Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus

by Rhonda Russell

  Tina glared at him. “I thought you were hungry.”

  “I am.”

  “Then eat and let us talk, for pity’s sake.” She huffed another breath, then found Sarah Jane’s gaze once more. “So?” she prodded, back to the interrogation at hand. “What did you think of him?”

  Sarah Jane felt her face flame, which seemed appropriate given the fact he’d unwittingly set the rest of her body on fire, and felt a slow, telling smile move across her lips. “I thought he was gorgeous,” she admitted, emitting a little miserable sigh. And I thought I wanted to suck him up like a slurpee, personally investigate every inch of his spectacular body, sink my teeth into that marvelous ass and feel that wicked, supremely carnal mouth of his kissing the small of my back...and other places. A shiver eddied through her, but did nothing to cool her down. Just the contrary, in fact.

  And those were the least deprived things which had gone through her head today while covertly studying her on-site photographer. Good Lord, just watching the man move made her want to bite her fist and whimper.

  And Tina was right--Mick Chivers didn’t look like he ever settled down. Though she’d noticed it the minute he got out of the car, the impression had been repeatedly confirmed throughout the day. He never stopped moving.

  Ever.

  He was adjusting settings on his camera, inspecting the house, jiggling his leg. Being still seemed completely out of the realm of possibility and, though he’d said the house being torn down for a dirt track was a shame, he’d later mentioned that he wouldn’t mind doing a little racing. That comment had led to several which had revealed that he loved sky-diving, had dabbled in a little mountain climbing, and basically enjoyed any sport which might result in death or bloodshed.

  Because she was insane, Sarah Jane had found this fearlessness intensely sexy.

  Tina let out a little squeal of delight and smacked her hand against the table. “Ohmygod! You want him. Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy for you! It’s been such a long time since you--”

  “Tina!” Mortified, she jerked her head in Chase’s direction. “Do you mind?” Honestly, Monarch Grove was a small town--certainly too small and domestic for someone like her new photographer, she thought glumly--so her lack of a sex life was pretty much common knowledge. Still...

  Chase grinned, leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t mind in the least. You ask me, this shit is fascinating. You’re blushing, Sarah Jane,” he said, seemingly amazed, blue eyes twinkling with undisguised interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that.”

  That’s because she ordinarily didn’t blush. It was completely out of character. Much like this otherworldly attraction to Mick she had going on. Had she ever lusted? Certainly. But not to this degree. With a single half-smile, this guy had managed to make her simultaneously jittery and muddled, hot and achy, wet and on fire.

  “You’re interrupting again,” Tina said, exasperated. “Either be quiet or go home,” she snapped, using the Italian Obedience or Death tone. She gestured between the two of them and dragged her chair closer. “Can’t you see we’re trying to talk?”

  Still smiling, Chase feigned contrition and didn’t say anything else.

  “So?” Tina prodded.

  Sarah Jane shrugged. “So...what?” And that was it in a nutshell. “He’s the photographer for the piece Designing Weekly is doing on my business, and we both know I need the business too much to muck it up by-- “She paused, unable to come up with the proper description for what she’d like to do with Mick Chivers. “--you know,” she said, gesturing wearily.

  “--screwing around,” Chase provided helpfully.

  Mildly annoyed, Sarah Jane propped her chin in her hand and stared at him. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah,” he readily admitted, a broad grin splitting his face. “The only thing that could make this any better is a beer and a bowl of popcorn. It’s nice to see a woman in lust for a change. You women are always harping about us men, about not having any self control and our animal urges and all that crap,” he said with a derisive grimace. He suddenly brightened. “Seeing the shoe on a smaller foot is a refreshing change. If I see Mr. Gorgeous--“ He shot a pointed look at Tina. “--I think I’ll thank him.” Chase stood, then pressed a kiss against Tina’s cheek, making her friend sag against her chair. “Thanks for dinner, Tina,” he murmured. “It was wonderful, as always.”

  Tina waited until he was gone, then sighed. “No promise to call this time,” she said, her big eyes haunted with a melancholy sadness.

  Sarah Jane inwardly winced. She’d noticed. “Sorry, Tina. But it’s better than him lying to you, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You know what I think,” Sarah Jane reminded her gently.

  “I do. But finding someone else isn’t that easy.”

  She couldn’t imagine loving someone who didn’t love you back was any easier, but kept that opinion to herself. Tina had no illusions where Chase and his mysterious feelings were concerned. Frankly, Sarah Jane thought a little friendly competition--he’d certainly been jealous enough over the “gorgeous” comment a few minutes ago--would make the wily boy in blue sit up and take notice. At the moment, he knew Tina adored him and was a sure thing. He wasn’t about the change the status quo. A little uncertainty would undoubtedly do him some good.

  “So...back to your photographer,” Tina said. “Just because he’s here on business doesn’t really mean he’s off-limits, does it?” she asked with skeptical hopefulness. “He’s made you blush. You. Ms. Unflappable. Ms. Hard Ass.”

  “I am not a hard ass,” Sarah Jane automatically denied, though to an extent she imagined it was true. She’d never been one to suffer fools--stupid behavior drove her crazy--and she didn’t mince words. She’d never mastered the coy art of guarding her tongue or dancing around an issue--it was a waste of time which more often than not resulted in confusion.

  At any rate, she imagined the only thing that saved her from being labeled a total bitch was probably her notoriously soft heart, one she would freely admit to owning. She was a sucker for a sob story, a constant champion of the underdog and had never met a stray she hadn’t kept or, at the very least, found a home.

  Oh, yeah, she thought, thinking about the half-dozen furry family members waiting for their kibble, she was a real hard ass.

  As for whether or not Mick was really off-limits, the answer, though difficult to make, was a resounding yes.

  She’d been wrestling with it and the damned attraction all day. After a moment, she shared the sentiment with Tina.

  “Don’t think I’m not tempted and don’t think my being with him for the next two weeks isn’t going to be sheer hell--it is. But he’s here in a professional capacity and, bottom line, I need the business and exposure from the article more than I need an orgasm.”

  Tina grinned. “I think you need the orgasm worse.”

  “Will your opinion pay my bills?”

  “No, but your inheritance would,” Tina pointed out. “Any luck with Cecil this morning?”

  Sarah Jane felt her neck cramp. “None.”

  Which was all the more reason she needed to forget about the unforgettable sex she might have had with Mick Chivers--everything within her wailed and rebelled at this thought--and concentrate of the issues at hand.

  Frankly, putting her hands on that will and seeing this article through were more important than a weeklong fling with the best-looking, sexiest man she’d ever seen. Mick’s handsome face--more specifically, that beautiful mouth and what he could no doubt do with it to her--rose in her mind’s eye, making her inwardly wince with bone-deep regret.

  No doubt the fling would be more satisfying.

  But it wouldn’t buy her a new truck.

  CHAPTER 4

  “So, how’s it going so far?” Huck asked, evidently assigned to check up on him. Or, Mick supposed, he could be doing it independently, trying to make sure that he didn’t botch
his first job. He’d recommended him, after all, ergo his credibility was on the line as well.

  Swallowing a sigh and unable to shake the sensation that he was being watched, frowning, Mick closed his bedroom door, locked it and pocketed the key. He’d also smelled a strange sort of aftershave when he’d awoken this morning--and it hadn’t been his. Very weird. “No illegal activity last night,” he told Huck.

  Under the pretense of “getting a feel for the town” Mick had done an open tail--meaning he’d allowed her to see him, but had kept his distance enough where she hadn’t been aware that he’d been actually following her. Furthermore, because the town was so small and most everything of interest was centered around the town square or within a couple of blocks, running into her repeatedly thankfully wouldn’t cause any suspicion. In addition, he planned to always keep his camera with him and use it as a prop when necessary.

  As for her movement last night, she’d had dinner here with a friend--Tina Martinese, the B&B chef who’d provided him with some of the best lasagna he’d ever eaten in his life--then drove by Chastity’s house, but didn’t stop.

  Afterward she’d driven a bit out into the country and turned down a long tree-lined drive. Mick wouldn’t have been able to follow her down that drive without it looking odd, so he’d doubled back and waited for her to make the return to town. Whoever she’d seen, it had been a short visit because she’d been back on the road within twenty minutes. After her mysterious stop--one he fully intended to check out later--she’d dropped by the local video store and then went home.

  Where she took a long damned time in the shower--long enough to make him want to howl, actually--put on a tiny cotton camisole-like thingie--no bra, of course, because she evidently wanted to kill him--and a pair of boxer shorts, fixed a bowl of ice cream, then curled up on her couch with her assorted menagerie of pets and watched a movie.

  He’d kept her under surveillance until he was certain--or as certain as he could be--that she was in for the night. He’d finally made it back to the B&B around two-thirty, only to set off some sort of alarm that woke the entire house, including Clara--whose hair, interestingly, had gone from red to blonde sometime between supper and his return--and who grudgingly gave him the security code to disarm the system, but only after he’d told her that he suffered from insomnia and would more than likely need to take a walk every night.

  His cheeks burned, remembering that humiliation and was only glad that none of his counterparts had seen or heard it. Badass security specialist at your service, he thought with a sarcastic twist of his lips, wondering if he could possibly screw this up anymore.

  At any rate, he’d gotten very little sleep and had nothing to show for his efforts but a dull headache, a general sense of unease--he could have sworn he’d felt a hand on his thigh this morning when he’d woken up--and an attack of conscience the likes of which he’d never experienced in his misbegotten life.

  Mick paused on the landing before going downstairs to breakfast. “I gotta tell you, Huck. I feel like a first-class bastard.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the cover I’m using.” He leaned against the wall and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Did you know that she’s spent the last week busting her ass to get her inventory accounted for and uploaded onto her Web site to be prepared for the influx of business she’s expecting to pick up because of this article? The one that’s not going to happen?”

  Huck paused, then muttered a curse. “No, I didn’t.”

  “I know that I don’t work for her and I’m not supposed to care, but evidently I’m not as much of a sonofabitch as I’m supposed to be because I think this is pretty damned shitty.”

  Messing with a person’s livelihood was not cool.

  Monumental screw-up aside, he’d been more than a spectator for justice. He’d been a contributor. Disarming terrorists, fighting for the greater good, ensuring freedom--those were things he’d always been able to be proud of.

  He wasn’t proud of this.

  There was no greater good, just greater greed on the part of Chastity Walker. Or at least that’s what he suspected at the moment.

  “You’re right,” Huck said. “I’ll see if I can do something about it.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I’ll see if I can get them to do the article. And if I can’t, I’m certain that Payne can.” He chuckled softly. “He...has a way of getting people to do things us mere mortals can’t.”

  Mick laughed. “That way is called money, my friend.” He’d heard rumors of Payne’s wealth for years, but could honestly say that he’d never fully appreciated the depth of Payne’s pockets until he’d walked into the sleek Atlanta high rise which housed Ranger Security, not to mention the additional building next door he’d acquired simply to turn into apartments for future Ranger Security operatives. When he’d stepped into his fully furnished right-down-to-a-stocked-pantry apartment, Mick had been forcibly reminded why Payne’s friends had nicknamed him The Specialist.

  The man did nothing in half-measures.

  “I know you don’t like the cover, Mick, but we’ll make it right. You just do what you’re supposed to do and keep snapping pictures. You can give them to the magazine when you’re through.”

  Feeling marginally better about it, Mick released a small breath. “All right.” Taking pictures of her certainly wouldn’t be a hardship. Sarah Jane wasn’t a classic beauty by any stretch of the imagination. Her nose was a little too small, her cheeks too round, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been drawn to her right from the beginning. It was that fighter’s spirit in the stubborn tilt of her chin, that underlying hint of mischief evident in those melting caramel eyes. In fact, it was those very characteristics which made her all the more compelling. She was sexy and salt-of-the-earth personified, an intriguingly irresistible combination.

  “I heard from McPherson last night,” Huck said. “He said he’d tried to call you, but hasn’t had any luck. Is there any particular reason you’re avoiding him?”

  Other than the fact that he was a coward who couldn’t bear to talk to a friend who’d witnessed the biggest mistake of his life, no, Mick thought, feeling like a bastard. Rather than answer, Mick evaded the question. “I’ll, uh... I’ll give him a call.” And he would. He just didn’t know when.

  “Do, man. He’s worried about you.”

  Mick didn’t need the reminder. A fellow adrenaline junkie and prankster, Levi McPherson was a good friend, one who like Huck, had been there to rally around him when he’d screwed up. He hadn’t tried to belittle Mick’s regret with the standard it’s-not-your-fault platitudes, but had been there to drink, to listen and offer sports-related therapy. The guilt was Mick’s cross, not Levi’s and he didn’t deserve the silent treatment he’d been giving him.

  Another screw-up, he thought, disgusted with himself.

  “And I should warn you,” Huck said, thankfully changing the subject. “Chastity has called here several times asking for your cell number. She wants to meet with you to go over the case.”

  Gut check response was a heartfelt hell no, but considering he’d already lost complete perspective--provided he’d ever had it to start with--he didn’t altogether trust his instincts. “I know that I’m new to this whole security thing, but is that a risk we should take?”

  “Not in my opinion, but she’s adamant. She’s looking for you.”

  Mick grimaced. “Considering this is the only place to stay in town, I’m definitely easy to find.”

  Huck’s hesitation echoed over the line. “Are you sure you’re good with this, Mick? If you aren’t, we can pull you out and give it a little more time. None of these guys would blame you. They’ve--“

  Shame burned through him. Huck had stuck his neck out for him, had given him a place in the world when his had felt like it was lying in shambles around him. And still did, for that matter. “I can do it, Huck,” he insisted. It was a simple mission. Watch Sarah Jane.

&nbs
p; “No one’s saying you can’t, Mick. Hell, man, you’re the best damned solider I know. Freaking fearless. You’re the Hell-raiser,” he said, a reminiscent chuckle in his breath. Huck sighed, seemingly looking for the right way to tell him he was a fuck-up. “But I can tell your heart’s not in it.”

  Mick couldn’t deny that, so he didn’t even try. The only thing his heart had ever truly been in was serving his country and that life was gone now, lost to him through nobody’s fault but his own. A single bad decision that had come within a couple of centimeters of costing another man his life. Risk came with the job, he knew, and the higher up the chain of command, the more responsibility. In theory he’d been fine with it--living with the reality of the mistake had been more than he could handle, and if that made him weak, then he could live with that easier than he could the alternative.

  Risking his own life was one thing--risking someone else’s another altogether.

  Furthermore, though he admittedly saw more shades of gray than black and white, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was fighting on the wrong side on this one. It didn’t matter that Chastity was paying for their services--quite possibly with Sarah Jane’s inheritance--it still felt off. And he had every intention of finding out why. If Chastity was using their services for something besides what she’d claimed when she’d hired them, Mick would find out and adjust his route accordingly.

  And she might not like the result.

  While it was true that soldiers were taught to follow orders and respect the chain of command, they were also taught to assess situations, think on their feet, and change course should the need arise. Furthermore, things like truth and honor and justice weren’t just pretty words bandied about by politicians--they were a moral code. When in doubt, do what’s right.

  Mick assured Huck he would stay on task, thanked him for the head’s up regarding Chastity, then disconnected and finished making his way downstairs.