Free Game for Anything by Cara Summers Page A

life. When the truth was out someone was going to get hurt. Sophie, for sure. Just how did he expect her to react when she learned that their affair was an excuse he was using to be her bodyguard for the next few days?
    â€œReady?”
    Tracker glanced up to see her stepping out of the bedroom. He’d seen her in fancier outfits, so there was no reason on earth why the sight of her in red slacks and a brightly flowered silk blouse should hit him sohard. Her hair was twisted up on her head with only a few wisps falling down. And on her feet she was wearing a sexy pair of strappy black sandals. Just looking at her made his mouth water.
    â€œCoffee. You’re a lifesaver.” Rushing toward the counter, she lifted the mug and took a quick sip, then another before she set the coffee back down. “Not nearly enough, but it will have to do.”
    Turning, she dashed toward the door. Tracker strode after her, but she was out of sight by the time he reached the hallway. Since he’d installed the security system in Sophie’s shop, he was well aware of the layout, but he refamiliarized himself with the place as he followed in her wake. The door at the foot of the stairs led to a small courtyard. Beyond the rose-covered lattices lay an alley that delivery trucks used.
    The other door led to the back room of Sophie’s shop. By the time he made his way past the packing tables and pushed through the swinging doors, Sophie was already in conference with a young man standing near the cash register. Noah Danforth was a grad student at Georgetown who’d been working part-time for Sophie since she’d opened the shop. He was tall and fair-haired, with narrow, dark-framed glasses and clothes that testified to the fact that he read men’s fashion magazines.
    Beyond them, three customers studied a blue bowl as if it held the secrets to the universe. The woman was tall, wearing a bright blue suit with a wide-brimmed hat to match. The younger man was short, with a wiry build and long hair he wore pulled back in a ponytail. A diamond flashed on his pinky finger.The older man had a more portly build and a jovial face with a full beard that had Tracker thinking of both Santa Claus and Ernest Hemingway.
    While Sophie moved toward them and was swept up in a round of air-kisses and hugs, Tracker walked over to the man at the cash register and extended his hand. “I’m Tracker McBride, a friend of Sophie’s brother. She mentioned that there was a delivery today, and I volunteered to lend a helping hand.”
    â€œNoah Danforth,” the young man said as he shook Tracker’s hand. “She could use the help. One of these days she’s going to hurt herself trying to move some of the heavy stuff out of the back room.”
    â€œImportant customers?” Tracker asked conversationally. He thought he recognized the two men and the woman from Chance’s descriptions, but it wouldn’t hurt to have his hunch verified.
    Noah pitched his voice low. “The woman is Millie Langford-Hughes and the man is Chris Chandler. Currently, he’s the designer everyone on Capitol Hill wants to hire, and this is one of his favorite shops.”
    What Noah didn’t add but Chance had told Tracker was that Millie Langford-Hughes was currently the most talked about hostess in the nation’s capital, and that she’d pretty much made the reputation of Chris Chandler. Chance had also pointed out that Chandler was in an excellent position to serve as a buyer for the Puppet Master.
    â€œAnd I believe,” Noah continued, “that the bearded man is Sir Winston Hughes, Millie’s husband of three months. They’ve been honeymooning abroad, and this is his first visit to the shop.”
    Noah’s cultured tones, delivered in a murmur, gave Tracker the impression that he was being let in on state secrets. Sir Winston and his new bride were also on Chance’s list because Millie was