Night Moves by Desiree Holt Page A

talk to him. If he thinks it’s nothing, all you’ve lost is an hour or so. And you’ll have reinforced your own thoughts.
    A stalker. How ridiculous. Something she absolutely did not need.
    She pulled down the sun visor and checked herself in the small, lighted mirror. Her thick blonde hair, which she usually wore pulled back with a clip, was still in place even after NIGHT MOVES
    Desiree Holt
    7
     
    a harrowing day. Her emerald-green eyes looked tired, missing their usually sparkle, and her pale skin looked even paler. She took a minute to refresh the minimal amount of makeup she wore. The last thing she wanted when she walked in was to look like a basket case.
    Smoothing her navy silk blouse and skirt, she climbed out of her SUV.
    Automatically, she scanned the parking lot for any other presence, a habit she’d developed the last few days. A shadow moved at a distant corner, and she blinked her eyes.
    Surely that wasn’t a wolf. No, her eyes were playing tricks on her because she’d just looked at the business card. When she looked again, whatever it was had disappeared. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she locked her car and strode to the entrance of the small building. Through a glass door, she saw a deserted lobby, no one in sight.
    Well, it is almost eight o’clock.
    She pulled on the door, but it was obviously locked. What the hell?
    “Miss Matthews?”
    She looked around. The voice was coming from a speaker just above the door to the right.
    “Yes. I can’t seem to get the door open.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    Regan checked her surge of impatience and watched as a tall, dark-haired man strode into the lobby from the left. Even through the glass, there was something electric about his presence.
    Stop it, you idiot. You’re not here for a date.
    A buzzer sounded, and seconds later, he pulled the door open and waved her inside.
    “Brian Spencer.” He held out his hand.
    The moment they connected, a bolt of pure lust shot through her. She was struck speechless. Other men had certainly appealed to her, and she’d had her share of lovers, but nothing— absolutely nothing— had ever elicited such a powerful reaction from her. An electric charge seemed to zap the air. She looked at the man and saw a flash of surprise whisk across his face. Then it was gone.
    She was tempted to call the whole thing off and run to the safety of the car. Oh, wait.
    Her car was no longer safe. But neither was this man. She drew in a breath and pulled herself together as best she could.
    NIGHT MOVES
    Desiree Holt
    8
     
    “Sorry about the door,” he told her. “A lot of our clients have not so nice people dogging them so we built in some security safeguards.”
    “Not so nice people. Like Calvin Gillette.
    “Seems like the smart thing to do. I’m Brian Spencer. Thanks for calling the agency.”
    She raked her eyes over him in a quick assessing gaze. Well over six feet, he had broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips and ending in long, long legs. His long-sleeved, black T-shirt and grey slacks fit him closely. His face was lean with a broad forehead and high cheekbones, amber eyes beneath sooty thick lashes and all of it framed by a thick mop of silken black hair that flowed almost to his shoulders.
    This was the man Linda told her could handle any problems? Regan thought he looked like the kind who would make them. She couldn’t help staring at him. There was something almost feral about him, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice. Then he spoke again, and the spell was broken.
    “My office is upstairs,” he told her in that same deep voice, leading her to a curved open stairway. “This way.”
    Although the lobby was empty of people, as they moved along the upper hallway Regan saw ribbons of light beneath closed doors. Another door was partially open, giving her a view of a massive electronics set-up. As they passed, a man in jeans and a rumpled T-shirt spotted them and rose to shut