Read Online Hunt Me (Love Thieves #3) by Heather Long - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Long
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shower.
Then phone calls.
He glanced at the wall separating their rooms. Thankfully, they didn’t have an adjoining door or he might have glanced in to see her tucked into bed.
Yeah,’cause looking is what I would be doing. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. Emptying his pockets, he froze and checked all four again. “Son of a bitch….” Admiration and exasperation burst out. Grabbing the pair of room keys, he slid back out, but a quick look in her room found Kit Kat gone.
He ignored the elevators and jogged down the stairs. He expected it, but he still had to check.
No car.
She’d played him.
Upstairs, he went back into her room and flipped on the light in the bathroom. A lipstick kiss decorated the center of the mirror and written below it.
Make it three to two.
He laughed. She’d tempted him and taken the keys. Smart woman.
His ego accepted the blow better than his cock. He left her room and returned to his own. The tracking device he’d planted in her purse would go active in another few hours. The chip’s passive design helped it to bypass general sweeps, but if she made it more than fifty miles away, it would turn on automatically. He had assets he could activate, and he sent a message to one now, sending them to track duMonde. He couldn’t go after her, yet, but he could still watch her back.
Stripping his clothes off, he ducked into the icy spray and considered his options.
Banker, my ass. Kit used her phone to GPS a route from the hotel to Hollywood. The backtracking made her teeth ache, but Jarod’s persistence set off one too many warning bells. He’d dropped Louis with almost no difficulty. Granted, she froze up when Louis had his hands on her, but not Jarod. His reactions, the shrewd assessment in his gaze, the way he moved—they all spoke of a physical confidence few men possessed.
Those who did had some kind of training.
Then there was his presence on her plane. The private jet parked at gates behind several layers of airport security. He needed passkeys and clearance to travel from the public access in the airport to the private terminals. Based on the time she left the limo and when she walked out to find him aboard her plane, he had to have followed almost immediately.
Traffic thickened in the city’s central areas, but she didn’t experience any slowdowns. Miles had intimated her father had something to do….
Wait, I assumed Daddy did it. Miles stammered and hesitated and simply agreed with her. Which correlates to Jarod’s assertion Daddy didn’t send him.
Tapping her phone, she dialed a number and checked for her exit as it rang.
“Buenas dias, señorita Hardwicke. ¿ Como estas?”
“Bien, Enrique. Bien. ¿Y tu?”
“ Asi asi. I cannot complain. What do you need?” Enrique Tomavar worked at the British Embassy in Spain during her father’s brief tenure as ambassador. He was the first man to teach her how to hide in plain sight. The British ambassador’s abysmally low popularity rating meant constant threats to the family. Enrique created her first fake ID and taught her how to blend in when she didn’t want to be seen. Since his resume included positions like military and government attaché, she often suspected he worked as a spy—but his affection for her remained constant.
As did his ability to fetch her in difficult times. If not for Enrique, she wouldn’t have been able to get out of Morocco last year.
“I can’t simply call to say hello?”
“This late, in Los Angeles? I doubt that.” He always knew her location, too. Useful when she had to send him a 911—frustrating every other time.
“Fair point. I need some information about a man named Jarod Parker.”
“Basic rundown, or are you looking for something more specific?” Bless him, he never asked her why.
“I want to know if he is who he says he is.”
“And who does he say he is, querida ?”
“A banker.” She saw her exit and slowed to follow it.
“And you
Then phone calls.
He glanced at the wall separating their rooms. Thankfully, they didn’t have an adjoining door or he might have glanced in to see her tucked into bed.
Yeah,’cause looking is what I would be doing. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. Emptying his pockets, he froze and checked all four again. “Son of a bitch….” Admiration and exasperation burst out. Grabbing the pair of room keys, he slid back out, but a quick look in her room found Kit Kat gone.
He ignored the elevators and jogged down the stairs. He expected it, but he still had to check.
No car.
She’d played him.
Upstairs, he went back into her room and flipped on the light in the bathroom. A lipstick kiss decorated the center of the mirror and written below it.
Make it three to two.
He laughed. She’d tempted him and taken the keys. Smart woman.
His ego accepted the blow better than his cock. He left her room and returned to his own. The tracking device he’d planted in her purse would go active in another few hours. The chip’s passive design helped it to bypass general sweeps, but if she made it more than fifty miles away, it would turn on automatically. He had assets he could activate, and he sent a message to one now, sending them to track duMonde. He couldn’t go after her, yet, but he could still watch her back.
Stripping his clothes off, he ducked into the icy spray and considered his options.
Banker, my ass. Kit used her phone to GPS a route from the hotel to Hollywood. The backtracking made her teeth ache, but Jarod’s persistence set off one too many warning bells. He’d dropped Louis with almost no difficulty. Granted, she froze up when Louis had his hands on her, but not Jarod. His reactions, the shrewd assessment in his gaze, the way he moved—they all spoke of a physical confidence few men possessed.
Those who did had some kind of training.
Then there was his presence on her plane. The private jet parked at gates behind several layers of airport security. He needed passkeys and clearance to travel from the public access in the airport to the private terminals. Based on the time she left the limo and when she walked out to find him aboard her plane, he had to have followed almost immediately.
Traffic thickened in the city’s central areas, but she didn’t experience any slowdowns. Miles had intimated her father had something to do….
Wait, I assumed Daddy did it. Miles stammered and hesitated and simply agreed with her. Which correlates to Jarod’s assertion Daddy didn’t send him.
Tapping her phone, she dialed a number and checked for her exit as it rang.
“Buenas dias, señorita Hardwicke. ¿ Como estas?”
“Bien, Enrique. Bien. ¿Y tu?”
“ Asi asi. I cannot complain. What do you need?” Enrique Tomavar worked at the British Embassy in Spain during her father’s brief tenure as ambassador. He was the first man to teach her how to hide in plain sight. The British ambassador’s abysmally low popularity rating meant constant threats to the family. Enrique created her first fake ID and taught her how to blend in when she didn’t want to be seen. Since his resume included positions like military and government attaché, she often suspected he worked as a spy—but his affection for her remained constant.
As did his ability to fetch her in difficult times. If not for Enrique, she wouldn’t have been able to get out of Morocco last year.
“I can’t simply call to say hello?”
“This late, in Los Angeles? I doubt that.” He always knew her location, too. Useful when she had to send him a 911—frustrating every other time.
“Fair point. I need some information about a man named Jarod Parker.”
“Basic rundown, or are you looking for something more specific?” Bless him, he never asked her why.
“I want to know if he is who he says he is.”
“And who does he say he is, querida ?”
“A banker.” She saw her exit and slowed to follow it.
“And you
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