gaze narrowed and a frown formed as he glanced from the unflattering mug shot to the picture on the copy of his driver’s license. He examined each one, back and forth, his intense scrutiny causing her own gaze to drift to the photographs to do her own idle comparison.
Without a doubt, the men in each picture resembled two different personas. But their coloring and features were so similar it was difficult to refute that they were one and the same. In both photos, Dean was cited as having green eyes, and the man in front of her definitely had those…gorgeous, sexy green eyes she’d seen darken with desire earlier, and flash with annoyance moments ago. Both pImages** possessed pitch-black hair, and it was clear to her that the man sitting beside her owned a head of thick hair as dark as a raven’s wing.
Somewhere between his booking photo and today, he’d gotten a haircut, changing back to his short, neat style—an executive cut with the longer strands on top falling into soft, precision layers that invited a woman to touch and feel.
And she had.
She’d gained intimate knowledge of just how silky and warm those strands were—could still remember the velvet texture and warm feel as those locks had sifted through her fingers when she’d touched his head to guide him into the car. Could still recall the shimmering awareness that had taken up residence within her with that brief contact.
The only thing she couldn’t find any resemblance to was the cocky, arrogant smirk on the face of the man in the booking photo. Her instincts stirred. She’d yet to see that side of the Dean Colter she’d cuffed—the flirtatious, charming guy who’d only revealed a few bouts of ire and frustration, and not the aggression she would have expected judging by the conceited expression in the mug shot. If contrasting personality traits gave her a second’s pause, then it was the glaring evidence Dean himself had provided that brought everything back into perspective.
He’d openly declared to being Dean Colter.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, looking both stunned and confused when he glanced back up at her.
“I take it you’ve seen enough?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. The file balanced on his thighs started to slip, and she made a grab for the folder, then returned the information to its spot next to her seat.
“You’ve got the wrong guy, Jo.”
His voice was quiet, eerily so, causing a distinct shiver to ripple down her spine. No pleading. No begging. Just a statement of fact that discounted everything he’d just read. His eyes had turned a shade of green so startling clear and sincere they made her want to believe him.
But she knew better than to be conned, no matter how convincing his act. She wouldn’t underestimate the power of his charms and attempts to persuade her. “Oh, now that’s original. If I had a dollar for every time I heard that line as a cop I’d be a very rich girl.”
He stared at her for a moment in amazement. “You’re a cop?”
“I was,” she said, seeing no reason why she shouldn’t answer his question. Between tonight’s two-hour jaunt and tomorrow’s long drive, they’d be confined to this vehicle for fifteen hours, and she didn’t mind making polite talk as opposed to putting up with brooding silence. “I quit the force two years ago.”
“To pursue a career in bounty hunting?”
More astonishment, and the way he was looking at her…taking in her ponytail, her features, then taking quick inventory of the rest of her body before returning to her face. She suppressed the warm glow that followed in the wake of his thorough assessment.
“I work for my brother as a P.I.” Putting the Suburban in gear, she pulled away from the curb and eased onto the road. “I specialize in missing persons and abductions, but I do the occasional bail recovery on the side to make extra money.”
He looked back at his house as they drove away and left his sanctuary behind. “Bail recovery?” He snorted derisively. “This is kidnapping, you know.”
“Kidnapping?” She rolled her eyes and flipped on the air-conditioning to low, welcoming the cool rush of air that billowed across her skin. “Not according to the information you just read.”
“I’m not that guy!” he said through gritted teeth.
Would he never give up? “I looked through your wallet in your duffle,” she told him. “Not only do you say you’re Dean Colter, so does your license.”
He blew out a frustrated stream of breath. “I am Dean Colter, but I’m not the guy in that mug shot.”
“Oh, I believe you,” she said drolly as she headed out of the residential area and back to the interstate. “But it’s the judge you’re gonna have to convince, not me.”
His lip curled sullenly and, unable to do otherwise, he settled back into his seat. “Great,” he muttered as he stared out the window moodily. “Just great.”
She made a right-hand turn up the I-5 on-ramp and moved over to the fast lane, leaving Seattle behind. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the trip?”
“It’s kinda hard to relax when these damned handcuffs are stabbing into my back and my arms are falling asleep,” he grumbled.
Poor baby. “If you flatten your palms against the seat it’ll relieve some of the pressure.”
“And if you took off the handcuffs it would relieve some of the pain.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “But I can’t risk my safety for your comfort.”
He heaved a gut-deep sigh. “So I’ve got to be trussed up like this all the way to San Francisco?”
“Pretty much.” She reached for the trip ticket she’d tucked into the visor, which mapped her drive back to San Francisco and the places she planned to stop along the way. Giving it a cursory glance while watching the road, she pegged her next destination as Kelso, Washington. “I’ve been on the road since six this morning. We’ll be stopping in a few hours to get a hotel for the night, and I’ll let you stretch your arms then. We’ll get something to eat, too.”
“A free meal. At least I get something out of this trip.” The slightest bit of humor had returned to his voice, as if he’d resigned himself to the inevitable. “And just be warned, I skipped lunch today and I’m starved.”
The way he said the word starved, with a low, rumbling growl in the back of his throat, brought a whole new meaning to the word.
Apparently, his appetite matched her own.
BEING HAULED to San Francisco by a female bounty hunter wasn’t exactly the vacation Dean had envisioned, but as the chasm between Seattle and him widened, he decided he had no choice but to improvise and be adventurous.
Spontaneity. Relaxation. Being impetuous. All nuances of his old life he missed. That had been part of the reason he’d decided to take a vacation in the first place, based on the startling realization that he was fast on his way to becoming a workaholic like his father had been. Putting the company before himself was something he’d sworn he’d never do, yet he’d spent the past three years doing exactly that, to the extent
