Pursued. Catherine Mann

dropped in, not that she intended to share that her single claim to culinary brilliance could be attributed to peeling off a plastic wrapper.

      “Remember the time Dad tried to cook us macaroni and cheese like Mom always did?” Diana’s words slipped through the earpiece and past Josie’s defenses.

      Her throat closed up like she’d tried to swallow down too much at once. Which was a damn good thing since it choked back the urge to snap at Diana’s transparent bid for their father.

      Diana was always trying to make her remember better days with their father before he gave up and shipped them off to boarding school rather than be bothered with parenting. Just as she was always trying to help Diana remember the happier days with their mom before she checked out mentally.

      Josie forced a lighthearted answer. “Yeah, the noodles were so hard my loose tooth popped out.”

      “He stomped around the kitchen cursing about how the directions must be wrong because somehow he’d overcooked the stuff until it was too tough.”

      “I remember.” And it hurt, thinking of that time. Her father’s abandonment afterward hurt even more. At least her mother had illness as an excuse for leaving her kids. “I figured I’d better learn to make mac and cheese or we’d be toothless by Christmas.”

      “We sure needed comfort starch in those days.”

      Could that be a concession on Diana’s part? “That we did, Diehard.”

      Silence ticked by with cyber wave crackles. Josie reached to the coffee holder and flipped a doggie ear backward on the Beanie puppy. She rubbed the fuzzy softness between two fingers until finally she surrendered and asked, “Talked to Dad lately?”

      “Just last week.” Diana’s voice gentled with a sympathy Josie wasn’t sure she wanted.

      Her eyes gravitated to the puppy, the latest in the Beanie Baby collection her mother had started for her. “And what’s the news?”

      “He and Mom just got back from a cruise. They’re enjoying his retirement dollars.”

      They should have had a double retirement fund at the end of two fruitful military careers. Her mother had been robbed of her career as well as her dreams.

      The parking-lot lights dimmed. Or was it only her gloomy mood? Josie glanced over as the lot brightened and dimmed again with the intrusion of passing people finding their way back to their cars. “Yeah, I got an e-mail from their stopover in—”

      Thud.

      The noise echoed overhead from her convertible roof.

      Josie jolted, stared up at the soft top, pathetic protection against a determined intruder. Her free hand snaking down toward her survival knife in her boot, she turned—and looked straight into cold, dark eyes peering through her window.

      “Uh, Diana.” Josie kept her eyes trained on the man standing beside her car. “I gotta go.”

      Chapter 4

      “Jesus, Morel!” Josie slid her knife back into her boot, phone dropping to her lap. She lowered the window. “What the hell were you thinking, scaring the crap out of me like that?”

      Her heart pounded over how close she’d come to drawing a weapon because of some whoo-hoo feeling that somebody was watching her. She was becoming paranoid, and that scared her more than any threat from the outside world.

      Diego slumped back against the car parked beside her. “You can quit looking at me like I’m roadkill. I’m not some freaking Peeping Tom.”

      “Then why are you here?”

      He shrugged. “I was watching you through the window. Saw you hadn’t left. Got worried something might be wrong.”

      Her senses itched again, leaving her longing for the security of her knife in her hand. Cars growled and crunched out of the lot, disguising other sounds, while streetlights cast shadows for hiding.

      “You came out to check up on me?”

      “Sure, why not?”

      That was actually kind of…thoughtful. Even if she could defend herself.

      Definitely thoughtful…even nice. Both making her more uncomfortable than the pissed off feeling this man usually engendered. “Thank you.”

      “Sorry to cut your conversation short.”

      “We were through talking anyway.” She tossed her cell phone into the cup holder with a small stuffed dog. “Time for me to head home.”

      “I need a ride.”

      So much for him being nice. Now his real agenda rolled out. “I thought you already had one or I wouldn’t have left.”

      “I did. But he hooked up with a waitress. Suffice it to say that for a guy, a willing babe in the sack beats talking with a legend any day.”

      Definitely roadkill. Just when she’d thought she might have an amicable working relationship with this guy. “How lovely.”

      “This’ll shock you I’m sure, but we men can be pigs sometimes. Not much I can say in our defense.” His gaze hitched on the strap of her seat belt tucked between her breasts. He looked back up. “So? Give me a ride back to my place?”

      She considered booting him on his butt. Was he sober enough to remember in the morning? “I could call you a cab.”

      “You could. But I’m not sure they even come out this way, and I’d have to wait at least an hour if they do. Maybe more. Then I’ll be dragging ass all weekend, which will probably set back my whole week. For the good of your test project, you really should give me a ride home so I can get more shut-eye.”

      Her eyes closed with resignation. “Climb in.”

      “Thanks, even if it is for the good of your project.” He settled into the bucket seat beside her and sighed. “Ah, nothing like a fine-performance machine.”

      Finally, common ground. “This might not be a jet or even a Harley, but a Mustang Cobra with a three-twenty horsepower V-eight engine can come mighty damn close to flying. So where to?”

      He recited the address.

      She smacked her steering wheel. “Good God, Morel. That’s an hour away.”

      “Do you have somewhere to be?”

      “No.”

      “How about we do the ride topless?”

      Anger spiked. “Damn it, Morel—”

      “The car top. Down. So we can see the night sky full of a half moon and stars.” Grinning, he draped a hand over her gearshift. “What else would you think I meant?”

      She knocked his hand off. “I think you meant to rile me and it’s working.”

      “Sorry, Buttercup. Just can’t resist.” He hooked his elbow on his open window. “Getting a rise out of you is the most fun I’ve had since I performed a lomcevak maneuver in test-pilot school.”

      She gasped, interest snagged against her will and better judgment. “A lomcevak? You actually pulled off that tumbling insanity on purpose? In what airplane?”

      “A Christian Eagle biplane. And did I do it on purpose? As far as you know.”

      “Amazing.” She shook her head, hair tickling her chin. “And a stupid risk.”

      “No arguments from me on that. Do I still get the ride?”

      “Yes,” she sighed her surrender. She would just have to keep her mouth shut until she dropped him off. “But only if you promise to tell me the rest of that lomcevak story someday.”

      “Done deal.”

      She pressed the controls to