Chapter 3

      Oliver studied Lucy Smok’s profile as she followed his directions and drove toward the Gold King Mine & Ghost Town attraction just outside the town proper. When he’d clashed with her the night before, he was focused on her militant intrusion into his world, her unwarranted attack on poor Crystal Harney, an “undergrounder” who was just trying to get by.

      Crystal belonged to a certain class of the not-quite-human who were shunned by those who ran in elite circles like the world of Smok International. Oliver had seen his fill of vulnerable undergrounders being victimized and demonized among the paranormal-aware community, and he’d vowed to watch out for them when he could, since no one else would. Lucy’s arrogant insistence that Crystal was a killer rubbed him the wrong way, the sort of attitude he’d seen from law enforcement types all his life.

      Then, today, when Lucy had appeared in his shop after raiding his kitchen, Oliver took her for a spoiled brat. In the dark and the rain the night before, he hadn’t noticed how young and slight she was, and it was hard to reconcile the two versions of her. But discovering she was Lucy Smok, the high-powered twenty-five-year-old CFO of Smok International the council had brought in to deal with their problem, had thrown him for a loop. How all three things could exist simultaneously in one compact—and highly opinionated—person was difficult to process.

      She was also one of the most visually striking women he’d ever seen.

      Pale aquamarine eyes and porcelain skin contrasted sharply with almost-ebony hair, and the deep red lipstick she wore—like the stain from a beet—enhanced the effect. The paleness of her eyes made her seem like a dangerous wolf. He might have suspected her of being a shifter herself if she hadn’t been so adamantly bigoted against them. She also possessed a sharp cockiness he didn’t see in most women, the kind of confidence a woman would need, he supposed, to run a multimillion-dollar corporation—especially at such a young age.

      He kept coming back to that. Because, beyond her puzzling contradictions, he was having trouble reconciling his own powerful attraction for a woman almost ten years his junior. It wasn’t the image he had of himself. Later in life, ten years wouldn’t matter so much. But a man in his midthirties chasing after a woman in her twenties was just embarrassing. Not that he was chasing after her. He didn’t chase. And he wasn’t interested in any kind of intimate involvement. He was done with that. But the attraction was undeniable.

      It was almost visceral, like he’d been waiting for her, his senses pricking up in anticipation as if his body recognized her. And not in a sexual way—though he couldn’t deny there was that, too—but with a sense of familiarity, of knowing, that he couldn’t explain and didn’t particularly care for. Her scent seemed made for him, a blend of cardamom and amber, something both earthy and exotic at once. And he didn’t think she was wearing perfume.

      “Now where?”

      Oliver blinked. “What?”

      She glanced over at him, annoyance drawing her ebony brows together. “Where do I turn?”

      They were at the crossroad where Jerome-Perkinsville Road split off in two different directions, one toward the rustic museum of antique mining machinery and the other up into the hills.

      “Oh, sorry. To the right. You can pull over by the gate.”

      Lucy turned a bit too swiftly, tires kicking up dirt and gravel, and drew up in front of the rusted barrier chaining off the private road. “It says No Trespassing.”

      “We’re not going in. We’re just heading up the forest road a bit. We could drive in farther, but I don’t think your car is made for dirt-road driving.” Her expensive convertible two-seater looked like it was designed more for show than for sport.

      He noticed the dress boots with a two-inch block heel under her tailored suit as she stepped out of the car. She was even shorter than she seemed. He could probably pick her up and carry her under one arm like a caveman claiming his mate. Not that he approved of cavemen scooping up and claiming women. Or that he considered her a potential mate.

      Oliver swallowed and reined in his idiotic thoughts. Sometimes it seemed like his brain took pleasure in going off on tangents that would make him uncomfortable. At any rate, how such a slight-looking woman could possibly be one of Smok Consulting’s premier field agents was beyond him. Going after someone small and defenseless like Crystal was one thing. And Lucy obviously had some kind of martial arts training. She’d briefly overpowered him with the element of surprise on her side. But what was she going to do when she tracked one of these things down? Call animal control?

      Lucy was eyeing him with a mixture of impatience and annoyance. “Well?”

      “This way.” Oliver strode past her, hands in his pockets, up the dirt and gravel road, not waiting to see if she’d followed. Her expensive, unscuffed boots crunched on the gravel behind him. They weren’t going to be unscuffed for long. He led her around the bend, where he veered off the road and headed downhill over the remains of old mining spoil, only to realize she was no longer behind him.

      He turned to find her standing at the top of the hill with her arms folded, watching him. “Too steep for you?” he called up to her.

      Lucy uncrossed her arms and rested her fists on her hips. “Mr. Connery, is there a point to this little trek?” Her ability to project was impressive. She must have had stage experience.

      “It’s Oliver,” he yelled back. “And yes.”