HE CAUGHT UP WITH HERin Idaho six days later. Since that was five days longer than he'd anticipated it taking him, he wasn't feeling particularly charitable as he watched P.J. test the lock on her hotel-room door, pocket the key card, then turn in his direction. Stepping into the narrow alcove that housed the ice and vending machines, he watched her walk past, allowed a few seconds to go by, then stepped out again. If she'd bothered to glance over her shoulder he'd be in plain view, but her focus was apparently front and center.
He sauntered a quarter of the length of the corridor behind her, watching the flex of that lush, round butt in a sprayed-on pair of blue jeans. She wore a straw Stetson on her head and a rose-spattered transparent little black shirt over a black camisole-type top. Hearing the elevator ding a car's arrival, he picked up his pace and slipped between the doors just as they were closing.
"Hi there," he said as she stared up at him, her golden-brown eyes wide with shock. Letting the doors close, he reached out to punch the Stop button. "So, where we headed? Out to dinner?"
She didn't respond, merely gaped at him, and he shrugged. "I see you picked a nicer hotel this time. Still not as fancy as your newfound status might suggest, but definitely a major step up from the Wind Blew Inn-"
"How did you find me?" Her cheeks were flushed an irate rose, and her eyes-those almond-shaped, slanted cat eyes-looked even more exotic when offset by the blush.
He slammed shut the part of him that admired the image and answered the question. "You're still driving your own truck. Hitting those three ATMs the day you ditched me was a smart move, but you should have lost the pickup at the same time and paid cash for its replacement." His attention wandered from the conversation. With her short, not-exactly-voluptuous body and her long, rich, chestnut-brown hair, she was the antithesis of all the statuesque blond beauties that seemed to dominate country-music videos these days. At the same time, she was very:watchable. Very compelling.
Not that she was suckinghim in that way. He wasn't a compel-me kind of guy. With a fierce mental shake, he gazed at her down the length of his nose. "Which reminds me, you owe me $67.50 for the service I had to call to reinflate my tires."
The last iota of shock fled her eyes and they snapped fire at him. Yet her voice was cool, composed and un-Peejlike when she said, "Yeah, right. Hold your breath waiting for me to cut you that check, pal."
He shrugged. "I suppose it is a bit unreasonable to expect you to fork over the dough. Forget I even brought it up." He flashed her his biggest smile to show how magnanimous he could be. "I'll just add it to Wild Wind's bill."
She gave him a flat-eyed stare. "Go away, Jared."
"Not gonna happen, Priscilla. And since we covered this ground the last time I saw you, I suggest you learn to deal with it." Reminded of the less-than-merry chase that she'd led him on, however, he felt his jaw grow tight. He unclenched his teeth and sucked in a quiet breath.
She settled her cowgirl hat more firmly over her shiny curls and scowled up at him. "What is this? I don't need to be in Portland for the first concert until the twenty-second." She met his gaze head-on. "So why exactly are you here now? And what were you doing at the Wind Blew Inn last week?"
Shit.She would ask the tough questions-the very ones he'd asked himself, then dodged answering because there wasn't a satisfactory reply. Oh, his rationale for running her to ground today was easy enough-it had taken him damn near an entire week to find her after she'd left him standing in the Texas panhandle with four flat tires and his thumb up his ass. He sure as hell wasn't about to risk losing track of her again in case it took him that long or longer to find her the next time. But as far as making his presence known to her last week went? That was a little harder to justify.
And he'd clearly waited too long to reply, because she gave him a shot to the solar plexus with the heel of her hand. "Well?"
"Hey!" Refusing to let her see that she'd knocked the wind from his chest, he grabbed her wrist and plucked her hand away from his breastbone. "No touching."
Still, the action was so quintessentially the P.J. he'd known that it became clear without further examination what had brought him to the Wind Blew Inn nearly two weeks before he needed to approach her.
Curiosity.
It had been curiosity, pure and simple. Ordinarily he would have monitored her movements until they were nearer the date of her first concert, but his desire to discover if there were still remnants of his old friend had proven stronger than his usual bedrock-solid professionalism.
And no doubt about it, remnants remained.
She blinked. "Since when don't you like touching? You used to be a regular Mister Touchy-Feely."
"Was not."
"Were so. Remember that condo construction site we stayed in the night before your sister found you? You musta put your arm around me half a dozen times."
He took a step closer. "Yeah, because you were afraid of a stupid little thunder-and-lightning storm."
She thrust her delicately pointed chin ceilingward. "As I remember it, pal, it was becauseyou wanted comforting."
"You are so full of sh-" Cutting himself off, he took a step back. Jesus. What was he doing arguing with her like he was still seventeen years old? He punched the button to get the elevator car moving again. "That was then," he said stiffly. "This is now."
"Yeah? Well, I liked you better then. I thought you were the smartest, handsomest guy in the world. Now I know you're nothing but a cold-hearted son of a bitch."
"And proud of it," he said, telling himself her assessment didn't pinch.
The elevator reached the first floor and the doors swooshed open. Resting his palm against the small of P.J.'s back, Jared escorted her from the car. "Where were you going? To dinner?" He could only hope, since it was nearly nine p.m. and he was starving.
"I ate at six o'clock like the regular folks do," she said coolly. "Only idiots and preppy rich boys have supper at nine in the evening." She gave him an insulting once-over. "Which, come to think of it, are probably one and the same."
"Fine." He halted her with a hand on her arm. "We can head back upstairs so you can pack, then."
She jerked her arm free. "Screw you, Hamilton. I have eight days until I have to be at my first gig. I might not have any choice when it comes to your escorting me to my concerts, but I sure as hell don't have to let you dictate my actions until then." The look she leveled on him said she was serious as a heart attack. "Iwill call the cops this time if you press me on this-and the devil with the bad press."
Her face adopted a mulish expression he remembered. "And to hell with Wild Wind Records, too. They never should have hired someone to squire me around like some flighty eighth-grader. God knows they shouldn't have simply taken Mama's version of my character as gospel." The obdurate expression solidified. "Maybe I should just cut my losses with them and call it a day."
Swell. The Semper Fi Agency ought to look real good in her label's eyes when he informed them that not only would he not be accompanying their hot new talent as agreed, but that because of him she was dumping them, as well. Nothing like setting the gold standard in the investigational/security world. "Don't you think you should have a little dialogue with Wild Wind before you just walk away?"
"Why?" Stepping close, she got in his face. "Did they have so much as one conversation with me? No, sir. They sicced you on me without bothering to discover that Mama has a great big ax to grind."
Double-damn hell. He recognized that look. Telling the old P.J. what to do had always merely entrenched her in her position, and to hell with whether it was a defensible one or not. So he pasted a bored look on his face and shrugged. "Hey, you want to tank your career, that's fine with me. It probably didn't mean that much to you in the first place, so what the hey. Easy come, easy go, right?"