Free Up From the Grave: A Night Huntress Novel by Jeaniene Frost

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    “Ian,” Bones drew out warningly.
    He waved a hand. “Stop growling, Crispin. I’m well over my former attraction to your wife, but the point remains that I’m stunning.”
    With that, he got out of the car and sauntered off with his open shirt flapping behind him like twin mini capes.
    “Get back here,” I hissed, not shouting only because we were still trying to be incognito.
    Ian blew a kiss over his shoulder and kept walking, heading down the hill toward the parking garage. Bones stayed my hand when I would’ve yanked the car door open to go after him.
    “Let him try, Kitten. Hooks work best when they’re baited.”
    They did, but the female courier came off as too shrewd to bite into this particular piece of bait. I only hoped Ian didn’t blow our cover after his bare-chested sashaying failed to sweep her off her feet.
    “For the record, I tried to stop this,” I said grimly. Then I turned my attention back to Ian.
    The afternoon sun gave his copper-hued hair golden highlights and he made sure that the hard lines of his chest and abdomen were on full display as his pace kept his shirt billowing behind him. Grudgingly, I had to admit that several heads turned, and more than a few cars slowed down as female drivers gave him a second, third, and fourth look. Ian responded by flashing them a dazzling smile, making him appear almost angelic to anyone who didn’t know that he was a conscienceless slut.
    As he crossed the street, a downward tug on his waistband had his jeans sitting even lower on his hips. Another couple inches, and he’d be flashing groin cleavage, and from the avid stares aimed his way, that could be met with spontaneous applause.
    “Have some dignity, ladies,” I muttered.
    Then Ian surprised me by grabbing the nearest bystander who wasn’t gawking at him and yanking the man close enough to kiss. For a second, I wondered what the hell he was doing, but Bones said, “She’s back,” and my gaze snapped to the parking garage elevator again.
    The brunette got out on the street level and headed straight to the sidewalk where she’d parked. No surprise to see that the briefcase she’d arrived with was now gone. From her thoughts, she was less watchful since the drop had been successfully made, but she still gave her surroundings a thorough once-over as she walked toward her car.
    Which meant she saw Ian the moment he staggered into her path, the stranger he’d accosted now shoving him and ripping at his pants. My brows went up, but then the man snatched Ian’s wallet out of his front pocket and, with a final shove that sent him sprawling, ran off.
    “Blasted sod stole my wallet!” Ian shouted.
    The brunette paused about a dozen feet away. I was focused on her thoughts, so I knew the moment when her natural—and correct!—wariness was trumped by something else. She stared at Ian, who was on his back with his legs splayed and head bent. Then he flipped his hair back, revealing his face as he sat up so slowly, you couldn’t help but notice the muscles rippling across his chest and abs.
    Oh yeah, he was piling it on thick.
    “Do you have a mobile?” he asked, his English accent more pronounced. “I should call the police. I’ve just been robbed.”
    “Mobile? You mean cell phone?” she asked while Stop STARING, Barbara! flashed across her mind.
    Barbara. Now we knew her real name. No one used an alias to talk to themselves.
    “Yes,” he said. Then he looked down at his bare chest as if he hadn’t ripped his shirt open himself.
    “What a state I’m in,” Ian continued, actually managing to sound rueful and shaken at the same time. “Bloke near tore my clothes off trying to get my wallet. Drugs, I suspect.”
    Caution urged Barbara to leave the gorgeous stranger alone, but she ignored that and came closer anyway. I was both glad and disgusted. Way to blow up Ian’s ego and deflate feminism at the same time, Barb!
    Then a cluster of people blocked them from view. I