. “I would hate like hell to think you would betray me after everything I’ve been through with you. You know, like that incident at The Royal Arms, when you—”

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