around the camp, it also seemed to be the only vehicle she had on the premises. He recalled her first car had been a gleaming midnight blue Porsche 911 that heâd wanted to get his hands on almost as badly as he wanted his hands on her. The Kate Sutherland he knew was not a pickup truck kind of woman, and definitely not a used-vehicle-of-any-kind type.
Which did absolutely nothing to explain why his pulse kicked up a notch and his body tightened in immediate response when she braked to a stop next to him and rolled down the window. Her mouth was pinched at the corners. Clearly she was not happy to see him. Perversely, that made him want to smile.
âCar break down?â she asked.
He debated on whether to get into it here, or wait until he had more of an advantage. Any advantage would be nice. So far, Kate had unknowingly robbed him of it, and quite easily, too. âNo,â he said, opting for blunt honesty. After all, it had gotten him pretty far in the world. âI was doing a perimeter check on the property.â
Her eyes widened and her throat worked, but when she spoke, her tone gave no indication of how she felt about his unwanted incursion. Still the cool princess. Even with her trademark shoulder-length blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, not so much as a dab of makeup enhancing her smooth as silk skin, and sporting a faded blue sweater, she was every inch the debutante.
He curled his fingers inward and propped his fists on his hips. It was that or reach for her, see if he could muss up that too perfect control a little to match the rest of her look.
âA perimeter check,â she repeated. âFunny, I donât remember hiring you on as a security guard.â
âYet,â he responded, giving in to the grin that threatened out of nowhere. She frustrated him to the extreme in ways he didnât begin to try and understand. She sure as hell couldnât know. So why the almost giddy response his body had to even a hint of banter, he hadnât a frigging clue. He should have stayed in the damn city with Rafe. Chasing scum like Frank DiMateo, even getting shot at and blown up, was preferable to dealing with this inner turmoil shit. Heâd spent the last eighteen years doing whatever he had to, to escape exactly that. Heâd gotten pretty good at it, too. And yet, here he was. Right back where heâd started.
âYouâve got some guests,â he told her. âUninvited, as far as I can tell. Unless youâre into playing some kind of kinky hide-and-go-seek that involves orange Day-Glo spray paint.â
âItâs just graffiti,â she said, but her casual tone was belied by a quick swallow and the way her hands flexed on the steering wheel. âA pain in the ass, but harmless, I think.â
âA pain, yes. Harmless, Iâm not so sure. But I wasnât talking about the graffiti, or not only the graffiti.â
She tensed further, and he could see her wage her own internal battle. He had no idea where she was off to this early in the morning, but it was clear she hadnât intended to deal with him, much less the news he was bringing her. For a moment, he felt bad about ruining her morning, which he was clearly doing. A nightâs sleep hadnât erased any of the strain on her porcelain-fine features. But sheâd have other mornings, better ones, if sheâd listen to him now.
âThereâs more,â he told her, deciding there was no point in sugarcoating anything. If he wanted her to enlist his help, laying it out as bluntly as possible was probably best. The sooner he could get her to understand the potential depth of her situation, the sooner sheâd agree to let him fix the problem. And the sooner he could get the hell out of there. âWhere are you headed?â
âRalston. Errands.â
âAt seven-fifteen in the morning?â
She simply stared at him, and for a second, dropped her guard. She