Joanna Wayne - Loaded

“Never came close.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Why?”

He stared at her with his steely gray, almost brooding eyes, and a tingle that felt far too much like anticipation zinged along her nerve endings. This was completely unlike her—and too dangerous and unprofessional for words.

She forced herself to picture Matt with huge warts on his nose and thick bushy eyebrows that jutted out like porcupine quills.

“It’s just that most men have either been married or had a close call or two by the time they reach your age,” she said, going for an easy nonchalance.

He smiled, and the warts vanished. “I have a few more years before Medicare kicks in.”

She blushed in spite of herself. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“It’s okay. The truth is, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Tell me about Jeremiah,” Shelly said, hoping to get the conversation on safer ground. “Your mother indicated he can be a bit difficult at times.”

“She said that, did she? Let’s just say that dealing with my grandfather on a daily basis will make this afternoon’s trouble seem like a bad dream.”

She grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

Matt worried the handle of his mug. “Before the stroke, my grandfather was the CEO of Collingsworth Enterprises and went into his Houston office five days a week. The only concession he’d made to aging was that he’d hired a driver a few years back to fight the traffic for him while he read the morning paper and made phone calls.

“Now he refuses to set foot in the building. He claims he’s not interested, but we all know that he just doesn’t want to go back there and have his former employees see him hobbling around and relying on the cane.”

Jeremiah’s stroke had caused a few problems for the CIA, as well. As CEO and with a reputation for being a hard-edge and aggressive businessman, he’d been the focus of their initial investigation. They’d suspected that he might be totally responsible for the terrorist funding in exchange for favorable business deals and that the rest of the family might not even be aware of his illegal dealings.

But when he’d suffered the stroke and disappeared from the picture, the illegal and traitorous activities had actually surged, making it obvious that at least one other member of the family was in on the illegal scheme, perhaps even Lenora Collingsworth who’d replaced Jeremiah as CEO.

“So lots of luck with the old codger,” Matt said.

“Thanks. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

The waitress returned and placed the burger in front of Shelly. The mammoth toasted bun spilled over with leafy green lettuce and thick slices of the bright red, home-grown tomatoes Shelly had gotten used to since arriving in Colts Run Cross.

Not surprisingly, her appetite sprang to life. Halfway through the burger, she let her gaze scan the row of men and women seated at the bar. A tall, lanky man on the end was staring back at her.

He was in his late twenties, she’d guess, with light brown hair that crawled into his shirt collar. No visible tattoos, but his nose had a slight crook to it as if it had been broken and not reset properly. Still, he was cute enough in a rugged sort of way.

When their gazes locked, he tipped his beer in her direction as if they might have met before. He was probably just one of the locals she’d crossed paths with over the past few days. Still, a wary tremble of foreboding slithered up her spine. She couldn’t afford to have someone from her distant past show up and recognize her as shy little Ann Clark from Biloxi, Mississippi.

But he’d seemingly forgotten her now and was flirting with a young woman who’d just sidled in beside him at the bar. Shelly pushed the rest of the burger away. “Do you mind if we go now, Matt? My arm is starting to throb a bit.”

“No problem.” He motioned to the waitress for their check.

“Do you know what time Lenora is picking me up tomorrow?” Shelly asked. “I’d like to be packed and ready to go when she arrives.”

Matt propped his elbows on the table and leaned in closer. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight change in plans.”

Her guard went up. “What kind of change?”

“I’m going to give this to you straight, Shelly. My brothers and I aren’t totally convinced you’ve been on the up and up with us.”

Acid trickled and burned along the lining of her stomach. If she handled this wrong, the whole assignment could go up in smoke. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Just that the kind of random violence we saw today has been previously unheard of in Colts Run Cross.”

“So you think that he had to be targeting me?”

“That makes more sense.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Matt, but I don’t have those kind of enemies. And if I did know who’d shot at me, why on earth would I lie about it?”

“You tell me.”

She feigned an indignant expression and straightened her back and shoulders. “What difference does it make what I say if you think I’m a liar?”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Having you checked out by a private investigator is just a reasonable precaution. It’s not personal.”

“Really? It sounds extremely personal to me.” But it was not a problem for her. You go for it, Matt Collingsworth. Check all you want. The CIA has me covered .

“In all likelihood, we’re only talking a couple of days here,” Matt said. “I’ll cover your expenses at the motel or, if you’d prefer, I can drive you into Houston and book you a room in a more luxurious hotel.”

Why not? Money was no object for the Collingsworths.

“The motel’s fine. I can wait around there until you decide if I pass muster,” she said, “as long as it doesn’t take too long.” She stood to go, grabbing her handbag from the back of her chair and slinging it over her shoulder.

“There is one more thing,” Matt said.

“Let me guess. You want me to stay handcuffed to the bed in the motel until you’re sure I’m not luring evil into your quaint little Texas town.”

He smiled again, a kind of taunting, half smile that tightened her chest. Not attraction, she told herself. She had that totally under control.

“Handcuffs sound interesting,” Matt said, “but I was thinking of something a little less dramatic.”

“Such as?”

“Until we know why someone tried to kill you today, I don’t think you should stay alone.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with you.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn’t put himself out for a prospective employee whom he suspected might be a blatant liar. But then she wouldn’t have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight in a Texas roadhouse, either.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“On the off chance that the guy who shot you today was looking to kill you specifically, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“And you’re planning to serve as my bodyguard?”

“Why not? I’ve never gone up against a killer before, but I’ve handled some bulls that were looking to leave my kidneys scattered over the rodeo ring.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger, even one with a loaded Smith & Wesson in her possession.”

He’d walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA—here to put him and his family away for life. But he didn’t know, and for now, it would apparently be only her and Matt in a slightly shady motel on the edge of town. Breathing the same stale air stirred by the whirring ceiling fan and overworked air conditioner. Perhaps close enough she’d hear the rustle of sheets when he shifted positions.