Stolen Fury (9 page)

When he rolled his eyes, she turned and slipped into the driver seat. “Just get in, Sullivan. And hold on.”

“You’ve got serious control issues, you know that?” He clutched the armrest as she jerked the small car out of O’Hare’s rental lot and pulled into traffic on I-90.

The guy had some nerve. She changed lanes. “You’re talking to me about control? Nice one.”

He only grunted next to her.

Red brake lights flashed ahead in the dim light of early evening, and she shifted lanes again, easing around a semi. In her peripheral vision, she watched Rafe’s knuckles turn white against the armrest of the sedan as she whipped in
and out of traffic. A smile curled her lips, the first one she’d felt in days.

But it was quickly blanketed by the thought of what lay ahead to night. She’d have preferred that Rafe stay in sunny Florida where she’d told him to sit tight, instead of tagging along with her to her parents’ house in Chicago. The guy didn’t listen to a word she said, though. He was too worried she was going to cut and run with Doug’s research, go off and find Tisiphone on her own. Which, if she had any sense, is exactly what she’d do.

Insane. This whole idea was
totally
insane, and being a bright girl, she was going along with it anyway. That pretty much made her certifiable.

She was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d have to explain how
she
, a grad student at the time, had managed to procure Dr. Douglas Stone’s personal research papers. Thank the blessed stars above, the brainiac next to her hadn’t yet asked.

She hadn’t been back to the Windy City in over a year, and knowing her family, they were going to make a big production out of her return. She could already hear her sister Keira’s high-pitched squeal—the same one that had set Lisa’s nerves on edge as a teenager and sounded like fingernails scraping down a blackboard. With her hands gripping the wheel, Lisa took a calming breath and tried to remember these people were family. She didn’t have to
like
them per se, just love them. Which she did without fault—but God, sometimes it was a struggle.

Add to that the fact she hadn’t touched Doug’s research boxes since he’d died, and also that when she did, she was going to be hit with memories she didn’t want to even entertain…Yeah, this was shaping up into a lovely evening. And knowing she was going to have to deal with all of it under the watchful eye of Rafe Sullivan? Holy crap. It was almost enough to make her swerve into oncoming traffic.

His focus was trained on the traffic around them, but his grip had relaxed slightly on the door handle. She swerved
into the right-hand lane just to watch him tighten his hold on the armrest again. Scaring him shouldn’t make her feel so good, but damn if it didn’t kick her mood up a pathetic little notch. His eyes widened. When his legs tensed next to her, she tried not to smile again.

“So tell me about your family,” Rafe said.

Her family dynamics were none of his business, but at this point she realized there was really no way out of teaming up, and being bitchy wouldn’t help.

“My mother was a teacher. She’s retired now. My father owned a furniture store up until a few years ago, when he sold it so he could pester my mother in her golden years.”

Colleen Maxwell had been thrilled to learn her only single daughter was bringing along a “friend” to night. Too bad it wasn’t
that
kind of friend. “My mother will get the wrong idea about you, right from the start. Don’t encourage her. Smile, nod, but keep your mouth shut. Hopefully we won’t be there long.”

He slanted her a cheesy grin. “Oh yeah? What kind of wrong ideas?”

She ignored the sparkle in his eye and his question, instead maneuvering the car around a motorcycle. “My father will hate you on the spot.”

“Protective,” he said as he relaxed further in his seat, like he had a clue what he was talking about. “Got it.”

Lisa let out a disbelieving huff. Protective wasn’t a word she’d use to describe her authoritarian father. Steady, reliable, dependable, even caring at times when the mood struck, but definitely not protective. “He doesn’t like Mexicans.”

“Whoa. Rewind.” Rafe sat straighter in his seat and held up his hand. “I’m not Mexican,
querida
, I’m Puerto Rican.” She caught the hint of an accent when he mentioned the small island. “Half Puerto Rican. And 100 percent red-blooded American. Mexican, my ass,” he mumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head, ignoring the contempt brewing in his eyes. “You could be the king of frickin’ Spain, and he’d still only notice you aren’t Irish.”

He looked out the window and muttered something she couldn’t hear.

Was that guilt trickling through her chest? Why? The guy had been flicking her crap since she’d met him, and she now felt
guilty
because her father didn’t like Latinos? Right. That made sense.

“Maxwell doesn’t sound very Irish to me,
querida.
”

Okay, so he was quicker on his feet than she’d assumed. She frowned and changed lanes. “Don’t mention that to my father, either. Some half-baked woman way back in the family line had the bad sense to marry an Englishman. According to my father, the only thing the jackass ever added to the lineage was his goddamn name.”

“Anyone ever mention you swear like a sailor?” Rafe said, looking back at her. “Do you mouth off like that in front of your parents?”

She glanced sideways at him. “It’s like osmosis, Slick. When you spend six months of the year with big, burly archaeologists who think swearing is an art form, it just kinda seeps into you.”

“You mean nerdy bookworms trying to puff up their image? Yeah. Got it.” He stretched out his long legs, crossed his arms over his broad chest. “So how are we going to play this?”

“We aren’t playing it any way.”

He nodded. “Gotcha. So we go in, I tell your racist father how you jumped my bones in Italy, try to sidestep your mother so she doesn’t think we’re still all hot and heavy, we get the loot from the attic and run for the sun. Works for me.” He glanced out the window up toward the sky, which was covered by dark clouds. “How the hell do you people live in the arctic anyway? And are we at least getting fed in this deal, or are we on our own? ’Cause that bag of pretzels on the flight didn’t do it for me.”

This time she did smile. Then sobered quickly. He was right. Being honest wasn’t going to work with her parents. If either of them found out this was all about the Furies, she
was toast. She might be almost forty, but her mother’s wrath was something she avoided at all costs—at any age.

“We’re colleagues,” she said, working it through in her head. “Collaborating on a project.”

“What project?” he asked dryly.

Her mind spun as traffic slowed, and she eased her foot off the accelerator. “Greek mythology.” She grasped onto a memory. “You know an infinitely large number of boring facts on the subject.”

“You were listening.” He smirked before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the headrest, finally looking relaxed. “Majored in art history in college. Want me to enlighten you? I can think of a number of different ways.”

Light from the dash illuminated his rugged face, the muscles in his jaw, the line of his throat. Art history? That explained a lot, actually. The honest truth was she’d listened to everything he’d said that night in Italy. She’d just been too hypersensitized by that fake accent and gorgeous face to think clearly. But now, she couldn’t help wondering if there’d been a smattering of truth in his ruse.

“What?” he asked without opening his eyes.

How did he know she was even looking? Unnerved, she glanced back at the road.

“You surprised I went to college?”

She didn’t miss the hint of disdain in his words, or the fact he was watching her with that amused expression again, the one that said
I’m chock full of surprises, babe. Come on over here and find out for yourself.

A tiny part of her considered it before she realized what a monumental mistake that would be. No way she was going to mess this up with sex. She didn’t even
like
the guy. And while love had never been a requirement for her to tumble across the sheets with someone, liking them was.

She refocused on the road. “My mother probably called in reinforcements. Don’t be surprised if Keira and Catrine are there with their broods in tow.”

“Sisters?”

“Yes. Both younger, taller, fairer, better looking.” Her hand tightened on the wheel. Both perfect, with their perfect husbands and perfect children. Both pointing out she was without either whenever the opportunity presented itself. Both reminding her she’d lost both a lifetime ago.

He was looking at her again. She felt his gaze drilling into her from across the tight space, almost as if he could read her thoughts. Her pulse jumped, even though she tried like crazy to keep it steady.

“I find any of that hard to believe,” he said.

Was that tenderness in his voice? It
had
to be her imagination. The guy didn’t have a tender bone in his body.

Shaking away the thought, she pulled off I-90 and onto the narrow streets of Irving Park. “Shane will probably breeze in at some point, too, so just be forewarned.”

Leaves danced across the road in front of them, the car’s headlights illuminating the deep golds, flaming reds and crisp browns of fall.

“And Shane would be…?” He left the question hanging, his dark brows lifting in curiosity.

Good old-fashioned haughtiness warmed her chest. “My twin brother. He’s what you would consider protective.”

“Great,” Rafe mumbled, looking out at the passing city lights. “A bigot, too?”

“No.” Lisa smiled, enjoying the fact this little bit of info would put him on the hot seat. “He’s a detective with Chicago PD.”

His gaze snapped her direction. “Your brother’s a cop?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded. “How in the hell did you think I tracked you down so fast?”

“Wonderful.” His cheesy grin deepened into a scowl as he turned back to watch the passing brownstones.

She smiled wider. “I warned you to stay in Florida, Sullivan. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

* * *

It wasn’t a normal family. Rafe’s first impression of the Maxwell clan was a white version of
The Cosby Show
buzzed up on too much Guinness.

Not that Rafe had a clue what normal was. His own family was more like
War of the Roses
than
The Brady Bunch
. Toss in a little bit of
The Outsiders
for good mea sure, and you had a pretty accurate take on his teen years.

Lisa’s mother met them at the door. She was taller than Lisa, with dark hair and a face that was all smiles. She immediately wrapped Lisa in a tight hug and crooned in her ear as if she hadn’t seen her eldest daughter in years, and the gesture made Rafe wonder just how long it had been since the woman had come home.

Voices echoed down the entry hall, followed by an ear-piercing shriek that had Rafe shaking his head and rubbing his ears.

Sisters. You couldn’t miss them. They were like a freight train barreling out of the shadows, all long arms reaching for Lisa, voices raising the noise level in the echoing front hall to a roar that rivaled a Sunday Miami Heat game. Both women were taller than their sister, one lighter, one a softer shade of red, and while there were definite similarities between them all, neither held a candle to Lisa.

Not in body or face or voice or aura. She shone like a beacon amongst the three, her emerald eyes shimmering in the low light, her porcelain skin radiant next to that fire red hair of hers. And when she smiled, her whole face lit up, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue, her sensual lips curling to showcase that oh-so-scrumptious kiss-me mouth.

Her intoxicating face was a play of emotions as she stood there greeting the two sisters she mistakenly thought were so much more than she was. How on earth could she be jealous of either one? She was the only woman in the room he could see, the only one he’d been able to think about since she’d almost rocked his world in Italy. Hell, in any other situation, he might think the other women were
attractive, but right now, next to her, he couldn’t even tear his gaze away from her long enough to give the others a passing glance.

Mesmerized, he watched Lisa’s expression change from relief, to apprehension, to familiarity with a sprinkling of love, as the sisters jabbered on around her. And standing there, listening, his chest tightened, a feeling that caught him totally off guard.

Whoa. Back the gravy train up, Colonel Sanders
.

He caught himself before his thoughts spiraled out of control. Admiring her looks and centerfold curves was one thing, feeling a stirring in his chest was a whole other ball game. He barely knew the woman and had no idea what made her tick, other than her desire to find the Furies and grind his ass into the ground in the process. He wasn’t the type of guy who fell for a chick after only a week—wasn’t the kind of guy who fell for a woman, period. Not really. Hailey had been a convenience, an attraction that had gone a little too far and ended up being one great big mistake. The fact his mother had loved Hailey and was dying to see him settled down was the
only
reason he’d stayed with the woman for six months instead of cutting ties after a week and getting the hell out, like he should have done.

There was no way he was going down that road again. Relationships definitely weren’t his thing. He had to get his brain back on track and find that damn Fury so he could cash in his score and get his mother back to Puerto Rico before her time ran out. He’d made her a promise, and he wasn’t breaking it.

But when Lisa turned toward him to make introductions, he forgot just what the hell he’d been rationalizing to himself. His heart did a slow thump before he could stop it. And he watched in amazement as her gaze raked his face, the look in her eyes shifting from soft to smart-ass in one long blink.

Well, hell. That was fitting. Since she’d leveled him in the Keys, it was the only emotion she’d tossed his way. He shouldn’t be disappointed. And yet he was.