Bandar Zaldana, known as Ben to everyone except family, shut his desk drawer and stood up to leave his office, tired after a long day of work. Tracking Krista Merriweather and her lover wasn't his idea of an exciting private investigation, but Dan Merriweather was a friend. Although the case was hardly stimulating, the chase had exhausted him. As he took a grateful step toward the door, a woman bolted out of his coat closet, holding a handgun out at him and he froze.
"Don't move," she said, her voice snapping like a whip. "If you do, I won't think twice about blowing you away. Do you understand?"
Ben nodded, wondering who she was, as he swept a wary gaze over the tall, confident-looking redhead. What had he done to her, he thought, searching his mind. Well, whatever she held against him, he needed to get the Hell out of Dodge. Too bad his office was located out in the sticks, away from civilization. He didn't panic, had been in worse situations, and still alive. He'd play this one by ear. She could be anything from the disgruntled wife of a client to an old enemy from his government agent days.
"I assume you're not here for a hot liaison," he asked, calmly, forcing his lips into a grin, refusing to show her any fear. Hell, since following in his brother's footsteps, working for US Security Plus, he'd known his life could be shortened. But for some reason he hadn't thought a female would take him down. And he wasn't at all sure that she would. Behind her tough veneer, his sharp, agent's eye detected reluctance. If she'd wanted the kill, she'd have shot on sight. She was drawing this out, an encouraging sign, although not a sure thing. He'd learned to expect the unexpected and kept his guard up.
"Don't doubt me," she said, lifting the gun higher, as if she'd read his mind.
"I don't," he said. "I never doubt anybody holding a weapon." As he assessed his newest enemy, he saw an overly attractive woman in her late twenties—her stubborn chin lifted, her lanky, athletic frame the type that aroused him. She had Madonna-type long, auburn hair and pretty green eyes. Who is she?
"I suppose you're not going to introduce yourself," he said, in a mocking tone. Damned if he'd die looking frightened. He wasn't frightened. His gaze rested on her plump breasts poking out at him from behind a tight white top, and his stupid cock twitched. Going out with a hard on, he'd never live it down. His gaze slid from her tits to her long legs. Black jeans hugged her comely lower half and he couldn't help staring at her in a manly, sexual way. "Too bad we didn't meet under better circumstances," he said, aware that he sounded foolishly cocky. Still, he couldn't resist adding, "You're one hell of a looker."
She laughed, and he didn't like the sound of it. It wasn't a happy laugh, more an angry one. "I give you credit," she said, her voice sassy." You're a sweet talker, just like I'd been told—takes a lot of balls to flirt with a woman holding a loaded gun."
"I've always had a lot of balls," he said, tongue in cheek as he felt his tighten. While he stared at her, he looked around with his peripheral vision, trying to find a way out. Damn! His office was bare of trinkets that could have helped him out—like a vase. He'd have to play this out and see where it took him. Damn, the sexy gunslinger was hot. Her legs went on forever…