Armed With Steele

by Kyra Jacobs

  “Hey there, boy!” Nate knelt down and welcomed his buddy with open arms. Brutus wagged his tailless backend in delight. “Were you a good boy for Jessica? Huh? Were you?” he asked in baby talk, each hand scratching under one of Brutus’s ears.

  I tossed him the leash and rubbed my sore shoulder. “Oh yeah, he’s been super.”

  “He couldn’t have done that much damage in one day.”

  “No? Well, let’s see. His sudden, urgent need to pee this morning caused me to run outside half naked.”

  “I’m still sorry I missed that,” Nate said, a grin on his face. “I’ve got a few guys keeping a closer eye on your place right now. Frank sure enjoyed the view.”

  “Well, at least those security guards are outside, and aren’t known to have an affinity for wicker baskets.”

  Nate stopped scratching and held Brutus’s face in his hands. “Bad boy. No eating Jessica’s things.”

  Brutus answered with soft “woof.”

  I dug my thumbs into my jeans pockets and shrugged. “It wasn’t mine—it was Grace’s. And honestly, I’m kinda glad it’s gone—I can’t stand wicker.”

  Nate looked up at me sheepishly. “Maybe she won’t notice?”

  “Grace not notice something? Ha! Ain’t gonna happen. In fact, I’d be willing to bet money she notices it’s gone within five minutes of coming back home.”

  Nate stood and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “Shoot. I really am sorry about that.”

  I shrugged. “What’s done is done. Are you coming in, or do you have another hot date to run off to?”

  An amused look flitted across his face. “Sorry, Jess. Did I forget to mention we’re allowed to see other people?”

  I took a step closer to him, determined to set some boundaries. “Frankly, I don’t care who you see or when you see them, so long as it doesn’t get in the way of you,” I said, jabbing his shoulder to emphasize my point, “covering my back.” I hitched my thumb toward me.

  “Good thing you’re not the jealous type. And the name’s Nate, not Frank.”

  I spun on my heel, and stalked toward the back door. “Whatever.”

  * * * *

  “So, you going to show me this resume of yours or not?” Nate asked, then shoveled another forkful of leftover dessert into his mouth. Apple crisp again. Either the man was a sucker for sweets, or just had a bottomless pit of a stomach.

  I took a drink from my Coke Zero. “What, you don’t believe me when I say it’s done?”

  “Oh, I believe you alright. But I have a feeling you wrote it to reflect your actual work history.”

  I frowned. “As opposed to wh—”

  “As opposed to what you should have written, which is a resume sure to catch the hiring manager’s eye at Maxwell.”

  “Are you suggesting I lie?”

  “It’s not lying. More like…being creative with words.”

  I crossed my arms. “You mean lie.”

  “May I please just see it?”

  His use of please gave him away. Nate was trying not to set me off. Must have known he was still in the doghouse after the stunt he’d pulled with my new live-in security system.

  “Fine.” I dropped my arms and went to retrieve the copies I’d printed. “Here.”

  He skimmed the first page. Then the second. “Nope, this won’t do.” He looked up. “You got a pen?”

  “Hey, I spent a lot of time on this!” Time I should have been spending on my new client’s website. “What could you possibly want to change?”

  “Look, Jess, this would be a stellar resume if you were applying for some sort of computer techie job, but you’re not. You’re applying for an administrative assistant position at one of the biggest names in town.” He turned in his chair and motioned for me to have a seat in the chair next to him. “See, going undercover is a lot like acting. You’ve got to assume the role, you know? Get in your head that you are this other person. Have you done any acting before?”

  I froze. Managed to shake my head a fraction of an inch in both directions.

  “Really? Not even in grade school? A line or two in one of those silly all-school sing fests?”

  I shivered involuntarily as the vision of my third grade music program came to mind. One minute I’m standing on the second riser, looking out at a gymnasium full of parents. The next, four teachers are hurrying me back stage, shoving a paper bag in my face.

  My first bout with hyperventilation.

  I fought the urge to run across the room to my secret stash of emergency paper lunch sacks. “No.”

  “Okay. Well, let me put it another way. If you were Jessica Hartley, administrative assistant extraordinaire, what would your resume look like?” He set the document on the table between us.

  “Well…” I tried to think back. How had we worded things on Grace’s resume? “Maybe I should only list past jobs related to office work.”

  He nodded, motioned for me to continue. “And?”

  “And maybe exaggerate the skills and competencies I have that a manager might look for in an AA?”

  “Now you’re getting it. If you’ll grab me a pen, we’ll have this revamped in no time.”

  Turned out, he was quite the wordsmith. In a tenth of the time it’d taken me to create the resume, we’d completely overhauled it to the point that any hiring manager would have been a fool not give this candidate a chance. Nate was surprisingly easy to get along with, when I wasn’t so focused on trying to shoot down his ideas.

  “Nice job,” I said, trying to decipher his chicken scratch. “But this really doesn’t sound a thing like me.”

  He sat back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. “Assume the role, Jessica. Assume the role. You make those changes, print everything out, and you’ll be ready to fill out that app at Maxwell tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I got on their website today. Already downloaded it.”

  He gave me a nod. “Even better.”

  “But I don’t want to give my actual address—for obvious reasons. Do you think they’ll let me slip by with my business PO Box?”

  “I don’t see why not. Though, when you get hired you’ll probably have to give a legitimate address for tax purposes or something. But we can cross that bridge when we get there. For now, stick with the PO Box. That’s one less chance for them to link you to Grace.”

  “Yeah. Lord knows I don’t want anyone showing up here looking for me.”

  “If we play our cards right, they won’t. But just in case, like I said, I’ve got a few buddies at work watching your place. If anyone at Maxwell figures out what you’re up to before we’re ready, we’ve got you covered. Plus, you’ve got Brutus here to protect you twenty-four seven.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I shot a glance over to the dog lying in the middle of my kitchen floor, motionless except for the growing puddle of drool under his chin. “You really think he is going to protect me? He sleeps all day, and I have yet to hear him bark.”

  Brutus lifted his head off the floor a few millimeters, snorted, then dropped it back down.

  “Don’t be fooled by his laid-back demeanor, Jessica.”

  It was my turn to snort.

  “Seriously. I’ve trained Brutus not to bark unless there’s good reason to do so.”

  “So, if I hear him bark?”

  Nate’s eyes flashed to mine. “Call me.”

  Gulp. “What if it’s three AM?”

  “Then definitely call me,” he said, no trace of humor in his voice.

  “Okay.” The thought of calling Nate at three AM suddenly intrigued me. Protect and serve? I shook my head and tried to clear that line of thinking from my head. This was a business partnership, nothing more, and that’s the way it needed to stay.

  Nate carried his dirty dishes over to the sink. “So the application’s filled out. The resume and cover letter drafts are complete. That means there’s just one more thing we need to do before putting this plan into action.”

  “Which is?”<
br />
  “Your appearance.”

  Fire flashed to my cheeks. “What about it?”

  “You need a disguise.”

  “A disguise? But, I’ve never met anyone from Maxwell Office Solutions! I’ve never even talked to anyone there on the phone.”

  “Excellent. But we can’t assume anything at this point. For all we know, Grace could have had photos of the two of you plastered all over her office.”

  For once I couldn’t argue—I knew for a fact that she’d framed and taken in at least one picture with me in it. A snapshot Matt had taken of the two of us right after graduation. I squirmed in my seat. “So, what are you proposing we do?”

  Nate leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “How would you feel about becoming a brunette?”

  “A brunette?”

  “Or red, perhaps?”

  “You…you want me to color my hair?”

  In all my life I’d never veered from my natural shade of dirty blonde. Never had the courage to risk experimenting with something so…so out there for all to see. And now here was Nate, throwing the idea out like it was as easy a decision as whether or not my lunch combo should come with a side of fries or onion rings.

  “That, and maybe update the style a bit.”

  I grabbed my long locks protectively. “I am not going to let you cut all my hair off!”

  “Oh, no!” he said quickly. “I just meant getting you a cut that’s a little more stylish.”

  I looked down at a fist full of split ends, self-confidence dwindling. “What’s wrong with the style I have now?”

  He walked over to stand behind me. Two warm, strong hands perched on my shoulders, and a pair of thumbs begin to knead my over-tense muscles. Damn, he was good. In an instant I was putty in his hands.

  “Nothing. We just need to make sure there’s no way that anyone will be able to make the connection between you and Grace.”

  “Oh.”

  The mention of Grace’s name snapped me out of backrub la-la land. I stared out the window and tried to convince myself that a hair overhaul was no big deal. That fudging my resume, applying for a job I didn’t want, and working undercover, were also no big deals.

  “You having second thoughts?”

  “No,” I lied, thankful he couldn’t see my face. Afraid I’d look weak. Or worse—vulnerable.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice soothing, confident. “All of this—the job, the hair, the clothes—it’s just temporary. Once you get in at Maxwell, and we figure out who tried to hurt Grace and why, we can bag our villain and then you can go back to being the cute, blond, computer wiz everyone knows and adores.”

  Tension reclaimed its stake on my back but I said nothing, my mind too busy trying to process the fact that Nate had just called me cute.

  His hands gave my shoulders one last little squeeze, then stepped to the side, reached down and gently lifted my face toward his. “Okay?”

  I nodded. Fought the sudden urge I had to stand, wrap my arms around his waist, and rest my head on his broad chest. It surprised and scared me both. I found myself wondering why this handsome, compassionate…

  “Perfect.” He gave my chin a quick rap with his knuckle and walked back over to the table. “My sister works at a salon near the mall. I’ll give her a call tomorrow, and then let you know what time she can get you in. Once she’s worked her magic, you can head on out to Maxwell to apply for that job.”

  …bossy, obnoxious, pushy cop was any different from the rest.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you ready to see the new you?”

  I clamped my eyes shut, afraid to see what the last two hours of color, foil, trimming and clipping had done to me. “No.”

  “Oh, come on now, honey. You look amazing!”

  I opened my eyes a fraction of an inch. Nate’s sister Marissa stood before me, looking every bit a salon owner. Thin, tan, perfect nails, and with blonde hair that had so many different highlights and lowlights they blended into a perfect shade all its own. Not that she needed the salon to make her beautiful—Marissa was of the rare breed who never had to worry about her looks, because her beauty came naturally. Me? I’d always had to work for it.

  “You aren’t just saying that?”

  Her musical laughter filled the room. “Silly girl. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit. You’re a looker, you are. And though you were cute before, now you’re sexy.”

  That’s twice I’d been called cute in the past twenty-four hours. It was a conspiracy, for sure.

  Before I had a chance to try and delay her any longer, my chair spun around. A large mirror came into view, and along with it, my reflection. I did a double-take at the stranger peering cautiously back at me.

  My dishwater-blonde hair was now a rich dark brown with subtle auburn highlights, a perfect match to my always slightly darker eyebrows. Gone also was my previous long, simplistic hairstyle. Now my hair sat just below my shoulders, sporting layers upon layers which Marissa had carefully curled and twisted every which way. The cut gave my hair a fullness I’d never known before. I couldn’t help but reach up and touch it, astonished at how great it looked.

  I looked from my reflection in the mirror to hers. “You’re a miracle worker.”

  Her musical laughter rang out once more. “I knew you’d love it.” She ran her hands skillfully through my new, beautiful auburn waves. “Wait until Nate sees you!”

  My gaze shifted back to the new me. There was no denying it—my cut had gone from low maintenance to, well, downright sexy. It’s a good thing he’s seeing someone.

  I hopped down out of my seat, and threw my arms around his sister. “Thank you so much!”

  “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.” She led me to the front counter then, and helped me into my jacket.

  “So, how much do I owe you?”

  “This one’s on the house.”

  “It’s what?”

  “You heard me.” She fluffed my hair one last time and spun me around to face the glass storefront. “Now why don’t you go out and make sure this is what he had in mind.”

  It took only a second for me to spot the police cruiser parked along the curb. And there on the sidewalk, leaning against his white and blue Impala, with arms crossed and sporting his usual pair of stylish shades, was Officer Steele.

  “Thanks, Marissa. You’re the best.”

  “You be sure to tell all your friends exactly that.”

  I grinned, knowing the minute any of them witnessed my transformation, they’d spread the word and be turning out to her salon in droves. “You’re on.”

  I slid my own shades into place and stepped outside.

  Nate let out a long, slow whistle. “Damn!” He lowered his sunglasses. “I ask my sister for a simple make-over, and she turns you into a runway model! The guys at Maxwell won’t get any work done with you strutting past their doors.”

  “You really think so?” I reached up to touch my new ’do.

  “Baby, I don’t think so, I know so.”

  Baby? “Alright, so I got my disguise. What’s next?”

  He checked the time on his watch. “You in a hurry to get home?”

  “Nope. I don’t have any appointments today.”

  “Good. Get in. I’d like to scope out Maxwell and go over some information with you before you go drop off that application.”

  My stomach growled. I quickly moved a hand over it to try and muffle the sound.

  “And we can pick up some lunch on the way,” he added with a grin.

  “Thanks. You fly, I’ll buy.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is necessary. Someone just spent a fortune on me this morning, and I feel the need to pay them back.”

  He slid his shades back on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever. You gonna to let me spring for lunch or not?”

  “If it’ll help you sleep better tonight.” He shrugged and rounded the front o
f his car.

  “It might,” I said, trying to keep myself from thinking about other things involving Officer Steele that might help me sleep better that night.

  Or not.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, Nate and I sat in his cruiser, parked on a gravel access road just to the east of Maxwell Office Solutions. We each held a pair of binoculars in one hand, and a burger in the other. A folder sat in Nate’s lap, topped by several sheets depicting crude sketches of the building.

  He seemed perfectly at ease with me in the car. I, on the other hand, was still trying to settle in. To say I found the car intimidating—what with its gun racks, a laptop on a bulky swivel bracket, a two-way radio, a radar gun, a movie camera, and a dashboard covered with dozens of switches and buttons—would have been an understatement.

  “So,” I said, wiping a stray glob of ketchup from the corner of my mouth, “did the sketches come from your inside source?”

  “Something like that,” he mumbled from behind his binoculars. “You got something to write with?”

  I dug around in my purse for a pen and piece of scrap paper. “Yeah.”

  “Good, jot this down: XB111.”

  “XB111? What’s that?”

  “The license plate on the Bimmer that just pulled into the lot.”

  I scribbled the plate down and looked over, confused. “The what?”

  Nate lowered his binoculars and threw me a look. “The BMW.”

  “Bimmer? Around these parts we call ’em Beamers.”

  “Then around these parts you’re all wrong. A Beamer is a type of motorcycle. A Bimmer is a car.”

  “Whatever. So, why’d you have me write down the Bea—I mean, Bimmer’s plate, anyway? Was the driver cute or something? Big Mister Policeman always on the lookout for the next best thing?”

  He rolled his eyes and lifted the binoculars back into place. “Not my usual MO. Besides, I think the driver’s more your type than mine.”

  I raised my eyebrows, then my binoculars. Focused on the man wearing a charcoal gray suit and red power tie stepping out of the black BMW in the front row of Maxwell’s parking lot. “A little too old for me, cupid. Thanks, anyway.”