Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats #6)

“Ouch.” She stepped back and rubbed at the bridge of her stinging nose. No blood, so that was good. But holy crap, that hurt.

“Sorry. Sorry. Here, don’t do that.” He dropped her bag—luckily it wasn’t fine china—and cupped her chin, angling it up. “Hold on. Look right at me.”

“Like I can look anywhere else,” she snapped. When she tried to move, his grip firmed. “What are you doing?”

But his hazel eyes were intently watching hers, and she felt herself calm down without even meaning to. Something about the way he watched her… It was a little spooky, but not in a weird way.

With nowhere else to look, she found herself studying him. He was handsome, no doubt, with a little scruff and a nose that bore an interesting bump. And hands that were the size of dinner plates but cradled her chin like they were accustomed to holding delicate teacups.

Without warning, she felt herself softening, just a little. Totally physical reaction, she reasoned with herself. So the guy was good-looking. So what?

“Okay,” he finally said, releasing her chin. “No concussion.”

“That… that’s what you were doing?” Why did her voice sound so breathless? Women who used a breathy bedroom voice outside the bedroom were annoying.

“Habit. In my line of work, you tend to jump to conclusions and play it safe. You got an apartment key already?”

She dug in her shorts pocket and pulled it out. “Here we go. I’m on floor…” She dug in the other pocket to pull out the card the front desk assistant had given her. “I’m on floor eight. Apartment 823.”

“Of course you are,” he said on a sigh and wheeled the suitcase toward the elevator.

“Why, are we on opposite ends?” Could she be so lucky?

Over his shoulder, he called, “You’re my next door neighbor.”



Michael entered his own apartment, glad for the silence. Which was promptly broken by his phone ringing. With a grunt of annoyance, he answered. “Yes, Sawyer, I found her. She is not, by the way, a surly teenager with an attitude problem.”

Attitude problem, maybe. But teenager? No, his new neighbor was definitely all woman, in her midtwenties at least. A sexy, sass-mouth of a woman…

“Never said she was a teenager. You jumped to that conclusion all on your own.”

Michael ignored that true statement. “She’s safely enclosed in her apartment—which, by the way, is literally next door to me. How the hell did you work that out?”

“Agent magic. If I tell you details, it loses its power. Thanks for that, man. Now, can you keep her in for the first night, at least? Just until you can get to know each other a little more and she learns she can rely on you for things?”

“She got here, like, five minutes ago. It’s going to take her the whole night to unpack, minimum. She’s a girl. You know how they are about their clothes and shit.” Not that Michael had much of a clue. No sisters, no long-term relationships… but he could guess. He’d heard stories. He had cable.

Sawyer paused, then said, “She’s already gone, isn’t she?”

Michael made a huffing sound of annoyance and opened his door again. God, this was already a pain in the ass. The IOU for this one was going to be big. Huge. Mega. “She’s in her apartment. Watch.” He knocked on the door, waiting. Then knocked again. “Kat! Sawyer’s on the phone.”

Nothing.

“Okay,” Michael said slowly, “so she’s ignoring me. She wasn’t all that pleased to meet me in the lobby. I think she’s just doing this to piss me off.”

“She’s gone,” Sawyer said with annoying certainty. “Check the front desk.”

“You know they won’t tell me that. She doesn’t have a car. She doesn’t know anyone here. Know anything about the area. She…” Michael listened harder at the door. Silent as a tomb.

“Okay, yeah… she’s gone.” Damn Uber.

“Find her,” was all Sawyer said, then hung up.

Right. Because that had to be easy. With a growl, Michael started texting.



Kat had been to the southwest—though not specifically Santa Fe—a handful of times before. Mostly for tournaments, with very little local flavor thrown in. Airport to hotel to playing site to hotel to airport. Her travel budget left little in the way of “tourist” money. So when she’d had an Uber driver take her to somewhere “very Santa Fe, with local color,” she had expected something a little more… southwestern.

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