Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

As her head tipped back so she could offer her lips, he let his hover over hers, breathing her in, letting himself have that, at least.

He moved his lips to her ear, instead. “Too bad it can’t be me.”

Mila’s eyes flashed open, but before she could respond, he was headed back to the reception hall.

Of course he’d finally find someone he had real chemistry with and she’d be a cop.

Of course.

***

The Maserati GranTurismo prowled through the street with a grace and power that made Atlas weak in the knees. He’d had a soft spot for Maseratis ever since he was a kid. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to give this car up. There hadn’t been an order for one, but once he’d seen it he just had to take it. It was the best way to keep his mind off the girl.

The cop.

There’d been no way he could go to the shop today and chance seeing her again. Knowing she’d show up and he wouldn’t be there had kept him on edge all day. It wasn’t hard to find her work record, along with her photo. She hadn’t even bothered to lie about her first name. The fact that she’d lied about her last name, though, meant she was either investigating the company, or him in particular. It had to be about the cars—nothing else would have caught their attention, unless Austin had been hacking into something stupid when he was alone there. The kid had been a trouble magnet only a year ago when Atlas had caught him shoplifting at the shop. He’d reminded Atlas too much of a younger Fox to call the cops on him. Now, with some brotherly guidance, the kid was completely trustworthy and ran the store alone some days.

Mila Palmer, twenty-seven. That made her four years older than he was. She’d gotten good marks at the academy and had moved up to detective quickly. Her performance record was solid but unremarkable. Unblemished. If he could keep away from her, maybe it would stay that way.

Damn. Even the employee photo of her in the cop uniform was hot.

What are you looking for, Detective Palmer? I can’t let you get too close.

As if on cue, a cop turned into his lane, four cars back. He slowed down, but stayed slightly over the speed limit. A driver that strictly obeyed limits looked suspicious.

His adrenaline ramped up, far higher than the situation warranted, but he was in a bad mood and it was affecting his reactions.

The Maserati had been left at the back of a pharmacy parking lot. Was he supposed to ignore that kind of gift?

He hadn’t taken a chance like this since he’d been arrested and thrown into juvie at the ripe old age of twelve. Keeping up with Fox and Luke, both of whom were slightly older, had been Atlas’s goal in life since he’d learned how to walk. He’d always been smaller

, slower, dumber. Not that he was unintelligent, he was just . . . younger, and therefore more willing to take chances to impress them. Everything had always been harder for him growing up as the youngest of the boys. At least there were two things he could best them at now—hacking and bodybuilding. And hacking was helpful in their line of work.

The rush of taking the car was wearing off, and he felt like a bit of an idiot. Even as he’d walked over to it, he’d known it could have easily been a sting. One Mila had set up. Part of him even wanted it to be so he could play cat to her mouse again. But it would have been far easier to show up at the computer shop if he wanted to talk to her so badly.

At this time of day it was hard to find their drop-off people, and between the traffic and the bright sun, he was just asking for trouble. And cops. There seemed to be a million of them out today. The car might have been reported already, and he wondered how long it would be before a cop noticed him. Maseratis weren’t exactly a dime a dozen, but searching for a stolen car wasn’t always a priority, depending on the day.

He drove past a cruiser parked in a lot, but the officer was looking at his dash, not at the road. The cop that had been behind him in his lane turned off after a few miles.

Slowly, he started making his way to the drop point. It had moved a few weeks ago because the police seemed to have been lurking around the old one too much lately. He hit the speed dial for Antonio’s Pizza again, but Jenny wasn’t picking up.

Fuck. It wasn’t usually this hard to get a hold of her or Pete, but it’d happened before.

Options about where to go and what to do ticked through his head. He’d suggested a few times that they should have warehouse space, but the others had been against it. It wasn’t how they’d been raised. They were supposed to fill orders, not take what was lying around and hope for the best. Their fathers had taught them to be cautious and prudent in their work. It made things less exciting than they could be, but this was a job, not a hobby.

As for excitement, any curiosity he’d had about whether he could handle a gunfight had died when they’d rescued Ophelia from Vander. Their run-in with their old rivals had been too close of a call. He’d had dreams about Vander’s brains spraying all over the concrete floor for months afterward, and certain types of clicks still made his shoulders hunch.

Fox getting shot by Marcel had been awful, too, but he’d only seen the aftermath of that. He didn’t have the same visceral reaction to it, although there was a certain section of their front lawn he still couldn’t bring himself to walk on, even though the blood had long since soaked into the ground.

Thank god their rival group’s new leader, Lurch, had his head on straight. For that matter, Lurch and his men had downsized. Things were getting too hot in the city right now, and all but four of them had left town permanently. It was starting to look as if Fox and Addison might leave soon too. With Luke mostly living at Ophelia’s that would leave him alone in their big house. Sure, it was nice to have the place to himself sometimes, but permanently?

Hell, if he didn’t get this car somewhere safe, and soon, he’d have a roommate in no time. Along with free rent and a snazzy orange jumpsuit.

He could call Jimmy and Carlos, to see if he could stash it in their garage, but they’d sworn when they’d met them not to involve those two in their illegal activities. It was an even worse idea than him bringing the car back to the house and throwing a tarp over it. Maybe it was time to just ditch it somewhere. They never seemed to bother doing the CSI thing when it came to cars. At one time they thought they’d be dealing with officers looking for hairs and doing DNA testing, but that seemed to be reserved for more personal and serious crimes.

Just as he reached the suburbs, he noticed a new cruiser on his tail. It started off three cars back, but as the vehicles in between them gradually turned off, it finally left the officer directly behind him. The man’s eyes were on the Maserati, but it was hard to tell if it was professional or personal interest.

Atlas’s stomach sank.