Read Online The Devil and Ms. Moody by Suzanne Forster - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Suzanne Forster
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have been an M.B.A. if he’d finished school. Holt would know how to play the stock market!
“Excuse me,” she said as the man looked up. Brown eyes, she thought, checking off another similarity. Light brown, perhaps even hazel in the sunlight. His unkempt beard was exactly the sort of thing someone trying to hide his identity would grow. Even his bone structure seemed uncannily close—and the stab of vulnerability in his eyes. But she couldn’t be sure. She needed to get a look at the picture of Holt in her jeans pocket.
“You play the market?” she asked, sensing the man’s wariness. Edwina was still learning the advantages of being a female investigator, one of which was the ability to be nonthreatening to the subject and to disarm his fears quickly by asking “friendly” questions. When he didn’t respond, she smiled and crouched next to him. “I do too, a little. I was curious whether Bechtel was up or down today.”
The man’s eyes flicked up above her head, and Edwina froze as a shadow fell over both of them.
“Your stock is down, Princess. Way down.”
Edwina didn’t rise immediately. She couldn’t. An electric current had arced through her at the sound of Diablo’s voice, and she had to fight to regain her equilibrium. Her fingers shook as she pressed them against the ground to steady herself. Odd, how he had such a disastrous effect on her—everything from raw fear to melting sexual urgency. Who is it that throws the switch and puts me out of control? she wondered. Is it him or me?
“Bechtel?” the man asked, as though it was now his job to reassure Edwina. He picked up the paper, but she stopped him with a grateful smile. No use dragging him into her “domestic” problems.
She took a fortifying breath, rose under her own steam, and turned to face her own personal devil. Surprisingly, his eyes conveyed no emotion other than the cold flicker of arrogance she’d come to expect.
“Let’s talk,” he said.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer her until they were well out of earshot of the stockbroker biker. “We’re on probation,” he said. “Squire’s agreed to let us ride with the Warlords as far as the rodeo. Then, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll let me take their final test for membership.”
“Test?”
“The Cliff Ride.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
His features darkened as swiftly as though a cloud had dropped in front of the sun. “One more word about defenseless animals, and you’ll know more than you ever wanted to about dangerous, Princess.”
Edwina hung on tight as Diablo kicked the bike into high gear and opened it up with a quick twist of the throttle. They swooped up Telegraph Hill and careened down the other side, seeming to fly like a hydrofoil, just above the black ribbon of asphalt. Below them the city of Long Beach slumbered in the late-summer heat, unaware of the herd of bikers about to stampede through its environs.
The Warlords had been on the road for over two hours, riding the freeways to the ocean and then zooming down Pacific Coast Highway like so many bats out of hell. The run to Rosarita Beach had officially started that morning, and the entire pack was on the prowl—freeway outlaws, taking their share of the road right out of the middle.
The wind whipped Edwina’s blond hair, and even though she could feel the strain of the bike’s acceleration on her neck muscles, she welcomed the physical stress. Outlaws, she thought. Was she one of them? She smiled at that, bemused. Edwina Moody, no stranger to danger.
She wasn’t sure whether her blood was rushing from the thrill of the ride or from pure fear-induced adrenaline, but she was definitely on some kind of natural high. Even her fingertips seemed to be trembling in rhythm with the cycle’s vibrant energy bursts. The machine gave off a finely tuned, barely perceptible vibration that moved through her limbs like light waves.
Moments later, as they pulled up to an intersection and
“Excuse me,” she said as the man looked up. Brown eyes, she thought, checking off another similarity. Light brown, perhaps even hazel in the sunlight. His unkempt beard was exactly the sort of thing someone trying to hide his identity would grow. Even his bone structure seemed uncannily close—and the stab of vulnerability in his eyes. But she couldn’t be sure. She needed to get a look at the picture of Holt in her jeans pocket.
“You play the market?” she asked, sensing the man’s wariness. Edwina was still learning the advantages of being a female investigator, one of which was the ability to be nonthreatening to the subject and to disarm his fears quickly by asking “friendly” questions. When he didn’t respond, she smiled and crouched next to him. “I do too, a little. I was curious whether Bechtel was up or down today.”
The man’s eyes flicked up above her head, and Edwina froze as a shadow fell over both of them.
“Your stock is down, Princess. Way down.”
Edwina didn’t rise immediately. She couldn’t. An electric current had arced through her at the sound of Diablo’s voice, and she had to fight to regain her equilibrium. Her fingers shook as she pressed them against the ground to steady herself. Odd, how he had such a disastrous effect on her—everything from raw fear to melting sexual urgency. Who is it that throws the switch and puts me out of control? she wondered. Is it him or me?
“Bechtel?” the man asked, as though it was now his job to reassure Edwina. He picked up the paper, but she stopped him with a grateful smile. No use dragging him into her “domestic” problems.
She took a fortifying breath, rose under her own steam, and turned to face her own personal devil. Surprisingly, his eyes conveyed no emotion other than the cold flicker of arrogance she’d come to expect.
“Let’s talk,” he said.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer her until they were well out of earshot of the stockbroker biker. “We’re on probation,” he said. “Squire’s agreed to let us ride with the Warlords as far as the rodeo. Then, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll let me take their final test for membership.”
“Test?”
“The Cliff Ride.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
His features darkened as swiftly as though a cloud had dropped in front of the sun. “One more word about defenseless animals, and you’ll know more than you ever wanted to about dangerous, Princess.”
Edwina hung on tight as Diablo kicked the bike into high gear and opened it up with a quick twist of the throttle. They swooped up Telegraph Hill and careened down the other side, seeming to fly like a hydrofoil, just above the black ribbon of asphalt. Below them the city of Long Beach slumbered in the late-summer heat, unaware of the herd of bikers about to stampede through its environs.
The Warlords had been on the road for over two hours, riding the freeways to the ocean and then zooming down Pacific Coast Highway like so many bats out of hell. The run to Rosarita Beach had officially started that morning, and the entire pack was on the prowl—freeway outlaws, taking their share of the road right out of the middle.
The wind whipped Edwina’s blond hair, and even though she could feel the strain of the bike’s acceleration on her neck muscles, she welcomed the physical stress. Outlaws, she thought. Was she one of them? She smiled at that, bemused. Edwina Moody, no stranger to danger.
She wasn’t sure whether her blood was rushing from the thrill of the ride or from pure fear-induced adrenaline, but she was definitely on some kind of natural high. Even her fingertips seemed to be trembling in rhythm with the cycle’s vibrant energy bursts. The machine gave off a finely tuned, barely perceptible vibration that moved through her limbs like light waves.
Moments later, as they pulled up to an intersection and
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