Teased (2 page)

He’d always liked curvy, and the beauty in front of him was overflowing with curves. Once again, he frowned, and a hot dog vendor jumped out of his way, fear sizzling from him. Chalton shook his head and tried to force his face into harmless lines. The last mission he’d been on had involved firing from a distance. Most of his missions had included guns, shooting, and death. But he’d given up the life of an assassin to become a computer geek.

Yet here he was in bone-chilling cold, surrounded by cement and glass, chasing a woman who filled out her blue parka like he’d drawn her on a notepad. Perfectly.

She clip-clopped on surprisingly high-heeled boots down a cross street, easily winding between people and stepping too close to moving vehicles. He calmly followed her, pleased to be finally getting somewhere. After watching her for two days just write news articles in her apartment, he’d started to wonder if she’d ever meet her mysterious source in person. He needed to find out who was feeding her information.

A dark van pulled up next to her, its windows blackened out. The side door slid open.

Hell. Chalton burst into a run.

A man wearing a ski mask reached out, yanked her inside, and shut the door before she could let out a scream. The van jerked to the right, horn honking, inching through the traffic.

Chalton reached it and grabbed for the door handle. Metal scratched his palm and cut deep. Bugger. It was locked. The rusty metal ripped away from the door, and he threw it to the ground.

The van veered away from him, hopped the opposite curb, and careened down the sidewalk. Bystanders yelled and jumped out of the way, spraying snow. A display of holiday T-shirts flew up in the air and crashed down in the middle of the street. The van continued on, horn blaring. Chalton jumped over a downed bicycle and ran after the careening vehicle, measuring the distance between it and the four-way stop up ahead along with the probability of an accident if the driver ran a red light.

He calculated the timing of the street light signals, catching view of a yellow light up ahead. Yep. It’d be red soon, and the van would run it. The woman probably wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The van was older and weighed around six thousand pounds. It’d withstand an accident, but without a seatbelt, Olivia might get injured. He couldn’t let her get injured before he discovered her source.

Besides, after keeping an eye on her for a few days, he felt an odd sense of responsibility for her. The pretty brunette wouldn’t become harmed on his watch.

The van scraped against a brick building and sparks flew. People scrambled out of the way, throwing purses and shopping bags, dodging into the street. Horns blared, and vehicles screeched to stops.

He kept his heart rate slow and his mind sharp, maneuvering around frantic people while keeping pace with the van. Two cabs collided in front of the van, careening through ice, no doubt trying to get out of the way. The driver of the van hit the brakes, but it was going too fast and impacted the yellow taxis with a loud crunch of metal on metal.

One taxi driver jumped out of his cab, swearing loudly and rounding his car.

Chalton ran in front of the guy and grabbed for the van driver’s front door. Locked. The window was shaded so heavily he couldn’t see in, but the hair on the back of his neck rose. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the cross hairs of a gun.

A muffled scream came from inside. Olivia.

He jumped up on the hood of the van, ignoring the hiss of steam coming from the engine. The front window was dark but not as dark as the sides. A shorter man sat in the driver’s seat with a SIG pointed straight at Chalton.

Panic threatened to consume her, so she struck out. Olivia struggled against her captor and yanked off his ski mask, her nails scraping down his face.

“Bitch,” he yelped, slapping her across the cheek.

Pain exploded beneath her cheekbone. Her ears rang and she scrambled away from him. Sirens sounded in the distance, giving her hope. She leaned to the side to see the driver of the van pointing a gun out the front windshield.

A man crouched on the hood, gaze on the gun.

She shivered.

No fear showed on the guy’s hard-cut face. No emotion whatsoever. Black eyes seemed merely curious as he and the driver played some weird game of chicken. But she could almost feel the driver’s stress and could definitely smell his body odor.

“Um, there’s nowhere to go,” she whispered as the trill of sirens came closer.

The guy in the backseat reached over and grabbed her hair, pulling back her head. Pain lanced down her scalp, and she hissed. “What do you want with me?” she muttered.

“Who’s your source?” the driver asked.

She blinked. Her source? Chills cascaded down her back. “I don’t know.”

The hand in her hair yanked, and she cried out, her eyes watering from the pain.

The man outside the car switched his gaze to her, and she felt the impact of those eyes through her entire body. He lifted an eyebrow.

What the hell? He had a gun pointed at him, there was pandemonium all around, and he seemed mildly interested. Who was the bystander? Was he some undercover cop?

“Shoot him,” the guy holding her ordered.

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to yell a warning. Before she could get out a sound, the guy on the hood punched through the glass. Shards sprayed along with red. Blood.

She screamed and tried to duck away from flying glass.

The punch was so powerful the guy kept coming, one hand swiping the gun out of the way and the other snaking around the driver’s neck. The driver screamed and wrapped both hands around the guy’s arm, flopping like a beached fish.

Olivia yanked her head free, turned, and plowed her fist into the other guy’s nose. Cartilage crunched. He howled and grabbed his face, fury darkening his eyes. She scrambled back, reaching for the door handle and kicking out. Her boot tip caught the guy under the chin, throwing back his head.

Her fingers scrambled along the handle and she jerked, sliding the door open and falling backward. Her arms flailing, she managed to kick her kidnapper once again as he lunged for her before her ass hit the pavement. Water from a puddle splashed over her legs.

Pain vibrated up her spine.

Her mind fuzzing and her heart beating so fast her throat clogged, she scampered to her feet and stumbled away from the van. The guy she’d kicked shoved free just in time for the blond guy to finish with the driver, grab the doorjamb, and swing his legs around. Both knees clamped onto the guy’s neck and twisted, throwing him to land on the snow covered pavement.

Olivia stilled, her gaze meeting her savior’s as he landed on his feet, facing her.

Except he didn’t look like a savior. Standing next to the van, his size became apparent. Well over six-feet tall, muscled and tight, with blond hair tied at the nape, he looked like an avenging...what? Not an angel. Definitely not an angel. He wore black slacks and an expensive looking button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. One arm dripped blood from deep scratches, and he didn’t seem to notice.

The crowd milled around, some passing by, some glancing into the van.

But nobody existed except for the man. His face was an intriguing blend of hard angles: prominent jawline, slashes for cheekbones, high brows. Handsome in a too-sharp-to-be-real look. But those eyes...intelligent and knowing.

She swallowed. There was no doubt he was allowing her to look her fill. Waiting and...
allowing
.

What in the world?

She breathed out, trying to slow her heart rate. Then her brain kicked back into gear, so she turned on a heel and ran.

She tripped over a dog that scurried beneath a cart peddling roasting chestnuts. Run. She had to run. Sirens came from too far away, and she knew, somehow she just knew, that the blond guy wouldn’t let her talk to the cops.

Her initial assessment about him was wrong because he couldn’t be a cop. Not once had he identified himself, and he didn’t seem to have a badge or a gun. In fact, a cop probably wouldn’t have knocked out both men without at least trying to gain their cooperation.

The blond didn’t care about cooperation.

She hurried across the street to the now moving throng of shoppers, her instincts humming. Keeping her balance, she turned slightly to look behind her. Panic rippled through her instantly.

He stalked her, calmly, easily winding through the mass of people. No tension showed on his face or in his movements. He could be out for a nice stroll through the neighborhood.

Except for his eyes. Focus, intense and absolute, lived in those dark orbs. He tracked her, keeping pace, not seeming to notice that people naturally got out of his way.

Or maybe he did notice and just didn’t care.

She turned back around, her shoulders hunched. Escape. Where the hell could she go?

Pushing past a group of teenagers holding shopping bags, she edged in front of them to block her from behind. Then she dodged into a large department store and headed for the back, past all the holiday dishes.

She’d learned early on in life to listen to her instincts, and right now, they were screeching at her to get away from the man.

So she loped into a jog, careful not to trip in her favorite boots, and turned up the escalator, the toes of her shoes touching down briefly on each step. Reaching the top, she hustled through the lingerie department and ran smack into a saleswoman. Bras of every color went flying.

“Oh my. I’m so sorry.” Olivia reached out to steady the girl, who appeared to be around nineteen.

The girl laughed and shoved back bright purple hair. “Are you all right?”

“No.” Olivia glanced around and took several deep breaths. She should probably call the police now that she was safe.

A hand banded around her elbow in instant heat. “She had a scare outside and needs some water.” The voice was smooth, cultured, and commanding.

The salesgirl blinked and stepped back, her eyes widening right before her smile followed suit. “Hello.” She coughed and then pushed out her boobs under a nice silk shirt that matched her hair. “I’ll, ah, get water.” Turning on a sparkly wedge, she stepped over abandoned bras to head through a doorway behind the cash register.

Olivia slowly turned around and then tilted her head back...way back. The blond stared down. “Who are you?” she hissed.

“Let’s go.” He pulled her toward the aisle, having rolled down his shirt sleeves. Probably to cover the blood.

“No.” She jerked back, not surprised when his hold didn’t relent. “Release me, or I’ll start screaming.” That sounded like a good idea anyway. She sucked in air.

The world spun.

Somehow, she ended up with her back against a brick column and her front plastered against an impossibly hard male body. Panic engulfed her, and she opened her mouth to scream.

His mouth planted against hers, driving all sound back down her throat. A warm palm cradled her head, her whole head, and held her in place. She stilled. Completely.

Her eyes widened just as his narrowed.

Heat spread from him, all but surrounding her. The look in his eyes captured her attention as it quickly spread from determined to something...else. Something hungry.

Not once in her life had she been called dainty, but with his large frame blocking her, she felt small. Feminine. And somehow, from the interest in his eyes, powerful.

“Get your mouth off mine,” she murmured against his very warm lips, her body shocked into holding still.

One of his eyebrows, much darker than his hair, arched. “Are you going to scream?” he whispered right back, the movement of his mouth against hers sending irresponsible tingles down her torso.

“Probably.” Yeah. She kind of liked her lips moving against his.

He grinned. Right against her mouth, he smiled, and the tingles turned to tidal waves.

What was
wrong
with her?

She blinked.

He growled low.
Growled
.

She trembled, and some of it might have been from fear.

He levered back, his face still only an inch from hers. “Turn on that sexy heel and come with me now, or I will toss you over my shoulder and we go. Either way...we go.”

She leaned back into the brick, studying his face. No humor...no give. He meant every word. While she wanted to be a badass warrior, she’d already seen him move and fight. She wouldn’t win. And now she had the young salesgirl to worry about. Would he hurt her?

Olivia couldn’t take the risk. “Fine.” The second she was outside, she’d make a break for it. No matter how tough the guy, a good kick to the nards would take him out. Probably.

He slid his hand down her shoulder and clasped her elbow, setting her slightly in front of him and propelling her toward the down escalator. She allowed him to maneuver her but kept her shoulders back and her head up. They rode down, and tension vibrated down her back.

She tried to look agreeable as they wound through the store and exited outside to the gray and snow-falling day.

Then she turned and shot her knee up as fast as she could.

CHAPTER TWO

Chalton shifted his hips in order to deflect the female’s knee and yet allow her to keep her balance. Her pretty emerald eyes had given more than ample warning of the strike coming.

She huffed and set her leg back down.

“You done?” he asked mildly.

A wild, very wild, flush worked its way up over her neck, chin, and high cheekbones. “Not even close.”

Damn, he liked that spirit. Liked it a whole lot. “That’s unfortunate.” He glanced around at the mass of bodies rushing past them living lives he truly didn’t care about. “Olivia, we need to talk.”

She tried to step back, and he grasped her hand to keep her from being swept away. “How do you know my name?” All color drained from her pretty face.

He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve been following you for two days.”

Her pointed chin lifted. “I haven’t gone anywhere for two days.”

“I know. It’s been very boring.” But now she was in his hands, and he could finish his mission. Although threatening her to keep quiet and stop writing about his people didn’t seem so clear-cut now that he’d had his mouth on hers. On her very heated, soft, feminine mouth. His gaze dropped on its own volition to those plump lips.