by Stacy Gail
“Nope. Operation Sassy Pants.”
“What?”
“Yeah.” He shouldered into his jacket, all the while giving her a look that undressed her bit by bit and made absolutely no apology for it. “At first I just wanted to smooth things over between us, make sure we were at peace. But then my mission objective changed a while ago, and I rolled with it. Gotta say, I’m pretty stoked with how this campaign’s going so far.”
“Holy crap,” she said faintly, stunned, as he moved to the front door. “You make it sound like… like military maneuvers or something. If your plan is to get me into bed, no one in the history of getting women into bed has made it that complicated.”
“Bed’s going to be a part of Operation Sassy Pants. A fucking outstanding part of it,” he added with that low, predatory laugh that did weird and alarming things to her girly parts. “But still, just a part. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine to look these venues over. Be ready.”
“Wait, Rude—”
But he was already out the door.
Chapter Seven
“If you were holding out any hope of getting an ID from our new fan’s license plate, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment.”
The no-nonsense voice of Mary Jane Fogelmann-Case rolled through the SUV’s speakers as Rude stopped at a traffic light on Michigan Avenue a few blocks from Sass’s place. He knew Sass worked hard at her job, but her apartment was one hell of a piece of real estate. After pumping Frankie for information, he’d discovered that his former foster sister Scout, along with Sass, had stumbled upon it during heavy-duty renovations. While most of the units in her building sold for millions of dollars, Sass’s place had been snapped up for a fraction of that.
Like all things in life, timing was obviously everything.
“Let me guess,” Rude said dryly as the light turned green. “We weren’t able to get a clear picture of it.”
“Oh, we have a crystal-clear picture of the plate, right down to a small mud spatter and a frame that proclaims Hoosier Pride.”
He didn’t even bother to curse. “They didn’t belong to the Caddy, did they?”
“Nope. Plates belong to a truck from a commercial dairy farm twenty miles from the Illinois border. The company didn’t even know the plates were missing. Apparently they’ve got a lot of rolling stock, so according to them it’s too difficult to keep track of it all on a day-to-day basis. Personally I think there’s no excuse for sloppiness.”
Mary Jane would think that. Outside of Scout, she was the most efficient person he’d ever met. “So we’re basically nowhere when it comes to figuring out who’s keeping tabs on PSI.”
“I didn’t say that. Our CCTV also got an excellent shot of our granite-jawed driver while he was being a snot and waving at you.”
That perked him up. “Anyone we know?”
“Not personally, but with the exception of his Dolce and Gabbana aviator sunglasses, he’s got the look of someone who’s served—well-groomed, no discernible piercings or flashy jewelry from the angle that we could see. Crisp, ironed clothes, no visible ink, at least from that angle. If you know what to look for, you guys are easy to spot in a crowd.”
That was true enough. The brutally regimented lifestyle of the military was hard to get out of the system once it got in there. And when keeping both life and limb was a matter of being meticulous, it was a habit that became impossible to kick.
“So no one recognized him? I know Havlik and I drew a blank, but I had hoped someone at PSI could put a name to him from a previous assignment, or maybe even did a tour with him.”
“Everyone’s been asked, and everyone’s come up empty. And though my gut tells me he’s a guy who’s served, that doesn’t necessarily mean he served in our military.”
“Right.” At this point they were back at square one. “What’s the next step?”
“My dad sent the screenshot of our mystery man to a friend who works in the Chicago field office of the FBI. Apparently they have some great facial-recognition software that might be able to help us get a lead on who this dude is. Dad’s there now to make himself a squeaky wheel in hopes of getting results sooner rather than later.”
Rude didn’t ask if Cap Fogelmann was thinking along the lines of a terrorist element, or a revenge-type scenario against PSI or one of the people employed there. Not only would Rude blind himself if he focused too tightly on just one possibility, but the fact was virtually every person who worked at PSI had long histories of combat in the worst places on earth. Those places of instability bred people who were equally unstable, at least from a Western point of view, so it wasn’t unheard of to have made an enemy intent on following them home.
“What about protocol? Any changes?”
“As of now, everyone must check in every four hours if you’re away from PSI, whether you’re on or off-duty, not counting sleeping hours. If you miss a check-in, you get two reminder texts that you’d better answer with a phone call. Do not text your check-ins—I need to hear your voice to make sure you’re alive and well. I will ask you the daily code word, which will be posted online on PSI’s secured employee message board every morning at seven. You are to activate your phone’s location tracker now so that I can see where you are from here. You’re to keep your phone with you at all times, day and night. But other than that, just stay alert and go about your business as usual.”
“Understood.” He pulled up to Sass’s apartment building, already sweeping the street for anything out of place. “Is the noon meeting with Cap still on?”
“Negative. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get anywhere with this facial recognition thing—for some reason he didn’t seem to think his friend would be willing to help someone from the private sector. Since he obviously plans to bug the crap out of someone all day today, he had me shift everything to tomorrow, so congrats—you have a free day. Don’t spend it doing something stupid, like cleaning your guns or working out. Do something fun while I’m stuck here at the office.”
“I think I can manage that.” The thought made him grin, and it was a grin that didn’t fade by the time he got Sass out the door and buckled into the seat beside him. She was dressed in skinny black jeans, black leather boots that made her legs look a mile long, and the fuzzy white of her turtleneck sweater played up the natural gold of her skin. She had her sleek dark brown hair pulled back in what she probably thought was a severe looking ponytail, but all it did was show off the almost elfin angles of her face.
A face he couldn’t help but notice was pulled into a surly scowl.
So that was what a pissed-off elf looked like.
“Why are you so damned happy this morning?” Sounding like she had never been happy in her life, Sass settled deeper into the passenger seat like she wished it would magically become a full-sized bed. “You haven’t stopped grinning since you showed up.”
At last, the pissed-off elf spoke. “Maybe I’m just happy you didn’t lock me out and I didn’t have to call in Frankie to help me wheedle my way into the building.”
“How stupid do you think I am? Do you really think I’d fall for a lame trick like that?”
“Nope. But I would have reminded you how much Frankie hates it when we don’t get along. Just the thought of her sniffling would have made you cave like a house of cards.”
He could practically feel the heat of her glare. “You really are a manipulative bastard, you know that?”
“And you really are cranky this morning. What’d you do, wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“To wake up anywhere, much less the wrong side of the bed, would imply that I’d slept. I didn’t, so you’re just going to have to put up with my crankiness. Or you could drop me back off at home if you find that you can’t,” she added with a hopeful glance his way. That was when he saw what he hadn’t at first—the fatigue and stress around her eyes that instantly put a damper on his good mood.
“Insomnia, huh?” Slowing for a stoplight, he glanced o
ver just as she was stifling a yawn. He reached over and pushed past the soft knit of her turtleneck to close his hand over her nape. She froze for an instant, then melted when he squeezed the taut muscles there. “It sucks, doesn’t it, not being able to shut your mind off so you can let your body rest?”
Her head dropped forward on a sigh. “Mm-hm.”
“Does it happen often? You not being able to sleep?”
“I’ve been an insomniac all my life.” The words came out in a mumble, and they were tinged with a bone-weary resignation that drew his brows together. “Some of my earliest memories are of being in a new foster home and too afraid to close my eyes. You’re so vulnerable when you sleep, you know?”
He knew that kind of fear; every combat soldier did. But she’d been just a tiny little kid. “I don’t know if you know this, but insomnia is one of the symptoms of PTSD.”
She didn’t move. “Thanks for the news flash, Doc.”
Smartass. “You should have called me, since you were awake. I was up, too.”
That finally brought her head up, and those large, exotic eyes focused on him. “Why?”
“I was thinking about you.” No harm in telling the truth.
Her jaw dropped before she slid him a withering side-eye. “Shut up.”
“I get the best damn kiss I’ve ever had, and you think I didn’t lie awake reliving every second of it? That I didn’t still taste that sweet mouth of yours whenever I licked my lips, or feel your tongue daring mine to do something so dirty you moaned down my throat? You kiss like you want a man to get addicted to you, Sassy, but I’m not complaining. That’s one kind of addiction I can handle.”
“I have absolutely no idea what to say to that,” she said in a thin little voice that was nowhere near the snarky, razor-edged tone he was used to coming from the woman who matched her name. “So I’m going to pretend you didn’t say anything, and try to get some sleep.”
“No, what you’re going to try to do is shut me out, but I’m not going to let that happen.” When he saw the familiar sign for Caribou Coffee, he wheeled the SUV into a nearby parking lot. “Time for a little eye-opener, Sassy Pants. I’m going to get you so fueled up on caffeine you won’t be able to help but talk to me.”
It had been one of the longest nights in Sass’s adult life, and it was all Rude’s fault.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d admitted to being a life-long insomniac. She’d always suspected that being a product of Chicago’s overwhelmed child welfare system had made her that way, though she didn’t believe that what she’d gone through deserved the heavy-duty label of PTSD. It had simply been everyday life for her, and thousands like her. Sleeping with one eye open was how she’d survived. Every now and again she still had trouble, but nothing like she’d had while growing up.
And nothing like last night.
She’d thought she was starting to get over those unforgiving bouts of insomnia. It even made sense that her chronic sleeplessness would fade away over time. Sure, her life had started out as pure shit being abandoned as a newborn, and things had gone downhill from there. Things like insomnia were perfectly understandable when she felt she was under attack.
But life had gotten better once the Panuzzis showed up on her horizon. And when she’d gotten out on her own, things had gotten better still. Sure, every now and again she had restless nights where she found herself braising beef short ribs or trying to create a skinnier version of cream cheese frosting at four in the morning. But as the years unfurled and she grew more confident in the stability of her world, those endless nights had become few and far between.
Then Rude blew in like an ill wind, and before she knew it she was watching the sun rise while finishing a major chunk of her latest cookbook manuscript. Considering how much work she’d gotten done last night, she should probably dedicate the damn book to him.
It was understandable that Rude had her rattled. She couldn’t be anything else when he suddenly decided his role in her life was now going to be that of a lover, not a fighter. That was akin to having the well-known bad guy in the world of wrestling suddenly try to wear a halo. He was lucky she hadn’t thrown a chair at him.
God, she needed sleep. She was now thinking in wrestling analogies.
The coffeehouse thrummed with morning business and smelled like heaven. While Rude went to the counter to give their orders, she managed to snag a couple of fireside armchairs designed to swallow the unwary sitter in a cloud of opulent softness. She was just trying to figure out how to steal the chair she was sitting in without anyone noticing when he returned with their drinks, and her kleptomaniacal thoughts disappeared at her first sip.
“Holy crap, that’s not a skinny soy mocha,” she gasped, and checked the cup to see what was written on it. “I think they gave you the wrong order, Rude. This tastes like the devil’s own coffee.”
“I had them add a couple shots of espresso to make sure you didn’t fall flat on your face.” He lowered himself into the chair she’d saved for him closest to the fire, then frowned at her across the low end table situated between their chairs. “As soon as a table opens up, let’s grab it. You’re too far away.”
“I like the fire.” And she really liked the distance, she thought, again giving her drink another try. When she feared her face would freeze in an “ick” grimace, she excused herself to doctor it with as much sweetener as she could scrounge. But when she got back, her satisfaction with her drink vanished when she saw her seat had been taken.
“That… asshole,” she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowed not at the oblivious seat usurper, but at Rude. She marched over to where he sat and loomed up from behind, refraining from smacking the back of his head through sheer force of will. “You suck, Panuzzi.”
He glanced casually over his shoulder at her as if he’d known she was there all along. “Oh? What’d I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do.” She cocked her head toward the cushy seat that someone else’s ass was now sinking into. “You didn’t save my seat, you dick.”
“Oh.” His smile was unconcerned. “I guess I didn’t.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but at that moment attacking him seemed like a logical response. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to stand right here on this very spot and slurp coffee as annoyingly as I can in your ear. Oh, and I’m going to tell your mother what an ungentlemanly, not-seat-saving jerk you are while I’m at it.”
“Oh noes, you’re not gonna tell my mommy on me, are you?”
Grrrr. “On second thought, I’m just going to pour my coffee over your head and call us even.”
“Don’t even think about wasting good Italian espresso.” He seemed genuinely alarmed at the thought, and set his drink aside. “Would it make you feel better if you were sitting here?”
“At the very least.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Without warning, he caught her wrist, and with a flip of his hand and a well-timed tug, a maneuver he’d no doubt learned in some badass martial-arts class, she wound up landing on his lap, with barely a jostle of her bruised ribs. It was almost like he’d teleported her there.
“There.” He sounded satisfied in a manly sort of way while his hand steadied hers as it held her coffee. To her amazement, not one drop had been spilled. “Problem solved, and you got what you wanted. You’re sitting right here.”
He bobbed his knees up and down for emphasis.
“We’re in public,” she hissed, mortified and more than a little flustered to find her booty planted snugly in his lap. The body heat that poured off of him radiated through the fabric separating their bodies, and it flowed into her bloodstream like a narcotic. If she didn’t get off of him soon, she feared she’d find him as addictive as he claimed she was. “You cannot Chuck-Norris judo-flip people onto your lap in public. Or in private, for that matter, now that I think about it. I’m sure it’s a law.”
“Chuck Norris wishes he had my moves, and I didn’t judo
-flip you. I merely helped you get where you wanted to go.” Before she knew what he was going to do, he took her cup and sampled it, before wrinkling his nose. “Shit, Sassy, you sweetened it.”
“Of course I sweetened it. It was so strong it was threatening to crawl out of the cup and challenge me to a cage match.” Then she blinked, realizing she was back to using wrestling analogies. She also realized she was making it easy for him to keep her there. Somehow her arm had gotten looped around his neck for stability, and her hip was now resting against his crotch in a surprisingly comfortable position. She took note of these points, just as she took note of how well they fit together, when she should have been snapping to her feet and heading to the car in a snit.
And she would. In a minute. When this stopped feeling so warm and cozy, she’d get on that whole snit thing. Really.
“And I know we’re in public.” His voice dropped to a low rumble for her ears alone, and the sound of it was so velvety smooth she had to work extra hard to not shiver in response. “So obviously you’ve got to know you’re perfectly safe.”
“Safe?” What an odd word. Was she ever safe when he was near?
She almost snorted. Yeah, no.
“Mm-hm, safe. The only reason you’re still sitting on my lap like a warm bundle of temptation is because deep down you know I’m going to act like the gentleman you say I’m not.” He set her coffee next to his on the table, then pulled her deeper into the cradle of his lap, with one hand resting on her knee, the other coming to rub slowly up and down her back. “Being in public like this with you prevents me from being ungentlemanly.”
“What ungentlemanly thing would you do if we weren’t in public?” Then she bit her lip, horrified. That hadn’t been what she wanted to say at all.
His eyes heated in that hungry, avid way she refused to admit she was beginning to like. “What an unexpected and provocative question, Sass. You sure you want the answer?”
He wasn’t her type. He was aggressively masculine. She could never control him they way she controlled the men in her life. He’d hated her when they were kids. He had to be playing her now.
