Double Trouble
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Synopsis
Two Lori Wilde romances together for the first time in print! Charmed and Dangerous When her thrill-seeking twin sister goes missing, Maddie Cooper must come to her rescue-which means teaming up with irritating, arrogant, and altogether way too sexy FBI agent David Marshall. David isn't one to get easily distracted but his new self-proclaimed partner has him completely sidetracked with her delectable curves and knockout smile. His first priority: follow the leads in the case. Then he can go about the all-too-enjoyable task of following his heart . . . Mission: Irresistible PR specialist Cassie Cooper loves the adrenaline rush of a well-planned party. And a masquerade ball at the museum is her best yet. But when a legendary amulet is stolen practically from under her nose, she needs the help of her nemesis, archaeologist Harrison Standish. No-nonsense Harrison has all the intensity of Indiana Jones. Though just when he needs his full attention on their mission, he's having the damnedest time keeping his mind-and his hands-off Cassie . . .
Release date: December 16, 2014
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 674
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Double Trouble
Lori Wilde
FBI special agent David Marshall loved a good fight and he played to win.
Always.
His personal credo: He who hesitates is lost. And David hated losing more than anything.
Whenever a situation called for action, he immediately seized control and bluffed his way through the consequences. Usually victoriously. He’d learned at an early age you had to battle hard against life or die. He had also discovered, that for the good of the cause, you occasionally had to bend a few rules.
But once in a while, one of his less prudent rule bending episodes came back to bite him viciously in the ass.
Like now.
Where in the hell was Cassie Cooper?
For the tenth time in as many minutes, David checked his wristwatch.
With an impatient snort, he sank his fists on his hips and scanned the rendezvous spot. Forest Park on the Trinity River, fourth picnic bench at the seven-mile marker of the jogging trail, eight A.M. sharp.
It was now eight-thirteen.
Had Cassie gotten mixed up about their meeting place? It was highly possible. The woman personified dumb blonde jokes.
Which was why the art theft task force had rejected using her as an informant. Even though Cassie was a public relations specialist at the Kimbell Art Museum and they knew Peyton Shriver had marked her as his next sweetheart victim.
Realizing that Cassie was the best lead he’d had on Shriver in years, David had taken matters into his own hands. He’d gone behind his boss’s back and recruited her. No one except he and Cassie knew about her involvement in the case. Not even the men he had shadowing her. His men believed they were simply tailing her because she was Peyton’s new girlfriend. Because of this, all their previous contact except for the initial meeting had been via phone or e-mail. He would deal with the fallout of his unorthodox police methods once he had Shriver securely in handcuffs. It was always easier to get Jim Barnes’s forgiveness than his permission.
For ten years he’d been doggedly pursuing Shriver. The time had come to end this battle of wills. With Cassie’s help, he’d known he was going to win it.
Come hell or high water he was determined to see justice served.
But last night his surveillance team had delivered bad news. They’d observed Shriver meeting with a world-class scumbag by the name of Jocko Blanco. The creep was a tattooed, pock-faced skinhead with a rap sheet as thick as a telephone book and a history of violent behavior.
Shriver might be a heartbreaking cad and an unrepentant thief, but he’d never physically harmed any of his victims. In fact, his courtly behavior was legendary. Blanco on the other hand was as dangerous as dynamite near an open flame.
Upon hearing the news about Blanco and Shriver hooking up, his first thought had been totally selfish. Yes! Two criminals for the price of one. That would show his boss he’d been right to make an end run around authority by involving Cassie Cooper.
But then his irritating conscience had voiced its opinion: You can’t keep her on the case.
As eager as she might be to help him bring down Shriver, frivolous Cassie was no match for the likes of Jocko Blanco.
Regretfully, he had to terminate Cassie’s mission. No matter how much he lusted to see Shriver cooling his heels in the slammer, he couldn’t justify jeopardizing her life.
David shoved a hand through his hair and paced to the edge of the embankment on the opposite side of the jogging trail. He stared down at the thin ribbon of river several hundred feet below and then he swung his gaze through the rest of the vacant park.
Not too many people out and about this early on a damp, blustery February day. A couple of joggers off in the distance, an elderly man letting his dog take a leak on the trashcan near the park entrance, but no one else.
A heart-stopping thought occurred to him. What if Shriver had discovered Cassie was spying on him for the FBI? What if he had actually hired Blanco to bump her off?
Icy chills shot up his spine.
“Dammit, Cassie.” He glowered, royally pissed off at himself.
He shouldn’t have arranged a meeting. Instead of setting up the rendezvous, he should have just told her over the phone he was pulling her off the case. But he’d needed the tape she’d recorded of Shriver bragging about his exploits. Besides, David thought it only fair he break the news to her in person.
Where in the hell was Cassie?
He glanced at his watch again. Eight-fifteen.
Mindlessly, he reached to pat the breast pocket of his London Fog trench coat in search of the cigarettes that were no longer there.
It had been almost a year since he’d kicked the butts but in times of stress the old nicotine hankering still lingered. He’d given up the cigs not long after his ex-fiancée Keeley dumped him. Not because he still had a thing for her and was trying to win her back. No, that ship had sailed. In fact, she married an orthodontist not two months after they had broken up. Nope, he’d quit smoking simply to prove her wrong.
“Face it, David,” Keeley told him the day she’d dramatically yanked off her engagement ring and tossed it in his face. “Your obsessive need to tempt fate and win at all costs is going to be the death of you. And I refuse to hang around and watch it happen.”
“I don’t have an obsessive need to tempt fate,” he’d protested.
“Ha! Look, you can’t even stop smoking long enough to have this conversation with me,” she’d crowed. “What’s puffing on a cancer stick, if not tempting fate?”
So he had quit smoking. He was at least going to win that argument.
But although he was loath to admit it, maybe Keeley had a point. If Cassie’s subversive involvement ended up botching the investigation, his boss would have his head.
And his job.
Shriver would get away and David would lose.
Shit.
At that moment, a woman jogger appeared from under the train trestle. She was too far away for David to see her facial features, but his baser male instincts homed in on the luscious body striding rhythmically toward him.
Boobs bouncing in spite of the sports bra, blond ponytail swishing, hips rolling forward.
Mama mia, come to Papa.
And then she drew close enough for him to recognize.
Cassie. Thank God. Relief rolled over him.
He stared at her.
And she ran right by him without a second glance.
Dumbfounded, David’s jaw dropped as he gazed after her retreating figure.
What in hell…?
He quickly looked in the direction from which she’d come to see if anyone was following her. Nobody. Hadn’t she seen him standing there?
Perplexed, David trotted after her. “Hold up,” he called.
She swiveled her head, saw he was following and started running faster.
Dammit. What game was the woman playing?
“Stop,” he commanded, even as he sped up to cover the increasing distance between them. Damn, but she was in some kind of shape. Who knew?
He was running flat out by the time he caught her. He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around to face him. They were standing on the edge of the embankment, both panting hard, their gazes locked.
Before David could suck in his breath long enough to speak, she whipped a can of mace from the pocket of her sweat top.
She was quick, but David was quicker.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said and clamped his hand over her pepper-spray-clutching fist before she had time to depress the nozzle. He wrenched the can away from her. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Hands off, buddy,” she commanded and jerked backward.
The force of her momentum was so strong she teetered unbalanced on the edge, a look of shock passing over her face.
“Oh,” she cried, her arms windmilling wildly. “Oh.”
Reaching for her, David grabbed at the first thing he could get his hands on. He ended up snatching the front of her workout pants, attempting to reel her in like an unruly tarpon.
She flailed. The material of her pants stretched out, exposing her naked skin, and David swiftly learned that not only was she wearing pink satin G-string undies, but that she was also a natural blond.
He blinked, his mind momentarily numbed with the breathtaking view.
“Hi-ya!” she yelled and aimed a foot at his crotch.
He dodged her kick but the movement sent him reeling off balance too.
Gravity took over and plunged them both headlong toward the river.
“Oh, crap,” David muttered, finally realizing she wasn’t Cassie. This spunky woman could be none other than her identical twin sister, Maddie.
The big man had an even bigger gun.
Maddie felt the hard delineation under his coat as they rolled down the wet, rocky knoll together. Her heart practically hammered out of her chest. He was going to rape her, shoot her and throw her in the river for fish bait. She just knew it.
For years, she’d been running in Forest Park unscathed, but as the cautious type who believed in always being prepared, she had an ongoing contingency plan.
Mace ’em in the face, kick ’em in the nuts, haul ass.
What had gone wrong?
Well, for starters the guy outweighed her by a good eighty pounds, but even so he was quicker than a cobra.
Do something now. Fight back. You can’t die and leave Cassie alone.
As they rolled downhill, Maddie made a feral sound low in her throat and clawed at his face. Too bad she kept her fingernails clipped short. As soon as she had a chance, she’d go for the car keys in her pants pocket and gouge his eyes out.
“Ouch, damn, hell,” he cursed. “Quit that.”
They came to a stop just short of the water, his big body crushing hers into the muddy riverbank.
“Get off me you rapist pervert.” She slapped at his chest and tried not to panic when her hand smacked against his shoulder holster.
Lungs heaving with the effort of drawing in air, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head while straddling her. Uselessly, she tried to buck him off, but his weight held her prisoner.
“Maddie,” he roared. “That’s enough!”
She froze and stared into his potent dark eyes. A spark of sexual awareness, so intense it left her stunned, surged between them.
“How… how,” she stammered. “Do you know my name?”
“I thought you were Cassie,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked at him, letting this information sink in. “Let me guess, you two were playing some kind of kinky sex game in the park and it got out of hand?”
“What?” He frowned.
“Cassie’s into all that red hot pursuit stuff. You must be her new boyfriend.”
“No, I’m not.”
They were pressed chest to chest, their lips almost touching. He had an unusually complicated mouth. The outer shape was angular and uncompromising, like some sort of hardware store tool, but at the same time the actual flesh of his lips appeared smooth, soft and inviting. His mouth, she decided, had a personality all its own.
“Then who are you?” Maddie snapped, almost as mad at herself as she was at him.
“David Marshall. FBI.”
FBI? At least that explained the gun. What kind of trouble was her twin in now?
Cassie had told Maddie to meet her in the park at eight-fifteen because she had big news to share. Maddie had scheduled her morning run to coincide with the rendezvous. But her twin wasn’t at the appointed spot and this bearish man claiming to be with the FBI was. The whole thing smelled fishier than the Trinity River.
“Let me see some identification,” she said.
“Only if you promise not to knee me in the groin when I turn you loose.”
“All right,” she agreed warily, even though she had no intention of keeping her promise if she felt threatened in the slightest.
He released her hands and pushed up on his knees. Maddie lay on her back, head cocked, watching his every move and making sure he didn’t go for his gun. Just because he said he was FBI, didn’t mean he was FBI.
As she studied his face, she realized he was rather good-looking in a rugged, unkempt sort of way. He was tall and muscular with a granite jaw and chiseled cheekbones that, oddly enough, lent him a sensitive air. He wore his sandy brown hair clipped short and spiked up. She kind of liked the kingfisher thing he had going on, not that she was really noticing. His nose was neither too big nor too small for his face, but it crooked slightly to the left at the bridge as if he’d used it once or twice to stop an irate fist.
He got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.
She hesitated.
He just kept standing there, hand outstretched.
Reluctantly, she accepted his offer of assistance and he hauled her to a standing position. Once on her feet, she immediately turned away from him.
“Hold on,” he said, his skin still branding hers.
“What is it?” she snapped.
“You’ve got mud on your clothing.”
And then, before she knew what he was doing, he reached out and briskly brushed off her bottom.
The touch of his palm against the smooth stretchy Lycra of her workout pants sent a shower of sexual sparks scorching up her backside. Maddie swallowed hard against the storm of sensation flooding her body.
Seriously dangerous stuff.
“There you go.” He released her arm. “All dusted clean.”
She gulped and her stomach lurched because her butt kept tingling long after his hand was gone. “Your badge?” she said, determined not to let him distract her.
“I’m getting to it.” He removed his badge from his coat pocket and flashed it in front of her face.
She held out her palm.
“You wanna hold it?”
“Yes.”
He rolled his eyes, but handed it to her. She traced a finger across the emblem. The badge winked goldly at her in the shaft of hopeful sunlight struggling through the cloud covering. It looked real enough, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d heard about psychos who posed as law enforcement authorities and committed crimes.
“You won’t mind if I call the local FBI division and check you out?”
“For crying out loud, woman.” He snatched his badge from her hand. “I am who I say I am.”
“Don’t get testy, bub. You were the one who attacked me.”
“Excuse me?” he raised his voice and glared. “Who pulled out the pepper spray and who tried to kick me in the family jewels?”
“You chased me down,” she protested.
“After I asked you nicely to stop and you ignored me.”
“Because you were a weird guy alone in the park.”
“Weird? You’re calling me weird?” He jerked a thumb at himself.
“Ya-huh.”
He was studying her as intently as she was studying him, his gaze practically burning a hole through her bottom lip. What did he think of her mouth? Did he find it as interesting as she found his? Her heart was tripping a gazillion beats a minute and a bizarre sensation twisted her stomach.
Good grief! What had come over her?
He moistened his lips and swallowed. “You’re nuttier than your sister, you know that?”
“My sister is not nutty,” Maddie declared defensively. Impulsive, yes. Irresponsible, well at times. Impractical, that was a given. But he had no right to call Cassie nutty.
“She’s a frickin’ sack of cashews and tardy to boot. She was supposed to meet me here at eight o’clock and it is now…” He paused to glance at his watch. “Eight-twenty-five.”
“Why were you meeting her?”
He hesitated.
She could see that he didn’t want to tell her any more than he had to. “Well?” she demanded.
“Your twin was working for me. We were attempting to get the goods on an international art thief named Peyton Shriver.”
“Get outta here.”
“I am deadly serious.”
“Cassie? Working for the FBI?”
An uneasy expression that she could not decipher crossed his face. “In an unofficial capacity.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Maddie narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like the sound of this. Not one bit.
“Look,” he said, changing the subject and confirming her suspicion that something wasn’t on the up and up. “Have you heard from your sister this morning? I’ve tried repeatedly to call her. Do you have any idea where she’s at?”
“How was Cassie helping you catch this art thief?” Maddie asked, switching the subject right back again. He’d have to be slicker than that if he wanted to pull the wool over her eyes.
“Shriver had pegged Cassie as his next mark and he was courting her hot and heavy.”
Maddie shook her head. “I’m not totally following you. If you know who and where the guy is, why don’t you just arrest him?”
“Lack of concrete evidence. We need to catch him in the act. Plus, we suspect an influential art broker is backing his little forays and we want to nail that guy too. Your sister is helping me tighten the noose. Now where is she?”
“Exactly how is she doing this?”
He sighed. “You’re not going to tell me where Cassie might be until I disclose everything, are you?”
“You got that right.”
He growled softly and the sound was so electric it seemed to push right under her skin. Maddie forced herself not to shudder with perverse delight. What was it about this guy that simultaneously repelled yet attracted her?
“Okay, here’s the deal.”
Maddie could tell he begrudged having to fill her in. Well, too bad. If he wanted information from her, he’d have to pony up with some of his own.
The wind gusted cold and she felt her nipples bead beneath her sweat top. David was staring at her chest but trying to pretend he wasn’t.
“You wanna go sit in my car?” He gestured up the hill toward the parking lot. The breeze tousled his already spiky hair, giving him a roguish look.
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I promise I won’t bite.”
Her natural cautiousness outweighed her desire for warmth. “I’m fine. Your story?”
“I’ve been tracking Shriver for years, but he’s pretty damned slick.”
“Slicker than you obviously.” Maddie knew she was aggravating him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Call it retribution for the way his rugged good looks provoked her heretic hormones.
David glared. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Go on.”
“Peyton Shriver is thirty-eight, a native of Liverpool, England,” he said. “His father was a petty criminal who fell in with a dangerous crowd, got involved in armed robbery and ended up a lifer. His mother was an alcoholic who was run down by a truck on her way home from the liquor store when Shriver was ten.”
“Poor kid.”
“Save your sympathy. Shriver’s aunt Josephine took him in. She lived in New York City and she’d married into money. She didn’t have any kids of her own and she doted on her charming nephew. When Josephine died, her husband cut Shriver off without a cent. Desperate for a way to support the lifestyle he’d come to enjoy, he launched a series of sweetheart scams, focusing mainly on older women.”
“What’s that got to do with my sister?”
“Hold on. I’m getting to that. There was one victim in particular. Her family once had a great deal of money, but the fortune had been squandered over the years. She had planned on funding her retirement with the last remaining family heirloom, a Rembrandt worth close to a million dollars. Shriver romanced her, then waltzed away with the painting.”
Something in his expression, something in the way his body tensed told Maddie this case meant more to him than just business. He’d flattened out his lips, fisted his hands and broadened his stance, as if secretly readying himself for a fight.
Had he known the woman with the Rembrandt? Was his pursuit of Shriver as much about revenge as duty?
“After that theft, Shriver dropped out of sight for several years,” David said.
“Living off the money from the Rembrandt,” Maddie guessed.
He nodded. “A few months ago a new spate of art thefts bearing Shriver’s unique pretty boy signature—but focusing mainly on museum employees rather than rich women with private collections as before—began cropping up all over Europe. The FBI has been working closely with Interpol and we’ve tracked Shriver to Fort Worth. He’s been casing the Kimbell and he started a relationship with Cassie.”
“He’s using her,” Maddie said flatly.
“Yes.”
“But you’re using her too.”
“Okay,” he admitted. “But I only approached her because Shriver is completely nonviolent. He’s never hurt any of the women he’s charmed.”
“What about those other women? Why didn’t you recruit them? Why single out my sister?”
“None of the other victims would testify against him and Cassie was not only willing, but eager to help.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Maddie muttered under her breath.
“With Cassie’s assistance, I had a good chance of foiling the robbery and finally putting Shriver away for a very long time.”
“Had?” His tone made her nervous.
David cleared his throat. “Yesterday I discovered an old friend of Shriver’s had blown into town.”
“Yeah?”
“The guy’s name is Jocko Blanco. He’s also a thief, among other things.”
“What sort of other things?” she asked, even though she was afraid to hear the answer.
“Armed robbery, gun running, drug smuggling. You name it, he’s done it.”
“Even physical violence?” Maddie croaked.
He paused. “I’m afraid so.”
She felt the blood drain from her face and her head spun dizzily.
“Don’t panic,” David said. “I was meeting Cassie to pull her off the case and offer her police protection.”
“But she hasn’t shown up.” Maddie swept a hand at the empty park, the old familiar dread flooding through her body.
“No, she hasn’t.”
She gulped. This wasn’t good news. Not good at all.
David’s cell phone drolly played the theme from Dragnet.
“Do you think it could be Cassie?” Maddie asked. “Does she have your cell phone number?”
“She does.” He yanked the phone from his coat pocket and glanced at the small display screen. “But it’s not her.” He flipped the phone open. “Marshall here.”
She studied him while he listened to the voice on the other end of the conversation. His countenance changed from dangerous rebel slouch to full-on badass cop posture. He pressed his mouth into a hard, uncompromising line. His gray eyes turned as moody as the heavy clouds brooding overhead. He swore viciously and kicked at a rock.
Alarmed, Maddie backed up, distancing herself.
“I’ll be right there,” he barked into the receiver and then switched off the phone before jamming it back into his pocket.
“What is it?” she asked, knowing in her heart of hearts something was terribly wrong. She imagined a dozen what if scenarios, each more grisly than the last and all of them involving Cassie’s safety. She sank her fingers into David’s forearm and squeezed tight. “Tell me the truth. What’s happened?”
He met her gaze with an uncompromising stare. “Some time during the early morning hours, Peyton Shriver used your sister’s security clearance to break into the Kimbell Art Museum, override the alarm system and steal a Cézanne worth four million dollars.”
With single-minded purpose, David spun on his heel and scrambled up the embankment toward his car. That bastard Shriver had trumped him again.
“But the game’s not over yet, you sonofabitch,” David muttered under his breath. “Not by a long shot.”
His neck flamed hot with anger. He had to get to the museum and find out exactly what had gone wrong. Cassie was supposed to give him a heads up if she suspected Shriver was about to make his move. But she hadn’t.
Why not?
He didn’t like the answers his gut flung at him. There were two obvious choices. Either Cassie was in deep danger or she’d thrown her lot in with Shriver. He could easily see flamboyant Cassie entertaining some Thomas Crown Affair fantasy about the guy. After all, Shriver was quite the rakish charmer.
Either scenario spelled mucho trouble.
“Hey wait, where you goin’?” Maddie scurried along beside him.
“To the Kimbell,” he said, without looking over at her. The stubborn woman possessed the potential to become a royal pain-in-the-ass and he wasn’t going to encourage her.
“What about my sister?”
“What about her?” he asked, slapping back the guilt digging into his conscience. He had no use for regrets. He made a decision, committed to a course of action and accepted the drawbacks. Only weak men second-guessed themselves.
“Where is she?”
“How should I know?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Don’t you have to go to work or something?”
“I own my own gym. I’ll call my manager and have her arrange for someone else to teach my exercise classes.”
“You can’t come.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too busy to mess around with you.”
“You owe me,” she said, puffing up the hill beside him, matching his stride step for step.
“How do you figure?”
He hesitated just long enough to glare at her and wished he hadn’t. The determined set of her jaw caused him to think wickedly inappropriate thoughts. Like what would she do if he hooked a finger under that tenacious little chin, tilted her face up to meet his and kissed her hard?
She’d probably sock you in the breadbasket.
Probably.
“You shoved me off a cliff.”
“That was an accident.”
“You involved Cassie with a criminal.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“We’re twins.”
“And…?”
Maddie tossed her head and her ponytail flicked provocatively from shoulder to shoulder. “Obviously, you don’t understand the bond. We’re exceedingly close.”
“If you two are so chummy, how come Cassie didn’t tell you she was working for me?”
She blinked. “I suppose you swore her to secrecy.”
“Nope.” This time she frowned. David could see it was bugging the hell out of her that her twin hadn’t confided in her. “I do know one thing about Cassie.”
“And what is that?” Maddie asked suspiciously.
“She was raring to prove herself to somebody and after making your acquaintance, I’m guessing that somebody is you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her emerald green eyes flared a warning.
“I don’t have time for this.” He stalked toward the Impala. “She’s your sister, you figure it out.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” She placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“What?” He wanted to brush her off but he was afraid of what might happen to his libido if he touched her. Disconcerted, he stepped back and she voluntarily removed her hand.
“I’ve been abrupt,” she said. “I’m just worried about my sister. Please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven.” He punched the alarm control on his keypad and his car chirped twice indicating the doors were unlocked.
“Great.” She hurried around to the passenger side.
“Oh, no, no, no.” He quickly reactivated the locks just as she reached for the handle.
“You’re still not taking me with you?”
“That’s right.” He unlocked the driver’s side the old-fashioned way and slid behind the wheel, but before he could get the door shut and the car started, Maddie flew over to jam her body between him and the door. She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, anchoring herself to his vehicle.
“You’re fast,” he said.
“And don’t you forget it.”
“Physical talents aside, you’re staying here.” He keyed the ignition and the engine rumbled to life.
“You’re a rude, rude man.”
“Bingo. Now get out of the way if you don’t want me to back over you.”
“Okay, you asked for it. I didn’t want to have to resort to dirty tactics, but you’ve forced my hand.”
“Are you threatening me?” He narrowed his eyes and met her gaze. Damn if a thrill of sexual excitement didn’t blast straight through his groin. Nothing tickled him more than a worthy opponent.
“Yes I am.”
“Bring it on.”
“I will.”
“I think you’re bluffing.”
“I never bluff.”
He eyed her for a long moment. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
“I’ll got to the media. Tell them that you involved a private citizen in your cops-and-robbers game and now she’s missing.”
“She’s not missing.”
Maddie waved a hand at the empty park. “You see her anywhere?”
“She’s a flake. Maybe she just forgot.”
“You know better than that,” she chided. “Admit it, you screwed up, David Marshall. You placed my sister’s life in peril when you recruited her to spy on your art thief.”
She was right. And he loathed her rightness. He couldn’t allow her to go to the media. They would be all over this story like hot on chili peppers.
And then his boss would be all over him.
He couldn’t let Shriver win. No way, no how. Better to tolerate this smart-mouthed pop tart than ruin years of detective work.
“Take me with you or I go to the news stations,” she reiterated.
“You wouldn’t dare.” He felt obligated to call her bluff one more time, test her commitment before giving her the green light.
“When it comes to my twin sister, I’ll dare anything.” The look on her face told him that she was dead serious. He admired her devotion to her sibling while at the same time he cursed it.
“This is not the optimal way to get in good with me.” He glowered, doing his best to quell her with a withering glance.
“I could care less about getting in good with you.” She defiantly thrust out her chest, which just happened to be at his eye level.
Trying hard not to notice what a truly exceptional pair of ta-tas she possessed and fantasizing about how they would look out of that sports bra and in a low cut va-va-va-voom dress, David cl
Always.
His personal credo: He who hesitates is lost. And David hated losing more than anything.
Whenever a situation called for action, he immediately seized control and bluffed his way through the consequences. Usually victoriously. He’d learned at an early age you had to battle hard against life or die. He had also discovered, that for the good of the cause, you occasionally had to bend a few rules.
But once in a while, one of his less prudent rule bending episodes came back to bite him viciously in the ass.
Like now.
Where in the hell was Cassie Cooper?
For the tenth time in as many minutes, David checked his wristwatch.
With an impatient snort, he sank his fists on his hips and scanned the rendezvous spot. Forest Park on the Trinity River, fourth picnic bench at the seven-mile marker of the jogging trail, eight A.M. sharp.
It was now eight-thirteen.
Had Cassie gotten mixed up about their meeting place? It was highly possible. The woman personified dumb blonde jokes.
Which was why the art theft task force had rejected using her as an informant. Even though Cassie was a public relations specialist at the Kimbell Art Museum and they knew Peyton Shriver had marked her as his next sweetheart victim.
Realizing that Cassie was the best lead he’d had on Shriver in years, David had taken matters into his own hands. He’d gone behind his boss’s back and recruited her. No one except he and Cassie knew about her involvement in the case. Not even the men he had shadowing her. His men believed they were simply tailing her because she was Peyton’s new girlfriend. Because of this, all their previous contact except for the initial meeting had been via phone or e-mail. He would deal with the fallout of his unorthodox police methods once he had Shriver securely in handcuffs. It was always easier to get Jim Barnes’s forgiveness than his permission.
For ten years he’d been doggedly pursuing Shriver. The time had come to end this battle of wills. With Cassie’s help, he’d known he was going to win it.
Come hell or high water he was determined to see justice served.
But last night his surveillance team had delivered bad news. They’d observed Shriver meeting with a world-class scumbag by the name of Jocko Blanco. The creep was a tattooed, pock-faced skinhead with a rap sheet as thick as a telephone book and a history of violent behavior.
Shriver might be a heartbreaking cad and an unrepentant thief, but he’d never physically harmed any of his victims. In fact, his courtly behavior was legendary. Blanco on the other hand was as dangerous as dynamite near an open flame.
Upon hearing the news about Blanco and Shriver hooking up, his first thought had been totally selfish. Yes! Two criminals for the price of one. That would show his boss he’d been right to make an end run around authority by involving Cassie Cooper.
But then his irritating conscience had voiced its opinion: You can’t keep her on the case.
As eager as she might be to help him bring down Shriver, frivolous Cassie was no match for the likes of Jocko Blanco.
Regretfully, he had to terminate Cassie’s mission. No matter how much he lusted to see Shriver cooling his heels in the slammer, he couldn’t justify jeopardizing her life.
David shoved a hand through his hair and paced to the edge of the embankment on the opposite side of the jogging trail. He stared down at the thin ribbon of river several hundred feet below and then he swung his gaze through the rest of the vacant park.
Not too many people out and about this early on a damp, blustery February day. A couple of joggers off in the distance, an elderly man letting his dog take a leak on the trashcan near the park entrance, but no one else.
A heart-stopping thought occurred to him. What if Shriver had discovered Cassie was spying on him for the FBI? What if he had actually hired Blanco to bump her off?
Icy chills shot up his spine.
“Dammit, Cassie.” He glowered, royally pissed off at himself.
He shouldn’t have arranged a meeting. Instead of setting up the rendezvous, he should have just told her over the phone he was pulling her off the case. But he’d needed the tape she’d recorded of Shriver bragging about his exploits. Besides, David thought it only fair he break the news to her in person.
Where in the hell was Cassie?
He glanced at his watch again. Eight-fifteen.
Mindlessly, he reached to pat the breast pocket of his London Fog trench coat in search of the cigarettes that were no longer there.
It had been almost a year since he’d kicked the butts but in times of stress the old nicotine hankering still lingered. He’d given up the cigs not long after his ex-fiancée Keeley dumped him. Not because he still had a thing for her and was trying to win her back. No, that ship had sailed. In fact, she married an orthodontist not two months after they had broken up. Nope, he’d quit smoking simply to prove her wrong.
“Face it, David,” Keeley told him the day she’d dramatically yanked off her engagement ring and tossed it in his face. “Your obsessive need to tempt fate and win at all costs is going to be the death of you. And I refuse to hang around and watch it happen.”
“I don’t have an obsessive need to tempt fate,” he’d protested.
“Ha! Look, you can’t even stop smoking long enough to have this conversation with me,” she’d crowed. “What’s puffing on a cancer stick, if not tempting fate?”
So he had quit smoking. He was at least going to win that argument.
But although he was loath to admit it, maybe Keeley had a point. If Cassie’s subversive involvement ended up botching the investigation, his boss would have his head.
And his job.
Shriver would get away and David would lose.
Shit.
At that moment, a woman jogger appeared from under the train trestle. She was too far away for David to see her facial features, but his baser male instincts homed in on the luscious body striding rhythmically toward him.
Boobs bouncing in spite of the sports bra, blond ponytail swishing, hips rolling forward.
Mama mia, come to Papa.
And then she drew close enough for him to recognize.
Cassie. Thank God. Relief rolled over him.
He stared at her.
And she ran right by him without a second glance.
Dumbfounded, David’s jaw dropped as he gazed after her retreating figure.
What in hell…?
He quickly looked in the direction from which she’d come to see if anyone was following her. Nobody. Hadn’t she seen him standing there?
Perplexed, David trotted after her. “Hold up,” he called.
She swiveled her head, saw he was following and started running faster.
Dammit. What game was the woman playing?
“Stop,” he commanded, even as he sped up to cover the increasing distance between them. Damn, but she was in some kind of shape. Who knew?
He was running flat out by the time he caught her. He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around to face him. They were standing on the edge of the embankment, both panting hard, their gazes locked.
Before David could suck in his breath long enough to speak, she whipped a can of mace from the pocket of her sweat top.
She was quick, but David was quicker.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said and clamped his hand over her pepper-spray-clutching fist before she had time to depress the nozzle. He wrenched the can away from her. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Hands off, buddy,” she commanded and jerked backward.
The force of her momentum was so strong she teetered unbalanced on the edge, a look of shock passing over her face.
“Oh,” she cried, her arms windmilling wildly. “Oh.”
Reaching for her, David grabbed at the first thing he could get his hands on. He ended up snatching the front of her workout pants, attempting to reel her in like an unruly tarpon.
She flailed. The material of her pants stretched out, exposing her naked skin, and David swiftly learned that not only was she wearing pink satin G-string undies, but that she was also a natural blond.
He blinked, his mind momentarily numbed with the breathtaking view.
“Hi-ya!” she yelled and aimed a foot at his crotch.
He dodged her kick but the movement sent him reeling off balance too.
Gravity took over and plunged them both headlong toward the river.
“Oh, crap,” David muttered, finally realizing she wasn’t Cassie. This spunky woman could be none other than her identical twin sister, Maddie.
The big man had an even bigger gun.
Maddie felt the hard delineation under his coat as they rolled down the wet, rocky knoll together. Her heart practically hammered out of her chest. He was going to rape her, shoot her and throw her in the river for fish bait. She just knew it.
For years, she’d been running in Forest Park unscathed, but as the cautious type who believed in always being prepared, she had an ongoing contingency plan.
Mace ’em in the face, kick ’em in the nuts, haul ass.
What had gone wrong?
Well, for starters the guy outweighed her by a good eighty pounds, but even so he was quicker than a cobra.
Do something now. Fight back. You can’t die and leave Cassie alone.
As they rolled downhill, Maddie made a feral sound low in her throat and clawed at his face. Too bad she kept her fingernails clipped short. As soon as she had a chance, she’d go for the car keys in her pants pocket and gouge his eyes out.
“Ouch, damn, hell,” he cursed. “Quit that.”
They came to a stop just short of the water, his big body crushing hers into the muddy riverbank.
“Get off me you rapist pervert.” She slapped at his chest and tried not to panic when her hand smacked against his shoulder holster.
Lungs heaving with the effort of drawing in air, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her hands above her head while straddling her. Uselessly, she tried to buck him off, but his weight held her prisoner.
“Maddie,” he roared. “That’s enough!”
She froze and stared into his potent dark eyes. A spark of sexual awareness, so intense it left her stunned, surged between them.
“How… how,” she stammered. “Do you know my name?”
“I thought you were Cassie,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked at him, letting this information sink in. “Let me guess, you two were playing some kind of kinky sex game in the park and it got out of hand?”
“What?” He frowned.
“Cassie’s into all that red hot pursuit stuff. You must be her new boyfriend.”
“No, I’m not.”
They were pressed chest to chest, their lips almost touching. He had an unusually complicated mouth. The outer shape was angular and uncompromising, like some sort of hardware store tool, but at the same time the actual flesh of his lips appeared smooth, soft and inviting. His mouth, she decided, had a personality all its own.
“Then who are you?” Maddie snapped, almost as mad at herself as she was at him.
“David Marshall. FBI.”
FBI? At least that explained the gun. What kind of trouble was her twin in now?
Cassie had told Maddie to meet her in the park at eight-fifteen because she had big news to share. Maddie had scheduled her morning run to coincide with the rendezvous. But her twin wasn’t at the appointed spot and this bearish man claiming to be with the FBI was. The whole thing smelled fishier than the Trinity River.
“Let me see some identification,” she said.
“Only if you promise not to knee me in the groin when I turn you loose.”
“All right,” she agreed warily, even though she had no intention of keeping her promise if she felt threatened in the slightest.
He released her hands and pushed up on his knees. Maddie lay on her back, head cocked, watching his every move and making sure he didn’t go for his gun. Just because he said he was FBI, didn’t mean he was FBI.
As she studied his face, she realized he was rather good-looking in a rugged, unkempt sort of way. He was tall and muscular with a granite jaw and chiseled cheekbones that, oddly enough, lent him a sensitive air. He wore his sandy brown hair clipped short and spiked up. She kind of liked the kingfisher thing he had going on, not that she was really noticing. His nose was neither too big nor too small for his face, but it crooked slightly to the left at the bridge as if he’d used it once or twice to stop an irate fist.
He got to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.
She hesitated.
He just kept standing there, hand outstretched.
Reluctantly, she accepted his offer of assistance and he hauled her to a standing position. Once on her feet, she immediately turned away from him.
“Hold on,” he said, his skin still branding hers.
“What is it?” she snapped.
“You’ve got mud on your clothing.”
And then, before she knew what he was doing, he reached out and briskly brushed off her bottom.
The touch of his palm against the smooth stretchy Lycra of her workout pants sent a shower of sexual sparks scorching up her backside. Maddie swallowed hard against the storm of sensation flooding her body.
Seriously dangerous stuff.
“There you go.” He released her arm. “All dusted clean.”
She gulped and her stomach lurched because her butt kept tingling long after his hand was gone. “Your badge?” she said, determined not to let him distract her.
“I’m getting to it.” He removed his badge from his coat pocket and flashed it in front of her face.
She held out her palm.
“You wanna hold it?”
“Yes.”
He rolled his eyes, but handed it to her. She traced a finger across the emblem. The badge winked goldly at her in the shaft of hopeful sunlight struggling through the cloud covering. It looked real enough, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d heard about psychos who posed as law enforcement authorities and committed crimes.
“You won’t mind if I call the local FBI division and check you out?”
“For crying out loud, woman.” He snatched his badge from her hand. “I am who I say I am.”
“Don’t get testy, bub. You were the one who attacked me.”
“Excuse me?” he raised his voice and glared. “Who pulled out the pepper spray and who tried to kick me in the family jewels?”
“You chased me down,” she protested.
“After I asked you nicely to stop and you ignored me.”
“Because you were a weird guy alone in the park.”
“Weird? You’re calling me weird?” He jerked a thumb at himself.
“Ya-huh.”
He was studying her as intently as she was studying him, his gaze practically burning a hole through her bottom lip. What did he think of her mouth? Did he find it as interesting as she found his? Her heart was tripping a gazillion beats a minute and a bizarre sensation twisted her stomach.
Good grief! What had come over her?
He moistened his lips and swallowed. “You’re nuttier than your sister, you know that?”
“My sister is not nutty,” Maddie declared defensively. Impulsive, yes. Irresponsible, well at times. Impractical, that was a given. But he had no right to call Cassie nutty.
“She’s a frickin’ sack of cashews and tardy to boot. She was supposed to meet me here at eight o’clock and it is now…” He paused to glance at his watch. “Eight-twenty-five.”
“Why were you meeting her?”
He hesitated.
She could see that he didn’t want to tell her any more than he had to. “Well?” she demanded.
“Your twin was working for me. We were attempting to get the goods on an international art thief named Peyton Shriver.”
“Get outta here.”
“I am deadly serious.”
“Cassie? Working for the FBI?”
An uneasy expression that she could not decipher crossed his face. “In an unofficial capacity.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Maddie narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like the sound of this. Not one bit.
“Look,” he said, changing the subject and confirming her suspicion that something wasn’t on the up and up. “Have you heard from your sister this morning? I’ve tried repeatedly to call her. Do you have any idea where she’s at?”
“How was Cassie helping you catch this art thief?” Maddie asked, switching the subject right back again. He’d have to be slicker than that if he wanted to pull the wool over her eyes.
“Shriver had pegged Cassie as his next mark and he was courting her hot and heavy.”
Maddie shook her head. “I’m not totally following you. If you know who and where the guy is, why don’t you just arrest him?”
“Lack of concrete evidence. We need to catch him in the act. Plus, we suspect an influential art broker is backing his little forays and we want to nail that guy too. Your sister is helping me tighten the noose. Now where is she?”
“Exactly how is she doing this?”
He sighed. “You’re not going to tell me where Cassie might be until I disclose everything, are you?”
“You got that right.”
He growled softly and the sound was so electric it seemed to push right under her skin. Maddie forced herself not to shudder with perverse delight. What was it about this guy that simultaneously repelled yet attracted her?
“Okay, here’s the deal.”
Maddie could tell he begrudged having to fill her in. Well, too bad. If he wanted information from her, he’d have to pony up with some of his own.
The wind gusted cold and she felt her nipples bead beneath her sweat top. David was staring at her chest but trying to pretend he wasn’t.
“You wanna go sit in my car?” He gestured up the hill toward the parking lot. The breeze tousled his already spiky hair, giving him a roguish look.
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I promise I won’t bite.”
Her natural cautiousness outweighed her desire for warmth. “I’m fine. Your story?”
“I’ve been tracking Shriver for years, but he’s pretty damned slick.”
“Slicker than you obviously.” Maddie knew she was aggravating him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Call it retribution for the way his rugged good looks provoked her heretic hormones.
David glared. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Go on.”
“Peyton Shriver is thirty-eight, a native of Liverpool, England,” he said. “His father was a petty criminal who fell in with a dangerous crowd, got involved in armed robbery and ended up a lifer. His mother was an alcoholic who was run down by a truck on her way home from the liquor store when Shriver was ten.”
“Poor kid.”
“Save your sympathy. Shriver’s aunt Josephine took him in. She lived in New York City and she’d married into money. She didn’t have any kids of her own and she doted on her charming nephew. When Josephine died, her husband cut Shriver off without a cent. Desperate for a way to support the lifestyle he’d come to enjoy, he launched a series of sweetheart scams, focusing mainly on older women.”
“What’s that got to do with my sister?”
“Hold on. I’m getting to that. There was one victim in particular. Her family once had a great deal of money, but the fortune had been squandered over the years. She had planned on funding her retirement with the last remaining family heirloom, a Rembrandt worth close to a million dollars. Shriver romanced her, then waltzed away with the painting.”
Something in his expression, something in the way his body tensed told Maddie this case meant more to him than just business. He’d flattened out his lips, fisted his hands and broadened his stance, as if secretly readying himself for a fight.
Had he known the woman with the Rembrandt? Was his pursuit of Shriver as much about revenge as duty?
“After that theft, Shriver dropped out of sight for several years,” David said.
“Living off the money from the Rembrandt,” Maddie guessed.
He nodded. “A few months ago a new spate of art thefts bearing Shriver’s unique pretty boy signature—but focusing mainly on museum employees rather than rich women with private collections as before—began cropping up all over Europe. The FBI has been working closely with Interpol and we’ve tracked Shriver to Fort Worth. He’s been casing the Kimbell and he started a relationship with Cassie.”
“He’s using her,” Maddie said flatly.
“Yes.”
“But you’re using her too.”
“Okay,” he admitted. “But I only approached her because Shriver is completely nonviolent. He’s never hurt any of the women he’s charmed.”
“What about those other women? Why didn’t you recruit them? Why single out my sister?”
“None of the other victims would testify against him and Cassie was not only willing, but eager to help.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Maddie muttered under her breath.
“With Cassie’s assistance, I had a good chance of foiling the robbery and finally putting Shriver away for a very long time.”
“Had?” His tone made her nervous.
David cleared his throat. “Yesterday I discovered an old friend of Shriver’s had blown into town.”
“Yeah?”
“The guy’s name is Jocko Blanco. He’s also a thief, among other things.”
“What sort of other things?” she asked, even though she was afraid to hear the answer.
“Armed robbery, gun running, drug smuggling. You name it, he’s done it.”
“Even physical violence?” Maddie croaked.
He paused. “I’m afraid so.”
She felt the blood drain from her face and her head spun dizzily.
“Don’t panic,” David said. “I was meeting Cassie to pull her off the case and offer her police protection.”
“But she hasn’t shown up.” Maddie swept a hand at the empty park, the old familiar dread flooding through her body.
“No, she hasn’t.”
She gulped. This wasn’t good news. Not good at all.
David’s cell phone drolly played the theme from Dragnet.
“Do you think it could be Cassie?” Maddie asked. “Does she have your cell phone number?”
“She does.” He yanked the phone from his coat pocket and glanced at the small display screen. “But it’s not her.” He flipped the phone open. “Marshall here.”
She studied him while he listened to the voice on the other end of the conversation. His countenance changed from dangerous rebel slouch to full-on badass cop posture. He pressed his mouth into a hard, uncompromising line. His gray eyes turned as moody as the heavy clouds brooding overhead. He swore viciously and kicked at a rock.
Alarmed, Maddie backed up, distancing herself.
“I’ll be right there,” he barked into the receiver and then switched off the phone before jamming it back into his pocket.
“What is it?” she asked, knowing in her heart of hearts something was terribly wrong. She imagined a dozen what if scenarios, each more grisly than the last and all of them involving Cassie’s safety. She sank her fingers into David’s forearm and squeezed tight. “Tell me the truth. What’s happened?”
He met her gaze with an uncompromising stare. “Some time during the early morning hours, Peyton Shriver used your sister’s security clearance to break into the Kimbell Art Museum, override the alarm system and steal a Cézanne worth four million dollars.”
With single-minded purpose, David spun on his heel and scrambled up the embankment toward his car. That bastard Shriver had trumped him again.
“But the game’s not over yet, you sonofabitch,” David muttered under his breath. “Not by a long shot.”
His neck flamed hot with anger. He had to get to the museum and find out exactly what had gone wrong. Cassie was supposed to give him a heads up if she suspected Shriver was about to make his move. But she hadn’t.
Why not?
He didn’t like the answers his gut flung at him. There were two obvious choices. Either Cassie was in deep danger or she’d thrown her lot in with Shriver. He could easily see flamboyant Cassie entertaining some Thomas Crown Affair fantasy about the guy. After all, Shriver was quite the rakish charmer.
Either scenario spelled mucho trouble.
“Hey wait, where you goin’?” Maddie scurried along beside him.
“To the Kimbell,” he said, without looking over at her. The stubborn woman possessed the potential to become a royal pain-in-the-ass and he wasn’t going to encourage her.
“What about my sister?”
“What about her?” he asked, slapping back the guilt digging into his conscience. He had no use for regrets. He made a decision, committed to a course of action and accepted the drawbacks. Only weak men second-guessed themselves.
“Where is she?”
“How should I know?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Don’t you have to go to work or something?”
“I own my own gym. I’ll call my manager and have her arrange for someone else to teach my exercise classes.”
“You can’t come.”
“Why not?”
“I’m too busy to mess around with you.”
“You owe me,” she said, puffing up the hill beside him, matching his stride step for step.
“How do you figure?”
He hesitated just long enough to glare at her and wished he hadn’t. The determined set of her jaw caused him to think wickedly inappropriate thoughts. Like what would she do if he hooked a finger under that tenacious little chin, tilted her face up to meet his and kissed her hard?
She’d probably sock you in the breadbasket.
Probably.
“You shoved me off a cliff.”
“That was an accident.”
“You involved Cassie with a criminal.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“We’re twins.”
“And…?”
Maddie tossed her head and her ponytail flicked provocatively from shoulder to shoulder. “Obviously, you don’t understand the bond. We’re exceedingly close.”
“If you two are so chummy, how come Cassie didn’t tell you she was working for me?”
She blinked. “I suppose you swore her to secrecy.”
“Nope.” This time she frowned. David could see it was bugging the hell out of her that her twin hadn’t confided in her. “I do know one thing about Cassie.”
“And what is that?” Maddie asked suspiciously.
“She was raring to prove herself to somebody and after making your acquaintance, I’m guessing that somebody is you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her emerald green eyes flared a warning.
“I don’t have time for this.” He stalked toward the Impala. “She’s your sister, you figure it out.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” She placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“What?” He wanted to brush her off but he was afraid of what might happen to his libido if he touched her. Disconcerted, he stepped back and she voluntarily removed her hand.
“I’ve been abrupt,” she said. “I’m just worried about my sister. Please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven.” He punched the alarm control on his keypad and his car chirped twice indicating the doors were unlocked.
“Great.” She hurried around to the passenger side.
“Oh, no, no, no.” He quickly reactivated the locks just as she reached for the handle.
“You’re still not taking me with you?”
“That’s right.” He unlocked the driver’s side the old-fashioned way and slid behind the wheel, but before he could get the door shut and the car started, Maddie flew over to jam her body between him and the door. She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, anchoring herself to his vehicle.
“You’re fast,” he said.
“And don’t you forget it.”
“Physical talents aside, you’re staying here.” He keyed the ignition and the engine rumbled to life.
“You’re a rude, rude man.”
“Bingo. Now get out of the way if you don’t want me to back over you.”
“Okay, you asked for it. I didn’t want to have to resort to dirty tactics, but you’ve forced my hand.”
“Are you threatening me?” He narrowed his eyes and met her gaze. Damn if a thrill of sexual excitement didn’t blast straight through his groin. Nothing tickled him more than a worthy opponent.
“Yes I am.”
“Bring it on.”
“I will.”
“I think you’re bluffing.”
“I never bluff.”
He eyed her for a long moment. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
“I’ll got to the media. Tell them that you involved a private citizen in your cops-and-robbers game and now she’s missing.”
“She’s not missing.”
Maddie waved a hand at the empty park. “You see her anywhere?”
“She’s a flake. Maybe she just forgot.”
“You know better than that,” she chided. “Admit it, you screwed up, David Marshall. You placed my sister’s life in peril when you recruited her to spy on your art thief.”
She was right. And he loathed her rightness. He couldn’t allow her to go to the media. They would be all over this story like hot on chili peppers.
And then his boss would be all over him.
He couldn’t let Shriver win. No way, no how. Better to tolerate this smart-mouthed pop tart than ruin years of detective work.
“Take me with you or I go to the news stations,” she reiterated.
“You wouldn’t dare.” He felt obligated to call her bluff one more time, test her commitment before giving her the green light.
“When it comes to my twin sister, I’ll dare anything.” The look on her face told him that she was dead serious. He admired her devotion to her sibling while at the same time he cursed it.
“This is not the optimal way to get in good with me.” He glowered, doing his best to quell her with a withering glance.
“I could care less about getting in good with you.” She defiantly thrust out her chest, which just happened to be at his eye level.
Trying hard not to notice what a truly exceptional pair of ta-tas she possessed and fantasizing about how they would look out of that sports bra and in a low cut va-va-va-voom dress, David cl
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