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Shit.
He didn’t know who they were, but he suspected they were the muscle of some top-level Bastian Pharmaceuticals exec, hired to silence Charles Rolston. Wherever the hell he might be.
CHAPTER 2
Noah had two questions—who exactly was Alyssa Cardellini and what the hell did she have to do with Rolston or Bastard Pharm? She might have the
sweetest ass he’d seen in a while, but he really wanted to know who exactly was this hot mess of blond curls with the skills of an Indy race car driver. Barreling up the North 11O Freeway like a bat out of hell, she dodged cars and wove in and out of traffic like a pro.
He braced his hand on the dash after a particularly sharp lane change. “You do know those speed limit signs are more than just a mere suggestion, right?”
She smiled, but kept her eyes on the roadway. “Just hold on.”
He was. For dear life.
Why had he thought letting her believe he was Charles Rolston was a good idea? He hadn’t, not really. She’d assumed and he hadn’t bothered to correct her. He should say something. Now might be a good time, except they had two seriously dangerous-looking goons on their ass, who might or might not be hired guns from someone high up on the Bastard Pharm food chain. Now didn’t quite seem like the right time to bring up the fact that the one person they were both interested in was God knew where.
Despite her valiant efforts to ditch the vermin on their tail, he still needed to find Rolston before those two thugs did. For now, the alleged bad guys were also operating under the assumption that he was Charles Rolston, not FBI Special Agent Noah Temple.
God, how had he gotten into this mess? He’d told his superior he’d prefer to have a partner, but the request had been sharply declined. His assignment was simple—follow Rolston and make sure the guy testified at trial, then bring him in for questioning. The Justice Department had a few questions about some insider trading allegations, an SEC violation that often came with a hefty sentence—if convicted, of course.
Yeah, he’d been given an easy enough assignment, all right. One that even a rookie agent should’ve been able to accomplish with his eyes closed. Except Rolston had managed to give him the slip during a brief stop in Kansas City. Now Noah was in L.A. and Rolston wasn’t. And then he’d gone and complicated matters by becoming involved with a sexy bodyguard who apparently had no clue what Charles Rolston even looked like.
Yeah, that made a lot of sense. Not.
“We probably shouldn’t go directly to the hotel,” she said abruptly. She looked in the rearview mirror, bit her lower lip, then flipped on the blinker and changed lanes. She stepped harder on the accelerator and buzzed around a Camry filled with blue-haired ladies, then floored it passed a big brown Ford crew cab.
Noah looked back over his shoulder. The black sedan followed at a fast clip, gaining on them. Alyssa glanced in the rearview mirror again, then waited until the sedan was a mere two lengths behind them. Suddenly, she swerved, going two lanes over, then slowed, keeping pace so the brown Ford shielded them from the sedan driver’s view. Once the black sedan was ahead of them, she slowed a little more, slipped behind a bread delivery truck, then took the next exit.
She blew out a stream of breath when they reached the traffic light at the end of the off-ramp. “Good grief.” She tossed a quick look in his direction. “My heart feels like it’s going to explode.”
His was doing a nice job of hammering inside his chest, as well. “You did good,” he told her. “Exactly where’d you learn to drive like that?” The Bureau would have been proud. While he’d been trained to evade, being in the White-Collar Crimes Unit of the FBI didn’t allow for much practice. He was more analyst than field agent. Rarely did his job result in his drawing his weapon, let alone being involved in a high-speed car chase.
The thousand-watt smile she flashed him momentarily blinded his common sense. So did the sharp tug low in his belly that sent his mind wandering down a sexy, dangerous path.
He suddenly realized he was starved. And food was the last thing he was thinking of at the moment.
“Don’t laugh,” she warned, a hint of humor lacing her voice. “But I was once graveyard shift supervisor for a rent-a-cop outfit. Talk about boring.” She shuddered and made a face, pursing her lips as if she’d just sucked on a lemon. “To stay awake, I watched a lot of late-night action flicks on television.”
He had no idea what to say to that bit of information. His training with the Bureau no doubt cost thousands of dollars, and he couldn’t state with any degree of certainty he’d be anywhere near as effective as she’d just been. He had to hand it to her, she was a cool one. Under the circumstances, he’d half expected hysterical female; instead, he ended up with grace under fire.
“Exactly where are we going?” he asked her. He’d never been to California, so he was completely at her mercy.
Her lips curved into a small smile that was no less appealing than her full-wattage grin had been moments ago. Damn if he didn’t feel awareness stirring. Again.
Dammit. What the hell was it about her that kept distracting him?
How about everything?
Yeah, that’s kind of what he was afraid of. Enough was enough. He had to stop thinking about the curve of her ass or how her full breasts would feel against his palms. Or how she would feel beneath him with her legs wrapped around his hips.
“Pit stop,” she said, derailing his train of thought. “My place.”
Noah shifted in his seat and frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She might have shaken the goons for now, but they’d been close enough to read her plate number. And there was that whole curve of her ass thing, too. In another situation, he’d probably have welcomed such a tempting distraction, but not when he needed to keep his senses sharp.
“But I need to pick up a couple of things.” She stepped on the accelerator as the traffic in her lane finally moved forward. “When I left for work this morning, I didn’t exactly know I’d be spending the next two or three days in a hotel room. I need clothes and . . . stuff.”
The stuff had him curious as hell. “Better err on the side of caution,” he said. “If those two dirtbags managed to get your plate number, it’s only a matter of time before they track down your home address and place of employment.” Unfortunately, the good guys weren’t the only ones with resources at their disposal.
