You Only Love Twice

by Lori Wilde

Was Joel telling the truth? Marlie searched his face, but his eyes were inscrutable. If he was lying, he was damned good at it. She was glad he was on her side.

  Maybe, Angelina said, rather than getting so impressed with Mr. Sauntering Sinew and Bulging Biceps, you should ask yourself why he’s on your side.

  Kemp sniffed at Marlie. “She’s been drinking. I can smell it on her breath.”

  “You ever been shot at?” Joel asked him.

  Sliding one hand onto the butt of his holstered gun in a cock-of-the-walk stance, Kemp met Joel’s eyes. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m trying to prove a point.”

  “No,” Kemp admitted.

  “Well, I have.” Joel thrust out his chest and stepped closer.

  That statement instantly piqued her interest. How had he gotten shot at? Was he law enforcement? Was he military? Had he been in Iraq? Or had his experience with guns been something of a more notorious variety?

  “So?” Kemp grunted.

  “First thing you want to do after staring down the barrel of the gun of some crazy-eyed bastard and living to tell the tale is to have a strong belt of the hard stuff. That’s why I gave Miss Montague a shot of whiskey. She was stone-cold sober when the attempt was made on her life. I’m a witness to her state of mind at the time.”

  Marlie’s heart fluttered. My hero.

  Get rid of that thought right now. This guy is not your hero. He’s not your anything. You don’t need a man to defend you. Tell him to butt out. You’ve got it under control.

  “Hey, what are these?” Kemp asked, leaning over to pull a stack of her research books from the end table. He read from the back-cover copy of a book with a particularly lurid cover. “Brainwashed by patriotism, why gullible Americans swallow blatant military deception.”

  Here we go, Marlie thought. It wasn’t the first time she’d been ridiculed for her interest in conspiracy theories. Occam’s razor aside, she and her family had suffered firsthand from a government cover-up. She knew such things went on.

  Kemp tossed that book onto the couch and went on to the next one in the stack. “The U.S. government’s plan for world domination.” He chortled. “Yeah, right. Whoever wrote that was obviously never a public servant. Politicians can’t even dominate their own sex drives.”

  “For your information, that book was written by a former head of the FBI,” Marlie said crisply, even though she knew she was only adding gasoline to the flame.

  “Beyond the veil of secrecy, exposing clandestine brotherhood sects.” Kemp howled. “Learn the truth! Evil lizard people disguised as monarchy control the world’s banking system.”

  Marlie cringed as the arrogant cop kept reading from the backs of the books. Taken out of context, her reading material did make her look a bit unbalanced.

  “Lady,” Kemp said, dumping the remainder of the books back onto the end table, “you’re a certified whack job and anti-American to boot.”

  “That’s enough, Kemp,” Joel barked. “Back off.”

  Marlie’s eyes widened.

  Joel was in battle stance. Fists hardened into lethal weapons, jaw jutting forward, legs spread a shoulder’s width apart. His tone was challenging, the sharp expression in his green-gray-blue eyes commanding.

  You’ve finally found a real alpha male, and he is yummy. Angelina sighed.

  But Marlie didn’t want an alpha male. Guys like that scared her. While she admired Joel’s bluntness and bravery, his confrontational style made her want to turtle up inside herself.

  Grow a backbone, woman.

  Easy for you to say, Marlie mentally retorted. You’re just a cartoon character. You take a risk and get into trouble, and I’m the one who writes you out of it.

  Joel’s eyes locked with Kemp’s.

  Marlie looked from Joel to the policeman and back again. Even though the officer was taller than Joel, he was overweight and so full of himself he apparently didn’t recognize how quickly Joel could take him out. Joel shot him the most bloodcurdling, Clint Eastwood, go-ahead-make-my-day look Marlie had ever seen.

  Kemp suddenly backed down. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re leaving?” Marlie protested. “Just like that?”

  “There’s no evidence that a crime’s been committed,” Officer Kemp said, edging cautiously around Joel in his break for the front door.

  “But what if the guy returns?” Marlie anxiously knotted her hands.

  “I don’t believe there was a guy.”

  “I’ve been receiving threatening letters. I even filed a report about it last year.”

  “I’m aware of your report. I’m also aware that the officer on the case concluded you wrote the letter to yourself.”

  “I did not,” she declared hotly.

  Kemp stopped at the front door and issued his last threat. “Dare to file another false police report, and I promise that you’ll find that cute little butt of yours locked up in jail so fast it’ll make your head swim.”

  “Hey!” Marlie’s lips moved, but it was Angelina who shouted as Kemp walked out the door. She punched an index finger in the air for emphasis. “That comment is sexual harassment, buddy, and I’m going to report you to Jonas Barnhill.”

  Her threat fell on deaf ears. Kemp kept walking and never looked back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What in the hell did you do that for?” Marlie spun around to scowl at Joel. He was surprised by the vehemence in her eyes as she turned on him the minute the front door shut behind the policeman.

  “Do what?”

  “Butt into my business. I didn’t need your meddling interference.”

  “Yeah? Then how come you broke into my house? What was that all about?” He stepped forward, encroaching on her space.

  “I had to get away from a killer, and your house was handy. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “No? Then why didn’t you break into the house on the other side of yours?”

  “Mrs. Whittaker is an eighty-three-year-old widow and she’s half blind.”

  “My point exactly.”

  And then Joel realized why Marlie had jumped down his throat rather than thanking him for helping. She was scared spitless, but loath to show it. In spite of the tough image she hoped to convey with her narrowed eyes, clenched fists, and determined chin, she could not hide the telltale throbbing of her pulse. It fluttered frantically at the base of her throat. The evidence of her vulnerability caught him low in the gut. Aw, damn. Her bravery in the face of fear notched his respect for her tenfold. Dobbs had to be wrong. She could not be involved in antigovernment activities, in spite of her kooky conspiracy theory books.

  “You had no right to interfere,” she insisted, stubbornly hanging on to the issue.

  The best way to handle this situation was to let her believe that she’d won. She had her arguments settled in her head, and he could see she wasn’t about to change her mind. Joel held up both palms. “You’re absolutely right. Just because I have a thing about bullies pushing people around doesn’t mean I had a right to step in on your behalf without your permission. Even if you were getting bullied.”

  “Darn straight.” She flicked a lock of hair back over one ear.

  “You don’t need some chauvinistic guy telling you what to do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re an independent woman living happily on her own.”

  “Now you’re just patronizing me.”

  “I’m not, but if it makes you feel any better, I apologize,” he said.

  “What? I didn’t catch that.”

  Apologies weren’t his thing, but if she needed to hear it again in order to feel better about herself, he could suck up his pride and give her one. “I said I apologize.”

  “Well,” she relented as she thought about it for a minute, “you were just trying to help.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But why would you take up for me with Kemp?”

  “Do I need a motive beyond common cou
rtesy?”

  “It makes no sense.”

  “Chivalry makes no sense?”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you have issues. A guy tries to do something nice and you crawl down his throat.”

  “Why do you want to defend me?”

  “You mean besides the fact I think Kemp is a giant asshole?”

  “Ah, so that’s what this is about. Can’t have two bulls in the same pasture, huh?”

  “That’s not it. Kemp reminds me of one dickhead stepfather too many.” She was starting to tick him off the way she kept badgering for answers. “Guys like Kemp are all cowards inside. They’re afraid of getting pushed around, so they do the pushing first. I hate cowards.”

  He thought of his father when he said it. Of how Gus had stood on the courthouse steps during the custody hearing but never worked up the courage to go inside. Without Gus there to stand up for his rights as a father, Deirdre’s lawyer had mopped the courtroom with him and his mother had gotten full custody. Joel batted the thought away. Why was he thinking about Gus now?

  “How many dickhead stepfathers did you have?”

  Joel wished he hadn’t said a damn word about this to her. He wasn’t one of those people who whined about a tough childhood. And he didn’t like the “you-poor-baby-tell-me-all-your-troubles” expression in Marlie’s eyes.

  “More than one,” he said lightly.

  Joel was surprised that she let it go, but he was grateful. When most women found out he came from multiple broken homes, they immediately wanted to mother him. Treeni was the only woman he’d ever known who had not.

  “Was that story about knowing the police commissioner true?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Not a word of it.”

  Her frown deepened. “Do you lie often?”

  “No more than necessary.”

  “I don’t like liars. Can’t trust ’em.” She tilted her head and studied him. “I suppose I was rude to you just now.”

  “You had a right. You’ve had a big scare.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened here,” Joel said, “but I believe that you believe it.”

  “I was shot at,” she said obstinately. “I didn’t hallucinate.”

  “I never said you did.”

  “I saw your face when Kemp dragged out my books. I know what you were thinking.”

  “So now you’re a mind reader?”

  “FYI, I don’t believe all those conspiracy theories,” she said. “They’re just research for the comic books I illustrate.”

  “But you do believe some of them.”

  “I don’t take anything on faith. Not even conspiracy theories.”

  “A suspicious mind isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” he said.

  “Try telling that to the rest of the world.”

  “Considering what happened, you shouldn’t stay here alone tonight. Do you have someplace else to go?”

  She nodded. “My mother’s house.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been very nice. And tolerant.” She moved toward the door.

  “I’m being dismissed?”

  “You’ve been great, but I’d like to be alone now. Good-bye.”

  “All right, I’m going. But if you need anything, feel free to drop by. The window’s already broken out of the back door so it shouldn’t be so hard getting in the next time.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile was tight.

  He saw the longing in her eyes and knew she wanted to trust him but simply couldn’t bring herself to do so. She wasn’t one to let down her guard easily. Getting close to her was going to take time. Lots of time.

  Time he didn’t possess. He had to find a way to accelerate the process and overcome her jitteriness with strangers.

  Joel left her place via the backyard gate. He paused in the narrow strip of lawn between her house and his. Part of him admired her internal vigilance, but another part of him was irritated. He wasn’t accustomed to working so hard to prove himself to the opposite sex. Normally, he just cocked a grin and women melted in his embrace.

  But not this one.

  Marlie was a challenge. She required a bigger push, an added incentive to rush into his arms and ask him to slay dragons for her.

  Joel grinned. Unluckily for her, he thrived on challenges.

  What would force her to ask for his help?

  Well, if her car wouldn’t run, she’d need a lift over to her mother’s house.

  It was sneaky and underhanded. He didn’t like the idea of scaring her more than she already was, but sometimes for the good of all concerned, you had to make tough judgment calls.

  Nonchalantly, Joel sauntered over to Marlie’s Prius. He cast a glance around the neighborhood. No one appeared to be watching. He darted a look back at her front window. If she caught him, he’d better have a cover story she would believe.

  Okay, he had it. He’d just tell her he was thinking of trading in his Durango for a Prius and he’d stopped by to take a look at hers. That should not only allay her mistrust, but earn him brownie points for being an environmentally conscientious consumer.

  Joel hunkered down on the side of the Toyota facing away from Marlie’s window and removed the valve stem cap from her rear tire. He found a slender twig, about the diameter of a toothpick, in the grass. He broke it into four sections, lodged one piece of twig against the valve stem core to make the tire go flat, and replaced the cap. He quickly repeated the procedure with the three other tires. He used the twigs to flatten the tires because if he did it by hand, it would take too long, and it upped his risk of getting caught. Later, when he had a chance, he’d come back and retrieve the twigs so no one could trace the flats back to him.

  Then he straightened and strolled home. He didn’t feel guilty. He’d done what he had to do.

  Three minutes later, he settled into the chair in front of the security monitor set up in the spare bedroom and ran the tape back to fifteen minutes before the time Marlie had broken into his house. Two weeks earlier, the NCIS covert ops team had installed the cameras, getting her out of the house by posing as city workers looking for a leaking gas main. Joel hadn’t been involved because they hadn’t wanted to risk her recognizing him again later.

  On Camera One Joel zeroed in on her empty living room. It looked no different on the color camera than it did in person. Black leather davenport with white pillows. Alabaster wicker rocking chair with ebony cushions. Ivory carpet, black-lacquered end tables. Black-and-white-striped curtains. The lamp shades were yin and yang symbols. The effect created a feeling of distance and aloofness.

  Marlie Montague isolated herself even in her own house. He could almost touch her loneliness.

  He switched to Camera Two, which was mounted in the air vent in her kitchen. The room resembled a 1950s diner with the black-and-white-checked linoleum flooring and the chrome dining table. The countertops were black granite, and the cabinetry was painted a high-gloss pure white. All the appliances were black except for the stainless-steel refrigerator. He liked the art deco style, but this room also felt empty.

  Joel went back to Camera One and eyed the coffee table. Yep. There it was, completely unharmed. He fast-forwarded the tape.

  Here came Marlie on-screen. She went to the door, stood on tiptoe, and peered out the keyhole. She hesitated and stepped back. It looked like she was mumbling to herself, but there was no audio.

  Did he have the mute on?

  Suddenly the camera went blank, as if it had been switched off at the source. He futzed around with the controls.

  Nothing.

  He changed the batteries in the remote.

  Nada.

  He jiggled the cords to make sure they hadn’t come unplugged but the screen remained blank.

  He switched inputs.

  Zip.

  He triple-checked everything, but the problem wasn’t with his equipment. Someone must have tampered with
the camera.

  Had the assassin used some specialized electronic device to disable the video while he was still outside the house?

  Or—and he hated to think this because it would mean she was one hell of an actress and the entire assassin thing had been a ruse and she was onto him—had Marlie herself disabled it?

  When her mother didn’t answer either her home phone or her cell, Marlie flipped out. She paced the living room, mentally conjuring every horror imaginable.

  In the primary scenario, the hit man had left Marlie’s house—bowling ball and damaged coffee table in tow—motored over, and murdered Mom.

  But why would he want to kill your mother? Angelina reasoned.

  “I don’t know. Why was he trying to kill me?”

  There are several options.

  “Yeah? I’m all ears.”

  It’s the guy who wrote you the latest death threat. “Love America or die, bitch.” Weren’t those his exact words?

  “Something along those lines, yes. What if it’s not the eloquent letter writer? Who then?”

  I’d say you finally hit upon a real conspiracy theory. You landed an arrow in someone’s Achilles’ heel. Remember Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory?

  What if she had? But then which conspiracy theory was it? Had the government been hiding space aliens in plain sight since Roswell? Were lizard people in control of the banking system? Had LBJ really hired marksmen to gun down JFK in the motorcade because he’d secretly wanted to sleep with Jackie?

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

  Try to call your mother one more time before you completely lose it.

  Okay, okay.

  Marlie took a deep breath and picked up the phone. She heard an odd rustling sound on the line and her stomach roiled.

  Was she being bugged?

  Compelled by years of conspiracy theory thinking, Marlie went to the kitchen, plucked a butter knife from the silverware drawer, and then marched back into the living room. She picked up the cordless phone and set about prying the cover off. The butter knife slipped a couple of times and rapped against her bandaged wrist.

  Ouch.

  Grimly, she gritted her teeth and kept chipping away at the plastic until she finally levered it open.

  In all honesty, she really hadn’t expected to find the small black microphone imbedded in the circuitry, but when she did, for one monumental millisecond, her heart stopped. Slowly, Marlie extracted the device and brought it to eye level.