Protector for Hire

by Tawna Fenske

  “Yes!” She raked her nails down his back as Schwartz drove into her harder and harder until he felt himself start to lose his own grip on reality. His feet were sticky with milk and his body was slick with sweat and his brain was fuzzy with desire. He shuddered and closed his eyes as the first wave hit him, then the next and the next until he was breathless and panting and spent.

  When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him. “Well then,” she murmured. “I’d say you earned both the gold medal and the Pop-Tart.”

  He grinned and slid out of her, getting rid of the condom as discreetly as possible. When he turned back around, she was sitting on the counter with her legs crossed primly and a Pop-Tart in each hand. He laughed and reached for a broken hunk of toaster pastry, surprised by how ravenous he was.

  “Mmm, peanut butter and strawberry jelly Pop-Tarts,” he said. “The post-sex treat of champions.”

  “Amen,” she said, and toasted him with her pastry. “Sorry about the milk. And the broken plate. And the smashed-up Pop-Tarts.”

  He looked at the Pop-Tart in his hand. “They’re easier to eat this way.”

  “We’ll consider the rest of it coital collateral damage, then. I’ll clean it up in a second. I just need to eat something.” She took a bite and chewed, looking thoughtful as she swallowed. “What’s that sound?”

  “What sound?”

  “That buzzing sound. I think it’s coming from the bedroom.”

  Schwartz froze. His phone. Goddammit, he’d left his phone on the nightstand.

  He sprinted for the bedroom, dimly aware of the puddle of spilled milk, plate shards, and crumbled toaster pastry on the wood floor and the sound of Janelle’s footsteps behind him. He grabbed the phone off the nightstand, head throbbing, kicking himself for leaving it behind, for missing the incoming text, for being a general dumbass who’d let his guard down.

  Again.

  He looked down at the screen and felt his blood turn to ice in the space of a single breath.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Holy shit,” Schwartz said, and dropped his Pop-Tart.

  Chapter Twelve

  They caught him. The motherfucker is in custody.

  Schwartz stared at the words on his phone, hardly daring to breathe.

  “What is it?” Janelle asked. “Did something bad happen?”

  He shook his head and held out the phone so she could see it. He watched her face as her gaze slid over those eight simple words. When she looked up at him, her expression was tentative.

  “Jacques? They caught Jacques?”

  “Yep.”

  “So it’s good news.” She met his gaze with a hopeful look, not quite smiling, but not frowning anymore, either. “This could all be over.”

  A wave of intense sadness washed through him, and Schwartz nodded. “Yep.” He set down the phone and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts so he wouldn’t feel so damn exposed. “Let me give Grant a call and see what’s up.”

  He felt her gaze on him as he picked up his phone again and dialed the familiar number with steady fingers, telling himself it was relief he was feeling. Just relief, nothing else. The phone rang twice before his brother picked up.

  “You got my message,” Grant said. “The cops have the son of a bitch in custody.”

  “Thank God.”

  “No kidding. They picked him up at the airport in L.A. No word yet on where he was trying to go. Mac and a couple of his men are down there now trying to get more info from the police.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Sit tight for now. We don’t know how this will all shake out, but it’s looking positive.”

  “Good.” Schwartz glanced at Janelle, who was watching him with half a Pop-Tart clutched in her hand. She was naked and lovely with her hair falling around her face and the sheet clutched to her breasts, and Schwartz felt his heart twist.

  “That’s good,” he said again, looking away from her so his heart didn’t explode right out of his chest. “We could be done here.”

  “Yeah, it looks that way. Good job, brother.”

  “I didn’t do shit.”

  “You kept her hidden. You kept her safe. You made sure that bastard couldn’t get to her. You did the most important job of all of us.”

  “Right,” Schwartz said, ignoring the stab of guilt in his gut. “Call me when you know more.”

  He disconnected the call before his brother could ask questions or make any friendly chitchat. Schwartz didn’t think he had the stomach for it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could stomach the Pop-Tart anymore.

  “What did he say?”

  He looked at Janelle, struggling to keep his face impassive. He didn’t know why the fuck he was acting like this, but he felt undone. What the fuck was that about?

  “The police arrested your ex,” he said carefully. “They nailed him before he could get on a plane in L.A.”

  “A plane? Where was he going?”

  “Not sure. We should know more soon.”

  Schwartz set the phone on the nightstand and stared at it a moment, trying not to look at her. He wanted to, though. The image of her naked breasts was branded into his brain, her soft cries of pleasure still echoing in his ears. He thought about crawling back into bed with her, but something didn’t feel right about that. He stood there on the cold floor, wondering if he should put a shirt on.

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” she asked.

  “We wait.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She fell quiet and Schwartz flipped the phone over, rereading his brother’s message again. Like that would tell him anything. He was being a jackass. His gut felt tight and his arms and legs were chilled, but he couldn’t bring himself to crawl back in bed.

  “You want your Pop-Tart?”

  He looked up and blinked at her. “What?”

  She picked up the half-eaten pastry he’d dropped on the bedspread and held it out with a smile. “No sense letting a good Pop-Tart go to waste.”

  He tried to force himself to smile back, but it probably came out more like a grimace. He reached out for the Pop-Tart, resisting the urge to reach for her instead.

  Jesus, what was wrong with him? The bastard had been arrested. Janelle was safe. This whole damn mess could be over soon.

  Over.

  That was it, wasn’t it?

  No, that was only part of it. Yeah, he didn’t want Janelle to go. He wasn’t ready for her to pack up and leave his home and his life after everything that had happened between them.

  But that was the problem. Nothing should have happened between them in the first place. What if Grant had been calling to say Jacques was on the way? Schwartz would have missed the message while he was out there in the kitchen with his dick buried in the woman he’d been trusted to protect.

  Idiot.

  He looked at her sitting there naked and lovely licking Pop-Tart crumbs off the tips of her fingers, and thought about never having her again. Soon, there’d be no reason for her to stay. No reason for him to keep her here.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Because you got kinda quiet all of a sudden.”

  “Low energy,” he said, forcing himself to take a bite of Pop-Tart. He didn’t taste a damn thing. “You fucked it right out of me.”

  “Ah, the poetic words of romance.” She grinned and took the last bite of her own Pop-Tart, doing a dramatic eye roll of pleasure as she chewed. “By the way, was that our only gallon of milk?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think we should run to town and get more?”

  “Probably.”

  She cocked her head and looked at him oddly, and Schwartz felt his gut clench. He had to distance himself, to prepare for the inevitable end to all this. He had to be ready to send her back to her real life of coffee shops and subways and bustling nightclubs.

  He could have his old life back. His peace
, his solitude, his quiet penance out here in the Montana wilderness.

  Why the hell did that sound so depressing all of a sudden?

  Janelle dusted off her hands and stood up. “I’m going to get dressed and then clean up the milk. Want to head to town in thirty minutes or so?”

  “Sure.” He nodded, wondering if she had any idea how badly he’d screwed things up. It was still his job to keep her safe, to stick close and make sure nothing happened. He could do that, at least. He just needed to keep his distance.

  He turned and stomped to the bathroom, shutting the door a little too hard. He hesitated, then twisted the lock behind him. It felt like a betrayal, but so was everything he’d just done out there. He pivoted, wanting a good view of the mirror so he could look himself in the eye and tell himself what an asshole he’d been.

  Instead, his gaze landed on the busted toothbrush holder. Something balled up in his chest, and he closed his eyes until the sensation went away.

  Then he opened his eyes and yanked open a drawer. Grabbing a screwdriver, he got to work repairing the damage he’d done.

  …

  Janelle tried to make idle chatter all the way to town, but it was clear Schwartz wasn’t in the mood for conversation. That wasn’t unusual, she reminded herself. It’s not like he’d ever been one for cheerful repartee. He’d always been the strong, silent type.

  Honestly, that was one of the things she loved about him.

  Love.

  Shit, where did that word come from?

  It wasn’t like she expected anything long-term here. They were just having fun, just enjoying each other’s company while it lasted. She didn’t mean love like that.

  Did she?

  She looked back at Schwartz, watching the pink-hued slabs of waning daylight playing across his face as he slowed the truck and turned onto the narrow road that led into town. The tangerine sunset splashed flecks of gold through his dark hair, and the scent of pine and woodsmoke clung to the soft flannel of his shirt.

  Seeming to sense her gaze on him, he turned to look at her. “What?”

  The intensity of those haunted gray eyes pushed her back against her seat, and Janelle felt her breath leave her lungs.

  “Nothing. I—uh—just looking at you.”

  “I’ve got Pop-Tart on my chin?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  Her heart was slamming in her chest, and her stomach felt like someone had let loose a box full of butterflies on cocaine.

  Holy hell. Maybe she did mean it like that.

  You trusted those goddamn butterflies before, and where did it get you?

  Janelle bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. Hell, this whole thing could be over in a matter of days with Jacques behind bars. Maybe they should talk about it. About what that might mean for them and any possible future they might have together.

  She glanced at Schwartz, noticing the rigid set of his jaw and his fingers clenched tight on the steering wheel.

  Maybe later.

  Feeling the truck slow, Sherman perked his head up from the bed of the truck. Janelle turned and made a kissy face at him through the window before turning back to face Schwartz.

  “Here we are,” he said, bringing a halt to both Janelle’s thoughts and the truck in the dirt lot beside the store.

  She glanced at her watch. It was almost six o’clock. “What time does the store close?”

  “Soon. Ten minutes or so. Sometimes earlier. Depends on how late they feel like staying open”

  “Any chance you want to grab something more substantial than Pop-Tarts while we’re in town?”

  He frowned. “You mean dinner?”

  “Sure. Nothing hits the spot like a little postcoital meat loaf.”

  It was a lame attempt to make him smile, and she could tell by the twitch at the corners of his mouth that she’d almost succeeded. Something was definitely eating at him, but maybe it was that he hadn’t eaten at all. He’d certainly expended enough energy to require a dozen meat loaf dinners.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t you run in and grab the milk, and I’ll head in to the Elk Horn and get a couple orders of meat loaf going. That way your dinner will be ready and waiting when you get there.”

  “Sure,” he said, looking away from her as he reached for the door handle. “Do I have to get that skim crap again, or can I buy some real milk?”

  “Get whatever you want,” she said, trying to sound cheerful as she pushed open her own door. She looked back at him, resisting the urge to kiss him. She didn’t want to seem overbearing or smothery. “See you in a few?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, and Schwartz?” She bit her lip. “Grab some more condoms, okay? We’re all out.”

  She hopped out of the truck, not waiting around to hear his response. It was possible she’d just stuck her foot in it, making an assumption she had no business making. Hell, the way he’d been acting the last hour, he might have no intention of sleeping with her ever again. Maybe that was smart. Maybe they did need to be distancing themselves from each other.

  Maybe you need to stop overthinking this and go eat some damn meat loaf.

  She looked both ways before heading into the deserted street, charmed to see the WALT CROSSING sign and the cozy curl of smoke drifting up from the chimney on the little log building. The air was laced with garlic and woodsmoke and sage, and as she got closer, the louder the chime of laughter from inside the restaurant.

  Adjusting her wig, she nudged open the door, releasing a deliciously fragrant cloud of food smells. Half a dozen heads swiveled to look at her. Two familiar faces broke into wide grins at the corner table where she and Schwartz had sat last time.

  “Rebecca!” Laverne gave an enthusiastic wave, her chubby wrist jangling with a dozen metal bracelets. “Come on over here, sugarpop! It’s so good to see you.”

  Gordy set down his fork and did a funny little half stand, tipping his ball cap at her. Then he sat down and picked up his fork again, shoveling up a big bite of meat loaf. Janelle took a few steps toward them, surprised by the little fizzle of joy she felt at seeing friendly faces.

  Laverne scrambled off the bench and gave Janelle a bear hug that squeezed the breath out of her. She released her and plopped back down, picking up her own fork. “Where’s that man of yours, dewdrop?”

  “He had to grab some things at the store.” Janelle hesitated at the edge of the table, wondering if she was still supposed to be inconspicuous. “He’ll be right over.”

  “Come on, join us.” Laverne used the toe of her boot to shove out the bench on the opposite side of the table. “The more the merrier.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsense! It’s always a pleasure to dine with friends, am I right, Gordy?”

  “Right,” Gordy agreed, giving his wife a fond smile before forking another bite of meat loaf.

  Janelle hesitated, wondering what Schwartz would want her to do. Probably get the food to go and eat it in a cave somewhere. Then again, she’d seen his eyes light up the last time they’d had company with their meal. He might pretend to hate the human contact, but the truth was that he secretly loved it. In small doses, anyway.

  She sat down, shrugging out of her heavy coat. She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater and glanced around for Bill. “So it looks like they have meat loaf today?”

  Laverne laughed. “They have the meat loaf every day.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides pie, it’s the only thing Bill can really make.”

  Janelle grinned and picked up a water glass that was turned upside down. She flipped it over and looked for a pitcher of water. There wasn’t one, but there was a big bottle of something that looked suspiciously like the moonshine Gordy had offered them a few days ago.

  “Here, have some,” Laverne said, lifting the bottle and dumping the contents into Janelle’s glass before she could object. It seemed rude to say no, so Janelle watched as
her glass filled up with enough of the potent spirit to bring a sailor to his knees.

  “Today’s our anniversary,” Laverne said, setting the bottle back on the table and picking up her own glass. “Thirty-two years.”

  “Oh,” Janelle said, standing up much more quickly than she’d sat down. “In that case, I definitely don’t want to interrupt. I’ll just go over there and wait for—”

  “Chickadee, we want you with us,” Laverne said, reaching out to grab her shoulder and push her back down onto the seat. “You’re a delight. You and that man of yours. Come on now, drink a toast with us.”

  Laverne lifted her glass, clearly not on her first round of drinks, but not sloppy drunk, either. She was just cheerful, so maybe that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

  Janelle picked up her glass and clinked it against Laverne’s. Gordy followed suit with a glass of water, though he didn’t let go of his fork the whole time.

  “To love,” Laverne said.

  “To love,” Janelle agreed.

  “Mmmph,” Gordy said, his mouth full of potatoes.

  Janelle took a gulp of the amber liquid, ordering herself not to cough. She set the glass on the table as the moonshine burned its way down her throat and into her belly.

  “So this is your anniversary celebration,” she said. “Are you doing anything else that’s special?”

  “We’ve been talking about a road trip,” Laverne said. “Maybe someplace in Washington so we can see our son, Scott.”

  “The coast is nice this time of year,” Gordy said, shoveling up another bite of potatoes.

  Laverne smiled and took another sip of moonshine, then thunked her glass down beside her plate. “It’s so nice to have you with us for dinner, duckling. You know what I said to Gordy after we met you the other day?”

  “What?” Janelle croaked, still reeling from the moonshine.

  “I said, ‘Gordy, that’s just so refreshing. To enjoy a nice meal with a sweet young lady and a fine young man who obviously love each other so much they’re about to burst.’ I tell you, it’s damn near contagious.”