G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  Time seemed to go in slow-motion as my brain sorted it all out. Darin was frantically groping around for his jeans that lay on a heap of clothing on the floor next to the sofa.

  I flung the key to his apartment at her, watching it bounce off of her forehead and land on her bare crotch.

  “Here slut, have at it!” I screeched. I turned to Darin and in the calmest tone possible hissed, “I hope your cock rots off.”

  I stumbled out of his apartment, wet tears now streaming down my cheeks, as I tried to run in the stupid, four-inch heels I’d purchased earlier for this special occasion. I wasn’t having much luck. I stopped momentarily to remove the heels, giving Darin just enough time to catch up to me on the sidewalk. He had managed to pull his jeans on for the chase, but nothing else.

  “Whoa, Darce, hold up there, baby. It’s not what you think.”

  Not what I think? What the fuck?

  His hand reached for my shoulder, turning me to face him. I immediately clawed at him with the heel of my shoe, gouging his still-bare shoulder over and over again with it. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Baby, please? It didn’t mean anything, I swear to God! It just happened. It has nothing to do with you or how I feel about you.”

  “How can you say that?!” I screeched.

  “I’ll make her leave, we’ll talk it out,” he pleaded. “I love you, Darce.”

  “Fuck you, Darin,” I hissed. “It’s over. We are done. Don’t ever call or come around me again. Do I make myself clear?”

  I looked up into his dark eyes and saw the tears welled up in them. Too fucking little, too fucking late. He started to reach for me again, but something in my eyes must have registered with him because he stopped and drew back. My tears had dried up. All I felt was coldness in them now as I directed an arctic glare at him. He felt it too, taking a half-step back from me.

  “Do I?” I repeated, my voice having a steely edge to it that even I didn’t recognize.

  He nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. The realization had hit him with full force. I watched as the comprehension sunk in. Darin Murphy had fucked up in a big, big way. No one, I repeat, no one breaks Darcy Nicole Sheridan’s heart. It’s just not done.

  chapter 1

  The flight attendant in first-class roused me from my sleep gently.

  “We’re preparing our initial descent into Belize City. I need for you to bring your seat into the upright position and fasten your seatbelt now.”

  I kind of wanted to kill her. Just a little. I settled for smiling at her and obliged, groggy as I was, to comply.

  It was Christmas day in Belize. I was relieved to be spending it in another country, not back in the U.S., where everything had imploded as far as my love life was concerned. My parents were spending the holidays in Cancun. I had quickly decided to get away, only not with them. I was not up for the pummeling questions I knew would be forthcoming if my mother and father knew what had happened with Darin. I barely had the strength to make the last minute call to Lindsey, seriously not in the mood to go into the details with her at the moment. I was just too raw.

  She’d freaked like I knew she would when I simply told her that it was over with Darin and me and that I wasn’t going to provide any details to her at the moment. I told her I’d booked a flight to Belize, leaving Christmas Eve morning; I’d discuss everything with her upon my return. She wasn’t happy. She’d attempted to pry, but I told her I needed to get packed and quickly ended the call.

  As soon as I walked into the terminal, I collected my luggage and arranged for a ferry to San Pedro. I was booked at a beach-front villa at the Grand Colony. My parents had taken me there after my high-school graduation. I remembered how totally beautiful it had been; the beautiful blue water and white, sandy beaches. And that was something I desperately needed right now.

  I could forget about everything, being thousands of miles away from D.C. I could forget the pain and betrayal of what Darin had done to me. If I had to, I’d drink myself into oblivion to forget. Of course, I’d be drinking fancy, tropical drinks delivered to my villa by a very hot, sexy Belizean dude.

  Is “Belizean” a word?

  Anyway, all I really wanted was the ability to numb myself from the hurt and betrayal I was trying to deal with. It was a first for me. I’d never been broken. I was always the breaker never the breakee. This was new ground for me.

  After I was settled into my beach-front villa, I opened all of the shutters to enjoy the warm sunshine trickling in and the soothing, salty, ocean breeze. I stood at the open window and reveled in the tranquility of this extraordinary place on earth. I hoped it would help to heal my broken heart, at least for now.

  My phone rang from somewhere in my handbag. It was probably my parents calling from Cancun to wish me a Merry Christmas. I fumbled around until I found it. Sure enough, it was Mom. I knew she’d worry if I didn’t answer and commence blowing my phone up until I did.

  “Hey, Mom,” I greeted, making sure to put my game face on and throw in some fake, red-and-green cheer. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Darcy, what’s wrong?”

  Shit.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom. What could be wrong? It’s Christmas,” I reassured her with a grin plastered to my face, hoping like all hell that the explanation for my “Worst Breakup of the Year” award wouldn’t break through my lips.

  I totally cracked 2.5 seconds later.

  For the next ten minutes, I shared the whole story with her, including the fact I was in Belize alone on Christmas. I told her I needed to be alone right now.

  “Nonsense, darling,” she argued. “Your father and I’ll change our plans and join you in Belize tomorrow. Where are you staying?”

  “I’m at the Grand Colony in San Pedro.”

  “Wonderful, darling. I’ll call you back once our plans are firmed up. Stay put, okay?”

  Where the hell would I go?

  “I’ll be right here, Mom.”

  Me and Captain Morgan…

  “Please know this isn’t the end of the world. It’s better you found out now rather than later what type of man Darin is.”

  I doubted if the pain could be any worse, but Mom needed to know that I’d get through it.

  “I know Mom, and you’re right.”

  “Good girl.”

  I changed into a summer dress complete with flip-flops, to take a walk on the beach, letting the warm tide wash over my feet in the wet sand. I let my long hair down so I could feel the wind whip through it. It was therapeutic and calming. The ocean had a way of making everything seem so very small and inconsequential, putting things in perspective.

  I was enjoying the relaxing solitude when I noticed a couple coming down to the beach about twenty yards from me. The man was tall, probably around 6’ 3” and extremely handsome. I could tell that from a distance. He had very dark, thick hair and a lean, but muscular build. I noticed he had a five o’clock shadow gracing his tanned face, his features were finely chiseled. I smiled to myself as I noticed his very rugged looks conflicted with the air of aristocracy he had about him. How in the hell I could presume that was beyond me. He wore sunglasses, but I imagined his eyes to be either blue or green. He wore a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top few buttons unfastened, showing his muscular broad chest with a pair of khaki trousers. That was one fine ass he had going on.

  I noticed the young woman with him was now staring at me. She obviously noticed that I had noticed, and didn’t appreciate it by the body language she was giving off. She was shorter than I was, probably about 5’ 2” or 5’ 3” to my 5’ 7” height. She was built nicely, had medium-length blonde hair and a gorgeous tan. She was wearing a bikini that left very little to the imagination. As soon as I knew I was busted, I looked away. I could hear the man’s deep, rich laughter as I did. Blushing furiously, I turned and headed further down the beach.

  A couple in love no doubt. Here
I was, just a loner with heartbreak in a tropical, romantic place like Belize. What had I been thinking coming here? I’d have been better off holed up in some hotel in London watching the rainy drizzle outside my window. At least the rain and I would have something in common.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a raised voice down the beach where the couple had been.

  “I’m sick of the way you’re always scoping out other chicks! It might be nice if you paid some attention to the girl you’re actually with once in a while!”

  What in the hell?

  I glanced back and then around. There were no “other chicks” on the beach except for me.

  Really?

  The girl was totally gorgeous, looking like Vacay Barbie, so her insecurity really didn’t make much sense to me. I watched as he pulled his sunglasses off and faced her, his index finger jabbing the space in front of her as if reprimanding her. He obviously was saying something to her in a calmer voice, making it impossible for me to hear. I saw her shrink back from him, then whirl around and run back down the beach in the opposite direction, presumably back to their own villa.

  The guy put his sunglasses back on, turning to gaze down at me. He saw that, once again, he had my attention. Busted #2! I hurriedly turned away from him and started walking further down the beach, feeling his eyes still upon me. A tingling sensation enveloped my whole body as he did. It was my turn to laugh softly as I put distance between us.

  Once I’d finished my walk on the beach, I showered and changed for dinner. I decided I wasn’t going to hole up in my villa and order room service. I was damn well secure enough to dine alone (which would definitely be a first experience for me. But what the hell, right?).

  I chose a clingy cobalt-blue cocktail dress that covered the necessities, just barely. It clung to my curves, and damn near lifted my breasts up over the top. I worked hard on keeping my body in shape, so why not flaunt it? It wasn’t as if I’d ever see any of these people again.

  I accessorized with silver earrings and a slave bracelet. I slid my freshly-pedicured feet into a pair of black, 4-inch, spiked, Louis Vuitton summer sandals. They were hot. Poor Daddy! They’d set him back somewhere in the neighborhood of eight hundred dead presidents. I tried not to over-do it with his and Mom’s generosity, but like I said, I was their only child and if it made them feel good to indulge me, then why spoil it for them? My mother had been 42 years old when she had me. She referred to me as her and Daddy’s miracle surprise.

  At 64 years of age, they both still possessed a youthful air about them. I knew the truth, though. My parents had been “hippies” in the late sixties, early seventies. That’s right, bona fide, sign-carrying, Vietnam-protesting hippies. I had a hard time with making that connection too. It was only because of Mom’s slightly younger sister Bridget that I’d found out about it.

  Apparently, my mother attended Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio, which to this day, she claims, is a town still lost in the “sixties.” My father had attended nearby Wittenberg University in Springfield, Ohio but they didn’t actually meet until August of 1969. Guess where?

  WOODSTOCK! (A three-day concert held in upstate New York—I had to look it up.)

  It’s so hard for me now to picture my parents as war-protesters or hippies. They blend in very nicely with the country club set and international travelers. I suppose youth has a way of putting different perspectives on things before it’s time to bring home the bacon. I’m only grateful that I’d been a late-in-life baby. I can only imagine what my life would have been like if I’d been born as a result of their “hooking up” at Woodstock. God! I’d be like in my early forties and would probably have some Bohemian name like “Moon Shadow” or “Rain Flower.”

  I took a deep breath, putting all of that out of my mind as I realized it was time for me to leave for dinner. I left my villa, clutch purse in hand and walked the lonely distance to the resort’s high-end restaurant. I’d made a reservation for one. Don’t think that wasn’t extremely difficult. Fuck it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that jazz.

  Luckily, I passed a Tiki bar on the way up to the restaurant. I stopped and ordered a Mambiscus, one of the tropical favorites in Belize. It was delicious with coconut rum, coconut liquor, apple liquor and peach liquor, along with watermelon juice and some other various non-alcoholic mixtures. I slurped it up in no time flat, getting the tingling buzz of relaxation from the alcohol content. I adjusted my dress downward to shield my said necessities from a mix of perusing male eyes sitting at the outside bar.

  As soon as I arrived at the restaurant, I knew this had been a mistake.

  It was packed as hell, so naturally I had a wait time for my “table for one”—which, with my current luck, would probably end up being right outside the Men’s room. I was invited to sit at the bar with an electronic device that would light up and vibrate when my table was ready.

  Luckily, I found an empty stool at the bar, and proceeded to plop my ass down on it without giving everyone in the house a show. There was an older guy to the right of me, and a younger guy in business dress to the left of me on his cell phone. I gave the bartender my drink order and then took a look around the bar and restaurant, swiveling the bar stool to do a full panoramic view.

  Shit!

  It was him! The hot guy from the beach earlier. Guess who was with him? Yep! The petite blonde that had been with him there and had stomped away after accusing him of gawking at other chicks.

  Double Shit!

  They were already seated; nibbling on their appetizers, while Blondie had her small notebook computer opened, occasionally entering data while he spoke to her.

  What’s up with that?

  I was still gaping their way when “gorgeous” happened to look over at me. I could see instantly he drew the connection with me being the one on the beach earlier. I felt myself tingle as his gorgeous eyes, now without sunglasses to mask them, perused my body up and down as I sat cross-legged on the bar stool. I hurriedly spun my bar stool back around, presenting my back to them. There was a mirror over the bar and I couldn’t resist searching him out in the reflection and noticing he was still very much checking me out.

  God, he looked so hot in his dinner suit. He was impeccable from every angle and trust me; I was checking each and every angle out in that mirror! He was watching me watching him. I wanted to turn my head, but I seriously couldn’t! I was freaking mesmerized with his looks and his charisma that seemed to seep from every pore in that oh-so-lovely body of his. I was lost in the moment, gazing at him gazing at me through the mirror behind the bar.

  All of a sudden, Blondie turned her head, obviously aware that he’d stopped paying any attention to what they were doing. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and shot a whole new set of icy daggers at me, which didn’t diminish a bit in the reflection. I wasn’t going to give her the benefit of breaking my gaze first. Finally, she turned back to look at him. My eyes dropped as the bartender placed my drink in front of me. I focused my attention on that, sipping the delicious nectar of this tropical drink.

  Already, I was feeling light and giddy, probably because I hadn’t eaten a thing since I arrived in Belize. The older guy next to me turned his attention to me, his eyes flickering over me from top to bottom.

  “On vacation?” he asked, trying to give me an appropriate opening line.

  “Yep,” I answered, sipping my cocktail.

  “Me too,” he replied, scooting his bar stool just a tad closer. “I’m here all alone taking a much needed vacation from my wife and grandchildren,” he explained, as if I were minimally interested.

  “That’s nice,” I replied, trying not all that hard to sound condescending.

  He bantered on a few minutes longer. Most of the conversation didn’t even sink in to my brain until his hand reached over and rested on my bare thigh.

  “Yep,” he continued, “I have a stressful job as a CEO in the States. My wife’s tak
en to raising my low-life son’s children, so it’s like starting that crap all over again. Thought I was done with all of that once I hit fifty. But no, wifey says it’s for the children; can’t be selfish when it comes to the children. I wish she cared about my well-being as much as she cares about ‘the children’s’ well-being, you know?”

  “Well, actually, I don’t,” I replied, politely moving his hand from my thigh and placing it back on his own. “I’m 22, and I honestly can’t fathom what your life is like. I’m sorry.”

  “Aren’t you a call girl?” he asked, looking totally perplexed. “Aren’t you paid to listen to my sad tales? Oh, I get it, cash first, right?”

  I think my mouth would have dropped open if that initial reaction wasn’t swiftly followed by rage-studded humiliation. “Fuck you, old man,” I said. “I think you’ve stepped into a generation you don’t know a damn thing about.”

  I was about to say more, tell him to fucking turn away and leave me the hell alone, when the bartender approached with a fresh drink in his hands for me.

  “It’s from the gentleman over there,” he said with a nod towards the table where “gorgeous” and his pouty wife and/or girlfriend were sitting.

  “He said for me to tell you to enjoy, and that he finds you most beautiful, Miss.”

  I couldn’t help myself, I had to turn and see if he really had enough gall to send a drink to me in front of his wife, girlfriend—whatever the hell she was to him. And I saw it, his eyes on me, gazing with an intensity that made me shiver in the balmy air. I also saw her arctic gaze, sizing me up in her mind, trying to figure out just why he’d made sending me a drink an issue that she wasn’t comfortable with.