Demon Lover Read Online Free PDF

looking for?"
    She backed into the dining booth, out of his way, tucking the bra into the crack in the upholstered seat. "Of course not. You knew I wouldn’t. Is it really necessary to keep my shoes?"
    The smuggler rubbed his stubbly jaws and regarded her from under half–closed lids. "Why quibble about a pair of shoes? As I recall, a couple of hours ago you seemed ready to shed all your clothes."
    Julie was silent. His eyes were so cold, so knowing. As if he could see inside her head. She kept her eyes on him and swallowed reflexively.
    "You’ll get them back," he drawled softly, "when I think you’ve grasped the realities of your situation."
    "You think—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "You think I don’t know what my situation is? I couldn’t very well mistake it, could I? I speak and understand Spanish very well." Her voice had escalated, and she fought it back down to a more self–possessed level. "I thought I had made it pretty clear where my priorities lie."
    "Oh, right. You don’t want to die and you aren’t crazy." He took a beer from the refrigerator and popped it open, squinting against the misty spray. "Not very stoic for a lawman, are you?"
    "I’m not interested in being a hero," Julie muttered, avoiding his eyes.
    "Uh–huh." He slid into the seat opposite her, leaning across the table to tap the badge on her chest. She jerked away, and he smiled without humor, his eyes glinting coldly in his dark face. "Let’s just say I don’t trust anybody wearing a badge."
    He sat back, sipping his beer. "Did you finish?" he asked suddenly, startling her with the casual, conversational question.
    "I beg your pardon?"
    "Your search—did you finish, or would you like to get on with it?"
    "No, thank you," Julie said sullenly. "What’s the point?" Then she sat forward abruptly. "What do you carry in those compartments? Guns? Drugs? They’re a little small for illegals—unless you’re into smuggling children."
    "Ah, that’s better," he said blandly. Julie waited and after a moment he shrugged and said flatly, "Gas."
    Julie blinked. "What?"
    "Gasoline. There are two reserve gas tanks on this truck. Baja doesn’t have a station on every corner. You might keep that in mind when you’re plotting your escape."
    Julie subsided, feeling foolish, and stared out the window. The smuggler, too, was silent, drinking beer and looking broodingly at the bleak vista unfolding beyond the dusty glass.
    After a while he pushed the beer can away and leaned back with a soft sigh. "It might interest you to know," he said, his voice sounding as weary and harsh as it had before his nap, "that I don’t want you dead either. With that in common, do you think we can work out some kind of accord?"
    Julie’s skin felt hot and dry. She dropped her eyes to her hands, folded on the tabletop. Her reprieve, it seemed, was about to end. "I told you I wouldn’t try to fight you," she said in a low voice.
    "Good." The smuggler put his hands on the table just inches from hers. She stared at them as she would at a coiled rattler. "First, a few facts. There is absolutely no possible way for you to escape, so I’d advise you not to waste your time trying. As far as anyone else is concerned, you are my prisoner, to do with as I please. Do I make myself clear?"
    He had leaned forward, the better to zap her with twin bolts of blue lightning. Julie swallowed painfully and said, "Oh, yes."
    He continued to regard her until she again had to look away, then sat back, apparently satisfied. "Okay, Julie Maguire. Do as I tell you, trust me, and I guarantee you won’t be harmed."
    "Trust you?" Julie said faintly, incredulously.
    The smuggler seemed not to have heard. "For the time being you will stay in this camper. When we reach our destination you will, of course, share my quarters."
    "Of course," Julie said huskily, forcing her eyes back to his face and lifting her chin slightly. "And your bed?"
    "That," said the smuggler softly, "depends on