the effect Superman had on women, especially classy women looking for a dangerous thrill, looking for a walk on the wild side.
Hawkins had given it to more than a few.
Damn.
“Maybe you better warn Nikki she might be having a lot of company tonight,” he said, repressing his jealousy.
“Nikki. Right.” A faint trace of her blush returned. “I'll call, and maybe you should talk to Kid and tell him . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence, as if she'd suddenly thought better of what she'd been about to say.
“Tell him?” he prompted.
“Tell him, well . . .” She hesitated a moment longer. Her hand came up to brush at a straying tendril of hair. “Well, Nikki kind of has this thing about men, kind of an artistic compulsion thing with her art and . . . men. It's not a personal thing.” A pained expression crossed her face, as if she really weren't at all sure it—whatever “it” was—wasn't more personal than she wanted to admit. “Well, just sort of an art thing, something to do with never really knowing her father, I think, and I wouldn't want Kid to get wrapped up in something that might compromise his ability to do his job. I mean, well, he's kind of young and maybe if he was warned, you know, that Nikki can be a handful . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Fascinating,
Quinn thought, watching her stumble over her words, trying to explain something that didn't make much sense to him. He wasn't overly concerned.
“So Nikki's an artist?”
“Yes.”
“And how old is she now—I'm thinking twenty-one, twenty-two?” He remembered her younger sister had just been a little kid back at Rabbit Valley.
“Twenty-one,” she confirmed.
Quinn grinned. “Don't worry. Kid is a pro. There isn't a twenty-one-year-old girl on the planet who could wrap him up in anything he didn't want to be wrapped up in.” And Quinn was including silk sheets right along with trouble.
The doubt on her face only made his grin broaden. He thought it was sweet of her to be concerned, sweet and totally illogical. Kid was rock solid, honed by the Corps's finest into an elite combat weapon, trained to think two steps ahead of the enemy while under fire, underwater, and outmanned. Unless an army had declared war on Boulder since this morning, there wasn't anything in northern Colorado Kid couldn't handle, on his own, with one hand tied behind his back.
Absolutely nothing—least of all little Nikki McKinney.
C
HAPTER
9
K ID WATCHED Skeeter's Jeep drive away from the McKinneys' house before he reached inside the Porsche and lifted a black duffel bag and a pack out of the back seat. Skeeter had done a good job watching the place. Stayed cool. Laid low. Kept the intel flowing between them. If any of Roper's men had shown up, she would have called the police. Now any bad guys would have to deal with him.
Kid slipped the duffel and pack straps over his shoulder, then reached back in for his sport drink and took another look around. The McKinney house was big and old, the first floor built of stone, with a wooden wraparound porch complete with a swing and more windows than he wanted to know about. Four huge spruce trees nearly overwhelmed the place, and years ago some gardener had gone nuts. The yard was a jungle. Kid could have put a whole platoon in the front alone and nobody would have ever been the wiser. In the back, beyond the gazebo, a small stone cottage could barely be seen hidden in the undergrowth.
The garage was detached. There was no fence, and a stripped-down Jeep was parked in the alley between the McKinneys' and the brick two-story house behind them. The vehicle was little more than a roll bar with two seats and four wheels, but the back was full of stuff, good stuff from what Kid could see, ropes and climbing gear. From his position in the driveway, he could just make out the license plate: SRCHN4U . If Nikki McKinney had company, Skeeter hadn't mentioned it, but she wouldn't have seen someone arriving from the alley. Or
Hawkins had given it to more than a few.
Damn.
“Maybe you better warn Nikki she might be having a lot of company tonight,” he said, repressing his jealousy.
“Nikki. Right.” A faint trace of her blush returned. “I'll call, and maybe you should talk to Kid and tell him . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence, as if she'd suddenly thought better of what she'd been about to say.
“Tell him?” he prompted.
“Tell him, well . . .” She hesitated a moment longer. Her hand came up to brush at a straying tendril of hair. “Well, Nikki kind of has this thing about men, kind of an artistic compulsion thing with her art and . . . men. It's not a personal thing.” A pained expression crossed her face, as if she really weren't at all sure it—whatever “it” was—wasn't more personal than she wanted to admit. “Well, just sort of an art thing, something to do with never really knowing her father, I think, and I wouldn't want Kid to get wrapped up in something that might compromise his ability to do his job. I mean, well, he's kind of young and maybe if he was warned, you know, that Nikki can be a handful . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Fascinating,
Quinn thought, watching her stumble over her words, trying to explain something that didn't make much sense to him. He wasn't overly concerned.
“So Nikki's an artist?”
“Yes.”
“And how old is she now—I'm thinking twenty-one, twenty-two?” He remembered her younger sister had just been a little kid back at Rabbit Valley.
“Twenty-one,” she confirmed.
Quinn grinned. “Don't worry. Kid is a pro. There isn't a twenty-one-year-old girl on the planet who could wrap him up in anything he didn't want to be wrapped up in.” And Quinn was including silk sheets right along with trouble.
The doubt on her face only made his grin broaden. He thought it was sweet of her to be concerned, sweet and totally illogical. Kid was rock solid, honed by the Corps's finest into an elite combat weapon, trained to think two steps ahead of the enemy while under fire, underwater, and outmanned. Unless an army had declared war on Boulder since this morning, there wasn't anything in northern Colorado Kid couldn't handle, on his own, with one hand tied behind his back.
Absolutely nothing—least of all little Nikki McKinney.
C
HAPTER
9
K ID WATCHED Skeeter's Jeep drive away from the McKinneys' house before he reached inside the Porsche and lifted a black duffel bag and a pack out of the back seat. Skeeter had done a good job watching the place. Stayed cool. Laid low. Kept the intel flowing between them. If any of Roper's men had shown up, she would have called the police. Now any bad guys would have to deal with him.
Kid slipped the duffel and pack straps over his shoulder, then reached back in for his sport drink and took another look around. The McKinney house was big and old, the first floor built of stone, with a wooden wraparound porch complete with a swing and more windows than he wanted to know about. Four huge spruce trees nearly overwhelmed the place, and years ago some gardener had gone nuts. The yard was a jungle. Kid could have put a whole platoon in the front alone and nobody would have ever been the wiser. In the back, beyond the gazebo, a small stone cottage could barely be seen hidden in the undergrowth.
The garage was detached. There was no fence, and a stripped-down Jeep was parked in the alley between the McKinneys' and the brick two-story house behind them. The vehicle was little more than a roll bar with two seats and four wheels, but the back was full of stuff, good stuff from what Kid could see, ropes and climbing gear. From his position in the driveway, he could just make out the license plate: SRCHN4U . If Nikki McKinney had company, Skeeter hadn't mentioned it, but she wouldn't have seen someone arriving from the alley. Or
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