Armed With Steele

by Kyra Jacobs

  I looked from one to the other. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

  Nate kept his eyes on Charlie. “No.”

  “But…I thought the reason you needed my help was because your cousin was a guy. And, and you needed someone to play the flirt.”

  Charlie looked at me, wide-eyed. “He hasn’t told you much of anything, has he?”

  “Charlie,” Nate growled.

  The hairs on the back of my neck came to attention. “Look, somebody better start coughing up some answers or I’m walking out that door. You can find some other clueless blonde to play decoy, or whatever the hell it is you’re plotting to do with me.”

  “Jess, it’s nothing. Charlie’s just—”

  “Don’t you ‘oh, Jess, it’s nothing’ me, buddy.” I slid to the edge of my seat and stood. “You want my help, start talking.”

  He shot Charlie a vicious look, then turned back to me. “Really, it’s—”

  “I’ll give you to the count of five. One.”

  “Jess, I—”

  “Two.” If it worked for Officer Frank, it could work for me, too. “Three.”

  Nate cursed under his breath. “Alright.”

  “Four.”

  “Alright!” Nate ran a hand through his dark locks and glared at the floor. “Yes, my cousin is female. But I already told you, she doesn’t work in the same area Grace did. She’s not even on the same floor. And, well, she doesn’t get along well with most of her coworkers, so she can’t do what I’m asking you to do.”

  I sat back down. “And?”

  Nate’s eyes met mine. “What do you mean, and? That’s why we need you looking for information instead of her.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t meet her.”

  “Because.” Nate shot Charlie another dirty look. “I don’t want her cluttering your investigation with any of her quack conspiracy theories.”

  “Conspiracy theories?”

  Charlie came to sit on the other side of me. “Nate’s cousin has levied several allegations against Maxwell over the years. Including, among other things, several cases of sexual harassment.”

  I whipped my head around to Nate. “And you didn’t think that was important for me to know?”

  “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

  It took every ounce of my willpower to keep from hauling off and slugging him. “Eventually? Like when, exactly? After I’d started? Or after I’d already been—”

  Charlie put his arm around me. “Easy, Jess. The allegations never went anywhere. Investigations were made, but nothing was ever confirmed. So Nate’s cousin’s earned a reputation as a trouble-making whistle-blower. Even if she did know who did this to your friend Grace or why, no one there would believe her.”

  “I never believed her accusations were true, Jess.” Nate rested his hand on my knee.

  Charlie’s touch did nothing for me. But damn if Nate’s didn’t warm right through my frosty outer layer. Until Charlie opened his mouth again.

  “You were right about one thing, Nate. This one does have a nasty little temper.”

  I bristled beneath both their touches. “If my temper is so bad, why don’t you go out and find another partner? Maybe your vicious ex-girlfriend Katie can help you out.”

  Nate tightened his grip on my knee. “No, we need you, Jess. You’re the only one who can do this.”

  “The hell I am. You two probably know dozens of perfectly capable under-cover specialists.”

  Charlie leaned in closer. “But none of them care as much about Grace as you do.”

  I leaned ever so slightly away from him, which put me ever so closer to Nate. He took advantage of this, and reached a hand out to turn my face toward his.

  “Charlie’s right, you know,” he said softly as his blue eyes searched mine. “You’re the perfect fit. And I know you won’t give up until we find the answers that will keep both Grace and my cousin safe.”

  I swallowed hard. There I sat, in a strange house, helplessly sandwiched between two handsome men. Men that I hardly knew, yet ones who were asking me to put my life on the line for some harebrained scheme.

  A harebrained scheme that had to work, if I was going to save my best friend.

  “And if something goes wrong while I’m there?”

  Nate and Charlie exchanged glances. “Then we come charging in with guns a-blazing.”

  Chapter 14

  I sat on the back porch later that night, teeth chattering, while Brutus trotted happily around looking for a prime piece of my real estate on which to do his doggie thing. When he finally turned his back to me and squatted, I looked skyward and thanked the stars I’d finally thought to pick up a pooper-scooper at the store. Fifteen dollars seemed a small price to pay for saving my yard…and my shoes.

  A rustle in the bushes back by the alley put me on alert, and made me grudgingly thankful to have dog here with me. I’d never been afraid of the dark in our own backyard before. But then, that was before all this insanity had descended upon me.

  I reached into my jeans pocket and produced the business card Charlie’d handed me on my way out.

  If you need anything, anything at all, you call me.

  I dug my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and plugged both his business and home numbers into it, though I hoped I’d never need to take him up on that offer. Now, had it been Nate offering that…

  Damn it. I didn’t want to be thinking about Nate like that. Or Nate at all.

  Traitor Nate. Holding-out-on-me Nate. Not-to-be-trusted Nate.

  How could he draw me into his plan without bothering to tell me about the rumors of sexual harassment at Maxwell? Did I really mean that little to him? Just a prop in this dangerous production he was orchestrating?

  I stared off into space and tried to remember what normal felt like. Two weeks ago I was happily minding my own business, preparing for a stupid blind double-date. Then, wham! Life as I knew it took a line drive to left field. Now I was sitting the dark, my hair a different color and coated with more hairspray than teens wore in the 80’s, while I waited for a stranger’s dog to finish taking a dump on my once-pristine lawn.

  A cold, wet nose to my right ear interrupted my bitter musing.

  “Oh, Brutus!” I used the sleeve of a comfy old sweatshirt I’d donned after arriving back home to wipe the slobber from my earlobe. “Can’t you keep that slobber to yourself?”

  Brutus sat down beside me, and his tongue spilled out the side of his mouth in that near-smiling look of his. He obviously could care less if I was cooing or yelling at him—he was just happy to have me home. And because I was stressed out, lonely, and missing my roommate horribly, I had to admit I was kind of happy he was there with me, too. So instead of grouching at him further for the whole nose-to-my-ear deal, I wrapped my arm around him and simply enjoyed the warmth radiating from his pudgy little body.

  * * * *

  Saturday came and went without any miraculous change in Grace’s condition, as did Sunday. Four o’clock that afternoon, I resolved myself to the fact that I was indeed going to have to suffer through my nine o’clock interview the next morning.

  Just thinking about it made my palms sweat.

  So I went into the kitchen, cracked open the window to give myself a little fresh air, and then sat at the table with my resume and a crisp, clean notepad. Before I stepped foot back into Maxwell Office Solutions, I wanted to have my story down pat—my bogus reason for applying there, my qualifications, and my strengths and weaknesses.

  I memorized everything as if memorizing a script, jotting down thoughts as they came to me. But after a while my brain turned to complete mush. So I got up from the table and paced around the house, chastising myself for not spending more time over the weekend preparing.

  All the commotion woke Brutus from his afternoon nap, which looked amazingly similar to his morning and evening naps, and he began pacing along with me. Only, I didn’t realize it. I made another pass across the living room a
nd spun on my heel to return the way I’d come. But there was Brutus, directly underfoot. I lunged to the side in an attempt to not step on his little feet, and lost my balance.

  I fell to the floor with a painful thud and remained there for a moment, dazed. Brutus took advantage of my moment of weakness, and began licking my face. “No!” I shrieked, trying to swat him away. “Get off of me!”

  But it was no use. Brutus thought it was a game, and as long as I was on the floor, he was hell-bent on covering me with as much slime as possible. “Please, no!” I curled up in a ball to protect my face, squealing like a little girl. “Stop! Stop!”

  To my surprise, he did. But not at my request. Brutus looked up from my face and turned his head in the direction of the kitchen. Then he uttered a single, low “woof.”

  I froze. Brutus had never barked before.

  I tried to think of what could have prompted it. Maybe he’d heard something from the open kitchen window? A noise, coming from the alley? But then Brutus tore out of the living room, growling like I’d never heard him do before. Not even when he’d gone to town on Grace’s wicker basket and I’d tried in vain to take it back from him.

  I heard his nails clatter across the linoleum, followed by more growling, and then a man’s muffled voice.

  Someone was in the house.

  I crawled silently along the couch and reached under the loveseat’s skirting. I’d hidden my old, steel softball bat under it the weekend Grace and I moved in. If that sonofabitch hurts one hair on Brutus’s head…

  My shaking hand found the bat’s well-worn grip. Bat now in hand, I pulled my knees up under me and rose into a half crouch, listening all the while to the muffled noises coming from the kitchen. I was nearly to the end of the couch when Brutus barked once more. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone hurting him. I sprang forward, bat poised to strike.

  “WaitJessicaStop!” Nate held his hands protectively in front of him, cringing.

  “Nate?” I cried, arms frozen in mid-backswing. Sure enough, he was standing in the middle of my kitchen, wearing a sweat-soaked gray t-shirt and jogging pants. I lowered the bat, my heart pounding with the force of a steam locomotive in my chest. “W-what are you doing here?”

  “I heard…I thought…I…” He stopped. Leaned in closer, eyes widening. “What happened to you?”

  I reached up and began trying to smooth my hair back into place. “Your dog tripped me, and then attacked me with a stream of slobbery kisses. What’s your story?”

  “I was jogging by, and heard you start yelling, ‘No!’ and, ‘Please, stop!’ So when you didn’t answer the door, I tried the knob…”

  We stood there, hands on hips and chests puffed out, staring at each other. But the hilarity of it all eventually deflated my aggressive state and a giggle escaped my lips. Like the first domino in a long, complex design to fall, that soon lead to us both laughing so hard we had tears running down our cheeks.

  “You should have seen the look on your face,” I cried, holding the stitch in my ribcage.

  “You should have seen your hair! And you!” Nate sat down and playfully grabbed Brutus by the scruff behind his ears. “Since when do you get aggressive with me?”

  “He did?”

  Nate nodded.

  I walked over and reached down to scratch under Brutus’s chin. “There’s a good boy.”

  “Hey!” Nate scowled at the both of us.

  “What? You’re the one who wanted him to be my surrogate security system. I’d say he’s doing a pretty damn good job, wouldn’t you?”

  His brilliant blues locked with mine, and I struggled to maintain a coherent thought. I hadn’t realized how close I was to him when I’d come to pet Brutus.

  Too close. And now he sat there, easily within kissing distance, all beaded with sweat and broad chest still heaving from the laughter. My heart rate began to climb, and my breaths came faster. And faster.

  Oh no, not now…

  I scrambled across the room. Yanked open the drawer where I kept my stash of paper bags.

  “Jess?”

  I ripped a bag from the drawer, gave it a quick, firm flick of the wrist, and brought it to my face. Inoutinoutin out in out…in…out. In. Out.

  A hand touched my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I took one more deep breath, then pulled the bag from my face and crumpled it into a ball. “I’m fine, thanks.” I stepped away from his touch—a touch that felt too, too good—and tossed the bag into the trash. “And clearly not getting attacked by anyone, as you can see, so you’re free to run off and finish your jog.”

  He looked at me, surprise fresh on his face. “You don’t really think I can go back to jogging after all of this, do you?”

  “An experienced runner like yourself? Of course you can.”

  He chuckled. “Nope, your little stunt distracted me. I’ve lost my rhythm now.” He walked over to the cupboard, retrieved a glass and turned the faucet on. “So tell me,” he said, filling the glass with water, “what were you doing to get Brutus tangled up under your feet?”

  “It wasn’t a stunt. I was…pacing.”

  “Pacing? Why?”

  I clenched my fists. Not only was he not leaving, but now he was asking questions whose honest answers were sure to make me look weak. I brushed past him to grab my own glass from my own cupboard and poured myself my own damned drink of water.

  I brought the glass to my lips and took a good, long drink. “Because I’m nervous.”

  Nate’s jaw fell open. “You? Nervous?” He began to laugh. “And here I thought you had nerves of steel. Woo-hoo, ladies and gentlemen, I think we’ve finally found a chink in that armor.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He walked over, threw his arm over my shoulder. “Interview jitters?”

  His touch was like lightning to my lonely body. I stood there, wondering how he could be so calm around me. So casual. Clearly he wasn’t interested in me.

  Right?

  “Aw, Jess, nothing to worry about. You’ve got your resume memorized, right?”

  I nodded, and tried to keep my heart rate under control. His arm around me was nothing to get worked up over. A partner-ly gesture, nothing more.

  Strictly business, strictly business, strictly business.

  “Good girl. And you’re going to talk about how organized you are, and all your phone skills and scheduling experience, right?”

  “Right,” I croaked.

  “Then you’re all set,” he said with a shrug from his free shoulder.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But—” Shut up, Jessica.

  “But what?”

  I grimaced. Damn him, distracting me with his touch and that spicy scent of his masculine deodorant. It definitely had me off my usual game of keeping close-lipped about my problems.

  “What is it?” he asked as if I were a four-year-old afraid to confess stealing a cookie.

  “I…I can’t figure out what to wear tomorrow. Grace always helped me with this kind of thing—she’s got a much better eye for fashion than I do. And without her…well, it’s got me all stressed out.”

  Nate took a drink from his water. “Well, I can help you with that.”

  I snorted. “You? Help me pick out what I’m going to wear tomorrow?” I chuckled. “That’s a good one.”

  Nate retrieved his arm from my shoulders. “Hey, just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I’m totally clueless when it comes to fashion. I grew up with an older sister, remember? Who do you think helped craft my keen fashion sense? Besides, you’ve got a one-on-one interview tomorrow. With a man. Who else could offer you better feedback than another guy?” He leaned back against the counter, a smug look on his face.

  I shifted my gaze to the window, surprised that I was even considering his offer. But I hated the idea of trying to coordinate an outfit on my own for something as important as this. And that whole point about him being a guy and all did have
some merit. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  Nate clapped his hands together. “Great. Now where’s your—”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I’ll bring ideas out to you. You’re not going anywhere near my room.”

  He shrugged. Walked over to take a seat at the table. “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “What would really make me happy—” I stopped.

  He looked up, right eyebrow arched with interest. But he wasn’t going to hear what really would have made me happy. Because even I was caught off guard by those sudden, particular thoughts.

  “Would be for you to just sit there and pretend you’re Michael Frankston. Now, suit with pants, or skirt?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Skirt, duh.”

  “Long or mid-length?”

  “Something that’s going to show as much leg as possible.”

  I snatched a hot pad off the counter and chucked it at him.

  “What? I’m a guy. Given the option, I want more skin, not less!”

  “Okay, Charlie.”

  “No, Charlie would have suggested—” He stopped, shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Just…go with the mid-length skirt.”

  “Alright. Stay.”

  I scurried off to my room and dug through my walk-in closet to find the navy skirt that best fit his description. That in hand, I took a step back to look at the rest of my clothes.

  “Now what?” I whispered, flipping through hanger after hanger of tops. I finally narrowed the selection down to two silk blouses: one a flowy, fuchsia scoop-neck tank that would look nice under my matching navy blazer, and the other a baby blue button-down. After another moment’s hesitation, I opted for the blue one—its neckline didn’t plunge nearly as much.

  I slid into the outfit, then popped into the adjoining bathroom to check my look. I gasped. The clothes looked fine, but my hair was still an absolute disaster. Apparently slobber and hairspray didn’t mix well. I tried to work a brush through it, but it was no use. My ’do was done.

  “Oh, to hell with it.” I twisted my hair up and clipped it into place. Then I dabbed on some powder to smooth out my complexion, located my navy pumps, and hurried back toward the kitchen.

  Nate was in mid-sip of his water when I reentered the room. He froze for a second, then swallowed loudly and set his glass down on the table.