Armed With Steele

by Kyra Jacobs

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Not what you had in mind?”

  “Well,” he said, and rose slowly out of his chair. He cleared his throat and walked over to me, circled once, then stopped. “It needs something.”

  “I told you I needed Grace’s help for this kind of stuff.”

  He continued to study me, then held one finger up, and took a step closer. Reached his hands out toward my neck.

  I stood still, thinking that he was going to fix my collar. Instead, I felt his fingers at the top of my blouse. Felt the silky fabric part a little further open above my chest. And a little more.

  “Ah,” he said, eyes on my neckline. “Much better.”

  He remained directly in front of me, and my heart began hammering to the beat of a drum I’d forsaken months ago. Was this how partners were supposed to act? To feel?

  Nate’s eyes flickered to mine. He leaned in close. Closer.

  My lips parted in anticipation.

  He lowered his face beside mine. But instead of moving toward my lips, his warm breath trailed along my jaw line and moved to my ear. A shiver rippled through me.

  “You dress like this tomorrow,” he said, his voice low and deep. “And Mr. Frankston won’t have any choice but to hire you.”

  His lips grazed my ear, and I closed my eyes. But instead of a kiss, I felt him pull back. My eyes fluttered open to find Nate back at the table, downing the last of his glass of water. He walked it to the counter, then gave me a light punch in the upper arm as he made his way to the back door. “Knock ’em dead tomorrow, baby.”

  And with that, he was gone. Left me standing in the middle of the kitchen gaping at the back door, heart beating a million miles a minute, and every sexually-related neuron in my body on red alert.

  Curse you, Nathan Steele.

  Chapter 15

  I walked into the lobby at Maxwell Office Solutions the next morning and did my best not to let knocking knees sabotage my journey to the receptionist’s desk. Molly Gillenwater, a.k.a. The Ice Queen, looked up, nail file poised above a set of razor-sharp burgundy nails.

  “May I help you?”

  Breathe, Jessica. Breathe. “Um, yes. I’m here for my nine o’clock interview with Michael Frankston. I’m…Jessica Hartley?”

  She cast me a wary eye, then adjusted her bifocals and looked down her short, pudgy nose to a list on her desk. One of her long, pointed nails skated across the page, then nearly impaled my name when she found it.

  “You’re early, Miss Hartley,” she said, as if being punctual was a crime. Though, it couldn’t have been nearly as big a crime as her choice of hair color—my parents’ 1970’s kitchen counters weren’t that orange. “Why don’t you take a seat, over there.” She pointed her weapon-laden index finger to a cluster of chairs nearby. “And I’ll let Mr. Frankston know you are here.”

  I did my best impression of polite, then walked over and took a seat across the lobby. With my back to her, I took a series of deep breaths and told myself I didn’t need the paper bag in my purse. Yet.

  Once I got my breathing under control once more, I allowed my eyes to scan the room. The furniture was simple, yet modern, done all in earth tones as if to make up for the cold exterior facade. Any other visitor might have even felt calmed by the room’s simple atmosphere.

  But not me, not today. Never had I felt so much pressure going into an interview, or needed a job so badly.

  I had to get this job if I wanted to clear Grace’s name and find the maniac who’d tried to end her life. And once they’d been found, Nate and Charlie could take it from there.

  Ten minutes ticked by, and anticipation began to gnaw away at whatever nerves I had left. A trickle of sweat zig-zagged down my back, forcing me to slide out of my overcoat—the last thing I needed to worry about was interview BO. I grabbed a nearby magazine, some business journal I never in a million years would have selected as a leisurely read, and began fanning myself.

  Keep it together, Jessica. Remember, it’s not about you.

  It is not about you. It’s not about—

  “Miss Hartley? Mr. Frankston will see you now.”

  * * * *

  “Damn, why won’t he answer?”

  I chucked my cell phone back into my purse and focused on the road. I’d done it. I’d survived an hour alone with Michael Frankston.

  The Michael Frankston.

  I shook my head. Grace’s descriptions of her boss had never done the man justice. Michael Frankston wasn’t just handsome; he was a freaking demi-god. Coupled with perfect manners and 100% professionalism. Maybe Nate was right about his cousin—maybe some of her accusations really were bogus. A company with someone like Frankston sharing the helm couldn’t possibly be guilty of sexual harassment, could they?

  That thought ate away at the one frayed nerve I had left. With each passing mile, I began to take in less and less air with each breath. There was no use fighting it—the paper bag in my purse was going to have to come out.

  So I looked for a good place to pull over. Breathing into a paper bag wasn’t something I wanted to do while driving—I’d gotten some funny looks from passing motorists the last time I did. An empty lot came into view, so I pulled in there, parked my car, and rolled the window down to get some fresh air. Michael Frankston’s voice echoed in my head as I searched through my purse.

  So, Miss Hartley, it says here that you have a degree in computer science. May I ask why you’re applying for this position, when you are clearly over qualified for the job?

  It’d been the hardest question of the interview. I’d fumbled through it as best I could, stressing my sincere desire to get my foot in the door at Maxwell and learn from one of the best companies in the country. I just wasn’t cut out to spend eight hours a day writing software programs.

  Lies, lies and more lies. When would it end?

  And where was that damn bag?

  “I see you survived?”

  I whipped my head around to see Nate leaning on my doorframe, brown paper bag in hand. I snatched it from him, shook it open, and plastered it to my face. A few breaths later, the ring of fuzz around my vision began to fade.

  “How did you know?”

  “You’ve got your necklace on. I wanted to make sure it was working. And to see how things went.”

  “I tried to call you,” I panted. “Pulled over when…” I stopped and glanced around. “You won’t get in trouble for being here, will you?”

  Nate scoffed. “No way. I’m helping a distressed motorist.”

  “Ah, so that’s where our tax dollars go.”

  He slid his shades down and narrowed his brilliant blues. “You don’t give a damn about our taxes.”

  “No, not really. But it sounded good,” I said with a grin.

  “So? How did it go?”

  I lowered the bag and took a full, deep breath. “I don’t know. I tried to play up my youth and appearance per your, um, implied suggestions last night. So I walked in, trying to be all smooth and runway-like. But that failed to catch Frankston’s eye, so I changed tactics. But seeing as I don’t have a whole lot in the way of this…” I waved a hand before my B-sized chest. “Shifting around in my seat during the interview garnered zero looks at these. I even accidentally dropped my pen at one point, to really offer him a view. But damn if he didn’t look away like a true gentleman. So when Frankston finally asked if there was something wrong with my chair, I gave up on the whole look at me idea.”

  Nate lowered his head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

  “I spent the rest of the interview focused on giving the best answers possible to each and every question, but didn’t have a good handle on how it was going overall. So when he posed the ‘Tell me why I should hire you instead of the other twenty applicants’ question, I gambled a bit.”

  The look on Nate’s face instantly sobered. “You gambled how?”

  “I told him the truth.”

  Nate’s jaw dropped open.
<
br />   “I said he should give me the job because I’m the woman who’s going to get the job done, and get it done right. Told him he could hire any pretty face off the street, but only this pretty face is attached to a head full of brains.”

  “W-what did Frankston say?”

  A grin snuck out across my face. “He laughed. A full out, knee-slapping, rib-busting laugh. I thought I’d blown it for sure. But then he straightened up, held out his hand, and thanked me for my honesty. Said it was the most refreshing answer he’d heard in a long time.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  Nate shook his head and smiled. “I’m proud of you, agent Hartley. A lesser woman would have tucked her tail and run.”

  Trust me, it’d certainly crossed my mind. “Maybe.”

  “So, did he give you any indication of when you’d hear from them?”

  “He said they’d decide by the end of the week.”

  Nate patted the frame of my car door. “Then, I suggest you get caught up on your other work while you still have the time.”

  * * * *

  “Shit!”

  I watched, helpless, Thursday afternoon as the last few sips of my coffee spilled across the paperwork on my desk. Too much time in front of my laptop the past few days trying to keep both my handsome partner and Maxwell Office Solutions out of my head had made me stiff and clumsy. I dashed toward the kitchen to grab some paper towels.

  My cell phone rang as I contained the spill.

  “Hi, sweetheart. Just thought I’d call and say ‘hello.’”

  I rolled my eyes. Just called to say hello was mother-speak for checking to see if you’re still breathing and haven’t succumbed to the devastating fact that your best friend is still in a coma. “Hi, Mom.”

  “You haven’t called in a few days. Is everything going okay? How’s Grace?”

  One question at a time, Ma… “I’m doing fine, just been really busy with work. Taking a break now to clean up the mess I made on my computer desk.”

  Silence. “I’m coming over.”

  “No!” My gaze shot over to the napping mutt on my bedroom floor. How would I hide Brutus? “I mean, why? I’m fine. Really!”

  “Jessica Ann Hartley, don’t you lie to me! You never clean your desk!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. Contrary to what I’d told Michael Frankston earlier in the week, I was not an obsessively organized neat freak. That every square inch of the area’s most organized administrative assistant candidate’s desk was covered with papers, folders, pens, scissors and paper clips didn’t bother me one bit. Organized chaos had always been my MO.

  “Mom, I’m only cleaning because I spilled my coffee.”

  “Coffee? This late in the day? You really should watch your caffeine intake, dear.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Mother.”

  “So, how’s Grace doing?”

  My eyes shifted from my messy desk to the photo of us on my dresser. “The same. Matt thought her hand twitched in his yesterday, but I think it was just wishful thinking.”

  “Are you still going to visit her?”

  I sighed. “Every day, Mom. Every day.”

  “You poor thing—it must be so lonely, being in that house all alone. Thank goodness for your officer boyfriend. How are you two doing?”

  I scowled, frustrated I couldn’t let her have it for spreading rumors at Macy’s. But it was my lie, and now I had to deal with it. “He’s…fine. Great. We see each other a few times a week. Look, Mom, I really need to go. There’s a show coming on that I’ve been watching lately, and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Oh? What’s that? What channel?”

  They just keep coming. “It’s about home improvement. On channel two-forty-something or something. Love ya.”

  I hung up, closed my eyes and counted to twenty. I knew her incessant questioning stemmed from a desire to stay connected, but the woman drove me mad sometimes!

  15…16…17…

  You and that temper of yours. Nate’s words echoed in my head.

  Nate.

  Dammit, Mom, why’d you have to go and get him stuck in my head? I opened my eyes and sighed.

  The street outside filled with the sound of neighborhood children exiting a school bus, and I glanced out my bedroom window. Ominous, dark clouds now marred the previously unblemished afternoon skies. Rain, according to The Weather Channel, was imminent. Precipitation pending or not, I was now desperate for a distraction.

  “What do you think, Brutus? A quick walk?” I stepped closer to the window to get a better look at the thick clouds rolling in. “Maybe get a little fresh air before this supposed storm arrives?”

  Brutus lifted his head off the floor, but otherwise remained stationary.

  “I’ve got treats,” I said in a sing-songy voice.

  A streak of white and tan tore out of my room.

  I threw on some jogging pants, a long-sleeved top and my sneakers, then headed for the back door. Brutus paced beside his leash, little doggie butt doing a happy dance. I tossed him a treat, snapped the leash onto his collar, and we headed outside.

  The sky was now completely overcast, and the air thick with pre-rain humidity. I cast an anxious glance skyward and considered calling off our walk. But I needed the break. My brain was fried, and to make matters worse, now Nate was roaming around in there.

  “We’re gonna have to hurry, buddy.”

  Our neighborhood was an older one, with homes built in the 50’s and 60’s. Houses were modest; yards were small. The few lots like ours that had detached garages had even less of a backyard than the rest. That meant for us, though, less mowing—which neither Grace nor I minded in the least. It also meant we had a smaller area to rake in the fall, which was definitely a plus. Large, sweeping silver maples and giant oak trees loomed over most yards. Their limbs swayed now, beckoning us to turn back.

  But I was on a mission. Needed to get the adrenaline flowing through my system if I was to have any chance at being productive the rest of the day. And since Maxwell still hadn’t called, I had nothing else to do but work, work, work.

  As we neared the end of the first street, a strong gust of wind kicked up a few early-season spent leaves. Brutus scurried between my legs.

  “Some guard dog you are.”

  I bent down to unweave his leash from my ankles. Another gust bowed the nearest trees farther, and I decided it might be best to take the short loop through the neighborhood today. Just a few more blocks, and we’d be home before the sky opened up and we got wet. I tossed Brutus half a treat, watched him inhale it in one gulp, and then guided us across the street.

  We had the sidewalks to ourselves, what with the rain pending and all. It gave me time to decompress, clear my mind. And for once, Brutus seemed content to trot along beside me instead of jerking me back and forth across the sidewalk as he explored every new scent his sniffer detected.

  Two blocks from home, I felt a small, wet drop hit my cheek. I picked up our pace. We could still make it in time if we hurried.

  As we approached the last intersection between us and home, a tall brunette approached from the side street, jogging at a slow, labored clip. I pulled Brutus into the grass to give her more room, but instead of passing, she stopped a ways back from us to catch her breath. Gauging from the newness of her perfectly color-coordinated jogging outfit and the way her well-endowed chest was heaving, jogging probably wasn’t something she did all that often.

  I tightened my grip on Brutus’ leash. Chesty and I exchanged a quick glance and a nod. Then I turned my attention back to the road we needed to cross. The coast clear, I stepped forward. Brutus, however, pulled in the opposite direction. I gave his leash a small jerk, but he ignored me. Continued to stretch his no-neck in the direction of the jogger.

  “Come on,” I said, tugging harder, but Brutus was having none of it.

  A large raindrop hit the sidewalk in front of me. And then another a few feet from that. And anoth
er. And another.

  “Brutus, if we don’t get going we’re gonna get—”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the jogger’s head whip around. “Brutus?” she repeated, and his tailless behind began to wag madly. Her eyes shifted from the dog to me and narrowed. “You.”

  I glanced right and left, hoping she was referring to someone else. But there were no other idiots out in the coming storm. Just me and my stupid, borrowed, traitorous guard dog.

  And then I knew. Knew exactly who this evil-eyed stranger was.

  The one person in the neighborhood I needed to avoid.

  But as my dumb luck would have it, here we were on the same street corner at the same time on only the second walk I’d taken in months. I’d left the house trying to escape from thoughts of Nate, only to come face to face with his ex-girlfriend.

  What were the odds?

  Chapter 16

  Katie walked forward and scanned me from head to toe. “So you’re the other woman.”

  “Excuse me? I don’t know what you’re—”

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about.” I could all but hear her claws come out.

  Larger drops of rain began to dot the sidewalk. I grimaced as one caught me in the eye.

  “Look, Katie, is it? I’m not anyone’s ‘other woman.’ This was all just a big misunderstanding.” I chuckled nervously. “See, my mother—”

  “Your mother was bragging to some other old broad at Macy’s about how her daughter was seeing a cop. A cop who just happened to have the same name as my boyfriend.”

  I tugged on Brutus’ leash, wanting to get away before things got really ugly. But he remained at her feet, butt waggling away. She ignored him and kept her dagger eyes on me.

  “Nate and I are not seeing each other.”

  “My ass.”

  Is clearly the reason you’re out here jogging in the first place. “We’re not. He’s helping me get to the bottom of…a little problem I’m having with my roommate. That’s all.”

  She threw me an incredulous look. “You really expect me to buy that? After all the nights he spent over at your place?”