What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(24)

“Make yourself at home,” she muttered.

He closed the laptop and rose to his feet. “Actually, I was thinking we should go somewhere to have dinner.”

She started to frown, but then she realized just what he was saying.

“Maybe a truck stop?” she asked.

“First a drive.”

“Okay.” She moved toward the door where she’d left her shoes. Sliding them on, she reached for her coat. She grimaced as she ran her finger over the cut in the sleeve. “I don’t suppose the truck stop will have any jackets for sale.”

Griff ground his teeth together at the vivid reminder that she’d been injured.

What was the point in dwelling on how easily she could have become one of the victims? Carmen Jacobs was determined to finish this crazy quest of tracking down the person responsible for sending her the pictures.

Nothing was going to stop her.

“If you want I could drive you into Kansas City. There should be a local mall still open,” he said, trying his best to keep the frustration out of his voice.

He wasn’t entirely successful, as her expression tensed with wariness. Did she suspect that he was considering the viability of hauling her back to his home and locking her in his house?

Or better yet, he could handcuff her to his bed . . .

“Maybe after dinner.” She interrupted his dangerous thoughts. “I’m not really much of a mall person anyway.”

On cue, his gaze lowered to the gray sweatshirt she was wearing. It had a picture of the Grand Canyon on the front. No doubt she’d picked it up at the airport during her layover. His lips twitched as he recalled the clingy spandex she’d worn when he’d first seen her on the beach months ago, and then the fuzzy sweater she’d been wearing yesterday.

Her taste leaned more toward sex kitten than frumpy tourist.

Who could blame her? She was a smart woman who knew how her gorgeous curves affected poor men’s brains.

“You can’t convince me you don’t love clothes,” he said.

A small flush stained her cheeks as his gaze slowly returned to her face.

“I prefer the vintage shops,” she said, looking oddly flustered as she slid her arms into her coat, careful not to scrape the sleeve against her wound. “There was one in the small town near my grandparents’ place and I worked there during the summer months.”

He tugged on his own coat and grabbed his laptop before moving to pull open the door.

“Your grandparents had a horse farm, didn’t they?” he asked, sticking to the info that had been revealed in the bio at the back of her book.

He wasn’t ready to tell her that he’d done a full background check on her after he’d realized she’d tried to trick him.

Her past had been traumatic, to say the least.

He desperately wanted to ask her questions, but he sensed she would shut down as soon as he tried to pry.

Proving his point, she grabbed her purse and stepped past him, refusing to meet his gaze.

“We can take the SUV,” she said.

“Wait.” He pulled shut the hotel door, making sure it automatically locked. “Let’s take the truck.”

She jerked her head toward him, her brows lowering. “Why?”

“It has four-wheel drive.”

The icy breeze tugged at her curls. “And I suppose you have to drive?”

He shrugged. “Not if you want to.”

“No fight for dominance?”

“Nope.” He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans to pull out the keys. He tossed them to her. “It’s been years since I’ve driven in the snow. Plus, I want to run some searches.”

She caught the keys with an exaggerated expression of surprise.

“Astonishing.”

He climbed into the passenger side of the truck, tucking the computer on his lap and keeping the hot spot open on his phone so he could have Internet access.

“My manhood isn’t based on whether I’m the one behind the steering wheel,” he told her as she climbed in beside him and turned on the engine.

It was true. He’d been a scrawny kid living in a tough Chicago neighborhood with a mom who was a cop. He was never going to be big enough or mean enough to survive. So he had to be smart. Really, really smart.

Carmen’s defensive expression eased as she headed toward the exit of the parking lot.

“Which way?” she asked.

“West,” he said.

She turned onto the narrow road, crunching over the ice before she reached the nearest ramp to veer onto the highway. The plows had been out to scoop off the worst of the snow, leaving narrow paths in the middle of the lanes. Carmen held on to the steering wheel with a tight grip, cautious enough to keep them at a sensible speed as they traveled through the gathering dusk.

It was just five o’clock, but night was already crowding in.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re headed?” she asked.

Griff turned his attention to his laptop, pulling up the file he saved.

“I want to see the spot where the truck was abandoned,” he said.

“Oh. That’s a good idea.”

“I do have them on occasion,” he said dryly.

“Hmm.” She reached to flip the heater on high.

“The police report says they found the truck abandoned six miles west of the hotel.”