He wiped his hand down his face and considered his options. They hadn’t caught the one female of the group who they knew had been involved. The mediator between the buyers and sellers had been a woman; the vague description the team had of her resembled Crista. And if she was telling the truth about the buyer, Aaron Grael, then the woman had made off with half down on a two million dollar deal.
He blew out a rough breath as he glanced over at her. She was watching him worriedly, her chocolate eyes filled with indecision and a hint of fear. But there was no guilt. Over the years, hell, even before he joined the Marines, he had been able to spot most lies a mile away. He couldn’t see anything in Crista’s gaze but her worry and her discomfort.
“You haven’t answered me.” There was a snap to her voice that assured him that she wasn’t frightened enough to have forgotten her earlier anger with him.
“Let me check into a few things and talk to Natches about this,” he finally said, his voice rough.
There was too damned much money missing to discount any of it. “But my best guess is that it’s all connected. Somehow. I just have to figure out how.”
“If you’re undercover, as I assume you are, because I haven’t heard anything about you working with the DEA, then someone would have to know the truth to know to use me,” she said hesitantly.
He had to give her credit for being smart. No one had ever accused Crista of being without her own sense of intuition.
Too bad he wasn’t really working with the DEA; his problems might be easier at the moment.
“Natches and I both are undercover,” he finally said. “The deal we broke up last night had been in the works for over six months. We pulled in everyone except the buyer I killed and one more player. We
’re looking for the other person now.”
She didn’t say anything for long moments.
“The other player is a woman,” she finally guessed, her voice trembling. “And she resembles me, doesn’t she?”
Dawg made the turn into the Mackay Marina in silence before he glanced over at her again.
“The description we have of her resembles you,” he admitted softly, seeing her flinch from the corner of his eye. “She’s the only one missing; she has the money. There’s no reason for any focus to linger on you.”
“Unless one of the men you captured saw me? Or recognized me from town? Or someone associated with them sees me now?”
“Let’s not borrow trouble, Crista.” But they were thoughts brewing in his own mind. “You concentrate on the here and now; I’ll concentrate on the rest of it.”
“Just concentrate on your little blackmail scheme?” she retorted acidly.
“Make happy with my dick, and I’ll be a happy little camper.” He said the words for shock effect.
He hated seeing the fear in her eyes, in her expression. And that took care of it nicely.
“Has anyone ever told you what a bastard you are, Dawg?” Hostility radiated from her now.
Dawg let his lips curl into a mocking grin. Oh yeah, he knew what a bastard he was. His father had made certain he had known at a very early age.
“You’re telling me now.” He pulled into his parking slot close to the docks, his gaze moving carefully around the area as he shut the pickup off before turning to face her. “You ready to make nice and go to the boat yet? Or do we need to sit here and have a screaming match instead?”
“I don’t have screaming matches.” Her expression lit with offended anger.
“You’d be the first woman then,” he grunted, moving from the vehicle. “Let’s go. I need a cold beer.”
Summer had just started, but it was already warming up with a ferocity that sent waves of heat curling up from the asphalt.
He pulled her suitcase from the backseat as well as the box and tucked it under his arm as she rounded the front of the truck.
“I’ll get the flowers.” Her expression was anxious, as though she couldn’t trust him to take care of two damned pots of flowers.
But hell, why should she? She couldn’t even trust him to help her when Alex advised her to.
Son of a bitch. Missing items from her home, a feeling of being watched and followed. She had all the signs of a stalker at the very least, and she hadn’t contacted anyone. If she had contacted the sheriff, Zeke Mayes, he would have let Dawg know.
Dawg let her gather the two oversized pots in her arms. The red miniature rosebush with its pot was nearly as tall as she was. The flowering cactus was smaller but no less bulky.
“I can have Natches come back for those,” he told her doubtfully.
The glare she gave him had his lips tightening in annoyance.
“Fine.” He slammed the doors closed as he turned back to her. “Let me carry one of them before you topple over.”
“I have them.” She peeked between the branches of the rosebush. “Just lead the way.”
“If you fall in the lake because you can’t see over those damned pots, then I’m going to let you drown,” he warned her.
He knew better. He was so damned stupid where she was concerned, he’d save her and the f**king plants.
“I know what I’m doing.” Dark brown eyes narrowed on him. “Just go on. I’ll be right behind you.”
“After you.” He smiled tightly. “And watch where you’re going, if you can. Don’t walk off the side of a dock. Please.”
As she moved ahead of him, Dawg stayed close to her, just in case. She was so damned stubborn she would probably kill herself rather than see a single rose damaged.
He frowned at the small roses topping their green branches. He had given her a rosebush once.
He wondered what had happened to it. On her seventeenth birthday, an attempt to sweeten her toward him. He had arrived at her home, endured Alex’s glare, and given her the plastic-wrapped little bush for the tiny rose garden she had behind the house. He had noticed that. How much she liked roses.
She’d probably tossed it out just like she had tossed out the memory of them together.
Memories that were still foggy to him. At twenty-four, he had drunk too much, partied too damned hard, and had no sense where women were concerned. But he had been smart enough to think Crista was different. Special.
Hell, she was special, and so different from any other woman he had ever known that it was like night and day. The leading difference being the fact that Crista had never been bowled over by the famous Mackay charm.