Page 5 of Hot Pursuit
With…
Nate squinted.
Is that a Ziploc bag of cookies in her hand?
He shook his head, stifling a smile at the sheer audacity of this woman. And then he dropped the binoculars away and squared his shoulders, trying not to focus on the fact that the grainy pictures in his files definitely hadn’t done Jolene Carter justice.
Not even a little bit.
Not even at all.
- 3 -
Jo
This was probably a stupid idea.
Then again, the best ones usually were.
Besides, the Feds weren’t exactly being discreet, showing up in a boat outside her very private, very isolated island. Their desperation for information was showing.
I mean, they aren’t even trying. Not bothering to set up fishing poles off the back? That’s just lazy!Jo thought as she gripped the handles of the jet ski tighter and her eyes slipped down to the bag dangling beneath one palm.And I really do want an unbiased opinion of the coopie.
A wicked grin spread across her lips as she shifted her gaze, zeroing in on the small boat rapidly growing larger and the two blurry figures scrambling on board. This was going to be fun.
“Hi, boys,” she called out when she got close, trying unsuccessfully to keep a teasing tone from her voice. Jo whipped the jet ski around and cut the engine, sending a splash over the edge of the boat as she came to a stop parallel to their port side. “You lost?”
“Morning,” the man in the back drawled, leaning against the control panel, chest hair visible through the gape of his shirt as he offered her a devilish smile of his own. Dark hair. Golden eyes. Bronze skin. A little short, but strong and clearly confident enough to pull it off.
Yet Jo found her gaze slipping to the man in front, sitting stiff as a board by a small table with his white shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. He had those classic good looks that never went out of style. Sandy brown hair. Bright baby-blues. An all-American type with a strong jaw and, Jo couldn’t help but notice, a rather impressive set of biceps, since he sat with his arms crossed, eying her warily, not attempting to be friendly. Little did he realize his taut lips and standoffish expression only served to present a challenge Jo couldn’t keep herself from accepting.
“Could you hold this?” she asked, overly sweet, before tossing the bag of coopies right at his face, forcing him to unfold those arms or be smacked in the forehead. He smoothly lifted one hand and caught the bag with hardly any effort at all.
Nice reflexes, she admired silently. The edges of her lips twitched with amusement as he gently placed the bag on the table and glared a brooding sort of scowl in her direction.
Before either man had time to react, she hopped over the side of the boat with her jet ski tie in hand and fastened a quick knot. Leaning against the ledge, she folded her arms in just the right place to perk her medium-sized breasts into optimal position.
Two sets of eyes dropped.
Then rose.
Then slipped down for another instant.
And finally returned to an alert, straightforward position.
The red bikini was a good choice, she noted, watching Mr. Stiff clench his jaw and take a noticeably tight swallow. Her gaze dropped to the table in front of him, cataloging what she saw—binoculars, notepad, cell phone, map—then darted around the rest of the boat. Another phone. A two-way radio. More papers. A stack of manila envelopes secured with two thick rubber bands. Cameras. And two holsters with handguns piled in the corner.
Jo pulled her focus back onto those baby-blues. “Two lost fishermen with no fishing poles?”
He shrugged. “Lunch break.”
“I see,” she murmured, drawing that last syllable out as though it were its own sentence. The silence stretched while all three of them took note of the clear lack of food, aside from coopies, anywhere on the boat. Both men shifted uncomfortably. “Is oxygen the new fad diet? I must be getting a little out of touch on this isolated island.”
Neither answered.
Jo couldn’t stop a light giggle from slipping out as she pushed off the side of the boat and stepped toward the table, snatching her bag of coopies. “Well, boys, maybe we can help each other out. You look hungry, and I have a bit of a conundrum. You see, I’ve just created what I’m sure will be the biggest thing in baking since the mini-cupcake—I’m calling it the coopie, for now—but I’ve got no one to taste-test. At the moment, I’m all by my lonesome in that big old house, as I’m sure you’re well aware, and since I know we’re both waiting on the arrival of the same person, I figured you might have a few minutes to spare to help me out.”
They kept watching her, unsure. Mr. Stiff drew his brows together, creating a deep and somehow intriguing groove down the center of his forehead, keeping his lips in a smooth line. His friend looked at her, face going a little green as Jo opened the Ziploc bag, pulled a coopie out, and dropped the rest back on the table. Before she could open her mouth, he turned and fled down the stairs, thesmackof a closing door the only sound in his wake.
