“More tests,” he muttered. “I need those like I need this hard c**k aggravating the f**k outta me.”
He would have taken care of the first problem if it would cooperate with any woman other than the tight-assed journalist stalking him. But no, it wilted like limp lettuce if he even attempted it, then shot up like fire forged steel the second her scent reached him. Inconvenient, to say the least. The fact that she was the one woman he couldn’t have wasn’t helping matters. He knew the psychology of it. He wanted her more for the very fact that he couldn’t have her. A journalist stalking him was not a good thing. His secrets were many and his survival depended on him keeping them. He kept a low profile, stayed away from town as much as possible and let few people get to know him, which meant there was only one reason why a journalist, especially a Tyler journalist, would be searching for him. His surrogate mother and her infernal idea that by revealing himself he could attain his freedom was the cause of this. The box she had mailed out to the National Forum and her old college friend, John Tyler, right before her death, hinted at the evidence the man could have. There were notebooks of memos, test results, lab results, DNA sequencing, the whole nine yards needed to bury him, all missing. They had fought over it the night she had been attacked and killed. Argued for hours while the others steered clear of the kitchen where they screamed and cursed like mortal enemies. In the end, she had won though. He had agreed to go with her to New York the minute he was able to pull yet another team of mercenaries off his ass.
He and the others had left to do just that. When they returned they found Maria in the kitchen where they had left her, lying in her own blood. And now, a year later, Merinus Tyler was searching for him. Which would be okay, he thought, if he could just f**k her and send her on her way. But he had a
feeling the tenacity and determination he glimpsed in her expression didn’t leave him much hope for that.
CHAPTER THREE
The Gass Up station, convenience store and diner were all in the same lot. And Callan was there as well. Merinus pulled into the blacktopped parking area late that afternoon and got out of the SUV slowly as she looked around.
There were half a dozen vehicles parked here and there, several at the gas pumps and one weary looking pickup with its hood raised, waiting to enter the garage section of the station. Taking a deep breath, Merinus moved quickly to the garage section and the lone man standing outside, gazing rather intently at the innards of the old pickup parked there.
The game was fun, but getting old. Still, she was reluctant to be the one to end it. Especially after watching him stroke all that hard, glistening flesh of his hard-on to a serious orgasm. She still hadn’t recovered from that one. Neither had the flesh between her thighs. It wouldn’t stop throbbing, demanding the hard stroke of that broad-headed penis deep inside it.
She took a deep breath anyway and approached the truck cautiously. Today, Callan was dressed in thin faded jeans and T-shirt, a baseball cap covering his hair. She hoped he wasn’t trying for a disguise. If he was, it wasn’t working so well. She had seen him the minute the station had come into view.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where I could find Taber Williams?” Merinus asked him cheerfully, careful to stand well clear of him. Oil marked his gray T-shirt and the snug denim that encased long, muscular legs. Besides, if she got too close, she may not be able to keep her hands out of his jeans. She still hadn’t forgotten the hours past and the sight of all that hard male flesh. But the game was on again. She didn’t know and he wasn’t telling. Stupid game.
The broad shoulders stiffened, then the head, covered in a red baseball cap turned just slightly, the eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.
“Not here,” he muttered, then turned back to the engine.
So much for small town hospitality, Merinus frowned. He was being rude today. Snarly. Male.
“Do you know where I could find him? Or perhaps leave a message for him?” she asked the wide back. Damn nice form, but hell on manners.
Those broad shoulders shrugged.
“Tell me. I’ll tell him.” Short and to the point, but he never did raise his head from the object of his attention, namely the motor and not Merinus.
Merinus dug one of her small cards from her jeans pocket and handed it to him.
“This is my cell phone number. Could you ask him to call me as soon as possible? It’s important that I get in touch with him.” She was becoming irritated with the curt, who-the-hell-cares attitude he was displaying. He could at least bother to pretend to be interested. Maybe she was playing it too cool.
“He’ll get it.” The card disappeared into oil-splattered jeans. Merinus narrowed her eyes at the man.
“Could you tell me where he lives? I could just give him the message myself,” she finally bit out between clenched teeth.
Muscles rippled as he shrugged again.
“Lives here for the most part,” she was told.
Merinus waited, but there was no other information forthcoming.
“What about Callan Lyons? Could you tell me where I can reach him?” she asked sweetly, allowing a shade of mockery to infect her tone.
There was a long pause as the man reached into the motor and adjusted wires, then thumped at the metal.
“Did you hear me?” she asked him with false sweetness. “Callan Lyons? Do you know where I could find him?”
Those broad shoulders shrugged again, and Merinus gritted her teeth in anger.
“Who knows where Lyons is,” he finally said. “He comes and goes.”
Merinus rolled her eyes. Wasn’t that the truth? And he looked damned fine coming, too.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll just check back later.”