The Professional

by Rhonda Nelson

It made her blood boil.

  Initially, Sophie had chalked up the misplaced necklaces, earrings, bracelets and brooches to nothing more than memory loss—this was a retirement village, after all, and many of the residents had a hard time keeping up with their teeth, much less other valuables. They were forever forgetting doctor’s appointments, whether or not they’d taken their medication, things like that. But it wasn’t until Rose Marie Wilton lost her vintage Tiffany brooch that Sophie had realized something much more sinister was going on.

  In the first place, Rose Marie Wilton’s memory was tighter than a steel drum. She didn’t misplace anything, let alone lose it or forget it. Secondly, when the odd pair of reading glasses was lost, then that was to be expected. But having several pieces of especially valuable jewelry go missing—at least a couple a year since she’d been on-site—then there was something more going on.

  Sophie was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Evidently realizing that Sophie was treating the “out and about” question as a rhetorical one, Cora heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I have it on good authority that Foy’s grandson is going to be here for several days. And Sophie, he’s not just hot but hawt,” Cora confided, using more of her newfound internet slang. “He’s at the Four Square Diner in a booth against the window. If you walk by there right now, you can see him.”

  And if she had any interest in seeing him, she would do just that. As it was, she didn’t and she had animals to feed. Furthermore, Foy didn’t have any children. How could he have a grandchild, hawt or otherwise? Her friend had to be mistaken.

  “Cora, I need to get—”

  Cora tugged on her arm. “Just humor me, please. You can get a piece of pie to take home for dessert,” she told her, shamelessly taking full advantage of Sophie’s insatiable sweet tooth. Cora shoved open the door and propelled her into the chilly fall air. “Ethel made Japanese Fruit pie this morning. That’s one of your favorites, right?”

  Actually, yes. The raisin, pecan and coconut concoction was just about as perfect as a pie could be. Barring good old fashioned chocolate, of course, which would forever hold the top spot in her heart.

  “Evidently he’s a former Army Ranger,” Cora pressed on. “I’m certain that he has at least one tattoo, but I haven’t seen it yet. Don’t all soldiers get ink?” she asked, more to herself than to Sophie. Cora typically liked to stroll, but Sophie felt more this was a power march. “I’m usually a tall, dark and handsome sort of girl,” Cora went on. “But he’s different. He’s blond.”

  “Well, that’s a deal-breaker then,” Sophie told her with a matter of fact sigh. “I’m off blond guys at the moment. Luke was blond and you know what happened there.”

  Cora grunted indelicately. “Luke was an ass,” she said. “Fake smile, fake tan and slicker than gooseshit. I warned you about him, remember? I told you he was a player, but would you listen to me? No. You were determined to see the good in him—determined to see the good in everybody and, while that’s an admirable quality on the whole, it’s not helpful when looking for a mate.”

  That was true enough, so Sophie could hardly argue there. Cora hadn’t liked Luke from the onset. She’d said he reminded her too much of a bad used car salesman. Honestly, Sophie had just assumed that Cora hadn’t warmed to Luke because he’d reacted poorly when her beloved parakeet, Jose, had landed on his shoulder and he’d smacked the bird away, when a simple shrug of his shoulder would have accomplished the same thing. He’d never particularly liked any of her animals either and the sentiment had definitely been mutual. She grinned. Her billy goat, Rufus, had never failed to nail him from behind when given the opportunity.

  That definitely should have been a clue. After all, animals were generally a better judge of character than people were, weren’t they? Perhaps that’s what she needed to do? Introduce all potential dates to Rufus and see how he reacted. Anyone who got the head-butt didn’t get a second date. The thought made her smile.

  At any rate, Cora hadn’t been the least bit surprised or unhappy when Sophie had told her that she and Luke had parted ways. In fact, she’d promptly lined Jose’s cage with pictures of Luke she’d found online.

  “Besides, Luke wasn’t blond. His hair was brown with highlights. This guy, as you will soon see,” she said, guiding her determinedly to the door, “is blond.”

  Indeed he was, Sophie thought, inexplicably stopping short at the sight of him. She hadn’t walked into the door, but felt like she had all the same. An odd little thrill whipped through her middle and a tingling started behind her ears, making the hair on the back of her neck rise. Her belly clenched, no doubt to keep the bottom from dropping out of her stomach and her pulse suddenly hammered through her veins. Though she’d swear she’d never clapped eyes on him before in her life, an undeniable sense of recognition teased her, leaving her with the oddest sense of familiarity.

  It was unnerving.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Cora’s triumphant expression. “See. I told you. Man candy.” She gave her a gentle nudge. “Move along, dear, and don’t gawk. It’s unseemly.”

  She’d just used the phrase “man candy” and had nerve to accuse her of being unseemly? Sophie thought dimly, shaken and out of sorts.

  Though the restaurant was filled with its usual geriatric crowd—those early eaters who needed to take their medication with their meal—Foy’s “grandson” would have stood out no matter where he was.

  Blond, as far as a description went, was accurate.

  He was blond.

  He was also forbiddingly large, gloriously muscled, impeccably dressed and unbelievably, mouthwateringly handsome.

  His profile revealed cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, an angled, well-defined jaw, a high forehead, a perfectly proportioned nose and a mouth that was so full it was almost sulky, for lack of a better description. His eyes were deep-set and heavy-lidded and, though she couldn’t discern a proper color from this distance, intuition told her they’d be light, most likely blue. Though it was a cliché comparison, he put her in mind of a Greek God and she could easily see him holding court on Mount Olympus.

  He was certainly holding court here, she thought, watching the hive of activity swirling around him. It was excessive, even for a newcomer and, though he hadn’t so much as glanced in their direction, she got the distinct impression that he knew that she and Cora had entered the restaurant, that he was completely aware of everything that went on around him.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” Ethel said, beaming at them from behind the counter. She nodded at Sophie. “I expect you’d like some pie. For here or to go, dear?”

  “For here,” Cora interjected before she could respond. “I’ll have a slice as well. Spiced tea for both of us.”

  Sophie leaned closer to her ear. “Cora, I told you—”

  “Those animals aren’t going to starve to death if you’re a few minutes late with their feed,” she interjected, heading toward an open table nearest the action. “Humor me. I’ve got a good feeling about this guy.”

  Sophie had gotten some feelings too, but whether they turned out to be good or not remained to be seen.

  “Did you see those hands?” Cora asked under her breath. “They’re huge and accustomed to hard work. That’s rare these days.”

  Sophie determinedly avoided looking at the guy’s hands, which took a galling amount of effort, then dropped into a chair. “For all we know he could have been hammering out license plates.”

  “Hogwash,” she said, leaning forward. “I told you, he’s former military. A Ranger,” she added significantly. “Special Forces. That’s impressive.”

  Yes, it was, she had to admit, particularly considering he’d served during a time of war. That took courage and a level of conviction and loyalty to a greater good that was becoming increasingly scarce. Both of her grandfathers had served in the military and even her father, possibly the most selfish man who’d ever walked the planet, had been in the reserves.

  S
he considered it his one and only redeeming quality.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t heard from him—or her mother and brother, for that matter—in a couple of months. They’d always periodically terrorized her, even after she’d moved in with her grandmother. And since her grandmother’s visitation service, when they’d cornered the family attorney and discovered she’d left them just enough to prevent contesting her will, and the rest of her estate to Sophie, things had only worsened.

  Naturally the terms of the inheritance had gone over like a lead balloon and had resulted in a restraining order Sophie had faithfully updated every six months. The fear came from never knowing when they were going to strike. She’d been used to the occasional horrible letter, the unexplained vandalism of her car, the crank calls. Seeing them from a distance in a crowd.

  But since Gran had died, they’d upped the viciousness with heart-breaking results.

  When the restraining order had prevented them from coming near her or the house—they had just enough self-preservation to avoid jail—they’d lobbed poison over the fence and killed some of her animals. Did she have any proof? No. But she’d known it was them all the same. As a result, she’d had to build a fence within a fence to keep everything inside it safe. And while the three-hundred yards they were required to keep between them was enough to avoid physical injury, it wasn’t enough to prevent her from hearing them. “We’re coming for you, Sophie, you little bitch.”

  A bad seed, her grandmother had once confided, the heartbreak evident in her voice. Her father was living proof for the “nature” argument, that was for sure. He’d been nurtured by two loving, caring parents and had still turned out bad. The expulsions from school had started in the first grade, when he’d stabbed another child in the hand with a pencil just to see if he could pin it to the desk beneath. Having been permanently expelled from every public and private school in the area in his teens, he’d been sent to a “reform” school similar to a military boot camp. That’s where he’d met her mother—who was even more…unstable—and the rest, as they say, was history.

  They were bitter, twisted people, capable of horrible, horrible things, and she’d learned at an early age to steer clear of them. She absently rubbed the scar on the inside of her arm and shook off a sudden chill.

  It was then that she caught him looking at her, a bold considering gaze that caught and held hers so thoroughly she couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to. It left her feeling pinned and paralyzed, breathless and exposed, as though he were privy to each thought that tripped through her suddenly muddled head. Ridiculous, she knew, but the sensation held fast and quickly inspired…others. Impossibly, a spool of heat unraveled low in her belly and an answering warmth responded in her nipples, making them pucker behind her bra. She couldn’t have been any more shocked if they’d caught fire. She’d never merely looked at a man and had that sort of reaction, much less in the form of the stranger-across-the-crowded-room scenario.

  Thankfully, Ethel arrived with their pie, momentarily blocking his line of sight, and the brief interruption was enough to sever the bizarre connection.

  Good Lord…

  Right, Sophie thought, feeling a bit like a martini—shaken and stirred. Time to go, because this was as close to Foy’s impossible grandson as she ever intended to be. He was off-limits. Out of bounds. Trouble in a pair of worn blue jeans. Sex on feet. And most definitely out of her league.

  She waited until Cora put a bite of pie in her mouth, then abruptly stood and pressed a kiss onto the older lady’s startled cheek. “I’ve got to get home. See you tomorrow.”

  Impulsively, she snatched her dessert—no point in letting it go to waste—and fled.

  * * *

  THANKS TO THE twin connection, Jeb was accustomed to a heightened sense of intuition. Though he and Judd weren’t identical, the link was still there and unusually strong. As a boy he could remember having a sudden craving for strawberry ice cream, only to find his brother at the kitchen table, the carton in front of him, spoon in his mouth.

  While in his teens, he’d been out on a first date with a girl when Judd had gotten a speeding ticket and the onset of panic and anxiety had ruined his evening. Even now, as early as last night, he’d felt a familiar spike of elation—much to their shared discomfort, an orgasm would do it every time—followed by a keen sense of loneliness. A text had arrived a minute later from Judd, a simple “I’m fine.” No doubt the girl in the bed next to him prohibited a phone call.

  At any rate, Jeb had learned to listen to his instincts and, after Mosul, would never ignore them again, regardless of “orders.” Had he pulled back at the first prickling of his scalp instead of pushing forward as commanded, he would have avoided the ambush that had killed the rest of his team.

  He’d been first, dammit. It should have been him coming home in a flag-draped coffin.

  How he’d avoided the spray of bullets that had cut down everyone else was a mystery he didn’t think he’d ever be able to explain. In fact, only the small camera attached to his helmet which had transmitted a live feed back to base—and had unequivocally proved his position—had kept him from an official inquiry.

  Regret and remorse, his constant companions, pulled at him, but he beat back the sensation and focused on the unusual—even for him—intuitive cue currently yanking a knot behind his navel.

  It had started the instant she’d walked into the diner.

  She was a relatively unremarkable female, mid-twenties. Dark hair, dark eyes, average height and weight. Despite the chilly weather, her face bore the fading shade of a decent tan, suggesting she was fit and healthy. She wore a sensible jacket over a pair of orange scrubs, probably a nod to the Thanksgiving season, but put him in mind of a convict. His lips twitched. Undoubtedly, that wasn’t the look she was going for. She was with an older woman with decidedly more style and a quick check of their body language revealed a certain reluctance in the younger woman and a sense of excitement from the other.

  Odd.

  The knot and jerking sensation intensified, then his fingers began to tingle and a ripple of awareness skidded down his spine. With effort, he resisted the urge to stare at her, though admittedly he didn’t understand the impulse. Frankly, he could discern more from the corner of his eye than most men with the benefit of full-on vision and he didn’t see anything remotely notable about her. She was neither beautiful nor ugly. She wasn’t especially tall or short, thin or fat. Her hair was brown, not too dark or too light, but that basic common shade in between. It was shiny, he noticed, but the messy bun on the top of her head prevented him from recognizing the length. Based on everything else about her, he imagined it was shoulder-length. Again, not too…anything. She was rather plain, if he were honest.

  And yet…

  He shifted, determined to focus instead on the older couple who’d stopped to welcome him to Twilight Acres. He was of the opinion that the person he was talking to deserved the full benefit of his gaze. Looking elsewhere was rude.

  “Yes, that’s right. Foy’s grandson,” Jeb said for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. He’d been greeted more out of curiosity than friendliness, but the more time he spent talking to people, the more information he was likely to be able to gather. As this was his first assignment for Ranger Security, he wasn’t too keen on the idea of blowing it.

  The alternative had been working for his father—which really meant he’d be working for his grandmother—and that wasn’t an option. The autocratic old biddy was about as warm as an ice cube, as sweet as a persimmon and better at giving orders than some of his former commanding officers.

  And he was done taking orders.

  “Carl,” as he’d introduced himself, chuckled. “Foy’s quite a pip.”

  His companion nodded. “And our reigning Scrabble champion.” A hint of color bloomed in her lined cheeks and she patted her hair. “He’s certainly got a way with words.”

  Hmm, Jeb thought, suppressing a smile. Clearl
y this lady had been for a ride on Foy’s scooter as well.

  Carl scowled, his wiry brows knitting. “Come along, Martha. We should let the boy finish his dinner.”

  At thirty-two, he was hardly a boy, but Jeb didn’t take exception. The pair shuffled off, only to be replaced by another group. He smiled and nodded and repeated himself, and all the while his awareness of his mystery woman intensified, the compulsion to look at her causing a muscle ache in his neck from holding it in check.

  Sheesh, Jeb thought, determinedly taking a sip of his iced tea. What the hell was wrong with him? When he looked up, another person had stopped at his table. The woman was in her mid-fifty’s. Business casual dress, minimal jewelry and make-up. Short, no-nonsense hair.

  “Let me guess,” she said with an arch of a brow. “Foy’s notorious grandson?”

  Jeb chuckled. “Hardly notorious, but yes.” He’d guessed her identity as well. “Marjorie Whitehall?”

  She smiled. “That would be me. I’m the managing director, more affectionately known as the Drill Sergeant around here, but someone has to keep them in line.”

  He feigned a wince. “I don’t envy you that.” And based on what he’d seen so far, he really meant it.

  “Your grandfather certainly doesn’t make it easy, I can tell you that.” She paused. “To tell you the truth, it would be especially helpful if he’d stop selling his Viagra pills. Everyone here is on some form of medication and the potential for a harmful combination is very real.”

  Jeb blinked, not altogether certain what sort of response was required. “I—”

  “If you could have a word with him about it, I’d appreciate it.”

  Ah. He nodded. “Of course.” Like hell.

  She nodded her goodbye, then moved away and it was in that split second of unguarded disbelief at the turn this case had already taken—since when was he responsible for his faux grandpa’s sexual enhancement drug racket?—that his gaze inexplicably moved to her.

  The tug behind his navel jerked so hard it pulled the breath out of his lungs and, like a zoom lens, she loomed so clearly into focus that the rest of the room blurred. His mouth went bone dry and his pulse thundered in his ears as though he’d taken a shot of adrenaline directly into the heart. The forgotten fork in his hand clattered against the plate, revealing a slight tremor in his fingers.