“What’s your name anyway?” He played the rootless hitchhiker with a familiarity born of experience. That impression would be reinforced by his appearance and his lack of personal belongings. “And thanks for the lift.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.” Her husky voice sent a pleasurable spike along his nervous system straight down to his groin. Reyes shifted, unwilling to let the erection gain full-flag status.

“No, I didn’t. You love your whitewalls too much to gamble with them.”

“I love this car,” she corrected, stroking a hand along the blue dashboard.

Reyes watched her fingers with a clawing hunger that astounded him. He wanted them on his chest, his abdomen . . . lower. He wanted two weeks with her in a hotel room, nothing but bare skin and cool, white sheets. Despite iron discipline, his penis swelled all the way up, straining his zipper.

“I can see that.” His voice rumbled low, even for him.

“Isn’t she a beaut?”

“Sure is.”

So are you. But he didn’t say that out loud. It was too soon. Like a wild thing, she would be skittish, slow to gentle. She still hadn’t told him her name. Such a way she had about her—appearing to give away everything, when in fact, it granted nothing—could’ve come only through years of practice.

All in all, Kyra Marie Beckwith was a lot more intriguing than her dossier let on. Too bad he had to kill her.

CHAPTER 2

The sun rayed from the sky, giving it the look of frayed blue velvet. Night would fall soon, and Lord knew she hated to travel backcountry roads after dark. Lightning bugs might be the brightest light she saw for miles.

They hadn’t been driving quite an hour, but Kyra was ready to get rid of her uninvited guest. He set off alarm bells, and she’d learned to respect her intuition, as it’d saved her ass more than once. So she’d stop for gas and ditch him.