The Favour

She’d collected hundreds of case studies, and completed nearly as many interviews. Plus, she had a five-step plan. If there was one thing that she could do in her professional life it was to stick to a plan once she’d mapped it out.

The sharp blast of a horn made her jump, and a quick glance around informed her that five cars were waiting for her to get out of the pedestrian walkway.

“Lady, could you hurry it up?”

Rush hour in Georgetown was not the best time to dawdle. Stuffing the blue card back into her bag, Sierra waved apologetically to the man in the silver convertible. The black sedan next to it revved its motor. She dashed to the curb.

Once she was safely on the sidewalk, she dug in her canvas bag for her inhaler. After using it, she dropped it back in her bag, then drew in a deep breath and continued up the street.

The Blue Pepper was only a block away, and her sisters had agreed on very short notice to meet her for the grand opening of Harry’s letter to her. She rubbed the heel of her hand against the little ache that always settled around her heart when she thought of her father.

She and her sisters had lost Harry Gibbs twice—once when they’d been ten and Harry had decided to follow the call to adventure and resume his career as a master jewel thief. That was when they’d made a pact to call him Harry. Then when they were twenty, he’d died in a climbing accident, and they’d lost him permanently.

Sierra had always blamed herself for the fact that Harry had left them behind. If she hadn’t been so prone to illness, her mother surely wouldn’t have been too worried about her youngest to go with him. Amanda Gibbs had loved her husband deeply, and she’d passed away within months of Harry’s death.

Then suddenly, on the day that they’d turned twenty-six, the letters from Harry had arrived. Of course, Natalie had read hers the night she’d received it. If there was a gene for courage, Natalie had inherited it. Her job on a special task force with the DC Police Department testified to that.

Rory who always met life head-on had only needed an extra two weeks to open hers. Then she’d been off and running, putting their father’s advice right into practice. If there was a daredevil gene, Rory had gotten it in spades.

The way Sierra figured it, she’d inherited nothing from her father. The one thing Harry Gibbs had never been was a coward, and she’d postponed reading his letter for almost a month because she was a chicken. She was sure that his advice to her would be different. Harry had always treated her differently than he’d treated her sisters.

Sierra stopped short when she realized that she’d walked half a block past the Blue Pepper. Nerves bubbled in her stomach. After reaching for her inhaler, she used it again and drew in several steadying breaths before she turned and walked back to the restaurant. Then she pulled out her blue card once more and began to pace. Five steps—she could do this. When she finally glanced up and caught her reflection in the glass door, her confidence wavered. The woman looking back at her had her hair twisted into a bun and wore a loose-fitting, drab-colored jacket and skirt. And sensible shoes. Sierra Gibbs—academic nerd.

Think Buffy, she reminded herself.

The moment the image of the vampire slayer was clear in her mind, she squared her shoulders. “I can do this.”

Sierra Gibbs was sick and tired of being a coward. If she had to imagine herself as someone else to find some courage, so be it. Striding forward, she pushed through the door of the Blue Pepper.

IN RYDER KANE’S mind, the Blue Pepper was a yuppie haven. And the kick of it was he fit right in. Fifteen years ago when he’d been fighting for survival on the streets of Baltimore, he’d never have imagined ending up in a trendy Georgetown bistro drinking a designer label beer and wearing the kind of finely cut clothes that allowed him to blend in perfectly with the other well-heeled clientele.

If his Aunt Jennie could have seen him now, she would have been proud. And if his mother could have pictured this kind of a future for her son, she might have thought twice about abandoning him when he was twelve.

With a wry smile, he lifted his beer and toasted his high-tech security business, Kane Management; it had played a major role in his transformation. And thank God that computer security wasn’t the only business that he dabbled in. While it had put a great deal of money in his pocket, it was his other business, Favors for a Fee, that was his real love. It provided the kind of adventure and excitement that was lacking in a lot of the security work he did. Not to mention that doing “favors” for a select clientele allowed him to use some of the skills he’d picked up when he’d served for two years in a Special Forces unit.

But tonight wasn’t about work. Ryder was meeting up with Mark Anderson, an up-and-coming investigative reporter for The Washington Post. He was looking forward to seeing Mark. His friendship with Mark went back to his early days in Baltimore. They’d been fifteen or so. Of course, neither of them had worked in legitimate professions then. They’d both had close brushes with the law and survived mostly on street smarts. But they’d been friends. In addition to that, the cryptic message Mark had left on his voice mail had intrigued him: “I’ve got something hot and political that I need your perspective on. Meet me at the Blue Pepper at five.”

Turning slightly on the bar stool, Ryder scanned the entrance area and the upper dining level. Then he checked the crowd in the bar again. In the half hour that he’d been waiting, the area had filled so that patrons were standing three-deep, and conversation, thanks for the most part to a group at the far end of the bar, now drowned out the TV set that was carrying the final inning of an Orioles game.

“Hey!” a large man waved a hand at the bartender. “Another round over here.”

It was the third round the rather obnoxious man had ordered since he’d taken his seat. Ryder glanced at his watch. There was no sign of Mark Anderson, and it was nearly five-thirty.

He was lifting his glass for another sip of beer when he spotted the tall blonde through the glass entrance door. She wore her pale, straw-colored hair fastened into bun, and even though she wore a loose-fitting jacket and long skirt, he could see that she had that slender, Audrey Hepburn/Nicole Kidman kind of body. Sexy.

Tall women with mile-long legs were one of his weaknesses. Twisting his chair a little further, he watched as she used an inhaler and then paced back and forth in front of the restaurant while she studied a blue paper. A true nervous Nelly, he decided. Finally, she paused, stuffed the paper into her bag, squared her shoulders and approached the door.

His curiosity piqued, Ryder narrowed his eyes. She looked as if she were preparing to face a firing squad instead of joining friends for a drink in one of Georgetown’s most popular watering holes. Was she meeting a man? If so, she surely didn’t look as though she were looking forward to it. The thought had him frowning.

She crossed the entrance area and climbed the short flight of stairs to the bar. As she drew closer, he could see a shadow of a frown marring what appeared to be a perfect face. His own frown deepened when he saw that one of her hands gripped the large canvas bag she wore slung over her shoulder as if it were a lifeline.

He had a sudden urge to go to her, take her hands, and ask her what he could do to help. The realization, and the effort it took to remain on his stool, surprised him. Rescuing damsels in distress was not the type of work that either Kane Management or Favors for a Fee regularly engaged in. He might like women in all their various shapes and sizes, but he didn’t often find himself with an urge to do the knight-in-shining-armor thing.

He was bored. That’s what it was. Mark Anderson had piqued his curiosity and then kept him waiting for over half an hour. Swivelling back to the bar, Ryder took another sip of beer and checked on the score. The Orioles were tied at the top of the seventh. He didn’t turn when she passed behind him. That was why he only glimpsed what happened out of the corner of his eye. The loud obnoxious man who was working on his third beer shoved another man and that man plowed into another in a domino effect that sent the blonde stumbling backward.

Fate, he thought, slipping from his stool and catching her elbows as she struggled for balance. For one brief moment, as he steadied her, he caught her scent—something that reminded him of tart lemonade on a hot afternoon. Surprising. And certainly not sexy, at least he wouldn’t have thought so. But his body had different ideas. If he’d followed his impulse, he would have turned her around and pressed her close, just to see what that would feel like. But Ryder Kane could be cautious when the occasion called for it. And the intuition that he’d come to rely on in his work told him something about this fragile beauty spelled trouble.

“You all right?” he asked as he turned her around and carefully set her away from him.

“Yes.” Then she gasped. “My bag.”

Ryder saw the canvas bag on the floor, its contents spread about. As he dropped to his knees, he picked up the nearest item—the inhaler she’d used. He reached for the objects that had slid beneath his bar stool—a pack of blue note cards and a plastic bottle that held prescription pills. Sierra Gibbs was the name he noted and she was to take two as needed for migraines. A definite nervous Nelly.

“Thanks.” The voice was deep and just a little breathless. When he turned, she was on her knees facing him, and for an instant as he gazed into her eyes, his mind went blank except for one word. You.

Ryder couldn’t put a name to the feeling that raced through him. It didn’t feel like the flashes of intuition he sometimes got. And it couldn’t be recognition. The first time he’d laid eyes on this woman was a few moments ago.

This close, her face wasn’t quite as perfect as it had seemed from a distance. Oh, the skin made him think of pale and delicate porcelain—the kind that you were almost afraid to touch. But the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and the faint scar on her chin made it more interesting.

The hair wasn’t quite perfect either. Several long strands had come loose. Reaching out, he resisted the urge to pull the rest loose and instead tucked one of the stands behind her ear. He heard her quick intake of breath and felt the instant tightening of his body as his fingers touched her skin. When she bit even white teeth into her bottom lip, heat shot through him. He wanted very much to replace those teeth with his own.

Okay. Now he could name exactly what he was feeling. Lust. That was familiar. He might have even relaxed a bit if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t quite free himself from her gaze. Her eyes were the deep-blue color of lake water—the kind that tempted you to jump right in even though there was no telling what lay below the surface. From the time he’d been a kid, he’d been fascinated by the water, by the secrets it held, the adventures it promised.

“You remind me of someone,” she said in that same breathless voice that sent ripples of awareness along his skin.

“Really?” He watched her eyes narrow until she was looking at him as if she were determined to see everything.

She took a deep breath. “Have me met somewhere before?”

He smiled. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

WHEN SIERRA caught his meaning, she felt color flood her cheeks. In a moment, she’d be beet-red. Her skin was already flushed from that arrow of heat that had shot through her during the moment when he’d held her against him. His chest had been hard as a rock, and the warmth of his breath at her temple had made her insides melt. She’d never reacted quite that physically to a man before. She’d never talked to a stranger in a bar before.

And he thought…he thought she was coming on to him.

“I didn’t mean…” she began. “I’m not trying to… It’s just that… I mean…” How was she supposed to explain that strange feeling of recognition she’d felt just seconds ago when she’d looked into his eyes? “I—”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “I’d rather you didn’t tell me that you’re not trying to pick me up. My ego is very fragile.”

The glint of humor she saw in his eyes settled some of her nerves. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”

Competent and confident were the two words that came to mind as she studied him. He was different from the men who frequented the Blue Pepper—they were either local merchants or the up-and-coming movers and shakers of DC. He was also different from the men she ran into in her field of work. They were slow-moving academics. Cautious book people who seldom took risks. Just like herself.

This man, in addition to having classic Adonis-like good looks, was…what? Real was the first word that came immediately to mind. His skin was a golden-brown that came from working in the sun rather than a tanning salon, and she bet the muscles she’d felt came from something other than a tri-weekly appointment with a personal trainer. And there was a hint of danger about him.

He smiled at her then, and her gaze shifted to his mouth. For a moment she thought of nothing at all, except how those lips might feel pressed to hers. The thought startled her. She’d never before wanted to pull a man’s mouth to hers.

“Why don’t we start over?” He took her hand, and though his fingers only gripped hers lightly, she felt the sensation right down to her toes.