The Playboy Meets His Match. Sara Orwig

about Dorian that rankled him, but Jason knew he needed to get over his dislike. Dorian was, after all, Seb’s half brother.

      “You’re elected,” Rob Cole said dryly to Jason. “You’re the rodeo guy. You can handle wild bulls and wild horses. I’m sure you can handle a wild woman.”

      “You’re the detective—you should know how to handle her.”

      “Nope. You have a way with women, and I already have my hands full trying to find out what I can about our unsolved murder here in Royal.” Rob studied the circle of men. “We have someone trying to frame Sebastian for the murder of Eric Chambers. We don’t need this woman in our hair while we’re trying to find out who’s behind this.”

      “I wasn’t here when she burst in on y’all, but I’ve heard what an unholy commotion she caused here at the club. Dammit, don’t dump this on me.” All of the men looked at Jason. “C’mon, y’all,” Jason argued.

      “You have to be the one,” Sebastian replied. “You’re the CIA-trained operative, so you’ve dealt with difficult people before. Frankly, I’ve been through enough lately, and I have a new bride to devote myself to.”

      Jason sighed and waved his hand. “Save your excuses. I can guess all of them. All right. I’ll try to keep the little wildcat out of our hair.”

      “That problem solved, let’s adjourn to poker,” Keith, the computer expert, suggested, his brown eyes twinkling.

      The men agreed swiftly, and Jason knew the matter was settled. Morosely, he joined them, getting a fresh drink, going through the motions while he contemplated his assignment. He didn’t like one thing about it. He was not accustomed to forcing a female to do something she didn’t want to do—in this case, he was going to have to do exactly that in order to keep this little wildcat out of the other guys’ ways.

      Will, Rob and Sebastian were all recently married. Marriage had become an epidemic, except he was safe—no marriage for him—at the moment there wasn’t even a woman in his life. Maybe Keith should be the one to take care of this nuisance. Jason wondered whether Keith had ever gotten over his old flame, Andrea O’Rourke. He said he had, but he sure didn’t act like it. Jason sighed. He could understand why this assignment had been dumped on him, but he didn’t like it. Thank goodness he wasn’t involved with anyone right now because this would be a very unwanted complication in his life. He wished he could just haul this Ms. Silver down to jail and ask Sheriff Escobar to lock her up and throw away the key until all their mysteries were solved.

      When Jason realized he was losing the first round of the poker game, he shifted his thoughts to cards and forgot about Meredith Silver, hoping she had left town and he would never have to deal with her.

      It was almost midnight when Jason pocketed his winnings and told his friends goodbye. Stepping outside, he inhaled the cool May air. A silver moon hung in the inky sky while stars were blotted out by the lights of the parking lot. As he crossed the lot to his black pickup, Jason’s boot heels scraped the asphalt. As he reached for the door handle of his pickup, he heard a faint sound behind him.

      The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck prickled, and he stood motionless beside his pickup. His experience in the CIA had trained him to be a keen observer, and he knew he had heard the scrape of a footstep on the asphalt.

      Jason stood in a row of empty cars and pickups. When he had walked from the clubhouse, there hadn’t been another person in sight. In spite of the seemingly empty lot, Jason doubted he was alone in the parking lot. Should he look under the next car? he wondered, or would it be better to try to discover what the person intended? Jason pocketed his keys and headed casually back to the club.

      He went through the front door, down a hallway past the cloakroom and rest rooms, and cut through the giant kitchen, touching the brim of his Stetson with his finger in silent greeting to the skeleton cooking crew still on duty at this late hour. They were familiar with the members of the club, and none of them questioned his presence in the kitchen as he passed through and went out a side door. He stepped into a flower bed, creeping behind cedars and flowering crape myrtles. Glad now that he had worn a dark blue Western shirt and his dark jeans, he moved stealthily even though he was wearing Western boots. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the empty lot and then settling on the car parked next to his.

      He knew to whom it belonged—Dorian. As he watched, a shadow separated itself from the darker ones around it. Jason focused on a black-clad figure that had slithered out from beneath Dorian’s car and now knelt beside the back tire.

      Something glinted in the moonlight. There was a clunk and then a swift hiss of air. When the vandal moved to the front tire, Jason sprinted from his hiding place, determined to catch the rascal who was vandalizing club member’s tires in their private parking lot.

      Seeing Jason, the culprit dropped the knife and ran. From the short stature, Jason decided it was a teen. Jason’s long legs gave him the advantage, and he stretched out his stride. As they raced across the lot, Jason made a flying tackle, wrapping his arms around the miscreant’s tiny waist.

      “Gotcha!” he snapped triumphantly as they both went crashing to the asphalt.

      The high yelp didn’t indicate anything about the vandal, but the moment they landed on the asphalt, and he felt the soft, curvaceous body beneath his, surprise rippled through Jason. A female! And then he guessed who it was. The crazy woman who was stalking his fellow club member, Dorian Brady—the wildcat who was his assignment.

      “Oh, damn,” he muttered. Never in his life had he hurt a woman and remorse filled him as he groaned and moved off her. “Are you all right?”

      Light from one of the tall lamps spilled over him, although the brim of his hat shaded his face, but her back was to the lamp and her face was completely hidden. She was covered in black with a black cap and some black goop spread on her face, so that he couldn’t distinguish her features. Jason hunkered down on the balls of his feet as she started to sit up.

      Her fist shot out. Catching him completely by surprise, five feet of female did what few six-foot-plus, some-two-hundred-pounds of male had never done. Her blow landed squarely in his middle, knocking the breath from his lungs as she followed with a swift push that knocked him off balance. Springing to her feet, she tried to run for it.

      Jason’s surprise lasted only a second and then his natural reactions set in. He rolled forward, snaking his hand out, caught her by the ankle and yanked. For the second time in his life, he sent a female sprawling facedown.

      He wasn’t giving her another chance. Unceremoniously, he grabbed his hat, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

      For someone who was up to criminal activities and packed a vicious punch for her size, her epithets and name-calling fit a five-year-old’s vocabulary. Heck, some five-year-olds could do better.

      Ignoring her harmless blows on his back and her sputtering fury, Jason carried her to his pickup, unlocked the door and dumped her inside. Like a cat springing back into battle, she came up fighting, but he was ready this time.

      Tossing his hat into the back with one hand, he clamped her wrists in a tight grip with his other hand, pinning her against the locked door and the seat with his body. In spite of her struggles, he became aware of several things at once: an enticing perfume, a body whose topside was even more curvaceous and soft than her backside, a wiry strength he wouldn’t have believed possible and short, guttural moans of battle that made him think of something far removed from their struggle. Against all wisdom, he was curious and wanted to see what she looked like.

      “You just slashed a club member’s tire, and I can call the sheriff and have you hauled to jail.”

      “Go ahead and call, you warp-noggined manhandler,” she snapped. “They can’t put me in jail for slashing a tire. I’ll call my lawyer.”

      “Why do I doubt you even have a lawyer? Warp-noggined?”

      This was the Valkyrie who Dorian said had been stalking him. Jason had suspected Dorian had been stretching the truth a