Getting Lucky m-2

by Susan Andersen

  "Hey, I can run checks any time, anywhere. Have laptop, will travel—I'm never far from my trusty titanium. Who do you want investigated?"

  "A woman by the name of Lily Morrisette." He explained the situation.

  "And you're absolutely sure she's pulling a con?" Rocket asked when he finished.

  "About as sure as I can be without your background check. I gave her a chance to prove otherwise and she put me off." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know, John, maybe this is my fault."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Look at this place. I wanted to give Glynnie what she gave up when she came to live with me at Lejeune. But I might as well have taken out an advertisement that read, 'Naive rich girl, left on her own a lot. Come and get it.'"

  Rocket shook his head. "I'd tell you to cut yourself some slack here, bud, but I know you when it comes to your sister. So give me everything you know about Morrisette."

  Zach provided what he knew, which admittedly wasn't a lot. The only thing he didn't tell John was what a struggle he found it to resist the pull of Lily's sexuality. It wasn't pertinent anyhow. The attraction was strictly involuntary, and he planned to get a grip on it.

  But he must be slipping, because when he finished laying everything out Rocket crossed his ankles beneath the table, sank a little deeper onto his tailbone, and stud-ied him intently as he sipped his beer.

  And Zach knew he'd somehow given himself away.

  For a moment, John didn't say a word. Then he scratched the tip of his thumbnail across his chin. "From what I've seen since hittingL.A., theseCaliforniagirls are something else again. The solution seems like a no-brainer to me."

  "Give me a clue then, Miglionni, because I'm not seeing it."

  "She's built, she's blond, and she's no better than she oughtta be, right?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  He shrugged. "So, why not make her an offer she can't refuse? Hell, Zach, she sounds like every girl you've ever pursued. Buy the chick a few baubles. Become her sugar daddy for a while."

  Zach snapped upright in his chair. "What are you, crazy ?"

  "Crazy like a fox, maybe." Rocket's grin was all teeth. "It's a win-win situation. You've got the funds to keep her happy; sounds to me like she's got the goods to keep you happy; and if she's occupied taking care of your needs, she won't have the time or energy to hustle Baby Sis."

  For several heartbeats the urge to take his friend's suggestion and run with it was sweeter than the sing of narcotics through a junkie's veins. The sheer temptation of it caught Zach by surprise.

  Then he came to his senses.

  "I prefer not to buy my women," he said with a coolly sardonic smile. But he had to take a long pull on his beer to wet his suddenly dry throat.

  "Ah, well, if you're gonna be fussy about it." Rocket shrugged. "Now, me, I'll take the little darlins any way I can get 'em. Just as long as the end result is me getting my hands on them."

  Zach laughed. "You're so full of shit, John." Raising his beer bottle to his lips, he studied his friend over the top of the amber glass for a moment. "Though, come to think of it, you never were all that discriminating, were you? Still chasing skirts as fast as you can?"

  "Nah. I've slowed down some. Hell, I don't even brag about my conquests anymore."

  "Get outta here. The guy who used to regale Coop and me in pornographic detail of whatever girl had ridden the rocket the night before—now keeping it all to himself? Son of a bitch, boy."

  "I know; the world as we once knew it has ceased to exist. This growing up is a spooky business." He killed off his brew and set the bottle on the table. "Speaking of growing up, when you plan on giving up field work?"

  "Goddamn never." Because it hit a nerve too close to the surface, his voice was flatter than he might have wished.

  But John didn't seem to mind; he merely hitched one shoulder in an easy shrug. "The twenty-year-olds haven't managed to run you into the ground yet, then?"

  "They try, but I'm hanging tough." Although maybe not bouncing back as fast as he used to. "Jesus, Rocket, were we ever that young? Or that stupid? I just got back from a detail inSouth Americawhere I had to ride herd on a bunch of horny teenagers bent on chasing the local senoritas. We damn near had ourselves an international incident by the time we pulled out."

  "One of your men compromise a local girl?"

  " 'Ruined' her is how her betrothed put it." He shook his head in disgust. "We went down to extract a hostage from a drug cartel, then stayed to defend the local village against retaliation. It was supposed to be quick and professional. We were to get the hostage out, set up defensible parameters around the village and show the villagers the basics of maintaining them, then select a few of their young men to bring back to Pendleton."

  "To train in the rudiments of warfare?"

  "Yeah; you know how it works."

  "Sure." John shrugged again. "Teach 'em everything you can cram into six weeks, then send them back to educate the rest of the village and hope for the best. So, was it actually your man getting his rocks off that nearly caused the incident, or was this just one of those ops that are fucked from start to finish?"

  "No, the recon and extraction went great. My unit is young, but they're good. The problems didn't start until we got to the village. That's when they turned from a corps of highly trained professionals into a bunch of pussy-chasing morons."

  "And this is something new? Hell,Midnight, there's always shit like that to rein in whenever young soldiers are exposed to nubile sweet young things. Or to any female with a pulse when it comes to that—particularly following a successful mission."

  "I know, but this time one of my men diddling with a local girl damn near meant the difference between a village getting the training to defend itself and not. And I sure as hell wouldn't have enjoyed having to explain why to the brass."

  "What happened?"

  Zach noticed John's empty beer bottle and got up to get two more longnecks out of the fridge. "The best candidate for the program by far," he said, "was a young man named Miguel Escavez. He had the most raw talent, the greatest determination to protect what's his, and unquestionable leadership potential." Handing Rocket a beer, he sat back down, then stopped in the midst of twisting the cap off his own to look at his friend across the table. "Unfortunately, he was also the girl's fiance."

  "Oh, shit."

  "Tell me about it. After talking to the girl and determining the sex with Pederson was consensual, I got the happy job of telling Miguel that since that was so, and she was of age, I didn't have jurisdiction to punish my soldier-cum-stud of the hour." Zach got a sudden flashback to swarming flies and thick, steamy heat, saw again the outraged ego burning in the young Latino's eyes.

  He finished twisting the bottle cap off and took a swig of beer to wash the vision away. "A couple days later we found Pederson outside the village, beaten to a pulp. I know damn well Escavez was responsible, but lacking concrete proof, there wasn't a helluva lot I could do about that, either." His jaw set. "Which pretty much summed up the entire detail. I didn't do a helluva lot."

  John shrugged. "Some missions are like that—there's just not much you can do. And it's probably just as well you didn't find evidence against Escavez anyway."

  "How do you figure?"

  "We've both spent more hours than we can count in these villages. If there's one thing you can depend on in some of the more macho cultures, it's the store they place in saving face. Is Pederson okay?"

  "Yeah. He's still not one hundred percent, but you know how fast a nineteen-year-old heals."

  "There you go, then. Your soldier survived and might even think twice before he messes with another villager's woman. Escavez got his retribution, which probably helped him save face in front of his village."

  "True." Zach felt some of the weight he'd been carrying slide away. "And in the end Miguel even volunteered to be part of the three-man delegation we brought back with us." He saluted Rocket with his beer bottle. "So all's we
ll that ends well, I guess."

  He heard the sound of the front door opening. Knowing it had to be Lily, he looked toward the archway, waiting for her to pass by. It bugged him to realize his blood was pumping a little hotter and faster through his veins than it had been a few moments ago. Then, recalling his friend's words, he took a slow, controlled breath and gave himself a break.

  Rocket was right. Lily was the exact type of woman that usually drew his attention—at least in the physical sense. I'll be damned , he thought with a little surge of relief. I'm not turning into the world's worst brother, after all. I merely need to get laid .

  He almost laughed out loud. As John had said, successful reconnaissance missions had a way of getting a guy's juices flowing. Combine that with the fact that it had been a long time since he'd been within belly-rubbing distance of a woman—even before the South American detail had come un—and any woman would look good to him, never mind a hot little number like Lily Morrisette. Just give him the chance to rectify the sexual limbo he'd been in, though, and she'd likely lose whatever small hold she had over his senses.

  He kept that thought firmly in mind when Lily sashayed into view, all cotton-candy hair and swinging hips as she strutted toward the archway. Still his temperature cranked another notch higher. Then, just as he was thinking he'd better start trolling the bars pretty damn soon, Lily glanced up from the tiny handbag into which she dropped her keys.

  With a little yelp of surprise she stopped in her tracks, a splayed hand slapping the full swell of her breasts. A half dozen narrow gold bangles clinked and jingled as they slid down her arm from wrist to forearm. Her eyes locked with Zach's.

  "You startled me!" she exclaimed breathlessly, and more jingling ensued as her hand patted her chest as if to contain a racing heart. "I didn't realize anyone was here." Then she jerked her gaze away and glanced at Rocket, offering him a tentative smile.

  It pushed all Zach"s buttons, and he laughed harshly. "Right," he snarled. "Like you can't smell fresh meat a block away." Jesus, what an actress He jerked his head toward Rocket. "So meet John. He can't afford you."

  You would have thought he'd pissed in the middle of a tea party, the way she looked at him. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  His blood flat-out boiled. How did she do it? How did she make him feel as if he was in the wrong when he knew damn good and well that she was the one playing all the angles?

  "So that's Lily, huh?"

  Zach blew out a breath and turned to look at his friend. "Yeah."

  " Hoo –ahh," Rocket breathed. "Now that's lethal stuff." He reached over to punch Zach on the arm. "But my money's on you, buddy. You'll have her disarmed in no time." He cocked a dense black eyebrow. "That is, if you start thinking with something besides your dick. What's the matter with you, anyway? I've never seen you like this, never heard you be anything but polite to a woman, no matter what her agenda. You gotta quit letting this one mess with your head."

  Then he bared his teeth. "Lucky for you, you've got me at your back. You've established you're the bad guy. Now it's time for ol' brother John to see what he can learn."

  Chapter 4

  LILY WAS PANTING IN ABSOLUTE FURY BY THE TIME she closed the door at her back. He was a pig ! A pig, a pig, a pig ! Where did he get off treating her like that?

  Well, he won. She'd pack her bags and start looking for another place this afternoon. It just chapped her hide to let him run her off this way, but she couldn't take it any more. She simply wasn't built for this kind of confrontation.

  Unlike last night, when she'd thrown everything she owned into her case, she began gathering together only the nonessentials she could live without for a while, so she'd be ready to move at a moment's notice. But she made a face as she retrieved her luggage from the closet. This was way too reminiscent of her life growing up, when a year rarely went by without her restless parents telling her to pack her things because they were moving on. She'd learned at a young age never to get too comfortable in any one place, so heaven knew she had a decent grasp on what was necessary in order to get by for a day or two, and what were just extras.

  She'd really thought all that was finally behind her, though. Until her apartment went condo, she'd lived in the same place for seven years, a record for someone who had gone to eleven different schools in six different states—and that wasn't counting two culinary schools. When Glynnis invited her to stay in this lovely ocean-front home, she'd appreciated it more than she could say and had truly hoped her next move would be her last. Ideally, when she found her restaurant, it would combine a living area with the commercial space. She'd planned to search for the perfect spot as soon as she got back from her next cruise.

  Lily gave herself a mental shake. Well, sometimes things didn't work out; no one knew that better than she. That didn't mean she intended to go off half-cocked and storm out without a plan. Mimi would undoubtedly let her camp out on her couch for a few days, but she wanted to reserve that option as a last resort. First, she'd check out the ads to see what was available without a lease.

  Merely thinking about it made her tired, though, so she flipped open her luggage on the bedspread and began filling it. She'd start with something a little less stressful.

  She was piling most of her collection of pretty lingerie into one corner of the case, thinking she really ought to rummage through the three-car garage for some boxes, when her gaze was caught by an envelope sticking up out of one of the suitcase's little gathered pockets.

  Her hands stilled for a moment over the heap of silkies and lace. Funny, she didn't remember tucking anything away in there. Then she shrugged. It was probably an old greeting card that had gotten swept up and tossed wily-nilly into the case when she was snatching up stuff last night. Since she rarely hung on to things— a habit left over from her days of keeping extras to a minimum—it was likely not even hers.

  She was just reaching for it to check it out when a knock sounded at the door. She whirled to face it, the card promptly forgotten. "Go away," she snapped, her heart renewing its pounding rhythm as if it had never slowed down. "I'm through talking to you."

  "It's John Miglionni, ma'am. Please. I won't take up much of your time, but I'd like to speak to you for a moment."

  She crossed the room and yanked the door open. Folding her arms militantly beneath her breasts, she glared up at the man on the other side of the threshold. "What makes you think I'm interested in anything you have to say?" Then she blinked. She'd been so furious with Zach earlier she'd barely gotten more than a quick impression of his friend. Seeing John clearly for the first time, she murmured, "What is this place, anyhow, Testosterone Central?"

  Then she gave him a second, closer inspection and wasn't sure where that first impression had come from. He didn't look so tough. He was an inch or two over six feet, and aside from muscular shoulders, looked as lean and lanky as a young Jimmy Stewart beneath his pricey silver-gray silk T-shirt and impeccably pressed black slacks. Even the brawny shoulders appeared somehow less powerful than she'd first thought when she looked at him slouched against the doorframe.

  He was dark-skinned and had hair so black and shiny it contained blue highlights even in the dim hallway. He wore its thick length pulled back in a ponytail, a style that accented his high cheekbones, hawklike nose, and the spare angularity of his face. But it was his dark eyes and smile that grabbed her—both were as bashful and self-effacing as a monk's.

  "I don't know about the testosterone," he said softly, "but I do want to apologize for Zachariah. He's been under a lot of pressure lately, and he's worried sick about his little sister, but that's no excuse to treat you so rudely. He was completely out of line, and I told him so."

  His soft-spoken apology was balm to her offended sensibilities, and her combative pose eased. "That's very gallant of you."

  He ducked his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Zach's insinuations were insulting, and I wanted you to know that although he's my friend I don't endorse his
behavior." Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and shot her a glance full of shy, male interest. "Are you from around here?"

  The movement starkly defined the sinews of his arms for a moment, and Lily realized there was more muscle to him than she'd thought. Silky black hair feathered his forearms, and a small patch of color on his left one caught her attention. "I guess you could say I'm from everywhere," she admitted slowly, shooting what was undoubtedly a tattoo a covert glance to see if she could figure out what it depicted. "But for the past seven years I've lived in—" Sudden comprehension chopped her sentence in two.

  Oh. He was good. She should have remembered the quick impression she'd gotten in the kitchen of intelligent, watchful eyes, but his polite, soothing manners and low-key interest had suckered her completely.

  "Well," she continued smoothly, flapping a dismissive hand. "You don't care about that."

  "Of course I do. I'd love to hear everything about you."

  "You're awfully kind. It's just so nice to talk to a gentleman after dealing with that horrid—" She grimaced. "I'm sorry. I forgot for a moment he's your friend."

  "Don't worry about it." He dug a shoulder into the doorjamb and smiled that monk's smile at her. "You were going to tell me about all those places you've been and how the last seven years you've lived in… ?"

  "Oh, let's not talk about me." She gave him an aren't-you-just-the-sweetest-thing look. "Where are you from?"

  "I've been all over, too." He leaned a little closer. "Maybe we've been to some of the same places."

  "Gee, do you think? That would be something, wouldn't it?" With a glance up from under her lashes, she murmured, "John is such a nice, strong name. What's your sign?"