The Last Man She'd Marry Read online

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” He shrugged as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’m a true-blue beef lover myself, but I can risk turf-and-surf as a change of pace if it means spending the evening with you.”

  As her scalp started prickling, Alyx knew that if she didn’t get out of there, she would be facing a full-fledged panic attack. In desperation she looked for a market employee—naturally, they’d all vanished, either they had gone to different aisles or back into the warehouse for more supplies.

  “Okay, Hard Time,” she said, turning on the man with grim determination. “Either go away or I call for the manager.”

  “Shoot, he’s my uncle.”

  It was all she could do not to gape. Why hadn’t Parke warned her about this great mental and physical lug? It sounded like this self-anointed Casanova was a regular fixture in the store.

  Her cousin was the eye candy: coal-black hair inherited from Welsh ancestors, and piercing black eyes that could hint at a great soul, but didn’t apologize for temper when necessary. Truth be known, Alyx had coveted her dramatic coloring when they were kids—her own coloring had been teasingly called Welsh-light—and had emulated Parke more than once during tough cases when the situation warranted the Lone Ranger style of help-or-get-out-of-my-way approach. It had usually worked. She could use a dose of her cousin’s verbal strength now.

  “Your uncle? What’s his name?” When Denny failed to answer, Alyx drew a deep breath and called, “Uncle of Denny! You’re needed in Produce!”

  Denny’s smile flattened. “That wasn’t funny…or polite.”

  “Neither is bothering women who don’t want your brand of special attention.”

  She dropped the tomatoes into her basket with less care than they deserved, and strode out of the section; spotting the aisle sign for bread, she veered left. A third of the way down it, she had to sidestep a deliveryman pushing a tiered cart to restock shelves, then she grabbed the first loaf of oat-nut bread she came upon. In the next instant she was gasping with pain as a vise closed around her wounded upper arm and she was swung around.

  “No!”

  Training as much as instinct had Alyx shoving Denny away from her. Unfortunately, that sent him into the wheel-based tower of fresh bread. She watched in a mixture of fascination and dread as the surprised man triggered an avalanche of plastic trays full of baked goods. Denny ducked and dodged; then, growling with anger, he charged again.

  Still swallowing against the pain in her upper arm, Alyx wrapped her good arm around the damaged one and dropped into a tight ball on the linoleum in the hope of escaping further injury. She heard a crash and looked up to see that this time Denny was being fully buried under trays and bread. Had she done that?

  “Are you nuts? Hey, mister! Help get him out from under there!”

  Blinking, Alyx saw Denny being hoisted by the collar out of the pile of bread and plastic like a scrappy pup, an impressive feat, considering the size of the guy. More amazing was that while her rescuer was taller than Denny, he was leaner—but what a great butt for jeans.

  Wait a minute, she thought. I’ve had that response before.

  “Get lost,” her hero snarled. “Pull that stunt again and so help me, I will drag your sorry backside through every cactus between here and Agave Ground Zero.”

  Jonas?

  Alyx stared in growing horror as the man with the silvering blond hair shoved a dazed Denny the rest of the way out of the aisle. By the time he turned to face her, she didn’t need to see his face for confirmation; every angle of him was imprinted in her mind—although her brain was feeling as if she’d just suffered the second concussion of her life.

  Passing the slack-jawed deliveryman, Agent Jonas Hunter of the FBI squatted before her. “Are you okay?” he asked, frowning as his gaze swept over her face.

  “What are you doing here?” It was a rude response, considering that he’d just rescued her from a guy who had been a serious handful. She should be hugging him with gratitude, but as the pain spasms eased, the one emotion she was aware of was dread, snowballing dread that felt as though it was about to crush her.

  “Yeah. Small world.” He nodded at where only he knew she hurt and kept his next words low. “Can we get you to your feet and finish this conversation elsewhere? You look like you need fresh air—or a barf bag.”

  Over his shoulder, Alyx saw that the bread guy was unsure as to whether to offer his assistance to her or run. For his sake more than anything, Alyx allowed Jonas to assist her to her feet.

  “I appreciate what you did,” she said loud enough for the route salesman to hear.

  For his part, Jonas’s gaze stayed on her. “Did he reinjure your shoulder? Do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

  That rallied her spirit somewhat. “It would take a battalion of marines to get me to another of those,” she said with a pointed look. “I can live with a little soreness.”

  Jonas snorted. “You’d carry your own limb into Emergency and chide the fainting internist for being a weenie.”

  “Now who’s being overly dramatic?”

  “Then let me point out there isn’t a drop of blood left in your face.”

  She took a stabilizing breath. “I was startled. Now I’m fine. Speaking of which, where did my basket go?”

  “I’ve got it.” He quickly scooped it up from between the trolley and shelves, then switched it to his other hand to keep it out of her reach. “Is there anything else you need? Why don’t you go sit in your car? I can finish for you. On second thought, let me escort you outside to make sure that guy isn’t waiting around the corner or something.”

  He was being as considerate and kind as though they’d had breakfast together this morning and parted with a kiss, when, in fact, they hadn’t seen each other in months—seven to be exact. They also hadn’t parted well. The fault had been hers, but Alyx didn’t want to think about those days again, let alone deal with this. Then she reminded herself that Jonas was being the consummate professional; he wasn’t treating her with any special attention, he would do this for anyone.

  She gestured for him to give her the basket. “Really, I can take it from here, but thank you for your kindness.” When he failed to comply, she stepped closer to take hold of one side and tugged gently. Had she been wrong about him? Well, she couldn’t let him prolong this; people were starting to collect at the end of the aisle and stare. “Please, Jonas.”

  His frown remained quizzical. “Sorry. I’m still trying to get it—what are you doing here?”

  He was surprised? So much for her first assumption that this was some kind of a romantic ploy of his making. As embarrassment sent a rush of heat into her cheeks, she scowled back at him and yanked. “You didn’t tell me, why should I tell you?” At least the tug succeeded in her taking possession of the basket.

  “Stubborn woman.” He glanced at the gawkers, then offered a negligible shrug. “I’m helping a friend. Now you?”

  “The same—only it’s a cousin.”

  “Weak save.”

  “Believe me or not, it makes no difference.”

  He looked instantly regretful for his mockery, touched her arm, and nodded to indicate they should start toward the front of the store. “I want to understand,” he said under his breath as he fell in beside her. “I did from the first. You shut me out.”

  Oh, no more, please. She so wanted not to have this conversation again. “I was doing you a favor. You had a job to get back to.”

  “I would have been willing to take some extra time off.”

  He’d never said that. At any rate he didn’t have the luxury, that much she understood. “You don’t have a job, you have a career.” There was a vast difference. Men like Jonas put in their twenty-something years with pride and dogged determination regardless of what was asked of them. Dedication wasn’t easy to walk away from, and after all of the effort and expense invested in developing an agent, the FBI wouldn’t make it easier. What’s more, the grim truth was that
they’d had a fling. A few weekends here and there when he could fly down from Washington, D.C., to Austin, Texas. It was hardly what anyone could have called a relationship. Actually, the one gift in all of what had happened—to use the term darkly—was that it had ended before she had to worry that they were, indeed, heading toward some sort of understanding and all that meant.

  Her silence had him studying her profile. “You don’t believe me about wanting to help you. What did you think all of those calls and notes were about?”

  An almost lifelong survival technique triggered her stubbornness and need to be in control. “Maybe I didn’t want to be anyone’s project.” As they came to the express checkout, she handed the basket over to the checker.

  “Ma’am…my apologies.” The store manager came around the counter to bag. His face was flushed, a stark contrast to his crisp white shirt. “Is there anything that I can do? Are you all right?”

  Was this Denny’s uncle? Alyx saw no familial resemblance in the meticulously coifed, sandy-haired, anxious man to the big lug who’d accosted her. “I’m fine, thank you.” Wanting only escape, she nodded to the basket. “I’d just like to pay for this and go home.”

  With abject humility, the man gestured toward the door. “Allow me to sack those and please—no charge. I’m sorry you were—that you had this experience. Let me reassure you it won’t happen again.”

  Alyx wondered how often he had to dig into his own pocket to cover for his sister’s—or brother’s—overgrown delinquent? Feeling bad for him, Alyx said, “I appreciate that, but I don’t need you to comp my purchases.”

  “Where’s the guy who assaulted her?” Jonas interjected.

  The manager’s eyes darted from entrance to entrance before he cleared his throat. “He’s—uh—being driven home, sir. And I’ve called his—his home. His family will see that he stays there.”

  At another time, Alyx would have smiled that Jonas intimidated him. When she’d first laid eyes upon this friend of Judge Dylan Justiss last year, she’d had to struggle to keep her usual cool decorum, too, and for an instant hadn’t been so upset that her client, Deputy DA E. D. Martel, and Dylan were besotted with each other at a most inopportune time. There was something about Jonas’s Hollywood good looks that demanded attention as well…who was it he reminded her of?

  Audrey Hepburn’s pining love interest in Breakfast at Tiffany’s—George Peppard. After all this time it had finally come to her.

  “Here you are, miss.” Ignoring her debit card, the manager held her bagged items out to her. “Again, I’m very sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Painfully aware of all the eyes following her, Alyx exited the store as fast as possible, wanting nothing more than to get to Parke’s black RAV4. The vehicle was a little “outdoorsy” for her, but it represented escape, which was all that mattered.

  “Alyx? A moment?”

  With her thumb on the ignition key’s computerized lock, she paused. Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face her ex-lover and waited for him to voice whatever he felt this rescue had earned him the right to say. What could it hurt at this point? She might look like a worn-out dishtowel ready for the garbage, but at least there was no media around to extend her embarrassment to the evening news.

  Jonas slipped on his sunglasses. Perfect G-man mode, she thought. Seek out secrets, but keep your own.

  “No explanation? No nothing?”

  His soft-spoken query had an edge to it and she couldn’t blame him one bit for being annoyed that “thank you” wasn’t enough either personally or professionally. But she, too, was known to be a hard read in her personal life and a barracuda for her clients. So, bottom line, she had no inclination to explain herself today, and might never.

  “What’s done is done, Jonas. You have your world and I have mine. Let’s leave well enough alone.” Only when she replaced her own glasses did she risk glancing up at him. Despite the filtered lenses, in the bright sunlight, what she saw brought a bit of a shock. He no longer had that Teflon, nothing-sticks, smooth-operator look that she remembered. His face was sunken, more lined and his mouth had a harder twist.

  “‘Well enough’?” he snapped, breaking into her thoughts, “Alyx, have you looked in a mirror lately? There may be no blood this time, but you still look one missed depression pill away from suicide.” With a muttered expletive, he walked away.

  The sting of his criticism, regardless of its accuracy, made it impossible to resist striking back. “Yeah?” she called to his back. “Well, consider the compliment returned and then some!”

  Men. Here she was doing him a favor—whether he knew it or not—but leave it to Testosterone Man that when rejected, he was determined to cut her down to manageable size.

  Inside her cousin’s SUV, Alyx tossed the bag onto the passenger’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. Tried, that is. Her hands were shaking so hard she had to grip her wrist and direct it in. That’s when the tears started pouring down her cheeks.

  “Crap.”

  Desperate for the privacy of Parke’s house, Alyx blindly ripped at tissues from the box in the console and slipped them under the sunglasses to dab at her eyes. Never would she have suspected that seeing Jonas again would have this effect on her. After the attack, it had been a relief when he’d stopped coming to the hospital and had returned to Washington, D.C., better still when he’d stopped phoning and e-mailing.

  Why start all that again when he claimed to be here for a friend? He’d certainly left without too much coercion.

  Recovering somewhat, Alyx carefully backed out of the parking space, but she kept an eye out for Jonas. When she spotted him a lane away climbing into a red vintage Mustang convertible, her caution turned to skepticism, which sent her eyebrows arching.

  “The government must be paying well these days if that’s what was allowed from the rental counters,” she muttered.

  Accelerating, she made it to the exit and turned right onto the main road. Parke’s house was another few miles west and a bit down from the plateau where the municipal airport was located. At the next traffic light, she eased the SUV left to the turning lane, and it was as she was waiting for the light that she spotted the Mustang two cars behind her.

  What on earth did he think he was doing?

  Agitated, the second the green arrow lit, Alyx hit the gas pedal. Okay, she told herself as emotions turned her insides into a cruller, calm down; there were another few turns on this road. He would go down one of those. Surely he wasn’t trying to find out where she was staying after she’d made it clear she had no interest in picking up where they’d left off?

  But parallel to the airport turnoff, she pulled over to the side of the road—and Jonas pulled in right behind her. “Of course,” she seethed, “because we both know you aren’t headed there. You said yourself that you hate to fly!” And he sure wasn’t going to buy onto one of those tourist sightseeing trips in a First World War biplane that soared over the skyline day in and day out, circling the hot-air balloons and gorgeous rock formations.

  Having had enough, Alyx thrust open the door. It cost her, but gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder, she stood tall and strode back to his purring sports car.

  Behind his sunglasses, Jonas’s face remained impassive, and he didn’t indicate for a second that he intended to get out of the car. “What’s the problem now?” he asked.

  “You tell me.”

  Looking off into space, he released the steering wheel to give the palms-up, I-don’t-get-it gesture.

  “Why are you following me?” she enunciated, hating him for making her spell it out.

  “I’m not.”

  “This is taking things too far, Jonas. Please go away. I don’t want to have to notify the police.”

  Drawing his sunglasses down his nose, he stared at her, a steely glint flashing in his narrowed eyes. “Get over yourself, Alyx. I’m going to work.”

  “What?” She followed his nod toward the airport. “This is a joke, r
ight? The airport? You happen to have told me that you hate to fly.”

  “I hate going commercial. I have a private pilot’s license, and—sorry to burst your conspiracy theory—I’m helping a friend with his tour service while his broken leg heals.”

  “I see. Then I apologize for…I apologize.” Wishing she could start this day over, or better yet, evaporate into thin air, Alyx returned to Parke’s Toyota. Once again her stomach threatened to add to her humiliation and, glancing in the rearview mirror to assure herself that the way was clear, she hit the accelerator and tore away without a last glance at Jonas.

  Had to get your drop of blood, didn’t you?

  Jonas sat still until the black SUV vanished from sight. It bothered him that he hadn’t hesitated to embarrass Alyx, but it bothered him more how much he wanted to follow her, to find out if she was telling the truth about the cousin and where the house was. And he’d thought he’d conquered that weakness. When she’d shut him out earlier this year, he’d had his regrets. He could also admit his ego had been bruised, but shortly after arriving back in Washington, D.C., he’d convinced himself that he’d been lucky because then the grandfather of garbage trucks hit the fan, and his personal life got knocked into a different time zone.

  Now, with all kinds of opportunity to rethink matters, it was ironic that she should show up. However, he couldn’t let that be a trip-switch to acting like a drooling college kid again. His professional clock was ticking and he needed a clear head to make some decisions before the alarm triggered.

  As his gaze dropped to his watch, Jonas snapped out of his brooding. He was already minutes late for his first appointment of the day and suspected Zane’s phone was seconds away from ringing back at the house as panicking receptionist Miranda attempted to save herself from taking a waiting customer’s flack. However, as he continued through the airport entrance, Alyx’s face reappeared before him.

  He shouldn’t have said she looked bad. It would take a mud bath to hide Alyx Carmel’s captivating features, and such an event would certainly accent her other outstanding assets, namely her luscious figure.