The Disenchanted Duke Page 2

  If she hadn't been, Cara would have never chosen her present profession, would have never been able to make any sort of a living as a bounty hunter.

  Bounty hunting was something she had begun doing shortly after she'd put herself through college and discovered that strict law enforcement, with its binding rules and regulations, just wasn't for her.

  Bounty hunting wasn't exactly the kind of vocation most people associated with someone who looked the way she did, but that was the kind of advantage she made full use of. Blond, blue-eyed and delicate-boned at five-four, Cara looked as if her biggest concern in life was how to get her tan even and how long she wanted her bangs to be. Men told secrets to women who looked like her. They let their guards down because they thought her IQ was undoubtedly only slightly higher than her supple bust size. They were always unpleasantly surprised to find out otherwise.

  Surprising, too, was the fact that she was as tough as she looked soft. But that had been dictated by not only the life she presently lived, but by the one she had lived through her adolescent years, when she was being passed around from one foster home to another. Being soft meant being hurt. Early on she had learned to depend on only herself. That way, there was never anyone to let her down.

  Cautiously she made her way toward Weber's door from the right stairway. She had tailed the man here after putting in more than two weeks of following clues and canvassing the various places he had been known to frequent recently within the Taos area. Weber had been a no-show in all but one of them, and even there, she'd been too late to get the drop on him. She was running out of time.

  Wearing a wig with hair down to her waist and a skintight outfit, Cara had planned to proposition Weber and get him into the parking lot. Once there, she'd thought the weapon strapped to her thigh and the handcuffs she kept in her car would do the trick.

  But Weber was nowhere to be seen in the seedy, smoky bar. The seat the bartender pointed out where her quarry had been sitting was still warm.

  Defeated, she'd sat down at the bar herself and ordered a beer. It was only after she'd hoisted the glass that she noticed there was an empty matchbook carelessly left behind on the table. From the way its edges were bent, Cara figured Weber had used it to pick his teeth.

  More important was the imprint on the back. It belonged to a popular, inexpensive chain of motels. Systematically, she'd gone to all of them in the region. As she'd discovered to be par for the course, the one farthest from the bar and the last on her list had turned out to be the right one.

  Cara had flashed the photograph she'd gotten from the bail bondsman who signed her checks, showing it to the man at the office. She'd accompanied the photograph with a tearful story involving broken promises and a baby on the way. By the time she was finished, the manager had melted, volunteering that the man she was looking for was staying in Room 218.

  A movement on the opposite stairway caught her attention. She saw a tall, somber-faced man walking up the stairs. Dark complexed with dark brown hair and broad shoulders, he could have been a male model in one of those pricey magazines that catered to the upper crust. But the way he had his hand in his pocket alerted her.

  There was no doubt in her mind that his hand was covering a handgun.

  It was another bounty hunter.

  Incensed, Cara would have bet her well-earned reputation on it. She knew a professional when she saw one, even a handsome one. She thought she could make out the glint of steel handcuffs at his waist. Damn it, there was no way he was going to get her man, not after all the woman hours she'd put in tracking him down.

  Cara cut the distance between herself and the door to Room 218 in less than a heartbeat. By the time the good-looking stranger approached, she was standing in front of the door in question, blocking his access to it. With a triumphant toss of her head, she knocked on the door.

  A moment later, a deep voice from within the room growled "Yeah?"

  "Housekeeping," Cara chirped cheerfully, aware that the man at her side was giving her a very suspicious once-over. Probably because she had no uniform or any of the paraphernalia that would tie her to the profession she claimed.

  There was movement behind the door. "They did not say anything about there being any housekeeping."

  Rather than answer, she announced, "I have fresh towels." Cara saw the stranger look at her empty arms. "You horn in on this and I'll cut your heart out," she hissed.

  The next moment, she heard the sound of a window being opened from within the room. She knew what that meant. Her quarry was escaping.

  There were tools in her small bag for moments like this, but with no time to extract them and use them on the lock, Cara took the easier, albeit noisier, route. She pulled out her gun, flashing a long length of thigh as she secured her weapon. There was no hesitation on her part. Taking aim, she shot the lock.

  Cara swung opened the door in time to see someone leap from the window.

  "Stop!" she yelled, knowing it was a completely useless order. Weber was already airborne.

  Racing to the window, she saw that her quarry had leaped into a Dumpster located just beneath the window. Damn, how could she have missed that? The Dumpster was filled to overflowing.

  The next moment, he scrambled out and hit the ground running. Taking aim, Cara managed to wing him in the shoulder.

  Weber screamed a curse in a language she didn't understand and kept running down the alley.

  Chapter 2

  For a second, Cara debated leaping out of the window into the Dumpster after the fleeing man. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done something crazy and reckless in pursuit of a bail jumper. And she wasn't the type to be deterred by a little dirt, or a pile of garbage as in this case.

  Before she could act on her impulse, a strong hand gripped her by the arm, stopping her.

  "He's not worth getting hurt over."

  She saw Weber get into a car and pull away. Another opportunity gone. Seething, Cara swung around and glared at the man holding on to her. How dare he presume to lecture her? She shrugged him off with an indignant jerk.

  "Well, I hope you're satisfied. You just cost me $10,000."

  Max frowned at the crazy woman he'd just stopped from flinging herself out the window. What the hell was wrong with her? Didn't she realize that if she landed wrong, she could easily break her neck or some other part of her body?

  Sucking in his breath, he looked down respectfully at the tiny weapon she had in her hand. The one she seemed not to remember she was holding. Right now, the gun was aimed at the part of him that would put a dead halt to his part in propagating the Sebastiani lineage if a stray bullet happened to find its way out of that tiny barrel.

  Very carefully, he moved her hand so that the weapon she was holding pointed harmlessly at the floor.

  "Look, lady, I'm sorry if your boyfriend ran out on you, but it's not the end of the world—"

  "Boyfriend?"

  Astonished at the feeble mind that could possibly couple together a worthless creep like Weber with her, Cara temporarily lost her ability to speak. Hiking her skirt up, she holstered her weapon, then pushed the material back into place, aware that the man was watching her every move.

  "Eyes back in your head, mister," she ordered. "You think that lowlife's my boyfriend? Are you out of your mind? That was my bounty on the lam, not my booty."

  "Bounty?" the man echoed.

  "Yes, bounty." If he was trying for innocence, the man was a lousy actor. "Don't say it as if it's some kind of a foreign word to you. That's why you're after him, too, isn't it? To collect the money?" It wasn't a question so much as an accusation. "Well, you can't have him. I spent over two weeks tracking that creep down from Colorado and his tail is mine."

  She was firing words at him like bullets from an automatic weapon and it was all Max could do to hold his own. "You can claim his tail and whatever other parts of him you want once I'm through with him."

  "Through with him?" Cara cocked her head and scrutinized the
man who had just cost her the reward money she had all but had in hand. On second thought, she reassessed her initial impression of him. He looked too well dressed and pressed to be a bounty hunter. "Is this some kind of private vendetta?"

  Interesting that she should choose those words. He would have thought the same thing, if he hadn't known what he did about the situation. On the surface he knew it would have seemed odd that the ruler of a faraway, proud country like Montebello would even know about, much less be interested in, an American bail jumper like Kevin Weber.

  His expression was cool, detached, as he looked at the woman who had temporarily thrown a wrench into his plans. "I don't see how what this is could be any business of yours."

  Cara called him a few choice names in her head, but kept the words from her lips. There was nothing to be gained by telling him what she thought of him, and Cara had learned to play games well. Whatever it took to win. She needed that money and soon.

  "Anything that involves that scum is my business—until I bring him into the county court system and collect the reward. Once I get what's coming to me, you can put your bid in for him." Her smile was smug, confident. She was going to nail that runaway son of a bitch and she knew it. She'd been at this trade too long to think about failing now. "I'm sure something can be arranged in, oh, say about fifteen to twenty years."

  "Is that the sentence Weber's facing?"

  He was getting better at this innocent act, Cara thought, evaluating the very masculine man before her. He made it sound as if he was entirely unfamiliar with Weber's offense.

  Cara folded her arms before her. "He is now," she told him, although she knew that the sentence depended entirely on the judge and jury. She'd seen hardened criminals go free and hapless losers incur real jail time. She made what she felt was a safe guess. "I don't see Weber getting any time off for good behavior."

  Dragging a hand through her long, silky hair, she sighed. Now that Weber knew there were people closing in on him, he was going to be even harder to track down. But nobody'd ever said this job was going to be easy. It would have bored her if it was.

  The man looked at her. "What's the offense?"

  She narrowed her eyes, studying the man's face, wondering if he was playing her for a fool for some reason. Could he be that ignorant about Weber and still be after him?

  "He's wanted for an attempted break-in at the Chambers' ranch." Cara paused, her eyes washing over the man. "You're not a bounty hunter, are you?"

  "I'm a private investigator." He put out his hand to her. "Max Ryker."

  "Cara Rivers." She shook his hand and was pleased that he didn't seem to be afraid of hurting hers. He returned her strong grip. "Well, Max Ryker, your being in the right place at the wrong time just cost me two weeks' hard work." She dropped her hand to her side and went back to looking around the room. The closet had only a couple of changes of clothing and nothing else. "If you're not after him for the burglary, why are you after him—not that it makes a difference to me as long as you stay out of my way," she qualified as she pulled open the night-stand drawer. It was empty.

  He skipped over the question, going to her final declaration. "Afraid I can't do that, Cara. My client wants him brought back to Montebello for offenses committed there."

  That was some tiny country halfway around the world, she thought. It didn't matter. She wasn't about to turn Weber over once she had him.

  She didn't bother asking who his client was. If Ryker was on the level about being a private investigator, that information was privileged. It was also irrelevant as far as she was concerned.

  "Sorry, but the sheriff of Shady Rock might have a few things to say about that. We'll give Weber back after we're done," she promised again, a whimsical smile playing on her lips.

  Max looked out the window to the alley where Weber had taken off. Sundown was slowly slipping over the entire region.

  "Looks like no one's getting him right now." He could leave, but Max believed in getting to know whomever he was up against, and something told him that when he went after Weber, he'd find this woman right behind him—if not in front. "Buy you a drink?"

  He had to think she was pretty stupid if he thought she didn't see through that. Oldest trick in the book. And also one that didn't work on her.

  "And get me smashed so I can't go after him? Sorry, it doesn't work that way." She led the way out of the claustrophobic room. "I don't get drunk."

  Though it was a pointless gesture, he pulled the door closed after them. "Is that because you don't drink, or because alcohol has no effect on you?"

  He was laughing at her. She'd seen it before. A big, strong, strapping male who thought because she looked the way she did, she was a pushover. Well, they'd just see who was the pushover, wouldn't they?

  "The latter."

  Amused, Max arched a brow as he looked at her. "Oh really?"

  For two cents she'd wipe that smirk off his face. "Yes, really."

  He had a man to track down. But now there was no doubt in Max's mind that when he did go after Weber, this feisty female with the pint-size gun and gargantuan ego would be right there, getting in his way. He couldn't afford to have that happen twice. She'd already cost him Weber tonight and the sooner he caught the man, the sooner he'd get his own answers.

  The best way to proceed was to make sure she was out of commission for the necessary time. He figured that wasn't going to prove to be a major problem.

  "Suppose I buy you that drink," he suggested, "and see."

  Now there was a challenge if she ever heard one. And one challenge begot another. She looked up at him prettily. "Only if you'll join me."

  "Done."

  He saw nothing wrong in the bargain. He'd been known to drink more than a few with no ill effects. His time in the Montebellan army had been marked by intense training and even more intense drinking during downtime. There was no doubt in his mind that, given her size and weight, it wouldn't take much to send the sprightly blonde sliding under the table, unconscious and out of the way.

  Cara hesitated for a moment over the invitation. As much as she wanted to see his butt fried, she knew that joining this man for a drink or three, or however many it took to get him drunk enough to be out of commission would still sidetrack her and take precious time away from Weber's ultimate capture. God knew she needed the money; she'd given her word to Bridgette that it would be there for her when she needed it.

  But she had a sneaking suspicion that this stunning specimen of manhood would get in her way again. And she wasn't entirely sure he was telling her the truth when he claimed not to be a bounty hunter. He might very well be one of those smooth-talking ones, bent on getting her out of the way so he could have sole access to the reward. Phil Stanford, the man she worked for, was not above farming out the work to more than one hunter at a time. All Stanford cared about was getting back the money he'd put up for Weber's bail, not any possible moral violations he might have committed in getting that money and the bail jumper back.

  If Ryker was working for Phil, then it was in her best interests to get him out of her way. Now.

  "All right, I know this bar about a mile away. The Saint." Her eyes washed over him as if she was taking measure. "You don't have to be one to get in."

  There was something about her smile that got under a man's skin, Max thought. It was both a

  innocent and calculating at the same time, as if she had a joke she was keeping under wraps, one that he might or might not be in on. Max gestured toward the darkening parking lot. "Lead the way."

  She fully intended to. "I'll drive." It wasn't an offer, it was an assumption.

  Model-pretty or not, the woman needed to be taken down a notch. "We'll both drive," he told her. "I'll follow you."

  She had her doubts about that, but there was nothing she could say. After all, it made perfect sense for him to want to take his car. But she didn't want to risk losing him. Losing him meant failing to eliminate him as competition.

  "See t
hat you keep up," she told him. She knew most men were too full of testosterone to let the challenge fall by the wayside.

  Still, she kept an eye on her rearview mirror the entire trip to the bar to make sure he wouldn't suddenly turn around and disappear on her.

  Parking in front of the ramshackle building with its bright neon sign of a stick figure complete with a fallen halo, Cara quickly got out of her rented '87 Nissan. She was standing beside the driver's door waiting when Max pulled up. He was driving a sleek, black sports car. The vehicle looked as if it had just rolled out of the factory.

  It fit him, she thought, but it was a hell of a car for a private eye, if that's what he actually was.

  "Private eye business must pay well," she commented, running a hand along the hood as Max unfolded his long torso from the front seat and got out.

  Shutting the door, he flipped a switch. The whiny noise told him the antitheft device had been activated. "Can't complain."

  If he was on the level, Cara judged that Ryker had to do business with a very high-class clientele. "If your clients can afford to pay you fees that allow you to drive something like that around, what are you doing going after scum like Weber?"

  Max carelessly shrugged his broad shoulders. "Long story."

  She raised her eyes up to his in a look calculated to make his knees just a little weaker. It annoyed a her that he looked unaffected. "It's going to be a long night," she countered.

  We'll see, Max thought, opening the door for her. With any luck, he'd have her sleeping it off within an hour, if not less.

  Stepping into the Saint was like stepping into a dimly lit, smoky cavern that had faint, piped-in music and was populated by denizens who were more comfortable frequenting the shadows of the night than moving about in the light of day. He'd seen dozen of places like this in as many towns. It was almost painfully stereotypical as far as bars went. He figured that the people who frequented it didn't care.

  The door sighed closed behind him. He saw the bartender nod in their direction. Or was that hers? Lowering his head so that his mouth was level with her ear, he asked Cara, "Come here often?"