by Sandra Owens
They were mum on just what they did, but she had answered calls from phone numbers with a DC area code, most of them asking for the boss. Not being as dumb as a certain person believed, she’d put two and two together and concluded K2 had government ties of the sort one didn’t talk about.
Although she wasn’t totally bored, her job at the Booby Palace was more interesting. Numbers were her thing, and she’d reached a point with her employer where he trusted her, giving her complete control of all the Palace’s finances and payroll.
Admittedly, the work environment left a lot to be desired, and she never ventured out of her office once the Palace opened for business. As for the free drinks she’d boasted of, that was true if she wanted them. But one, she didn’t drink on the job, and two, she wasn’t about to hang out at Booby’s bar in her off hours.
What she’d really like would be a permanent position at K2, and she hoped if she did a good job answering the phones and anything else they asked her to do, they might offer her such a position. Maria Buchanan, the boss’s sister and Jake’s wife, had mentioned several weeks ago that she was planning to hire an accounting manager. When the opportunity to cover for their receptionist for two weeks had arisen, Sugar immediately volunteered.
Maybe, just maybe, something would come of it and she could work someplace where every time she went to the bathroom, she didn’t have to see titties or listen to the girls bitch about some dude not slipping enough dollar bills into their G-strings.
The really big plus—and it was a biggie—if she worked at K2: she’d be surrounded by a bunch of badass former SEALs should Rodney Vanders finally track her down.
CHAPTER TWO
Saint dropped heavily onto the chair across from Logan Kincaid’s desk. “That woman’s a menace to society.”
The boss sat back, flipping a pen through his fingers. “Who? Sugar?”
“Who else? I had to discourage one of her admirers at the airport, and in thanks, she almost plowed us right through the middle of a beer truck. Instead of apologizing about scaring the beanie weenies out of me, her only comment was that we might’ve gotten free beer.”
The boss rarely smiled unless he was with his wife, but there was a wide grin on his face. In his current mood, Jamie longed to wipe it off. The grin morphed into laughter.
Jamie fast-tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. “I’d really like to smash my fist into your face about now. It’s not funny.”
“Actually, it is. I’ve never seen a woman twist your boxers into a knot like that one does. Fess up. She fascinates you.”
“No. She. Doesn’t.” And even if she did, he’d never admit it. But she didn’t. No way. Nohow.
“Methinks someone protests too much.” Kincaid pushed a button that closed the door to his office. “Let’s get down to business. Fill me in on the details you couldn’t put in your message.”
Jamie pulled his sunglasses from his pocket as Kincaid took a miniature screwdriver from his desk drawer and handed it over. After removing the screws, Jamie slipped out a thin tube from the left temple and gave it to the boss, knowing it would soon be on its way to the CIA. What was on the microfilm, he didn’t know and didn’t care.
“It got dicey,” he said. “Our contact apparently had trouble keeping his mouth shut and bragged to the wrong people that he was about to come into some money. They got suspicious and put a tail on him.” He’d followed the Somalian government official for two days prior to their scheduled meet, discovering that the man’s tongue got loose when he drank.
“After I realized he was being followed, I had to make a few changes to the plan,” Jamie continued. “I got away with the film and a bullet whizzing past my ear. Our friend wasn’t so lucky.”
The boss shrugged. “If he’d kept his mouth shut, he’d still be alive with some money in his pocket. Good job, Saint. Go home and get some rest. Take tomorrow off.”
That worked for him. One less day he’d have to see the woman out to kill him. He stopped at the door. “Don’t ever send Sugar Darling to pick me up again. I stand a better chance of surviving in a river swarming with crocodiles.”
“Don’t be so hard on the woman. She’s pretty nice once you get to know her.”
“I never said she wasn’t nice. She’s just ditzy and a menace behind the wheel of that clown car of hers.” She did have a great bottom and pretty eyes though.
“Maria said she’s smart. Said she gave Sugar some . . . I don’t remember exactly what, some accounting stuff to do and she whipped right through it.”
“Just keep her away from me,” Jamie tossed over his shoulder before heading for Maria’s office. Time to do a little reconnoitering to make sure Kincaid’s sister had no plans to continue Ms. Darling’s time at K2. After getting Maria’s assurance that Sugar was only there until Barbie returned to the receptionist desk, he headed home.
Jamie dropped his duffel bag on his bed, stripped, and then took his first shower in a week where there was enough hot water to last until he finished. He loved his job, was good at it, and took the hardships in stride when he was in a third-world country. More times than not though, there was never enough hot water in the places he stayed. If he was even lucky enough to have heated water. As he was something of a clean freak, he considered that his biggest sacrifice.
Following tradition, this being his first shower at home after a mission, he took twice as long as usual. Sometimes, two were necessary before he felt clean again. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he returned to his bedroom and flipped on the TV. His stomach growled, and he debated running to the grocery store, but decided to put it off until the next day and order pizza instead.
He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts for the delivery number. Just as he started to press Call, a commercial came on. With his finger frozen over the keypad, he watched a beer truck race down a road, past impossible obstacles, then up a bridge rising for a sailboat. The truck reached the top and flew through the air, landing on the other side, continuing on its way.
“Sugar Darling’s probably driving the flipping truck,” he muttered, turning off the TV before the end of the commercial.
An image of her turning those violet-blue eyes on him when she’d almost killed them flashed into his mind. She’d looked up at him and laughed. At the time, he’d wanted to yell at her for being so stupid, then laughing about it. With his heart back to its normal beats, he realized it had been dread he’d seen in her eyes, and apprehension had tinged her laughter.
Had she been afraid of his reaction? Maybe he should have been a little more understanding. It wasn’t like she’d tried to take out a beer truck on purpose, but there was just something about the woman that brought out the worst in him—the parts of him he’d long ago left behind.
Why she called to the man he used to be was a puzzle he had no intention of solving, and because it irritated him to no end, he fought the attraction by doing his best to ignore her. He had spent too many years burying that man to allow a violet-eyed ditz to undo all his hard work.
“Pepper pie,” he muttered. He’d just spent five minutes staring into space, thinking of Sugar Darling and her beautiful eyes. Scrolling past the pizza delivery number, he stopped on Jill’s and dialed. Looked like he’d be going out to eat after all. Jill would take his mind off the very dangerous—to him, anyway—Ms. Darling.
Completing his call, he dressed for dinner. That was what he liked about Jill. She never asked for anything, but was always glad to hear from him and happy to see him on his terms. So Jill was a little boring. So was he. Perfect match.
Jamie smiled and tried to pretend interest as Jill told him about the couple who couldn’t make up their minds about which house to buy. He blamed Ms. Darling for wondering why Jill’s eyes didn’t sparkle with excitement when talking about her day. Come to think of it, Jill rarely showed enthusiasm over anything, even a mu
ltimillion-dollar sale.
Although attractive, she was the kind of woman who would be lost in a crowd, one he would walk past on the street and not notice. The kind of woman he preferred these days, the kind that didn’t appeal to the old Jamie. Brown eyed, short brown hair, and lips a little on the thin side, not at all like Sugar’s lush mouth. Pickled pipers, he had to stop comparing Jill to a violet-eyed witch with lips made for kissing.
He’d been dating Jill for three months, and it was time to decide whether or not to move the relationship further than dinner dates and phone conversations. Would she meet his criteria for a wife? Would she not awaken the wildness in him in the bedroom? Would she be the perfect wife, like his mother had been?
The reel of an old movie, The Stepford Wives, suddenly flashed across his eyes. He glared at the glass of water on the table in front of him, willing his mind back to the peaceful existence it had lived in before a woman with a very fine bottom had almost split a beer truck in two.
From the time he’d made himself over, he had searched for a woman to love the way his dad had loved his mom as a way to honor their memory. Although he’d come close once or twice, in the end, it just hadn’t happened. Since the wreck, he’d become good at soul-searching and understood he still hadn’t buried the man deep enough who thrived on living on the edge.
His choice of a job helped. Facing danger replaced the craving for a woman who pushed him to his limits. Or so he had thought until Sugar. She was exactly what the old him would have moved mountains to possess. Unless he missed his guess, she’d be up for anything once he got her in his bed.
Not that she would end up in his bed.
Just thinking of her aroused him. As hard as the wood of his chair, he shifted, trying to find more room in his pants. He was not that man anymore. He’d clamped down on his urges so hard that sex, when he did have it, was . . . well, forgettable.
Damn you, Sugar.
Turkey feathers—he’d just thought his first curse word in years. Why couldn’t Jill have eyes the color of flowers? Why couldn’t she have been the one to set his blood on fire with the fluttering of long, dark eyelashes?
Did you notice, Saint? Eyelashes a different color from her hair.
Was her honey-blonde hair fake then? If true, the revelation pleased him. If he could find enough things about her that weren’t real, he could put her out of his mind.
He dragged his attention back to Jill when he realized she’d asked a question and he had no idea what. “Sorry. Did you ask me something?”
A slight frown creased her face. “Do you want to see The Picture of Dorian Gray with me tomorrow? I don’t have any house showings in the afternoon or evening, and you said you’d like to see it.”
“Sure.” Not really. He was tired and hated film noir, liked his movies in full Technicolor, preferably heavy on the action. But he’d promised he would take her when he returned from his business trip. She didn’t know what he did; she thought he was an analyst who helped struggling companies.
“If you don’t want to go, I under—”
“No, I do. What time do I need to pick you up?” He blanked his face when she studied him, wishing she wasn’t always so understanding. The irony didn’t escape him that part of the reason he still continued the relationship was because she didn’t push him. She was safe.
“They’re showing it at four, seven, and ten. Whatever time works best for you.”
“I’m off tomorrow, so we’ll catch the first one. I’ll pick you up at three fifteen. I need to stop by the office on the way, if you don’t mind.”
After leaving K2 at the end of the day, Sugar scarfed down a hamburger she’d ordered at the drive-thru, then hurried into the Booby Palace. If she could make it to the back office without Kyle seeing her, she’d consider it a good day.
“Hey, Sugar . . . darling.”
Shit. No such luck. Why did he always seem to think it amusing to turn her last name into an endearment? She pivoted, fixing him with a get-away-from-me stare. “Shouldn’t you be behind the bar? It looks busy out there.”
Tall, with green eyes and black hair, he was a handsome man, but the way he’d watched her from the first day they met gave her the shivers. And not good ones. If she’d had a crystal ball and seen him in it, she would have picked a different name for herself. Something like Hortense Ratman. See what he could make of that one.
“Ah, darling,” he drawled, dramatically clutching his heart. “Why won’t you admit you want me and stop playing hard to get?”
The man scared her. Something shimmered in his eyes that just creeped her out. She’d tried to politely rebuke him, but that hadn’t worked so maybe it was time to change tactics.
“You seem like a decent enough guy, but I’m seeing someone so here’s the bottom line. I don’t want you, Kyle, and I’m not playing hard to get. Good-bye.” She turned to head for her office. A hand wrapped around her arm, fingers digging into her skin.
“You think you’re too good for me? Well, I got news for you, Sugar. I will have you.”
She jerked away, practically running to her office and slamming the door. Oh God, she had to get out of this place. Why did men look at her and see something they wanted to possess, no matter what she wanted? What was it about her that put a gleam in their eyes, reminding her of the way Rodney’s gaze lingered on the parts of her she really, really wished he’d never noticed? Every time she’d been forced to sit with him in her father’s living room, his gaze had roamed over her as if she already belonged to him.
Maybe that was why Jamie was the first man in her twenty-five years to spark her interest. He didn’t want any part of her, and for some damn reason, she felt safe with him. There was more to it, though. When he’d been in her little car, so close she could feel his body heat, his arm had brushed hers, and something new had taken possession of her body. She had wanted him to kiss her, wanted to know if it could be different. That in itself was something she’d never thought to want from any man. Not after having Rodney Vanders’s lips and hands on her.
No thinking about Rodney. He’s in your past and will never find you. Although she didn’t doubt he was searching for her with her father’s help. She’d hidden her tracks as well as she knew how, and now all she could do was pray nothing showed up anywhere to give her away. When two cops were looking for you though . . .
No, she wouldn’t even think it. So what if they had access to resources most others didn’t? It wasn’t like they were big-city cops, trained to find their quarry without doing much more than clicking on the Internet. Her father barely knew how to turn on a computer and Rodney, although more proficient, was no technical genius.
Sweat drenched the back of her neck at the thought of Rodney getting his hands on her again. Sometimes she could go days without thinking of him, then something would trigger the memories. It was usually when a man looked at her in a way that reminded her of the bastard.
Yet, the guys at K2 Special Services were different. Not only did she feel safe around them, but not one of them had leered at her in a way that creeped her out. One, Brad Stewart, flirted with her sometimes, and she thought if she gave him encouragement he would ask her out. He had honest eyes, though, and didn’t scare her. Although he was cute, there’d been no chemistry, for her anyway.
No, she had to be attracted to a golden-haired hottie who couldn’t stand the sight of her.
CHAPTER THREE
Sugar glanced up from the Excel spreadsheet when K2’s front door opened. A woman she’d never seen before walked in, followed closely by Jamie, his hand resting possessively on her lower back.
Sugar’s heart did a stuttering dance in her chest, and it hurt. At the pain, she idly wondered if she was having a heart attack. Resisting the urge to press her hand over the ache, she mustered a smile. It should have occurred to her a man as hot as Saint had a girlfriend.
“Hell
o.” That sounded cheerful enough, right?
The woman glanced at her, then turned her attention to the K2 lobby, scrutinizing it as if she was assessing it. Kind of weird, really, the way her gaze lit on each item as if calculating the value. Definitely not the type she’d ever have connected with Jamie.
“Wait here, love,” he said, leading her to the leather sofa.
Sugar knew right away he’d never called her love before by the way the woman startled. What was going on? She slid her eyes to Jamie to see he was watching her. Was he waiting for her reaction? If so, she wouldn’t disappoint.
She gave her perky cheerleader smile, the one she’d watched the popular girls give, and walked from behind the desk. “Welcome to K2, Miss . . . ?”
“Jill,” Jamie said. “This is Jill. See that she’s happy.”
With that, he strode to the inner door, punched in his code, and put his thumb on the pad. The door slid open and he disappeared inside. All righty, then.
“Ya heard him,” Sugar said, drawing out her southern accent. “What can I do to make you happy? Coffee? Tea? A back rub, maybe?” She probably shouldn’t have said that.
“What is this place?” the must-be-made-happy Jill asked.
If Jamie hadn’t shared K2’s purpose, she wasn’t about to, but it pleased her that Jill was clueless about what he did. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m only filling in for their regular receptionist for a few days.” Apparently, the devil was at work, because she added, “My regular job’s at the Booby Palace.” Languid brown eyes looked her up and down, giving Sugar the impression she was found lacking. Go figure.
“Why am I not surprised? Jamie’s taking me to see a black-and-white movie, a film noir.”
So the gloves were off. Was that supposed to put her in her place? Was she supposed to ask what a film noir was as if she were some backwoods, ignorant idiot? And why was she supposed to care, anyway? “No kidding? Bet he’s looking forward to that. You seem a little tense. Would ya like me to make you a cup of soothing tea, a ginseng or chamomile perhaps?”
