“Reese probably had it professionally decorated. I wonder what kind of place he would choose for himself.”
“Hard to tell with Reese.”
Later in the afternoon, Tabby called with information on the nightclub, which was owned by a man named Rafael De Santos. Kate looked him up on the internet, a hot-looking Hispanic man with short black hair and intense dark eyes. In an expensive suit, he looked like a male cover model.
There were several news articles about him and the club he had opened, with photos that showed the wildly extravagant interior. Even under the tenuous circumstances, Kate was looking forward to the evening.
It was after 10:00 p.m. Jase had gotten dressed in one of the other guest suites, giving her space. Now he was pacing the living room, anxious to leave.
Kate checked her makeup in the mirror above the black granite counter in the bathroom and fluffed her long blond curls. Straightening the sequined bodice of the black silk dress, she tugged down the very short, very snug skirt and headed for the living room.
Jase turned and she stopped dead in her tracks. She could almost feel her jaw unhinging. Dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored black suit over a purple designer T-shirt, his hair shaved on the sides and moussed into a peak on top, Hawk looked amazing, as if he’d stepped out ofGQ.
Kate barely recognized him as the tough man in the black jeans and leather vest he had been at Mean Jack’s.
His gaze slid over her head to foot, and the heat in his eyes had desire pulsing low in her belly.
“Beautiful,” he said.
She swallowed, her stomach quivering. “You...um...too.” She set her palms on the lapels of his black jacket, noticed a small tattoo above his right ear, a pair of arrows, one above the other, pointing in opposite directions. “Is that real?”
He chuckled. “I drew it on with a Sharpie. It’ll be there awhile.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Two opposing arrows mean war or conflict. It’s just part of the image.”
“What about the tattoo on your calf?” Which was definitely real. “You never said.”
“Friends in Afghanistan, marines in my unit who died while I lived.”
Her heart ached for him. She had read about survivor’s guilt, knew that when you lost close friends it was even more difficult. “I’m glad you made it out okay.”
Jason glanced away, the subject clearly painful.
“You look...really different,” Kate said, bringing him back to the moment.
“Tricks of the trade.” He adjusted the heavy gold rings on his fingers. “A bounty hunter has to be a chameleon.”
He looked so good she couldn’t resist going up on her toes and pressing a kiss on his lips. An instant later, she was in his arms, his mouth crushing down over hers. Heat scorched through her—the instant before he let her go.
“Remember where we left off when we get home,” he said a little gruffly. “In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”
Kate simply nodded. Heat still throbbed in all her womanly places. Remembering would not be a problem.
“Leave your ID here. Tonight you’re Kitty Cordell, high-class call girl.”
She glanced down at her black silk dress and heels. She hadn’t been going for cheap.
“Two thousand a night,” Jason said as if he read her mind, and Kate grinned.
“So who are you?” she asked.
“Brock Devlin, in from Atlanta, plenty of money to burn and looking for a good time.”
Brock Devlin.Oh, yeah.
Jase took her arm and led her out of the apartment. Instead of the Yukon, a sleek silver Mercedes AMG S coupe waited in the circular drive in front of the building.
