Free Force of Nature by Suzanne Brockmann

idling near building five, in a no-standing zone.
    It wasn’t until Ric parked and they got out of the car, leaving the windows open for Pierre, that Annie spoke.
    “Nicely put together,” she mused, and Ric realized his earlier relief had been premature. “Generally, people say that when they don’t want to be mean. When they can’t think of anything positive to say without lying. It’s the equivalent of saying
You looked like you were having fun up there
to a friend who was in a show that you thought sucked.”
    “Third floor,” Ric told her. “Door closest to us. Don’t look straight at it.”
    The door was clearly marked 508C, with ornate gold numbers and letters. The windows surrounding it were brightly lit, but just at that moment, the lights went out and the door opened. Someone was coming out.
    Three someones. One of them was female and blond.
    The limo moved closer, surely not by accident as Annie exclaimed, “Would you look at that moon?”
    “Looks like Brenda’s got herself a sugar daddy,” Ric murmured, pulling Annie against him, her back pressed to his front, his arms encircling her.
    “Are you sure it’s her?” she whispered, playing along, covering his arms with her own, leaning her head against his shoulder, as if they were lovers looking at the stars.
    Well, okay, so this was Florida and the haze factor usually eliminated most starlight. Tonight was no exception. They were lucky, though. The moon was shining through the clouds.
    “No,” he whispered back. He wasn’t sure it was Brenda—she was still too far away. And yeah, Annie was a solid, comfortable armful, but zaftig? Come on. “Let’s let her come closer.” They were standing on the path, directly between the exit from the building and the limo. She’d have to go right past them.
    Assuming that this was her gentleman friend’s limo.
    Except, up on the third floor, the trio had turned around and trooped back to the apartment.
    One of the men unlocked the door, and the blonde went back inside.
    “Hurry the fuck up,” a disgruntled male voice carried down to them.
    “Charming as well as wealthy,” Annie murmured. “How long can we get away with standing here like a pair of idiots?”
    As if on cue, the moon disappeared behind a cloud, leaving them staring up into the nothingness of the night sky.
    “Uh-oh,” Annie said.
    On the third floor, the two men lit cigarettes, leaning against the railing, still waiting for the blonde.
    Their options were pretty limited; still, Ric ran through them in his mind. They could do this overtly—just walk up those stairs, approach the two men, inquire as to whether Brenda Quinn lived in apartment 508C.
    That approach was simple and to the point, and would be easier than this undercover investigation they were attempting.
    Problem was, every instinct he had was screaming that there would be trouble if Brenda and Co. found out they were looking for her. Keeping this covert seemed ridiculously important.
    Of course, maybe he just wanted an excuse to kiss his best friend’s little sister.
    Annie turned in his arms to face him. “Maybe we could pretend we’re reciting poetry to each other. ‘There once was a girl from France, who wanted to learn how to dance…’”
    Ric laughed. “That’s not poetry.”
    “Cut me some slack. I’m thinking on my feet here. I don’t see you doing much of anything—”
    He kissed her.
    He felt her surprise for only a fraction of a second before she caught on, and she kissed him back. Man, she was good at making it look real—anyone watching them would have to look away to avoid getting scorched from the emanating heat.
    Her mouth was as sweet as he’d always imagined, her body as soft, as she molded herself against him. Her hands were in his hair, down his back, and—Mother of God—cupping his ass, pulling him closer. She angled her head to kiss him more deeply, going so far as to wrap one leg around him, shifting her hips until her heat was