Ava Gray - Skin Game

“Can I touch you over your panties?”

She just moaned, needing an orgasm fiercely. Heart beating like a trip hammer, she broke character and went for his zipper. She had to struggle to get it down because of the straining erection. His breath caught when she curled her hand around his cock, but he didn’t try to stop her. Rey’s fingers were busy now, too, delving beneath the waistband of her panties.

Kyra arched as he found her clit. No more pretense now. They weren’t innocent kids, however powerful the play might have been. He knew how to strum her body into quaking, and he did it like a virtuoso. She was less sure about the way she handled him, but by the way he bucked and shook, she must be doing all right. They came in each other’s hands, shivering, shuddering, as rain crashed down overhead.

“Mmm.” She stretched and licked her fingers.

He caught her to him and buried his face in her hair. “God, woman. What you do to me . . . why do you always smell like the beach?”

She was too dreamy to answer. Shortly, she slept, and in the morning, they moved on. A quick stop at the motel permitted them to wash up and collect their belongings. Reyes could probably tell she had a plan, but she wasn’t sharing the details even now. It was driving him nuts.

New Mexico yielded to Colorado. This time of year, it was brown and dry, spiked with occasional greenery alongside the road. Kyra loved the west and how the sky seemed to stretch on forever. It made for easy if monotonous driving, and their route angled lazily northeast.

Kyra had known without him telling her that Rey would rather not go through Wyoming. It would be hard not to look for his mother there especially, and she wondered if he found himself searching the eyes of strangers for a hint of recognition. For the first time, she was glad her mom had died; at least she didn’t have to live with knowing she was unwanted.

By tacit agreement, they decided to stop in Denver. It was a larger city than she usually selected, but they might make a little more money here. That wasn’t her primary concern, of course. She had money, and if she could get to Mia in North Dakota, she’d be able to do something with it at last. She’d be sorry to ditch her new partner when the time came, but those were the breaks. He’d do fine with what he’d learned from her.

For a change, Rey had the wheel as they drove into the city. Since he’d proved he knew how to handle a delicate machine, Kyra let him spell her now and then. She lifted her arms over her head and gazed out the window at passing buildings.

“This all right?” He’d picked a cheap motel within a couple miles of downtown.

“Fine. We can work from here. I’m thinking we’ll want to spend two or three days working different joints.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” he asked as he parked.

Kyra shook her head. “I’ve never been to Denver before. It’ll take me a little while to nose around and find a couple of likely spots. I’ll ask the desk clerk first. They’re usually a good source on local color.”

“Good thinking.”

She couldn’t help but notice that he seemed distracted. He’d been a little strange and distant ever since they spent the night in the back of the Marquis, doing nothing but snuggling. “Everything okay?”

“That guy on the bike—no, don’t look—use the rearview mirror.”

A little shiver went through her as she did as he asked. Pretending to fluff her hair, she checked out the scruffy-looking dude on the red Kawasaki Ninja. His personal hygiene didn’t match the gleam of his bike, which meant it was new. He’d recently come into money.

“What about him?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s been with us since we crossed the state line.”

“But that was hours ago!”

“Yeah.” Rey nodded. “Maybe he just likes the look of your Marquis.”

“Your gut says no.”

Rey angled, regarding her seriously. “Is anyone hunting you?”

She hesitated. “There might be.”

“If you don’t trust me, we’ll just have to be on our guard. Pay no special attention to him as we get out. I’ll be watching for him, though.”

The man on the Kawasaki pretended not to see them. He was ostensibly fiddling with something on his bike, but Reyes could tell he was watching with his mirrors. Looking in that direction would tell him Reyes had made him, so he followed Kyra into the office.

This motel was nicer than the ones they had been staying in. Denver had an upscale vibe that had reached even the seedy portions. It was a small lounge done in lemon yellow with two scratchy new sofas, assuming somebody would want to hang around here. The linoleum had seen better days, but they’d covered it with a cheerful area rug in primary colors, geometric pattern.

The girl at the counter looked to have at least as much Hispanic blood as Reyes, and her name tag read “Maria.” “Hi there, can I help you?”

“Two rooms,” Kyra said, and disappointment slid through him. “Three nights. We don’t have a reservation.”

“Not a problem, unless there’s a convention in town . . . and there isn’t.”

“Do you have any adjoining rooms?”

Well, that’s better than nothing.

While Kyra took care of check-in, Reyes found the men’s room. Immediately, he dug out his cell phone and dialed Foster. The man answered on the third ring every time without fail.

“I trust you have something to report,” Foster said in lieu of greeting.

“I hope to shortly. Trust takes time, as I’ve told you before. I have a question. Did you hire anyone else to locate Ms. Beckwith?”

There was a weighty silence. “Do I need to?”

“No,” Reyes said. “But it seems as though we’ve picked up a tail along the way. I wanted to find out if he’s one of yours before I neutralized him.”

“If my employer has done this, he did not discuss it with me,” Foster said. “Therefore, anything that befalls the man would be a result of poor planning.”

That would be tacit permission to off the guy. “Are you positive your employer lets you in on every move he makes?”

“I am sure of nothing, but I consider this ninety-nine percent. I must warn you, however . . . my employer lacks both subtlety and patience. You have a week at most to finish the job.”

Shit. Serrano had reached the point where he wanted results ahead of method. It wouldn’t matter to him if Reyes had to torture the woman extensively or beat her into ground chuck to get the information out of her. Fear spiked through him.

“I’ll deliver,” he said. “I always do.”

Foster made a brief sound of amusement. “I know. That’s why I hired you.”

He hit “end” on the phone and leaned his head against the cool tile. Reyes had to face it. Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten emotionally attached. He didn’t do that; he never did that. Though he didn’t like killing women, he’d done four in his career. He’d walked away from more offers than he’d taken; he didn’t want a payday that came from offing some guy’s middle-aged wife so the asshole could marry the mistress without worrying about alimony.

“Fuck,” he bit out.

Reyes fought the urge to punch something. He didn’t want to forfeit his reputation, but he didn’t want to kill her, either. Not anymore. Not since she’d come beneath his fingers, his name stretched into a sweet little cry. Maybe he was every bit as much of a sucker for her as Serrano had been, but he couldn’t muster up any indignation. He just wanted to make love to her again.

Rock, meet hard place.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, he’d managed to compose himself, phone tucked away into its secret hiding spot. Paranoid to a fault, he kept it turned off when he wasn’t using it. Kyra had finished, and she stood with the key cards in their little envelopes, chatting with the clerk.