by Jana DeLeon
Scooter retrieved the items wearing a napkin as a glove and Mallory smiled. Her friend wasn't near as stupid as some might think. Even secondary contact with Mallory was sometimes a problem.
Scooter had just placed the jacket across the chair when Patrick and Amy returned. Patrick grabbed his jacket and glared at Amy. "Why don't you leave before me? With this all this white-trash mess you're involved in, I don't want anyone thinking we're together. I'll call you when I get home."
Amy looked as though she'd been struck, and Mallory prayed desperately that her friend would fight back, but she only nodded meekly. She said a nearly inaudible good-bye to Mallory and left the table, threading her way across the bar.
Patrick watched her retreat, a smug look on his face. As he started to follow, Mallory reached out and grabbed his arm. "You should be nicer to my friend."
"Or what? If you could get rid of me, you already would have." He yanked his arm from her grasp and stalked across the bar.
"Doesn't stop me from trying," Mallory grumbled as she watched him exit. "C'mon, Scooter. Let's hurry and see the show."
Scooter grinned and followed her across the bar and outside into the parking lot.
Patrick had parked right in front of the bar in what Mallory had thought was a handicapped parking space, but a glance at the front of the space revealed an empty pole. He was pressing his key fob and glaring at the door, but it was no use. Finally deciding it wasn't going to work, he jammed his key in the door lock and opened it. With a final dirty look at Mallory, he started his car, revving the engine like an idiot, and threw it in reverse.
The car sputtered once, moved about two inches back, then died.
Mallory could see Patrick cursing as he turned the key over and over with no results. Finally, he jumped out of the car, slammed the door and started yelling at Mallory. "You did something to my car, you bitch. I just know it."
Before Mallory could respond, the door to the bar opened and J.T. and a few of the customers stepped out. "What's all the racket out here?" J.T. asked.
"The only `racket' here," Patrick said, "is charging three dollars for watered-down beer. Unless you've got a tow truck behind the bar, there's nothing you can do to help."
J.T. stared at Patrick for a moment, then shook his head. "You got some set of balls on you boy." He looked over at the immobile car, then back at Patrick. "Tell you what I can do. Dave, here" - he pointed at a burly guy standing next to him - "happens to drive a tow truck. And I'd be happy to have you towed - straight to the impound."
Patrick stared. "For what? I haven't done anything wrong.
"You're parked in a handicapped spot. As the owner of the building, I have the right to have your car towed to impound."
Patrick whirled around and looked at the parking space. "There's no sign. Without a sign, there's no law."
J.T. smirked and walked over to the pole in front of Patrick's car. By this time, more people were outside of the bar watching the show than inside, and a low murmur ran through the crowd as everyone wondered what J.T. was about to do.
J.T. kicked one foot in the dirt, then reached down and lifted up a battered sign. He shook the worst of the dust off it and placed it up on the pole, shoving his pen through the screw hole to hold it in place. "Looks like there's a sign to me."
A couple of people chuckled, and Mallory covered her mouth with one hand, trying to hold it in.
Patrick stared at J.T., a dumbfounded look on his face. "You can't do that."
"I just did." J.T. waved one hand at Dave. "I do believe this car is parked illegally. Would you mind removing it from my lot?"
Dave grinned and pulled his keys from his pocket. "Give me ten minutes and she'll be gone." The big man headed across the parking lot toward a tow truck parked off to one side.
Finally realizing that J.T. had every intention of towing his car, Patrick turned from bewildered to angry, but for once was smart enough to keep his mouth closed. He glared at Mallory, then spun around, walked back over to his car, and climbed inside. He was still sitting in the driver's seat, fuming, when Dave lifted the car from its spot and began to pull it away.
Mallory looked over at J.T., smiling. "That was fantastic."
J.T. nodded. "Never could stand that son of a bitch."
"That makes two of us."
J.T. motioned Mallory to step close and she edged her way along the parking lot, careful to avoid touching any of the regulars, until she was standing just inches from the bar owner.
"I was trying to catch you before you left," J.T. said. "That's why I came outside in the first place, although I'm glad to help with the disaster part of the night."
"What's up?"
"Just wanted to let you know that Harry dropped by this afternoon. Said that Walter Royal sent two of his flunkies over to measure the construction trailer. Said they needed to recarpet for the `new management."'
Mallory felt her face flush with anger. "Asshole."
J.T. nodded. "Got that right. I know I didn't want you playing in this tournament, Mallory, and that's still the case. But I hope to God you make the money to buy Harry's business before Walter Royal can. That bastard has just about ruined everything in this town."
"I'm going to get the money."
J.T. nodded. "You need anything, you let me know."
"Just keep your ear to the ground. Let me know what you hear about Reginald or Silas or hell, anything that might be useful."
"Things like Silas canceling his lease on a row of warehouses just outside of town and the owner scheduling Harry to demolish them week after next?"
Leased warehouses? Mallory's mind whirled with the possibilities.
Jake had said the FBI had checked everything that Silas owned, but they'd have no way of knowing what he'd leased. She thanked J.T. and headed across the parking lot to her truck. She needed to make a phone call to Harry to get the exact address of those warehouses; then she needed to let Jake know where to start looking for his partner.
Chapter Nine
Jake cursed as his rental car dipped into another pothole the size of Rhode Island and flung him up off the seat and into the roof. Where the hell did Mallory have them meeting? His alarm clock had gone off thirty minutes late and he'd been rushing ever since. He and Mallory both thought it best to wait as late as possible to enact their plan, so at least it was daylight when Jake left the motel that morning. But you would never have known it was daylight now. Huge, thick trees lined the sides of the dirt road that was barely more than a path, blocking out any light from the narrow strip he drove on. Without his headlights on, he'd probably already have fallen in and disappeared forever in one of those potholes. For all he knew, that might be the locals' plan to keep foreigners out.
The road made a quick left turn and came to a dead end right up against the bayou. Jake slammed on the brakes, the car sliding a couple of inches in the mixture of dirt and gravel that was serving as a parking lot. Mallory was parked over to the side, her truck tucked in between two massive cypress trees.
She was leaning against the bumper of her truck, her tight-fitting, faded jeans and white tank top reminding him that Mallory Devereaux's body was as near to perfect as any he'd ever seen before in his life. Hollywood could have learned a thing or two by looking at this woman, tanned and toned on every square inch of her body.
Or at least he assumed the tanned part, since he didn't exactly know, but it was such a glorious visual, he was just going to leave it that way.
He shook his head and took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Mallory's tan lines, or lack thereof, were not part of the plan. Not the plan to bust Silas and definitely not the plan for his life. Women like Mallory, interesting women, attractive, intelligent, were the type he never spent time with.
That might lead to having feelings. Having feelings led to thinking about commitment and any number of other completely normal activities that had no place in an FBI agent's life. So he'd avoided these women like the plague.
&
nbsp; Not to say he was a priest or anything. That simply wasn't the case. It's just that he'd always been smart about his choices-mostly good-looking but brainless bimbos. They were safe because he knew he could never form any kind of attachment, regardless of whether he spent time with them or not. And the reality was he never had to spend much time with any one of them because there were so many to choose from.
Women like Mallory were a rare breed. Thank God.
He shut off the car, pulled the keys from the ignition, then shoved open the door and stepped outside. He had to stop thinking. Stop thinking about anything but busting Silas Hebert. Concentrate on the cards and nothing else.
"Quite a stop you made there," Mallory said, and grinned.
Jake shook his head. "How the hell was I to know the road was going to turn into a bayou?" He glanced around the tiny clearing, with an even tinier path leading straight into the water. "What is this place, anyway?"
"Used to be a house here when I was a kid. Well, more like a shack, really. The local voodoo woman lived here. Even though my mom forbade it, I'd sneak over here sometimes, trying to see her doing some magic."
Jake stared at Mallory, trying to decide whether she was pulling his leg or not. Her expression never wavered. "Don't tell me you believe in that crap, too."
Mallory shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I've never thought about it really. I mean, there are obviously some things in the universe that go against the norm and with no explanation that we can see, or I wouldn't exist the way I do. I can't say that I've ever seen any voodoo firsthand. I really don't know anything about it."
Jake nodded and looked around the clearing again. "So where is the woman now?"
"Dead maybe? Moved? Who knows? Hell, she looked old when I was a kid. That would make her ancient now."
"But someone still comes back here," he said, and pointed to the path.
Mallory grinned. "That would be me and Scooter. Best speckled trout you'd ever wanted to eat are about a hundred yards off that edge of the bayou." She pointed to the tiny trail leading into the water. "We keep it a secret, though. Don't want everyone in Royal Flush thinning out our fish."
Jake nodded like he was interested in the reply, like he was even thinking about speckled whatever and not the fullness of Mallory's lips. He needed to get a grip on himself.
He glanced down at his watch, then back at Mallory. "We've got about thirty minutes to get to the casino. I guess we'd better get this over with."
Mallory studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Are you nervous, Agent McMillan? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say that kissing me worries you more than the possibility of shooting someone."
Jake felt his blood race at her teasing, but far from making him angry, it excited him.
And scared the shit out of him.
"The only thing I'm worried about is Silas getting away," he said. "And if it means kissing one of those speckled things you catch to bust him, I'd do that too." To back up his point, he made the three steps over to her and before she could even respond, he'd grabbed the back of her head and lowered his lips to hers in a crushing blow.
Apparently surprised by his speed, she stiffened momentarily, but as his lips parted hers, he felt her slacken against him as her hands came up his back and twined into his hair. Her lips were as soft and hot as he'd remembered from the day before. He felt her tongue on his in a slow erotic dance. Involuntarily, he moved closer to her so that his body pressed against hers, inch by inch. He trailed one hand from her neck down the thin cotton fabric of her shirt, stopping over one of the perfect breasts to stroke the nipple beneath.
She groaned, and he felt himself stiffen in response.
In an instant, he tore away from her and took a step back, his breath still ragged. She stood staring at him, her expression unreadable, but for the first time since he'd met her, Mallory Devereaux didn't have a thing to say.
"I guess that will do?" he asked, trying to clear his head of the moment, of Mallory.
Mallory stared at him a moment more, then nodded. "That should take you to lunch at least." She glanced up at the sun above the as if she were checking the time. "Guess we better get going or we'll be late. I'll take off first. It wouldn't do for Reginald to see us arrive at the same time." She gave him a small smile. "See you in a few."
And with that, she spun around and hurried to her truck. It gave him a little satisfaction to notice that she never looked back. Too taken by the moment to risk looking at him any longer, was what he figured. Which was only fair when he had barely maintained control himself.
So the hard exterior that Mallory wore was just housing the woman inside. All woman. All natural woman.
And damned if she hadn't been telling the truth - she didn't wear a bra.
Mallory drove to the casino on autopilot, still shaken by the kiss. If the first kiss had been an awakening, this one had come in for the kill. Never in her life had she wanted a man with every single square inch of her skin, every hair follicle. Her body had betrayed her and sold itself out 150 percent to Jake McMillan.
And that was a problem for so many reasons she couldn't even count them all. Being involved with Jake, or any other man for that matter, wasn't an option. She knew that, believed it with all her heart.
But she still wanted him like she'd wanted no other.
Desperately wanted a man whose real name she didn't even know.
She pulled into the casino parking lot and took the spot nearest to the ramp. She grabbed her bag of clothes and jumped from the truck, eager to get inside and get focused on the tournament-focused on the rest of her life. She needed to keep her mind clear. No distractions. That was today's rule.
Until she found Amy crying in the ladies' room.
Dropping her bag just inside the door, Mallory rushed over to her friend, who was huddled on a couch in the far corner. Mallory sank onto the table across from her. "Amy, what's wrong?"
Amy lowered her head so that Mallory couldn't see her face, but she saw her shoulders shaking and knew the tears were still rolling. For the millionth time in her existence, Mallory cursed her inability to touch someone, comfort someone that she loved. "Did someone hurt you? Do I need to talk to Reginald? Oh, hell, was it Reginald who upset you?"
Amy sniffed a bit and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. It was several seconds more before she lifted her head to face Mallory. "It's Patrick."
"What's happened with Patrick?" Mallory asked. Do not hope for death. That's wrong. Maybe an accident involving his penis.
"He broke up with me," Amy said, and sniffed again. "Just like that. Six months, two days and five hours together, and he said we didn't have anything in common anymore. How can he say that? We're the same as we were when we met." She turned her wounded, puppy-dog expression on Mallory, looking for an explanation - some reason to make sense of her current disaster.
Mallory felt instantly guilty. Even though she knew the problems she'd bestowed on Patrick at J.T's hadn't been the ultimate reason he'd dumped her friend, they had probably sped up the process. "I'm really sorry, Amy. You know how I felt about him, but I never wanted to see you hurt."
Amy sniffed and nodded. "I know. None of this is your fault, so don't start thinking it is. Patrick was rude to you from the start, and honestly, I think I'm more embarrassed than hurt."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I've known this day has been coming for months now, and I continued to inflict Patrick on all of you anyway."
Mallory stared at Amy in surprise. "You knew this was coming?"
Amy shrugged. "Patrick hasn't been the same since my PhD application was accepted and his wasn't. I kept thinking he would eventually let it go, but my doing better than him always bothered him. I just never wanted to admit it."
Mallory twined her fingers together to keep them from reaching up and touching her friend. "It's his loss, believe me on that one. You could do so much better."
Amy stared at her, her expression doubtful. "Can
I really? Because I don't think so. Most men don't take me seriously at all based on the way I look. Then when they find out what's inside this head of mine, they usually shy away." The look she gave Mallory was sheer misery. "I scare them. I scare men. It feels awful, Mallory. And I worry all the time about being alone the rest of my life."
Mallory nodded, trying to block out the thoughts of Jake that came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. "I understand. You know I understand."
Amy nodded and gave Mallory a small smile. "I know you do. It's just not right, Mallory. Two good-looking, successful women and not a man between us. This sucks."
"It does suck. But you're going to be fine. You'll move on from Patrick and find someone who isn't threatened by your brain." Of course, Einstein was dead, but she'd work on the man angle a little later. "C'mon, Amy, You couldn't have liked him that much anyway. He wears his pants too short. Looked like he was ready for high waters."
"He's tall. He has trouble finding pants the right length."
"So you're telling me the man is a math whiz, but can't manage an inseam measurement?" She shook her head. "I'm not buying it. And you need to remember your dating rules."
"My rules are dumb."
"That's not the point. They're your rules and I think you've broken Number Two. What does Number Two say, exactly?"
Amy sighed. "When assessing a man as husband material, you have to ask yourself: If I were to die a tragic death, would he dress my children stupid?"
"Now see? Based on Amy's Rules for Dating Number Two, you should never have gotten past an introduction to Patrick. Not with his ankles looking all girly in a pair of slacks."
Amy giggled. "Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I just saw being with Patrick as better than being alone. It's hard, Mallory, and it's scary to wonder if that perfect man for me is out there."
