front of her. They trembled just the tiniest bit and she hastily buried them in her lap. He was gone, she could breathe now. Nice and slow and even. She tried again and this time her hands held steady, the deep red of the polish glistening back at her from each long, perfectly manicured nail. She sighed. Twenty bucks a pop.
This better be worth it, Sharkman.
She picked up the clippers and with one crisp bite cut off the first of all two hundred bucks.
CHAPTER
4
The trip to Montana was interminable. No one flew from here to there, not in a direct line anyway, and after three takeoffs, the first at the crack of dawn, Angelina was sick of the smell of jet fuel. On the last leg of the journey, she watched the clouds drift by her airplane window, wishing she could hop aboard one and float away. The plane was nearly empty, the usual murmur of bodies and activity replaced by the hum of jets and an anesthetized quiet. In the silence, a wave of nervousness set her heart pounding. She'd never make it. Somehow, some way, she'd screw up. She always did.
"Let's go over it again," Finn said.
Turning away from the view outside, she stared at the empty seat in front of her, rather than Finn, dark and intense beside her. Give me a break, Sharkman. Ten seconds without thinking about nuclear holocaust. Ten seconds without thinking about him.
"We've been over it a hundred times," she said.
"Make it a hundred and one."
She struggled for calm; she was not going to let him get to her. "You know, you have a real problem with trust." She reached for the vodka on her tray. Finn stopped her with a hand on her wrist. A hand that burned through her skin.
"And you have a problem with booze."
She wrenched her hand away, letting the anger come. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than the ragged, edgy buzz of awareness of him sitting next to her. "One drink is hardly a problem."
He glanced down at the bottle. "Until one drink leads to two, three, and four."
For a moment she felt as though he'd physically slapped her. Bastard. Hadn't she done everything he'd asked? She was stuffed into a dainty little suit with tricking pearls at her throat She wore sensible, no-heel pumps and her hair was pulled back into her mother's boring little bun. She'd cut her nails, thrown out most of her makeup, packed her bags, and agreed to put her life on the line without so much as a whimper. Why couldn't he pat her on the head and tell her what a champ she was?
Because he's a cop, stupid. And they're not human.
Deliberately, she poured the vodka into her glass and brandished the empty bottle at the passing stewardess. "Another please." She smiled at Finn, raising her glass in a toast. She had no intention of touching the second drink and was carefully sipping the first, but if she was going to be condemned as a bad girl, she might as well let him think she was the baddest girl around. 'To the grand and glorious U.S. of A."
Finn's eyes narrowed. "Keep this up and you'll blow whatever shot you get at Borian."
"Borian is my job, not yours. You don't have the right equipment, remember?" She smoothed down the front of her suit, watching the subtle change that came into his eyes whenever she reminded him she was a woman. The change that said, Iwant you. She smiled to herself, feeling her power over him. "But just so you don't have a stroke, I'll be happy to review the plan with you."
He grunted in reply, which she supposed in his vocabulary meant "continue."
In a voice pitched for Finn's ears alone, she said, "I am Angelina Montgomery, a young but well-connected widow, interested in land-use issues. On an invitation from my dear friend, the governor, I'm taking my hot little fanny to the wilds of Montana, where Mr. Victor Bo-rian resides, to study Montana's efforts in promoting development while preserving the land." She glanced over at Finn's cold, dark face. "How'm I doing, coach?"
He didn't reply, and a small swell of satisfaction rolled over her. God, she
This better be worth it, Sharkman.
She picked up the clippers and with one crisp bite cut off the first of all two hundred bucks.
CHAPTER
4
The trip to Montana was interminable. No one flew from here to there, not in a direct line anyway, and after three takeoffs, the first at the crack of dawn, Angelina was sick of the smell of jet fuel. On the last leg of the journey, she watched the clouds drift by her airplane window, wishing she could hop aboard one and float away. The plane was nearly empty, the usual murmur of bodies and activity replaced by the hum of jets and an anesthetized quiet. In the silence, a wave of nervousness set her heart pounding. She'd never make it. Somehow, some way, she'd screw up. She always did.
"Let's go over it again," Finn said.
Turning away from the view outside, she stared at the empty seat in front of her, rather than Finn, dark and intense beside her. Give me a break, Sharkman. Ten seconds without thinking about nuclear holocaust. Ten seconds without thinking about him.
"We've been over it a hundred times," she said.
"Make it a hundred and one."
She struggled for calm; she was not going to let him get to her. "You know, you have a real problem with trust." She reached for the vodka on her tray. Finn stopped her with a hand on her wrist. A hand that burned through her skin.
"And you have a problem with booze."
She wrenched her hand away, letting the anger come. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than the ragged, edgy buzz of awareness of him sitting next to her. "One drink is hardly a problem."
He glanced down at the bottle. "Until one drink leads to two, three, and four."
For a moment she felt as though he'd physically slapped her. Bastard. Hadn't she done everything he'd asked? She was stuffed into a dainty little suit with tricking pearls at her throat She wore sensible, no-heel pumps and her hair was pulled back into her mother's boring little bun. She'd cut her nails, thrown out most of her makeup, packed her bags, and agreed to put her life on the line without so much as a whimper. Why couldn't he pat her on the head and tell her what a champ she was?
Because he's a cop, stupid. And they're not human.
Deliberately, she poured the vodka into her glass and brandished the empty bottle at the passing stewardess. "Another please." She smiled at Finn, raising her glass in a toast. She had no intention of touching the second drink and was carefully sipping the first, but if she was going to be condemned as a bad girl, she might as well let him think she was the baddest girl around. 'To the grand and glorious U.S. of A."
Finn's eyes narrowed. "Keep this up and you'll blow whatever shot you get at Borian."
"Borian is my job, not yours. You don't have the right equipment, remember?" She smoothed down the front of her suit, watching the subtle change that came into his eyes whenever she reminded him she was a woman. The change that said, Iwant you. She smiled to herself, feeling her power over him. "But just so you don't have a stroke, I'll be happy to review the plan with you."
He grunted in reply, which she supposed in his vocabulary meant "continue."
In a voice pitched for Finn's ears alone, she said, "I am Angelina Montgomery, a young but well-connected widow, interested in land-use issues. On an invitation from my dear friend, the governor, I'm taking my hot little fanny to the wilds of Montana, where Mr. Victor Bo-rian resides, to study Montana's efforts in promoting development while preserving the land." She glanced over at Finn's cold, dark face. "How'm I doing, coach?"
He didn't reply, and a small swell of satisfaction rolled over her. God, she
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