Every Move You Make

Zach turned toward her. “What’s not where?”

“The bag with the dress in it. It never made it to Hobby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.” She handed him a notepad in which she had written an address in Alabama. “But it may be here.”

“Here, as in…?”

“Here as in the Unclaimed Baggage Center in Scottsboro, Alabama. According to the airline supervisor I talked to, that’s where all the lost luggage in the universe piles up until it’s either claimed or auctioned or sold off after ninety days.”

Zach scratched his chin, thinking a couple of pieces of his own luggage probably had ended up there over the years. “A kind of graveyard for dead baggage.”

Mariah smiled. “Yes. Something like that.”

“So when do we go?”

Her soft brows lifted. “How do you mean?”

He glanced at his watch. “My client renews his vows in less than a week. He’s willing to pay us whatever it takes to retrieve the dress posthaste.”

“Us?”

“He’s covering all expenses.”

“Ah.”

Zach grinned. “Unless, of course, you want to sign off on the case.”

“No, no. Of course not.”

Zach could tell that’s exactly what she wanted to do. And it surprised him how much he wished she wouldn’t. He was highly attracted to her and he’d like to see what it would be like to kiss that saucy mouth of hers. He couldn’t do that if she sent him packing.

The telephone at her elbow rang. She glanced at the display showing the number of the caller, the ashen color returning to her face.

She reached back and picked up what looked like a duffel bag. “Let’s say we go now.”

“Just like that?”

She nodded, barely looking at him as she headed for the door. “Just like that.”

MARIAH SECURED both her tray and her seat in the upright and locked position then rubbed her arms.

“Cold?”

She glanced at where Zach Letterman seemed to take up the air of half the plane, his knees jammed against the seat in front of him, his shoulders nearly topping the back of the chair.

She cleared her throat. “Um, yes. A little. But we’ll be landing soon, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Here.” He gestured to a nearby flight attendant, who immediately stepped to him, a solicitous smile on her pretty face.

Mariah grimaced and watched as Zach Letterman charmed another willing female. The strange thing about it was that he didn’t even appear to be trying. He looked a woman’s way and she was all smiles and readiness. She’d witnessed it first at the airport when the desk clerk had practically drooled on the counter separating her from Zach. Then she’d seen it at the airport coffee shop, where he’d stopped off for some caffeine and the Wall Street Journal.

“No, it’s not for me,” Zach told the pretty blonde.

The blonde definitely looked disappointed, not that Mariah could blame her. To have the perfect excuse to touch Zach ripped out from under you…well, that would be enough to make anyone frown.

“Thank you,” Zach said, accepting the plastic-wrapped blue blanket.

Mariah watched the flight attendant reluctantly make her way back to the front of the plane.

She cleared her throat. “Thanks, Zach, but no, really, that’s okay…”

Mariah’s words trailed off as she watched him make quick work of the plastic then begin to cover her with the nappy cotton. The back of his fingers skimmed her bare arm, making her feel like the plane had hit an air pocket as her stomach bottomed out. “I…um, can do it.”

His eyes scanned her face, making a whole different sort of goose bumps dot her flesh.

“Thanks,” she said.

She’d never seen a guy grin with his eyes before. But if anyone could, Zach Letterman was the man. A pure knowing seemed to lurk in the meadow-green depths, inviting her in, robbing her of both breath and words.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, then he returned his attention to the Wall Street Journal.

Mariah puffed out a long breath and settled the blanket over the upper part of her body. She turned to look out the window. Why was it that whenever he looked at her she found it suddenly impossible to breathe?

She shifted and made a face. P.I., her butt. If the man next to her was a private investigator then her name was Cindy Crawford. She surreptitiously watched him turn the page of his newspaper, her gaze lingering on his long, thick fingers and the springy dark hair that dotted the backs. He struck her as a man used to traveling. He barely looked at the flight attendant who offered a drink and a snack, while she had spotted the attendant the instant he began serving the passengers fifteen rows up. She never took her eyes from him for fear that he would miss her. Okay, so she wasn’t a frequent flier. This was her third time on an airplane and, admittedly, she didn’t much like being so far up off the ground. There was something…unnatural about it.

But it was more than Zach’s comfort with airplane travel that fueled her suspicions. Take the gun incident. Investigation training usually required the investigator to take at least one course in the art of using a firearm. She knew things worked differently up North, but she didn’t think they worked that differently. Then he had avoided answering her question on what had led him to be a P.I.

She made a face. Okay, so she hadn’t shared her reasons, either, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a licensed P.I. She was.

Maybe he just didn’t get out in the field much.

Still, a niggling part of her suspected that Zach Letterman knew as much about being a P.I. as she knew about weeding a flower garden, which was basically limited to whatever she saw when she tuned in to Martha Stewart. And that wasn’t all that often.

Her gaze slowly slid back to Zach’s handsome profile. While he lacked experience in the private detecting arena, she’d guess he had a whole lot of experience in other more intimate arenas. He was the type of male who would know exactly what a woman wanted from a man. And would be able to give it to her.

Zach folded his newspaper and slid it into the pocket in the seat in front of him. His gaze met hers and, as usual, her stomach bottomed out—especially when his eyes darkened, an unmistakable attraction lurking in the green depths. In fact, for a moment she thought he might even kiss her. She caught herself licking her lips in preparation.

“So what do we do once we get there?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Mariah slowly blinked, his words taking even longer to register. “Oh. We rent a car and drive the forty miles from Huntsville to Scottsboro to visit the Unclaimed Baggage Center.”

The gleam in his eyes turned into a grin, making Mariah’s own mouth suddenly go dry. “I’d gathered that. I meant, will we be checking into a hotel?”

Checking into a hotel? With what had to be the most attractive guy she’d come across since she used to pin up pictures of rodeo stars on her bedroom walls?

“No. No, I don’t think a hotel will be necessary.” She swallowed hard and wished she could pull the little blue blanket up over her head. “If luck is on our side, we’ll find the bag and be on the next flight back to Houston.”