Distinguished Service & Every Move You Make (Uniformly Hot!) Read online

  She turned her attention back to the road. They were maybe a half a mile up from the shack where Claude Ray sometimes hung his hat. And there it was. She could see the smear of weathered gray boards against the horizon. And behind the shack she made out horses. Two of them. Exactly the number she suspected Claude had stolen from the Carter ranch.

  She stepped on the gas, then noticed a spot of red dart from the shack and make a run for a white pickup nearby.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Mariah muttered under her breath.

  Finally she elicited a physical reaction to her driving from Zach as he gripped the dusty dashboard. “I, um, take it this is the part where I should hold on?”

  “If you value your life.” Mariah smiled at him, feeling a rush of adrenaline that warmed her entire body.

  She told herself the rush had nothing to do with the man next to her. She got a rush from tracking someone down, especially someone like Claude Ray, who was a regular. And who gave good chase.

  She spared Zach another glance as she bore down on Claude. There was no way Claude was going anywhere anyway. Not with this being the only road out. “You okay?” she asked.

  Zach grinned at her in a way that made her stomach leap higher than it should have. “Great.”

  “Good. Hold on.”

  Ten yards away from Claude’s white truck she stood on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel to the left, sending her own truck careening to a stop and blocking the road.

  “Here.” Mariah slid her revolver from her holster and tossed the firearm to the seat next to Zach. “If he comes running back this way without me, shoot him.”

  The expression on his face was priceless. “Shoot him?”

  “By shoot him, I don’t mean execute him. A simple nick to the arm should do the trick.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  Mariah opened her mouth to ask if he knew how to use a gun, but caught sight of Claude making a run for it.

  The question could wait for later. She had a horse thief to catch.

  * * *

  HOLY SHIT.

  Zach stared at the firearm in his hand then at Mariah Clayborn’s retreating back. He’d never held a gun before, much less fired one. Okay, sure, he’d had a cap gun and a BB gun when he was a teenager. But this was no peashooter. This was a full octane Colt that weighed at least two pounds if not more.

  The longer he held it, the warmer the metal grew against his skin. He swallowed, excitement ricocheting through his bloodstream. Before he knew it he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. He had to shoulder the door to get it to open and he stood on the hard-packed dirt outside, squinting against the dust that remained from Mariah’s daredevil maneuvers. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes. There she was behind the shack. His brows rose. She was grabbing the mane of a sleek dark stallion and hauling herself up onto the horse’s bare back. He shifted a little to the right to find Claude Ray doing the same with less success some couple yards away, his caramel-colored stallion in a full run while Ray tried to pull himself up on top, completely graceless.

  Mariah, on the other hand, was as fluid as the animal she commandeered. The horse seemed immediately to sense she was the boss and held still while she hauled herself up, waiting until her toned thighs straddled him and her boot heels gently nudged his sides before shooting out after Ray. Mariah’s dark hair blew out behind her, her back straight, her fingers tangled in the horse’s dark mane as she bent over the back of his neck, using the power of her thighs to stay astride.

  Holy shit. Things did work differently down here.

  Sure, like most Americans, he was well-versed on the stories of Texas and the Southwest, cowboys and Indians and Clint Eastwood movies. But he’d never thought that that kind of stuff still went on down here.

  The two riders galloped out of sight. Zach stared at the truck with the tricky gearshift and scanned the landscape. The road ran out beside the shed. There was no way he could follow in the ancient vehicle.

  Instead, he undid the top couple of buttons on his shirt and leaned against the door to get just a bit out of the unrelenting sun. He grinned. He’d never met anyone quite like Mariah Clayborn before. He’d bet dollars to donuts that she ran Clayborn Investigations. And if what he’d seen so far was any indication, he suspected she was very good at what she did.

  He tried to tuck the gun into the waist of his dark slacks. The shear weight of the firearm bent the material back, nearly sending the weapon to the dirt at his feet. He fumbled for the gun then laid it on the hood of the truck instead, his gaze watchful, as if he was afraid the revolver would take on a life of its own.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Okay, so he hadn’t given the gun part of the job that much thought before. He hadn’t thought there would be a reason to, what with the focus of Finders Keepers being the recovery of lost loved ones, rather than dangerous horse thieves. But while Finders Keepers knew Jennifer Madison because they subcontracted work from her, it didn’t mean Jennifer Madison’s agency was strictly a low-risk venture. And, so it appeared, neither was Mariah’s.

  He did have to admit to feeling a thrill as the truck hurled over the dirt road toward their quarry, though. And the gun…

  He heard the clump-clump of hooves hitting the earth before he spotted the horse. Given his thoughts on Mariah, he expected the rider to be her. Instead the caramel-colored horse shot out of the brush and straight by him.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  Zach fumbled for the gun, although he wasn’t entirely certain what he was going to do with it. He eyed the back of the horse, the gun, then aimed the muzzle skyward and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

  “The safety!” Mariah called, shooting past him moments after Claude. “Release the safety!”

  The safety. Zach hurriedly eyed the metal in his hands and pushed a button. The clip slid out and dropped onto the ground.

  Not the safety.

  Damn.

  Not that it mattered. He shielded his eyes and watched as Mariah caught up with Claude and yanked on the back of his shirt, pulling him from his horse and plopping him into the middle of a particularly prickly looking bush. Within minutes, Mariah shoved Claude in the direction of the truck, his hands bound behind his back with some sort of plastic tie, while the horses followed behind her.

  Zach smoothed down the front of his shirt. He’d never before witnessed such a sight. But given the high color in Mariah’s cheeks, the bounce to her gait, she was not only used to such events, she thrived on them. And Zach couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  Mariah paused in front of him and picked up the clip still on the ground. “Drop something?”

  Zach grimaced and accepted the ammunition pack, then stepped aside to let Mariah put Claude inside the cab of the truck.

  Claude spit on the ground near her boots. “Don’t think this is over, Clayborn. Because it’s not. Not by a long shot.”

  Mariah closed the truck door then pulled a cell phone out of her front pocket and placed two calls—one to the authorities to pick up Ray, another to what he thought must be the horse owner to pick up his animals.

  She clapped the phone closed and turned to look at him.

  “Handle a gun often, cowboy?”

  Zach grinned. “Not often.”

  “We’ll have to fix that if we’re going to work together.”

  The prospect of working with Mariah Clayborn took on a whole different sheen. Zach watched her round the truck and take a couple of leather leads from the bed, wondering what else the fiery Texas lass would have in store for him. And wondering how quickly he could see if she performed as well in bed as she did on the back of a horse.

  3

  NOW THAT’S MORE LIKE IT.

  Mariah drove back to the office feeling psyched and energized, mentally ready to
deal with anything and everything, even the news about her latest ex and his wedding plans. Well, mostly ready, anyway. If the handsome man next to her made her think of hot and heavy honeymoons, it was solely because his case involved a missing wedding dress. And her reluctance to feel in any way attracted to him had nothing to do with his lack of skill with a gun in a state where it was almost a requirement that a person know how to handle one, and own at least one or two…or ten or twelve. Her reluctance was because, let’s face it, he was as far away from her type as it was for a man to get.

  If a little part of her mind reminded her that what she thought was her type appeared not to be her type…well, she was ignoring it.

  “Anything happen while I was away?” Mariah glided into the office on triumphant wings, holding the door open for Zach behind her.

  George looked up from where he was idly playing a game of Spider Solitaire on his computer, appearing not to have budged more than an inch since she’d left him a couple of hours ago. “Nope.”

  Mariah looked to their visitor, feeling her stomach bottom out again, like it did every time she glanced his way. She figured it was probably the effect he had on most women, simply because of his tremendous looks. “Zach Letterman, meet my cousin George Clayborn. George, Zach.”

  Zach crossed the office and offered his hand. George glanced at it, raised his brows then got to his feet to give Zach’s hand a shake. “How do you do?” George said.

  Zach appeared not to know how to respond, and didn’t.

  Mariah rounded her desk, happy to find most of the damage from the morning’s drenching of her chair had dried out. Still, she repositioned the plastic bag she’d laid across it earlier before sitting down.

  “Did Buckley come over to take a look at the roof?”

  George nodded. “Yeah. Said he’d come by with the materials in a couple of hours and patch it up.”

  “Did you get an estimate on what it would take to redo the entire roof?”

  “He said he couldn’t get to a job that big for two months anyway, so the patch is all he can swing now.”

  She noticed Zach eyeing the hole above her desk. He grinned at her. “Do something to anger the gods?”

  The gods? “I figure if I had, I’d be toast right now.”

  He chuckled then pulled a nearby chair closer to the front of her desk.

  “Did you get Ray?” George asked.

  “Of course. Don’t I always?”

  “Oh.” Her cousin looked around on top of his desk and lifted his clean blotter. “Justin called. He wants you to call him back at this number.”

  * * *

  ZACH HAD NEVER SEEN anyone go so pale. Where moments before Mariah’s face had been full of color and her eyes had danced with excitement, now she looked as if someone had just hit her in the stomach.

  “A client?” Zach asked, referring to the caller.

  “An ex.”

  The way she said it made it sound as if she had a whole battalion of exes. Zach squinted at her.

  “He, um, just got engaged.”

  “Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything. “To you?”

  “No,” she said a little too curtly. “Not to me. The word never even came up while we were dating.”

  “And that was?”

  “Five days ago.”

  Zach lifted his brows. “Fast worker, your ex.”

  “Fast workers, all three of my exes. Only not with me.”

  She made busy with her hands as he watched.

  Zach silently pondered the striking woman not three feet from him. If he bought what she was trying to sell him, he’d think it didn’t bother her one iota that her latest ex was engaged to someone else. In all honesty, he couldn’t say it bothered her in the way one might expect. She didn’t appear heartbroken, on the verge of tears or particularly sad that the man she had dated was about to bite the big one.

  She did, however, appear highly agitated. As if she could go after another four Claude Rays, on foot if necessary, to expend the energy that radiated from her. An energy that intrigued him, drew him in, made it impossible for him to look anywhere but at Mariah Clayborn. The woman was fascinating.

  He absently rubbed the back of his neck. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be focusing on the case. His first case. And here he was entertaining ideas of how he and Mariah might expend some of that primo energy she exuded.

  “So, the case,” he said slowly.

  She blinked at him as if having forgotten he was there. “The case? Oh. Yes.” Talk about your grimaces. Mariah wore one that could go up against the best of them. “The case of the missing wedding dress.”

  He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Where should we start? A trip to Hobby Airport?”

  She picked up the telephone receiver, dialed information, then dialed the airport, consulting a fax that resembled the fact sheet he had folded in his front shirt pocket.

  Zach looked over at George, noticing the way he tuned in to the goings-on without really appearing to. George glanced at him and Zach grinned.

  “It’s not there,” Mariah stated.

  Zach turned toward her. “What’s not where?”

  “The bag with the dress in it. It never made it to Hobby.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Uh-huh.” She handed him a notepad in which she had written an address in Alabama. “But it may be here.”

  “Here, as in…?”

  “Here as in the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro, Alabama. According to the airline supervisor I talked to, that’s where all the lost luggage in the universe piles up until it’s either claimed or auctioned or sold off after ninety days.”

  Zach scratched his chin, thinking a couple of pieces of his own luggage probably had ended up there over the years. “A kind of graveyard for dead baggage.”

  Mariah smiled. “Yes. Something like that.”

  “So when do we go?”

  Her soft brows lifted. “How do you mean?”

  He glanced at his watch. “My client renews his vows in less than a week. He’s willing to pay us whatever it takes to retrieve the dress posthaste.”

  “Us?”

  “He’s covering all expenses.”

  “Ah.”

  Zach grinned. “Unless, of course, you want to sign off on the case.”

  “No, no. Of course not.”

  Zach could tell that’s exactly what she wanted to do. And it surprised him how much he wished she wouldn’t. He was highly attracted to her and he’d like to see what it would be like to kiss that saucy mouth of hers. He couldn’t do that if she sent him packing.

  The telephone at her elbow rang. She glanced at the display showing the number of the caller, the ashen color returning to her face.

  She reached back and picked up what looked like a duffel bag. “Let’s say we go now.”

  “Just like that?”

  She nodded, barely looking at him as she headed for the door. “Just like that.”

  * * *

  MARIAH SECURED both her tray and her seat in the upright and locked position then rubbed her arms.

  “Cold?”

  She glanced at where Zach Letterman seemed to take up the air of half the plane, his knees jammed against the seat in front of him, his shoulders nearly topping the back of the chair.

  She cleared her throat. “Um, yes. A little. But we’ll be landing soon, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Here.” He gestured to a nearby flight attendant, who immediately stepped to him, a solicitous smile on her pretty face.

  Mariah grimaced and watched as Zach Letterman charmed another willing female. The strange thing about it was that he didn’t even appear to be trying. He looked a woman’s way and she was all s
miles and readiness. She’d witnessed it first at the airport when the desk clerk had practically drooled on the counter separating her from Zach. Then she’d seen it at the airport coffee shop, where he’d stopped off for some caffeine and the Wall Street Journal.

  “No, it’s not for me,” Zach told the pretty blonde.

  The blonde definitely looked disappointed, not that Mariah could blame her. To have the perfect excuse to touch Zach ripped out from under you…well, that would be enough to make anyone frown.

  “Thank you,” Zach said, accepting the plastic-wrapped blue blanket.

  Mariah watched the flight attendant reluctantly make her way back to the front of the plane.

  She cleared her throat. “Thanks, Zach, but no, really, that’s okay…”

  Mariah’s words trailed off as she watched him make quick work of the plastic then begin to cover her with the nappy cotton. The back of his fingers skimmed her bare arm, making her feel like the plane had hit an air pocket as her stomach bottomed out. “I…um, can do it.”

  His eyes scanned her face, making a whole different sort of goose bumps dot her flesh.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  She’d never seen a guy grin with his eyes before. But if anyone could, Zach Letterman was the man. A pure knowing seemed to lurk in the meadow-green depths, inviting her in, robbing her of both breath and words.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured, then he returned his attention to the Wall Street Journal.

  Mariah puffed out a long breath and settled the blanket over the upper part of her body. She turned to look out the window. Why was it that whenever he looked at her she found it suddenly impossible to breathe?

  She shifted and made a face. P.I., her butt. If the man next to her was a private investigator then her name was Cindy Crawford. She surreptitiously watched him turn the page of his newspaper, her gaze lingering on his long, thick fingers and the springy dark hair that dotted the backs. He struck her as a man used to traveling. He barely looked at the flight attendant who offered a drink and a snack, while she had spotted the attendant the instant he began serving the passengers fifteen rows up. She never took her eyes from him for fear that he would miss her. Okay, so she wasn’t a frequent flier. This was her third time on an airplane and, admittedly, she didn’t much like being so far up off the ground. There was something…unnatural about it.