Extreme Bachelor (Thrillseekers Anonymous #2)

Leah sat up and glared at Adolfo. “You know, I used to think you were a nice guy.”


He laughed again, inclined his head in acknowledgment. “It is a sad thing that you will know me only under these circumstances. I am very charming—many women have said so. In Spain, you would have adored me very much.”

“Oh, right, you’re a regular prince,” Leah snapped. “So do I at least get to know why you want to kill him?”

He shrugged. “He is a liar. And he made love to my wife.” Adolfo smiled coldly. “Many times.”

Leah’s heart sank a little—apparently, the Extreme Bachelor had gone international. She got off the bed, pausing only a moment until her head cleared a little.

When it did, she saw that Adolfo had sat up, had his hand on his gun. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“The bathroom,” Leah said, and ignoring him, she stumbled into the pit of a bathroom.

When she had availed herself of the facilities, such as they were, she emerged again, hands on hips, and glared once more at Adolfo, who was now on his feet, holding the gun with the ease of a man who had apparently done so many times before. He reminded her of one of the villains in a bad TV movie, holding it so carelessly.

“Can’t you point that thing in another direction?”

He looked down at it and seemed surprised. He quickly pointed it toward the ceiling.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

“Ach,” he said, flicking his wrist at her. “I do not care for guns. I have others use them on my behalf.”

Leah’s jaw dropped open. “You don’t know how to use the gun you are holding?”

Adolfo shrugged.

Leah shook her head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

He laughed, looked down at the gun he was holding. “You should mind your tongue when a man is holding you at gunpoint,” he said, “especially when he does not know how to use it properly.”

Excellent advice, but Leah smirked at him nonetheless. “Is there anything to eat or drink besides poisoned orange juice?” she asked, and walked past him, into the kitchen. Adolfo did not try and stop her, but followed her in, as if he, too, was interested.

“You will find small biscuits and canned foods,” he said, watching curiously as Leah opened a cabinet door.

“Wait a minute,” she said, pausing to look at him over her shoulder. “Do you mean you planned to hold me captive without food?”

Adolfo laughed and took a can of tuna out of the dank cabinet. “I did not see the point of wasting good food on a woman who will soon be dead.”

Leah gasped. His glittering brown eyes were hard as rocks, and she felt the pit of her stomach slide, woozy and sick, to her toes.

He was serious. Dead serious.





JUAN Carlo might as well have strewn his path with bread crumbs and cookies, or better yet, paint a big red arrow pointing up the mountain, he was so damn obvious about it. Michael started with the bartender, whom he had to rouse out of bed after coaxing his name from a waitress. The man wasn’t very happy about it until Michael tossed a couple of twenties at him—then he remembered Juan Carlo very well. Juan Carlo had taken the time to have a long and memorable conversation with the man about cabins, and one in particular up the old Sunlight Canyon Road.

“Anything else?” Michael asked.

The bartender thought about it. “He was a nice guy, actually. A big tipper.”

That was Juan Carlo, generous to a fault.

At the only real grocery in town, Juan Carlo had apparently proven once again that he was a consummate ladies’ man. He had chatted it up for almost an hour with a middle-aged clerk with Brillo-pad jet-black hair who had added a thick slash of dark red lipstick across her mouth, perhaps in anticipation of a return visit by the dashing Spaniard. Whatever he’d said to the clerk had obviously kept her smiling into today.

“Do you know where he might be?” Michael had asked as he paid for some gum.

“I don’t know for sure, but he was talking about making the drive up Sunlight Canyon Road.”

“Up there?” Michael asked, feigning confusion. “I heard there wasn’t much up there anymore.”

“Oh there’s not,” the clerk agreed, confirming Michael’s guess. “Just a couple of old family cabins. I know two of them have been empty for years, since the cost of heating fuel got so expensive. But there are a couple of nicer ones down by the main road. I’m sure that’s where he’s probably staying.”

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