He sighed, long and weary sounding, downshifting into the next turn. “Don’t I know it.”

Chapter 3

Things could be worse. Suppose your errors were counted and published every day, like those of a baseball player.

“I figure the price for this abduction should fit the crime.”

Pace took his eyes off the road and glanced at the reporter in his passenger seat. She wasn’t beautiful. Irritating people couldn’t be beautiful, not in his opinion, and all reporters were irritating. Besides, she was too . . . careful looking. Yeah. That was it. She wore . . . efficient business clothes over some more than decent curves—which he happened to be a sucker for—but there was that whole annoyance factor. She had light brown hair carefully pulled back, matching light brown eyes that carefully saw everything, and a careful smile she’d attempted to manipulate him with.

He figured that was standard reporter issued.

He wondered if it gave her a headache, all that carefulness. She was certainly giving him one, and given the pain he was fighting in his shoulder, that was saying something. “Abduction?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what it’s called when one person takes another against their will.”

“I offered you two thousand dollars, and you jumped into this car so fast my head spun.”

“Well, you were combining my two favorite things. Money and getting my interview.”

“I never promised you the interview.”

“It was implied,” she said sweetly.

Ha! If she was sweet, he’d eat his shorts. “No, it wasn’t implied. I purposely didn’t imply it.”

“I’ll be happy to offer a trade. I’ll reduce the fee from two grand to one,” she said magnanimously.

“You’ll—” He laughed in disbelief as his cell phone buzzed an incoming text from Wade:Three reasons to get down here. Brandy, Cindy, and Sweet Pea. Hand to heaven-SWEET PEA, that’s her real name.

“You’re not supposed to text and drive in California,” his reporter said from the next seat. “It’s illegal.”

Pace tossed the phone to the console. Sweet Pea. Over the years he’d seen or heard it all, from the crazy Hollywood underground clubs to the White House. But as ridiculous as it sounded even in his own head, having women want him for the sake of how fast he threw or how big his bank account was had gotten old. “I can’t text and drive—I’m not that talented.”

She didn’t reply, thank God. Silence. One of his favorite things. He took in the Pacific Ocean on their left, the Santa Ynez Mountains in all their dramatic and rugged summer glory on their right, casting gigantic shadows on the highway and water. Midsummer was a great season, and not just because of baseball. The weather was fantastic, hot and nearly rainless, and the sage and scrub terrain was mind-soothingly beautiful as the late afternoon sun made its way down toward sea. Pace opened his window, adding the noisy warm wind to the mix, which he hoped would keep her from asking any questions.

“Do you get out of speeding tickets because you’re famous?”

Or not. When his cell phone rang at that exact moment, he considered it a gift and reached for it without even looking at the ID, a huge risk on a normal day, but he desperately needed the distraction. “Go,” he said, hitting the speaker button, leaving the phone on the dash so his passenger couldn’t complain about the risk, and also so he couldn’t get his second ticket of the month.

“Not answering your texts?” asked Wade.

Pace had to roll his window back up to hear him. “I’m driving.”

“Good. I’m at Jax, and you owe me a beer. Get your ass over here.”

“Can’t.” He glanced at Holly, who was soaking up the conversation with open curiosity. “Got a situation.”

Holly rolled her eyes.

“You getting laid?” Wade asked.

“Hey,” Pace said quickly. “On speaker, and I’m not alone here.”

“Sorry.” Wade paused. “So are you?”

“No!”

“Man, do not tell me you got a bunch of screaming women surrounding your car again.”

“One time,” Pace said on a sigh as Holly snorted. “That happened one time.”

“And I saved you. I keep telling you that edgy, brooding thing you’ve got going on is never going to cut it with the ladies, but you don’t listen—”

“Okay, what part of not alone in the car don’t you get?”

Wade laughed. “Who’s with you?”

“I am.” Holly leaned forward. “Holly Hutchins.”

“Well, hello, darlin’,” Wade purred silkily. “You as gorgeous as you sound?”

“She’s a reporter,” Pace said. “So watch your mouth.”

“I’ll watch whatever she wants me to watch.” Obviously, Wade was Pace’s virtual opposite. The guy had practically grown up on the streets, seeing more as a kid than anyone should see, and he still always had an easy smile on his face. His motto was work hard but play harder. His California-surfer good looks didn’t hurt either, but it was his laid-back nature that had women flocking to him wherever he went.

Holly would flock to Wade, too; it was just a matter of time . . .

“I’m doing a series of in-depth articles on the Heat,” Holly said to the cell phone. “From a personal angle. What makes you guys so popular, what makes you tick, who you are . . . I’d love to set up a time to meet with you and get your thoughts.”