Page 15 of Hot Pursuit
Jo opened her mouth but clamped it shut before any questions came tumbling out. Questions that could get them both in trouble. Instead, she flicked her gaze between his eyes, searching for the information he clearly wasn’t telling her. His irises were tumultuous storms, inscrutable and intense.
What aren’t you saying, Thad?
What else is going on?
She could have dragged him back down to the vault and demanded answers, but she didn’t. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted them.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”
He held her gaze a moment longer and then walked down the hall to his room. Jo watched him until he disappeared behind his door, questions churning. But thesmackof slamming wood jolted her from the trance.
Jo raced to her room.
Thad was right. She needed to stay focused. To keep her eye on the prize. This was her last job, their last job, and there was no way she’d let herself be the reason any of them got caught so close to the end.
Still though, when she entered her room, her gaze went straight to the window and the boat still parked right beyond the breaking waves. Ever so slowly, her attention shifted to the CDs stacked in the corner of her room—her precious collection she’d never give up no matter how outdated it became. There was Britney, Christina, Beyoncé, NSYNC, the Backstreet Boys…all the classics, really. Then a few favorites she’d stolen from her father—Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Kenny Rogers, and of course, Dolly Parton. “Jolene” had been her father’s favorite song long before it became Jo’s name, and it held a special place in their family lore. According to her mother, her father had first introduced himself by sauntering across a bar, smug and self-assured, saying,With hair like that, it’s a wonder you were born with brown eyes.Not the best pickup line, since her mom had taken it as a complete insult and promptly turned her back. But her father was nothing if not persistent, and he’d put on the roguish charm after that, sweet-talking her mother into a proper first date.
The story brought a smile to Jo’s lips. She blinked a few times, clearing her eyes, and refocused on the stack of CDs, landing on the perfect option.
The Spice Girls.
Jo’s eyes went so wide they felt as though they might burst, a quick shift in emotion. She clamped her hand over her mouth to catch the laugh spilling out as she realized her father wasn’t the only Carter known for having a stubborn side. Jo did share the same blood after all. So, not thinking twice, she raced across the room, carefully opened the case, and slid the disc into the player.
Agent Parker is going to love it.
- 8 -
Nate
Leo was humming.
Again.
Nate hadn’t noticed it at first. They were parked on the side of a busy New York City street, waiting for Jo to emerge from her hotel. A cacophony of car honks, curse words, blaring radios, and the intermittent rumble of a subway passing below filled the air. Without even realizing, Nate began to nod his head and bounce his leg to a beat. A few seconds later, high-pitched female voices with British accents started telling him what they wanted and zigging and ah-ing.
Nate snapped his face to the side. “You’ve got to stop it, man.”
Leo jerked upright, turning to Nate apologetically. “God, sorry. I swear I didn’t even realize it this time. That song is fucking catchy, Parker. I can’t shake it.”
Nate grumbled under his breath.
Two and a half hours.
Two and a half fucking hours.
Jo played the same Spice Girls album on repeat, singing at the top of her lungs, if her screeching could even qualify as such.
Mental torture.
The woman had a gift for mental torture.
Nate had thought maybe, just maybe, he’d be free of her once he got off the boat. But Leo kept humming that damn song. And after listening to the recordings on the mics and realizing Robert Carter was staying behind on the island, the boss decided that Nate had built some sort of rapport with the daughter, so he assigned them to be her tail for the rest of the operation. Ryder was off gallivanting around New York City, probably setting up meetings with his Russian contacts, and Nate was stuck here, waiting for the princess to emerge from her tower.
“Hey,” Leo murmured, sitting up and nudging him with his elbow. “I think that’s her.”
Nate narrowed his eyes and nodded.
He’d recognize that body anywhere. That walk. She had a way of straightening her spine and swaying her hips, something sultry yet elegant at the same time.
