Today we have the second excerpt from Then You Hide, the fifth book in Roxanne St. Claire’s Bullet Catchers Series (Pocket Star, 24 June 2008). You can find the first excerpt here.
When Bullet Catcher Wade Cordell is offered a cushy assignment to track down a woman on vacation in the Caribbean and persuade her to meet her birth mother, the secret ops sharpshooter decides it’s the perfect antidote to his stressful job. Except spirited and sassy Vanessa Porter isn’t on vacation, she’s on a hunt for a friend who has disappeared. Wade’s news doesn’t faze a woman who swims with the sharks on Wall Street — Vanessa knows she’s adopted and has no intention of meeting or helping the woman who gave her up in a black market scheme. But as it becomes clear that her missing friend is deep in hiding and deeper in trouble, Vanessa strikes a shaky bargain with the sexy bodyguard who’s an expert at finding people who don’t want to be found. How high a price will she have to pay the Bullet Catcher willing to put his life on the line for her? Will she sacrifice her pride . . . her heart . . . even her life?
Excerpt #2
Vanessa tapped. Everything. She tapped her foot on the scarred wood floor. Tapped her fingers against her thigh, and her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a tsk of impatience.
How long would she have to wait in this cigar-stinky parlor for a “madame” named Gideon? She’d been here fifteen minutes and except for the creepy little guy who opened the door, she hadn’t seen anyone or heard anything. She smelled plenty, though. Stale cigar smoke, dank air, the remnant of an unwashed cat in the near vicinity.
She rubbed her bare arms, but not because the overhead fan was doing anything to lower the temperature to something under ninety. It was just that creepy sensation she’d had ever since she got here. Like someone was watching her. It didn’t help that the cabbie refused to stay in spite of the twenty she offered, leaving her in front of a two story house at the edge of the mountain rainforest.
She whipped off her glasses to wipe some perspiration from her face, then looked at her watch for the six millionth time, irritated as hell. It was still early in the day in New York, but near the close of the London Stock Exchange, and most of her Hong Kong clients were asleep. Everywhere on the globe in between, deals were going down, money was being made, and investments were changing hands.
While she was on some God-forsaken pile of sand doing…
The right thing.
Eight excruciating minutes later, the floorboards of the hallway stairs squawked with heavy footsteps, and she reached into the side pocket of her tote bag to dig for the picture, pulling it out as a shadow darkened the parlor.
He filled the doorway. Then he filled the room. Literally.
A huge three hundred pound man with ebony skin, India ink eyes, midnight dreadlocks, and dark clothings that made him look like a big black Mack truck. And from the look on his face, Vanessa was about to be roadkill.
“Mr….Gideon?”
“They call me Bones.”
Then they clearly had a sense of humor.
He walked past her, around her, made her turn to follow him and the heavy, vile stench of a stogie that clung to him.
“What do you want?” His voice didn’t match his body. He had a British accent, with a little island lilt.
She held out her hand to shake his. “I’m Vanessa Porter, from New York.”
He didn’t move, didn’t blink, and forget any glimmer of a smile. His eyelids were no more than folds of flesh, his cheeks wide, puffy and shiny. If he had teeth, he wasn’t showing them. She dropped her untouched hand.
“What do you want?” he repeated.
She raised the picture, but he didn’t reach for that, either. “I’m looking for a friend of mine.”
He didn’t move. Just stared her down with a crushing glare, the only sound the rhythmic clicking of the inefficient overhead fan.
She just needed to bluff a little. “I think he’s been here recently.”
His nostrils widened like a dragon and she half expected a shower of flames. “I cannot help you. Please leave.”
“You don’t even know what I want yet,” she shot back, indignation straightening her back. “I’m trying to find a friend. This man. Here.” She fluttered the picture at his face. “About a month ago, he came down her on vaca–”
“Go away.”
“Won’t you just look at the picture?” Her voice rose exactly as she didn’t want it to. She cleared her throat and looked him in the beady eyes. Far badder bad asses than Gideon Bones had tried to spook her in M&A negotiations, and every single time, the bastards failed. And so would this big fat freak. “His name is Clive Easter–”
“No.”
“–brook,” she finished, her jaw clenching. “Clive Easterbrook. He’s my friend. Won’t you even look at this picture, Mr. Bones?”
“No.”
Her hand hit her thigh with a thud. “Look. I’m not with the media or the police or anything. Clive is a really good friend of mine who–”
“No.”
Shit. “–went on vacation a month ago and decided not to come home. I’m worried about him.”
His eyes turned to thin, black slats. “Why?”
“Because he’s…” Would she have to reveal Clive’s secret to get some help? She hated to be a rat.
“He’s gay?” he said, raising his eyebrows in challenge.
“Well, yes, of course. But that’s not why I’m worried about him. And, believe me, I’m not a jealous girlfriend or a clueless wife. Clive is my closest friend and colleague at work and he’s also…moody.” Bi-polar was more like it. “I think he might be…depressed.”
Drunk, high, and suicidal, too.
“No.”
The single syllable irked. “No, what? No, he’s not depressed or no you won’t help me ,or no you don’t know him?” Her voice tightened with frustration. “No what, Mr. Bones?”
“No I will not discuss visitors to my home. You can leave now.”
She exhaled with a curse of frustration. It’d been like this since she’d arrived in the Caribbean.
“I understand your position, Mr. Bones,” she said. “I have clients of my own and respect confidentiality. But I’m worried that my friend’s sick or hurt or spiraling into depression because he is prone to that, and –”
She froze as something hard and round stabbed her in the back. Whoever it was, this person had entered behind her without creaking a single floor board. Despite the hellish heat, chills rose.
Bones just stared at her, not acknowledging whoever was behind her.
“You talk too much,” he said.
Her whole body went rigid, her knees locked, her neck stiff. She wasn’t afraid of too many things…except guns.
Guns killed people. She knew that better than anyone.
“Leave Miss Porter.”
Stay tuned for the next excerpt!
