Ghostwalker 08 - Street Game

off his jacket and threw it at her. “Cover up.”
    “Go to hell, Mack. This is my home. My bedroom, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    Still, she slipped her arms into the jacket and inhaled, rubbing her cheek along the material without thinking, and then stalked across the room to yank open a drawer.
    “You’re a long way from home.” Jaimie made the observation as she donned a pair of charcoal sweatpants. “Not to mention you’re a little overdressed for these parts.”
    He noticed her hands were trembling as she pulled the edges of his jacket together. Her voice was exactly as he remembered. Soft, husky, beautiful. Like clear running water. It hurt him to look at her. Her chin was in the air—the same defiant Jaimie he’d known forever. But she wasn’t looking at him, not directly, and that wasn’t like Jaimie.
    “The next time you want to drop in, local custom demands that you do me the courtesy of knocking.” She paced away from him, back again, unable to rid her body of the adrenaline. “What are you doing here, Mack?”
    “We followed a shipment of weapons.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “To San Francisco? To my home?”
    “Right to your front door, baby.”
    She winced. “I’m not your baby, Mack. That was a long time ago. What are you really doing here?”
    “Our information . . .”
    “Mack, come on.” She crossed to the window and looked out over the pounding waves. “You and I both know this is too big of a coincidence. If you weren’t the one to arrange it, then your informer wanted you here. Wanted us together.”
    He wanted them together, so whoever had done this, deliberately or not, Mack owed them. Jaimie had disappeared out of all of their lives some time ago. She’d been a big part of their street family and now here she was—practically in his lap.
    He crossed to stand behind her, gently taking hold of her shoulders and moving her back away from the window.
    Kane cleared his throat. “The information was, the shipment we’re after was off-loaded and stored in this block of warehouses. Corner. High security. That’s this warehouse, Jaimie.”
    Her sapphire gaze touched his face, jumped away. “Actually, it’s not. You want the one at the end of this block. Mysterious trucks in the middle of the night. Hard cases, trying to look friendly. You want that warehouse, not mine.” Her gaze swung back to Mack. There was something faintly accusing in the depths of her eyes, but then she glanced away from him—as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.
    Deep inside, there was a stirring, an answer. Mack could feel his body’s reaction, taut, 21

    dangerous, a man’s reaction. Jaimie Fielding. His fists curled. His Jaimie. Stubborn Jaimie, with her outrageous sense of humor, her computer brain, and her pure ethics.
    Her small teeth bit nervously at her lip, drawing Mack’s immediate attention to the fullness of her soft mouth. He had always wanted to crush her lips beneath his when he saw that mouth—still did. She’d left him.
    “I think my rights as a United States citizen have been severely violated,” Jaimie pointed out. “You just invaded my home.”
    Mack swept a hand through charcoal hair. “Can it, Jaimie,” he snapped. “This isn’t funny.” Seeing her threw him. Drawing her scent into his lungs sent his body into some kind of permanent overdrive. He was supposed to be disciplined, but somehow, with Jaimie around, his body went haywire, thinking with other portions of his anatomy rather than his brain.
    “Do I look like I’m laughing?” Her eyebrows arched in inquiry. “I can assure you, I wasn’t trying to be funny.” At his look, her full, lush lips curled, pursed. “Well, so, all right,” she conceded. “Maybe I was a bit. Your hotshot intelligence group made a big mistake. Left you with egg all over your face. Not to mention I was waiting for you.”
    Mack snatched up the frying pan lying beside the sofa. “I suppose you thought you were going to bean the entire team with this.”
    A low rumble of laughter swept through the room. Jaimie smirked at them.
    “Laugh all you want, hotshots. If I’d been your enemy, you would be dead or wounded right now.”
    “She has a point.” Mack’s glittering eyes swept the room. “We’re lucky this isn’t the place.”
    Kane watched Mack watching Jaimie. It looked like trouble to him, but then, it always had been trouble when the two of them had been in close proximity.
    Combustible. Like a match to