“He’s going to be pissed.”

“Then tell him you’re seeing me again this Friday and you’ll get a better one.”

“What if he doesn’t buy it?”

Flynn weighed the pros and cons. Would Andre slap her around? Most likely not, since he wouldn’t chance marking her. Pink brought in big tips and if Boris wanted her for a private dance party, Andre would make damn sure she was at her best. He needed her healthy. So long as that held true, she would be okay. Except if she thought for one minute she was going to Boris’s residence for a private party, she had another thing coming. He’d drug her and tie her up if he had to.

“He’s not going to have much of a choice.” Flynn pulled her into his arms. He didn’t want the day with her to end. “What plans do you have for the rest of the day?”

Pink shrugged, but smiled mischievously. “I know what I’d like to do, but I think my girl parts need a little rest.”

Impulsively, Flynn said, “I’ve been jonesing for some board time. Want to take a ride over to Half Moon Bay with me for the day?”

“You surf?”

“I try to.”

She smiled and said, “I have the perfect bikini.”

His lips drew tight. “I bet you do. It’s going to be cold over there. Bring it, though, and you can dance for me.”

“Depends on how you behave.”

“I can’t make any promises. We’ll need to stop by my place on the way out.”

She smiled brightly, stood on her toes and grabbed his face, and brought his mouth down to hers. She kissed him hard and quick. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

He stood there rooted to the floor, his lips throbbing. Damn it.

“Pack enough for overnight,” he called after her. He was going off the deep end, headfirst.

She poked her head back around the kitchen doorway.  “That’s pretty presumptuous of you, Slick.”

He grinned and curbed the impulse to snatch her up into his arms and maul her. “You know you want to.”

“That’s beside the point!” She disappeared.

Twenty minutes later she emerged freshly showered, with a pink canvas duffle bag, dressed in a short little denim skirt, white, tit-hugging, midriff-baring T-shirt that, despite the fact that she was wearing a bra, accentuated more than it covered. The cork wedge shoes she wore brought her up to his chin.  The only makeup she wore was mascara and pink lip gloss. He was spellbound.

She snapped her fingers under his nose. “Earth to Slick.”

Shaking his head, Flynn groaned and asked, “Could you change into a burlap sack, please?”

Throwing her head back, she laughed and slapped him good-naturedly on the chest.  “This is all for you, big guy. I want your eyes on me and only me.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. “Trust me, you could be wearing that sack and you’d have my undivided attention.”

Still smiling, she leaned into him and pursed her pouty lips. “Then you’d better be on your toes and make sure someone doesn’t sweep me off my feet on your watch.”

His face tightened. “I don’t share.”

She kissed his nose. “Neither do I.”

Chapter Eleven

Izzy sat quietly in the back of the black suburban next to Flynn. He’d called an Uber and it whisked them from the low-rent district of Oakland into the exclusive Piedmont hills. She’d grown up here, and as they wound their way up Rte.13, her stomach began to feel a little queasy.

“I thought you said you lived off your salary?” she asked him. Piedmont was not for paupers or government workers.

“I do, but I bought a house first.”

The SUV pulled up before a 1920s classic three-story house on an old tree-lined street.  As they walked up the sidewalk, she said, “I grew up two streets down on Bellevue.”

“What happened?”

“You know I was kicked out.”

“I meant what happened after that?”

“Oh, you mean why did I grow up in a five-million-dollar house and turn out to be a cocktail waitress and retired stripper?”

As he inserted the key into the door, he turned the lock and opened it. He held out his arm for her to enter before him. Loudly exhaling, she did. This was a mistake. She should have let him walk this morning. Oh, heck she should have kicked him out last night before—

“Having second thoughts?”

She’d been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t realized her internal dialogue was playing out on her face. Her mother had always told her she could never hide what she was thinking or feeling. “Yes.” Why lie? “Look, I really like you.” An understatement. “I like being with you.” Bigger understatement. “I like everything about you.” Total truth. “Except the fact that you can’t get past what I do for a living.” Very true and a deal breaker for a man like Special Agent Flynn A. Ryker.

 “I like you, too. A lot.”

He took her bag and set it down on the black, polished marble. The place was amazing.  Black and white with just a hint of gray. But there was no warmth. “This place reminds me of a mausoleum.”

“Well, thanks.” He slid his hands into his back trouser pockets and for a moment seemed as uncomfortable as she was. “Believe it or not, this used to be a federal safe house, then a crash pad for a bunch of us single guys working task forces. It was a turnstile front door. Then one day, there was just me. Uncle Sam was making deep budget cuts, and they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I happen to like the clean, no-nonsense lines.”

“It’s emotionless. Like it’s trying to hide what’s beneath.” She quirked a brow. “Kind of like the guy who owns it.”

“You’ve known me less than twenty-four hours and you have me figured out?”

“Yup.” She took a few steps through the wide circular foyer, looking up and down and all around. It was beautiful, but dead to her. “A few living things, like a plant, and a little color to jazz the place up would be nice,” she said, walking down the wide entryway to the back of the house, which boasted a long wall of French doors leading to a verdant backyard.

“Let me guess, some pink flowers or pots?”

“Maybe a few.”

“I’ve never been much of a fan of pink until last night.”

He walked with her to the windows and to the right was a huge black-and-white marble five-star kitchen.

“Wow.”

“I don’t use it often.”

She turned around and looked up at him to find him staring quietly at her. “What?”

His brows furrowed for a quick second before they smoothed out. “I’m having a hard time with the Surf’s Up part of you.”

Not good enough for a Ryker? Would she be good enough if she told him she had graduated summa cum laude from Cal last year and had been accepted to Stanford Law School? Why couldn’t he accept her for who she was, not what she’d done? “Get over it. It’s not like you have to take me home to meet the fam.” She moved into his space.  Without touching him, she leaned into him and said softly. “I give us two weeks tops. You’re a big boy; you can hang with my job that long, can’t you?”

His eyes narrowed as his hands slid down her arms. “Yeah, I suppose I can.”

“Good, now pack your big boy bag and let’s get this show on the road.”

“C’mon upstairs while I put a bag together.”

“I’ll stay down here.” She didn’t want to familiarize herself with anything as personal as his bedroom. It was going to be hard enough, when the time came, not to remember every second of every minute they spent together; she didn’t want to see his bed and think of him in it with another woman when she was long gone.

“I won’t bite.”

Melancholy for what would come to be the best few weeks of her life began to set in before it had barely begun. “I kind of hoped you did.”

He laughed and moved past her. “I said I won’t, not that I don’t.”

Ten minutes later he was back down and she bit her bottom lip and shook her head. He’d changed into a pair of worn, blue jeans, shocking blue polo shirt that matched his eyes perfectly, and casual leather and canvas shoes. He had a distressed brown leather duffle bag slung over his shoulder and Maui Jims riding the top of his forehead.