It Happens in Threes

by Denise Robbins

  “I hate you,” she wheezed, then dashed for the backyard.

  At the rear door, her knees wobbled. Sweat poured off her body and she gasped for air. Bent over trying to catch her breath, she glowered at him. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  Looking like he had barely done a warm-up, he grinned at her. The bastard.

  Her muscles ached more than she thought possible. At least she didn’t drop dead. Actually, she felt energized.

  Michael stood almost on top of her smelling of sweat, man, and heat. The scent made her skin prickle. Pulling the house key out of her pocket and unlocking the door, she yanked it open. Stepping in ahead of him, she made haste to the bedroom.

  “I’m going to go soap up.”

  She headed straight into the shower. How could the aroma of him turn her on so much? Her nerves danced the way they had the day he seduced her. Desperate to think of something else, she shut her eyes to vanquish the memory.

  She wondered why he wouldn’t tell her the story about who saved who. What was the big secret? He could censor the story for any classified information. What about the guy whose place she took on this assignment. He clammed up on that subject.

  In the hot steam, she lingered. It helped her muscles stretch, relieved some of the ache. Out of the shower, she rubbed her favorite mango and coconut lotion onto those same muscles, almost with the effect of a massage.

  Revitalized, she walked into the living room. Michael was sprawled on the white leather sofa, his hands linked behind his head.

  “You aren’t going to take a shower?”

  “In a minute.” He sat up, removed his shoes and socks. “You’re in pretty good shape.”

  Hands fisted on hips, she glared at him. “Pretty good shape? I kept up with you. Here’s a question for you. Are we going to be running from the bad guy?”

  Sliding a sideways glance at her, he shrugged his shoulders. “You never know. Why don’t you make breakfast? Then we can discuss the rest of your workout regimen.” Socks and shoes in hands, Michael headed to the guest bath.

  By the time he showed himself, Ruby was serving breakfast on the patio. Dressed in a kelly-green shirt that clung to his broad shoulders, the hard flatness of his stomach outlined. Ruby bit her lip as she looked her fill. Who needed breakfast, he looked good enough to eat. She shook her head to get back to the task at hand.

  “How long do you have to get me trained?”

  “About two weeks give or take. We have to finish setting up the cover.” Taking a bite of fresh cut pineapple, he continued. “So you’ve only used a shotgun to shoot at skeet. That’s not going to be a lot of help. And you’ve never taken a self-defense class.”

  “Why would I? It’s not like I planned a career in the spy business.”

  “You’re kidding, right? As a woman it should be quite obvious.” His eyebrows waggled in a mock leer. “There are a lot of sickos out there. Not to worry, we don’t have enough time to go into anything in-depth, but we can get some rudimentary lessons in that should allow you to hold off any man.”

  Her lips tilted up, she was sure that didn’t apply to him.

  * * * *

  Michael drove to a little, dull gray-brown dwelling located at the end of Key Largo, off the beaten path. It was so far off it looked like an abandoned shack. But in the back of the building sat the shooting range.

  The pistol range allowed firing at paper targets in frames placed at fifteen yards as well as tactical “slider” targets which could be moved to various distances between two and fifteen yards.

  Engineered to prevent stray bullets from exiting the confines, the range had been constructed with overhead ground baffles. Field Officers were present to ensure the safety and comfort of its patrons by enforcing all regulations and providing assistance as needed.

  Michael handed Ruby a small stainless steel pistol. He explained it was a .32 ACP with a 6+1 magazine. “Because it weighs about fourteen ounces and its length is approximately four and a half inches long, it’s a perfect girly gun.” At his obvious sexist remark, she scowled.

  He explained, “Shooting is conducted in ten to fifteen minute intervals. After the firing period elapses a Range Officer calls a ceasefire, at which time no firearms can be handled. Once all shooters have returned from inspecting targets down range the area is ‘hot’, which allows for firing to resume. Got it?”

  “Yeah, so far so good,” she nodded in earnest.

  They started on the fifteen-yard pistol range. Ruby picked up the gun, turned it over in her hands. The pistol was a good fit for her slender fingers. Michael showed her how to load the magazine, which added only a little more weight to it, and set the paper target at five yards.

  She sneered at him. “Should I be insulted that it’s so close?”

  “A handgun is used in close quarter situations and happens fast. Therefore, you need to worry about accuracy, not distance.”

  Putting the mandatory hearing and eye protection in place, Ruby picked up the pistol, gripped it with two hands, and sited the target. She squeezed. The weapon jumped, recoiled from the release of the bullet, and it took her a minute to get it back under control. She hit the target in the high upper right quadrant of the paper, but missed the black outline of the body.

  She hissed. Her frustration showed in her pursed lips. This time when she sited the target, he brought both arms around her, placed his hands on top of hers, helping still her arms and demonstrated the proper way to hold the pistol and shoot.

  Feeling the warmth of her body against his front side, Michael bit his lip tight when she wiggled her hips against him. Who would have thought target practice could be so erotic, so arousing. In an attempt to control his reaction, he sucked in a deep breath, and inhaled the scent of her. Intoxicating, smelling of mangoes and coconut, sweet, juicy and exotic. He wanted to run his tongue over her, taste her.

  She was so close her heat comforted and destroyed him simultaneously. Her body excited him. He had to force himself to concentrate on what he was doing, not the firm, round ass pressed into him.

  “Stop wiggling,” he ground out between gritted teeth in her ear.

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice, a mocking, contemptuous smile that said she didn’t care what she did to him. Damn woman.

  Her heart pounded. From the exhilaration of the shooting range or the way Michael draped around her? She wasn’t sure. She felt his breath on her neck while his hands caressed hers around the gun. Chills flowed through her, amazingly sensual. If she closed her eyes she could almost taste his lips on hers.

  He whispered, “Take a deep breath, let it out, and squeeze.”

  The weapon still jumped, some. This time it wasn’t from lack of experience, but her wandering mind. To Ruby’s amazement, she hit the body in its right shoulder.

  “Did you see that? I hit it!”

  He smiled down at her. “Good shot. Now, try to use all the bullets. You’re pulling to the right. Let’s see if we can change that.” Hands on her shoulders, Michael turned her around and helped her site the target again.

  She took her time and emptied the magazine into the target. Michael still helped her steady the recoil, but she was getting the grip right, so she prepared for it.

  On the second round, he let her site and shoot without any guidance. She hit the body of the target ten times, most of them in the chest and shoulder region.

  “Not exactly a sharpshooter, but pretty decent.”

  She grumbled. Wanting to prove better than his half-hearted compliment, she loaded another magazine.

  “Just take your time and remember to breathe on the release.” Like when she climaxed, she thought, then shook her head to clear it. Where had that come from?

  She accepted the advice with a nod and set up to shoot again. Doing as Michael instructed, Ruby hit the target, shooting two in the head and five in the groin.

  He groaned in reaction, the sound coming deep from within him. Instinctively,
he covered his private parts causing Ruby to grin and chuckle.

  “I did much better with that round.”

  “Remind me not to piss you off.”

  She grinned even wider. “You’re a pretty good instructor. Why aren’t you shooting?”

  “I already know how. I don’t need the practice.” Tapping her sweaty nose with his finger, he told her, “You do. But, I think we’ve had enough for today, otherwise, you won’t be able to lift a muscle.”

  “Okay. Betty and I are kind of tired.”

  “Betty, whose Bett... you named your gun?” His eyes rounded and glittered with amusement. “You and Betty make a superb team.” He laughed, put his arm through hers, and walked them to the car.

  She smiled up at him. “Kind of like you and me.”

  “Uh-huh,” he mumbled. “Let’s go write some code.”

  * * * *

  Ruby decided to set up her laptop outside on the patio. A cold glass of lemonade in one hand, and Luey in the other, she was ready to code.

  According to the dossier on Nicolas, he used C#.Net with a web interface for his so-called security application. Since she knew the development environment, she elected to write the virus using the same language. This would make her coding go faster and easier.

  She noted, and wondered if Michael had, that Nicolas was partial to working in Windows environments. From what she had gleamed, Nicolas targeted financial organizations that had the Windows operating systems. She shrugged, it probably wasn’t important to anyone but her.

  Removing the wrap skirt, she stretched out on the chaise, Luey across her lap, and then donned a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. Stretching her arms, she cracked her knuckles. Ready to work.

  Before she started tapping away at the keyboard, she saw the emails. She chose to ignore all fifty-seven of them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t disregard the instant message that popped up.

  Thomas must have been sitting at his computer waiting for her to get online. Then she looked at the message, an animated image. A set of eyes, deep silver, the color of Thomas’s stared back at her. They moved back and forth as if watching her, shooting a wicked glance. A shiver crept up her spine.

  The next instant message read, “Peek-a-boo, I see you.”

  Panic gripped her from head to painted toes. She sprang forward in her chair, glanced over both shoulders looking to see if anyone watched her. Was someone in the shadows of the bushes?

  Was he here? Thomas couldn’t be in two places at one time. Actually, it was feasible. Damn her logical brain for knowing that. All it would take was a wireless internet connection, a handheld pc, and knowledge of her location. Thomas would have all of those.

  With a shake of her head and a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, she rejected the notion. Thomas wasn’t there. He was harassing her. She wouldn’t let him do it.

  In control of her fear, Ruby propped herself back up in the lounger, closed the instant messenger, opened Visual Studio and started programming. Besides, she didn’t have anything to be afraid of. In the house was a genuine secret agent protector. He would watch over her. As a matter of fact, she thought, as she turned her head toward his bedroom, squinting against the sunlight, he was probably spying right now.

  * * * *

  On the phone in his bedroom, Michael checked in with George. He described in detail his foolproof cover solution. While lying awake the previous night fretting over Ruby’s participation as a field agent, he solidified the plan. It was as simple as possible and would work extremely fast so he could get her out of harms way. George agreed with the strategy.

  As he neared the end of the call, Michael peered through the glass paned French doors that led to the pool area. Ruby was on the patio with her laptop. Grinning at her sexy legs, he was suddenly on point when Ruby went from engrossed to startled. Her head whipped back and forth as if in search of something. Or someone.

  “Damn! George, I’ve got to go. Yeah, I’ll check in,” he said and hung up.

  Her pallor had gone ghostly white and she gnawed her lip in a nervous gesture. Those telltale signs told him she’d received another message from her ex. Hands fisted at his sides, his jaw clenched as fury raged through his blood.

  He watched her. She didn’t yell for him. She didn’t run toward the house to get him. She settled back in the lounger then stopped. Her blonde head turned in the direction of the house and even though he couldn’t see her catlike eyes, he knew Ruby saw him. She knew he saw her.

  Dressed in a pair of red swim trunks, Michael grabbed a towel, and stomped to the lanai.

  Typing, she didn’t seem to notice him enter the patio until he loomed above her, blocking sunlight. A shudder ran down her spine before she glanced up. Ignoring him, she went back to typing.

  He waited, but it became apparent Ruby wasn’t going to tell him about the contact from her ex-fiancé or whatever else might have scared her. Instead, she buried herself in her work pretending to be unaware of his presence.

  Emotions boiled inside him as he watched her in silence. Why didn’t she tell him? Didn’t she trust him? Why didn’t she come straight out with it? Why did she think she could handle everything? With each second he waited for her to speak his fury grew hotter. Without a word, Michael dropped the towel across the chaise and in two strides dove into the pool, dousing the heat of his temper.

  It didn’t keep his mind from drifting to other thoughts about Ruby. She wore a yellow colored swimsuit. In his opinion, it hardly qualified as a swimsuit as there was so little material it barely covered anything. Was she trying to tempt him?

  Placing both hands on the pool deck, he hoisted himself from the water. Ruby still clicked away on the keyboard of her computer. He didn’t think she’d lifted her face from the screen of the laptop for the past hour.

  He grabbed the towel from the chair and dried off.

  “Would you like a refill on the lemonade?”

  Without glancing up, she replied, “Huh?”

  Michael took that, as ‘I can’t be bothered at the moment’ and went off to get them two fresh glasses.

  When he returned, he shoved the lemonade in her face so she would take it, which she did, and absently thanked him. Taking a seat at the foot of the chaise, he stared at her, watched her delicate throat work, remembered how he laved it with his tongue and felt her pulse race at his touch. When she finished every last drop, he took the glass from her hand and set it aside.

  “When did you start wearing glasses?”

  “Oh, I only have to use them when I slave over a PC. All the work I’ve done on computers made my eyes weaker.”

  “Old age is a bitch.” When she shot him a searing look, he laughed. “I think they look kind of old-fashioned and sexy.” She gave him an impish grin. “I’m serious. They make your eyes look even more catlike.”

  She rolled them at him. “You would. I hate wearing them. If I don’t have to be on the computer for too long I try to avoid them.”

  “So why didn’t you get contacts?”

  She shuddered. “The thought of sticking my finger in my eyeballs makes me cringe.” At her description, he chuckled.

  “Despite the fact you’re old, you look good.” That earned him a quick shove with her foot, sending him tumbling to the hot limestone floor of the patio. He let out an oath while Ruby held her stomach giggling at him.

  When he righted himself, he grabbed her feet and started to yank when she yelled, “Don’t you hurt Luey!”

  “Luey? Who’s Luey?” He looked heavenward when he realized who, or should he say what she was talking about. “You named your laptop Luey?”

  “I couldn’t call it Ralph. That’s what I want to call a big Saint Bernard dog one day. Luey was the next best thing.”

  “Like that explains everything. Perfect Ruby logic,” he mused with a wry grin.

  Her explanation of Luey only deterred his original agenda. With great care, Michael moved the laptop to the other lounge chair, turned, and in one swift movem
ent scooped her up and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Carrying his package, he marched toward the deep end of the pool.

  Ruby wiggled and yelled, “Michael Scot Augustson, put me down.”

  “Not until you tell me about the message you received from your ex.”

  He felt her gasp through the vibrations in his fingertips on her skin as well as heard the intake of breath. Her kicking legs stilled.

  “You were spying on me?”

  She just told him his guess was right and she didn’t even realize it. “I don’t spy. I didn’t spy. I merely observed your behavior.”

  “Hrrmmph.” She shifted on his shoulder, crossing her arms over her chest the way she did when she was angry. The movement caused him to stumble, but he recovered.

  “I saw you get ready to type, all lighthearted, when you halted. You bit your lip, looked around as if expecting someone to be watching, and twirled your fingers in your hair. All sure signs you were in distress.”

  He stepped closer to the pool and took a deep breath. “Now, would you like to tell me the truth as to what startled you?”

  “I...uh...he didn’t...that is...what gives you the right...”

  He stopped at the edge, slapped her practically bare ass cutting off the rest of her verbal abuse. “Hold your breath,” he warned. He tossed her unceremoniously in the calm clear water with a big splash.

  She came up gasping, swearing. He had no clue she knew so many foul words. Roaring with laughter, Michael watched Ruby swim over to the edge where he stood. She pushed the wet blonde mess out of her face and stretched out a hand.

  “Pull me up, please.” Her best innocent smile plastered on her face.

  Michael missed the glint in her eyes that signaled danger. When he reached down to pull her up, Ruby tugged him in headfirst, holding him under for good measure.

  Like a rocket, he bolted from the bottom out from under her restraint and sent her flying about two feet in front of him. Scrambling to get to the edge of the pool, she didn’t quite make it. A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her under. Yanked up against his hard walled chest, back to abdomen, Michael’s arms secured Ruby’s hands across her breasts.