Face of Danger - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1

tactic to find her.

“Yeah?” The word sounded as on edge as he made her feel.

“Yeah?” His baritone tickled her ear. “That’s how you answer the phone?”

“Oh, so sorry, Assistant Special Agent in Charge of Proper Phone Etiquette and Manners. Let’s have a do-over.” She cleared her throat. “Good morning, Mr. Lang. Viviana Angelino at your service—despite the fact that it is Sunday morning and I am not anywhere near the Guardian Angelinos office. How can I help you?”

He laughed, a mix of a grunt and a low catch in his throat, hating, absolutely hating, that the sound sent a little jolt right down to her toes.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Goddamn him. “What are you talking about?”

“I think I see you, but I need you to turn around.”

“You see me? I’m in church right now, so I seriously doubt that you see me.”

“Church? Right. You’re worshipping at the altar of Airwalk.”

How’d he know that brand? And what made her think she could lie to him?

“Turn around, Vivi.” He said her name just the way she liked it: Vee-vee. He drew out those twin syllables and made those long e’s sound… sexy.

Still, she refused to move. “Just tell me what you want, Lang.” She’d long ago dispensed with his unwieldy title, since she got it wrong most of the time anyway. He’d told her it was proper to call an ASAC “Mr. Lang” but she’d dropped the “Mr.” after their first case together. And he didn’t seem to care.

“I want you to turn around.”

“Do you have a job for the Guardian Angelinos?” she asked.

“No.”

The single syllable, invasive, and, oh Lord, sexy, punched her gut. “Do you need a report on the assignment that Zach is currently working on?”

“No.”

“Do you have a big fat check to give me for all the consulting work we do on behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

“No.”

“Then go away and I’ll see you at our scheduled meeting Monday at eleven o’clock.”

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump.

“No.” He tightened his grip and eased her around. “Turn around.”

She felt the heat of his body behind her, his presence so strong it made her go weak behind the knee pads.

“Damn you, Lang.” She pivoted, her gaze landing on the Izod logo on his chest, his jacket hanging open to confirm what she already suspected. He was a nerd who wore collared pullovers. And they fit like a dream.

With one finger, he gently tapped the brim of her helmet. “This is very cute, Angelino.”

“I told you I hate to be called—”

“Cute. I know.”

The air cooled her sweaty head when he took the helmet off. Great. Helmet hair.

His smile deepened and his hazel eyes glinted gold and green. “What else could you call this, other than cute?”

Mortifying?

She stepped back and glared at him. What the hell did she care what Lang thought of her? “This is my Sunday special. I’m off the clock right now, Lang, so what do you want?”

“A good security specialist and investigator is never off the clock,” he said, all condescension and good reason. “I thought you were a little business-owning tigress, working tirelessly to build your new organization into a force in the security industry.”

“Remind me never to confide anything in you again.” Anything. Especially her fantasies.

She eased the longboard between them, desperate to put any kind of barrier between them.

Lang seemed to be getting way too much enjoyment from her disheveled state. Of course he was amused. He’d cruised into her world like a package of perfection—not a chestnut hair out of place, his stupid preppy shirt pressed like it just came off the rack at Bloomingdale’s and fitting so snug over his expansive shoulders. She’d bet her life he was carrying a Glock under that jacket, too.

“What are you looking at?” he demanded.

“You shaved, Lang? On a Sunday? What’s wrong with you?”

He brushed his whiskerless face. “It’s the former Boy Scout in me.”

She rolled her eyes. It was the nerd in him. And, God, that nerd did unholy things to her insides.

“Want something to drink?” he asked, putting a casual hand on her shoulder like he owned her. She’d tied her sweatshirt around her waist after her last run, so no doubt her skin felt damp through the cotton T-shirt he touched. Oh, fabulous. Now he was sticking to her. “There’s a refreshment stand over there.”

“I know.” She dropped the board and hopped on, zipping a few feet ahead of him. “I built it.”

Before he could answer, she kicked to the ground and