Hotshot by Catherine Mann Read Free Book Online Page A

camera. “It seems crazy to be cold in the summer. Must have been shock trying to grab hold of me.”
    “You’re hanging in there better than the security guard.”
    She checked on the old man happily taking a ride from the cop. By morning, their only guard would likely be applying for a job as a Wal-Mart greeter.
    Shay hitched her backpack in place and started toward her car. “Vince, why are you really here?”
    “I told you already.” He walked beside her, his face as unreadable as her father’s had been. “To catch up with your dad while he’s in town. He told me he would be here to offer input for you about starting up a Civil Air Patrol squadron.”
    Something about his arrival still bothered her. Wouldn’t a guy taking some R & R from battle go on a real vacation to the beach or the mountains? A cruise, even.
    Why was he hanging out at a run-down community center in Cleveland, Ohio? “I spend hours a week listening for nuances in people’s voices. I’m darn near a walking lie detector. There’s something going on between you and my dad.”
    “I can assure you we are both heterosexuals.”
    She ground her teeth. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
    Key chain rattling in her hand, she thumbed the Unlock button. He body blocked her and stepped ahead, checking the front and backseat. “Pop your trunk.”
    Even if he was helping, she still resented his steamroller attitude. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Pop the damn trunk,” he barked.
    She startled back a step then braced. She wasn’t a needy teen anymore, willing to take whatever anyone dished out. “Do not speak to me that way.”
    He scrubbed a hand over his face, then his bare head. “I apologize for my tone. It’s been a long, crappy day. I’m torqued off because one of those overworked cops still should have gotten here faster. I’m even more upset that two people are dead for no apparent reason.”
    “Amen to that.” She thumbed open the trunk on her rust bucket of a car. Salted snowy roads had taken their toll on the Ford compact, but she couldn’t see spending money on something nicer when it could be jacked on any given day.
    Vince clicked on a small flashlight on his key chain. He swept the beam through her trunk, illuminating her rolled-up sleeping bag, hiking boots and—her guilty pleasure—a sealed container of instant hot chocolate. A smile tugged at a corner of his mouth as his beam lingered on the cocoa.
    Then, snap , he clicked the light off. “Get in your car. Lock the doors. And drive very, very carefully to the police station. I’ll be behind you all the way.”

    Don spun the steering wheel on his way onto the highway, heading for the airport, listening to Paulina Wilson chew his hide over the cell phone. Lucky for him, years of combat time had rendered him an expert at numbing himself on command.
    “Damn it, Don, you need to back down with all these orders. I’m already up to my ass in panicked calls from that California congressman, Mooney. You’re CIA, so you get the international problems.” Her husky tones went raspy with irritation. “I’m FBI, which makes this U.S.-based mess my jurisdiction.”
    He knew the best way to sidetrack her when she got her professional panties in a twist. “So if we were in Paris, I would get to be on top.”
    Silence vibrated through the airwaves while highway lamps strobed light through his windows. They both knew jockeying for top was one of their favorite sex games.
    She cleared her throat. “Inappropriate, Don. Have you forgotten there were two dead people on your daughter’s doorstep? We’ve lost an important link to a terrorist plot.”
    “Of course I haven’t forgotten a thing.” Another reason to appreciate that numbing habit he’d honed. “Like how my daughter is still walking around out there.”
    “I’ve added a higher security detail trailing her.”
    Not the answer he wanted. “Tell that to the dead kid. A lot can happen in a few days.