But at least his campaign to romance her started on the right foot. Flowers, chocolate, stuffed animals, CDs filled with ballads and small things that brought her to mind. He'd even run across a small whetstone to sharpen those knives she liked so much. No matter what he sent, Recee still refused to contact him. It was enough to make any sane man question his mental stability.
"Screwed coming and going,” he muttered, his taped hands flying against the bag until nothing existed but the movements of his body.
How long he stayed in the physical zone he didn't know. The slight tingling on the back of his neck had him swivelling from the abused bag to the stairs leading up from his basement.
Brock stood there, face frowning, arms crossed and denim-clad legs spread apart, a stance Garen knew from countless bar fights and fire fights. Someone had pissed all over his buddy's Cheerios and Brock was spoiling for a fight. Damn good thing Garen wanted nothing more than to oblige him.
"What's up?” he asked, grabbing his sweaty towel and a bottle of water from the floor.
Brock didn't move from his position by the stairway. Despite the distance separating them, Garen saw a muscle clenching in his friend's jaw, a sure fire way of gauging Brock's level of anger.
"Why don't you tell me?” Voice flat, demeanour controlled.
Garen's instincts burned with warning. “Since the last time I saw you?” That had been at the club when he'd started asking questions about Recee. Shit, he thought, no one could know what happened between the two of them. Recee wouldn't say a word no matter what her crazy friends did and he sure as shit had kept his mouth shut mainly by staying the hell away from people. Everything he'd sent her had gone straight to her house, but billed under a different company name so no one he associated with would know he sent them.
"Yeah, anything new come up?"
Okay, the conversation had flown by weird, diving straight into creepy. The Brock he knew would never hesitate to spill a little blood to settle a score or an argument. This Brock... Well, Garen didn't know what the heck his thought process was.
With a tired sigh he swiped the towel over his sweat-soaked face and neck. “Look, whatever you're digging for, find another plot. I've got nothing.” In three gulps he drained the water and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin in the corner.
Brock moved, his stride determined as he crossed the wooden floor. “You stupid piece of shit, did you really think no one would find out? Recee's good, I'll admit, but she's not the only one with sources around this town. Or do you not remember what we do for a living, Swifthorse?"
Dread crawled in his stomach and settled there as Brock's words echoed in his head. How? How the hell had anyone found out? Maybe they hadn't. Maybe one of the crazies Recee called friends glimpsed something or Recee carelessly let something slip and Emma had sent Brock here to gather intel.
The more he thought about it, the better he felt. Even the ball of acid in his gut stopped burning away its lining. “You here just to bust my chops over shit I have no idea about, or is there a real purpose to this visit? Did Recee set you up for something? ‘Cause I got to tell you this little visit isn't in my schedule."
The easy, fluid denial stopped Brock, just as Garen knew it would. His buddy was like a bull. Raise a red cape and Brock went after it, no holds barred. Change the tone or cape to another colour, Brock stumbled and reason returned.
"Emma said...” His friend shook his head. Hands planted on hips, he stared everywhere but where Garen stood. Brock released a frustrated sigh. “I hate those women. Some days I really do. And screw you and your damn anal calendar."
As the tension ratcheted down a few notches, Garen drew in a deep breath. “So what have the sisters of evil and all that is wrong in the world done now?"
A smile broke Brock's grim features. “Yeah, that about describes them, even my poor sweet Emma.” Another quick shake of his head, then he explained, “Trinity called some weird ass emergency meeting yesterday morning. We're talking before ten a.m. on a Sunday!"
"So Trinity's always doing weird crap no matter how often or much the good doctor tries to rein her in.” Which was nothing but the absolute truth. The beleaguered doctor Hunt Windslow might be in love with Trinity Mailer and married to the nutcase, but Hunt did his best to temper Trinity's wild escapades with the voice of reason. Ninety-nine per cent of the time he failed, but the man had balls of steel to even keep trying.
"Well, this little meet and greet was a no-boys-allowed type gathering. I know they met up at the club because Ethan informed of that little tidbit. However, none of our delicate little women would ‘fess up to the purpose of the meeting."
"And I'm trouble because...” While he was used to logic having no place around the Club Botticelli women, Garen did tend to expect it around his male friends.
"I finally broke Emma, and man I got to tell you...” Brock ran a frustrated hand through his cropped hair. “I've been up against terrorists with hundreds of kills beneath their belts who cracked quicker than my Emma."
Brock sounded surprised, annoyed and way too proud of his tender-hearted woman. Emma might write romance for a living, but she wasn't anyone's pushover. She needed a spine of steel to put up with Brock and his shit.
"I could have told you Em's got a sterling set, but did you really torture her?"
Garen watched Brock's cheeks redden with...embarrassment? What the hell?
Brock averted his gaze, hands going from his hips, to pockets then back again. “Let's just say I was in a unique position to question her. Trust me, she spilled everything she knew and then some."
"Unique position?” The words tripped off his tongue even as the meaning behind them clicked in his slow-thinking mind. “Oh yeah, um...” He scratched his head and went to grab a couple of bottles of water. Distance from Brock was the best thing for both of them. In no way, shape or form did Garen want to know any more details of his buddy's sex life or how Emma finally broke.
He tossed a bottle to Brock and kept one for himself. Exercise, along with the discomfort of hearing about Emma's sex life, tended to leave a man's mouth dried out.
Brock downed half the contents in two gulps before lowering the bottle. “Look, let's skip that part and move on to why I came busting in here ready to take your head off."
Cold fresh water eased the heat burning his throat. “Works for me."
By unspoken agreement they went to the leather armchairs positioned in front of a wall-size flat-screen TV.
"I take it there's talk of a revolution in the dark queen's palace?"
Brock shook his head, his eyes lighting up in humour. “Dark queen? Revolution? There is something to be said for your college education. But to answer the question, the five of them are up to something. They haven't been this sneaky since Trinity's kidnapping."
Yeah, he remembered when the four friends ganged up on Trinity, determined to see her with Hunt. Regrettably the women never worried about minor details such as a bogus bidding war during Olivia's charity auction, illegally drugging Trinity and smuggling her out of the country.
Boundaries, laws, morals...nothing stopped the five minions of darkness from getting whatever results they wanted. To hear they'd gathered again without witnesses... Yeah, something was coming. Unhappily the woman he couldn't get out of his mind was leading the charge into whatever asinine plan they'd created.
"What about the security equipment we installed in the club? The mics are sensitive enough to pick up a mouse shitting in the basement. Let's just download the feed and hear what they're planning."
Brock rubbed the back of his neck. “The thing is every room in Botticelli is wired for sound except..."
Though he could guess the answer Garen still needed to ask. Needed to hear just how far his buddy had fallen into the love trap. “Except what, Cage?"
"Except there were a few concerns Emma brought up after we finished. Uhh, you know about how maybe the mics and camera should be removed for privacy."
"O
h, you didn't?"
"Hey, you look into those big hazel blue eyes and tell her no! She's got me wrapped around her little finger so tight and there's no place I'd rather be."
The buddy part of Garen wanted to rag on his friend, to point out the weakness in letting your happiness depend on a female. The other half, the lover in him, completely agreed with finding happiness and a sense of belonging in his woman's arms. Happiness he'd found for himself, albeit briefly, with Recee.
"So we've got no ears or eyes in the office or apartment upstairs?"
"Nope, just the doors and windows with the standard security alarms.” Brock tilted his head in Garen's direction. “So there's nothing going on with you and Recee? I can report back to Emma and get this whole mess out of my mind."
Almost agreeing, Garen stopped himself in time. Maybe he should ask a few questions of his own. Then he'd get back on track. As he'd told Brock, this discussion wasn't on today's schedule. “Hey, what gave you the idea that Recee and I were hooking up anyway?"
There! The way he'd worded it, Garen technically wasn't lying. He and Recee weren't currently hooking up, absolute truth.
"Emma said Trinity told her the police called Trinity two nights ago. Apparently some joker Recee dated called nine-one-one after leaving her house. Reported a crime. The police went by, but no one answered the door. Trinity was called as the first person on Recee's contact list. She went by, assured the police everything was in place and used her key to double-check Recee's inventory. Apparently Recee's shower was on and she wasn't alone. Trinity high-tailed it out of there. Two houses down she swears she saw your truck. That led to the little conference. The little conference led to a secret meeting which led to me dragging the answers out of Emma."
"When did all this happen?"
"Uh, Trinity called the girls two nights ago. I found out a little after that."
"Then what took so long for you to get over here?” The words zinged through the air just as the obvious answer registered in his sleep-deprived brain.
"Yeah, well what can I say? Emma was really hard to break.” Brock shot him a wide, shit-eating grin. “Then I was forced to let her return the favour...uh...torture."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
* * * *
"Exactly how dumb do you think we are, Recee?"
Recee kept her eyes on the small wire in her hands. “Trin, don't you need to go service Dr Hormone? You've been separated for what, two hours? Isn't this where the withdrawal pains start? Shouldn't there be seizures, fever, foaming at the mouth or talking in tongues?"
"Don't make me slap you when my nails haven't set yet.” Trinity blew across her fingers. “Besides Hunt and I had a quickie in the store bathroom before he left. So I'm good for another little bit."
After twisting the catch on the last section of her client's custom earrings, Recee finally raised her head. Several popping noises sounded as she shifted her stiff neck from one side to another. Umm, that felt good. Too many hours spent bent over her worktable, doing her damndest to forget about Garen and the short time they'd spent together. Not to mention the gifts that started appearing the morning after they'd fought. She rubbed the small of her back through the big pink T-shirt she wore over black tights. Casual and comfortable were Recee's main requirements in work clothes.
No one had to know underneath her plain boring clothing a few naughty wisps covered her most private places. The body suit in red silk chiffon with self-tied halter hugged her plump curves. The soft material cupped her breasts in a loving embrace while the thong gave her a sexy swagger.
Too bad the man behind the erotic gift hadn't bothered to call her since the night he'd stormed out of her house.
The man was actually romancing her, wooing her with simple, extravagant, cheap and expensive gifts. No man had ever gone out of his way to show his interest in her before. Recee didn't know what to think other than to always have Garen on her mind.
"Why do you insist on violating my life, my home and my business with your kinky sexual fetishes? Last week my carpenter almost walked in on the two of you going at it in the front closet.” She dragged a hand through her tangled hair, then scooped it up, twisted it into a loose ponytail and jammed a pencil through the messy mass.
Trinity's green eyes glinted with wicked humour as she leaned her elegantly clad form against the desk Recee rarely used. The sherbet lemon colour Trin wore should have made her look like a duck on crack. Instead, she glowed. She freakin’ glowed with happiness, satisfaction and something Recee had never seen before...contentment. Her friend finally had found a peace in her life and she'd never looked better. Love had that effect on some people.
Just not on Recee.
A jaded look skipped across Trinity's expression as she buffed her sunshine yellow nails against her linen pants. “You made me wait. You know what happens if I get bored."
"I asked for ten flipping minutes to finish up a client call. Asked if you wanted to wait in my office with me. Hunt asked for a drink of water. The next thing I know my general handyman is running out of the house, tool belt knocking his ass every step of the way.” The memory ignited her temper. Hunt, Trinity's husband and much better half, tried to take the blame, but Recee knew better. She'd known her clothes whore of a friend too long to buy her man's lame excuses.
"Oh shit. Please get that look off your face and stop picturing whatever foul deeds you used to devirginise my front closet. The exorcist is on speed dial thanks to all the freaky sex you've committed on my property. The whole place will be tented next week.” The couple seemed determined to practice their unnatural behaviour in and on every square inch of her home.
The soft dreamy look accompanied by a deep sigh disappeared. “You really know how to ruin a girl's perfect afterglow."
"Yeah, it's my mission in life."
Trinity tilted her head, green eyes narrowed. “Hmmm."
"What?"
"You've had sex.” The blonde sniffed at Recee's neck and the thin pink T-shirt she wore. Recee thanked her extra large shirt for hiding the sexy underwear. Trinity really would interrogate her if she saw. “Really, really good sex, too."
Freaked out of her mind Recee jumped to her feet, heart pounding in her chest as guilty panic raced through her. “What the hell is the matter with you? Did Hunt pound your skull into the headboard one too many times?"
As graceful as a cat on the prowl Trinity rose, blond brow arched. “I could never tell before, but now... Oh honey, no wonder you've been avoiding us."
She loved her friends, Recee reminded herself. No murder allowed even if she did have the perfect crime planned along with an economic, environmentally friendly way to vanish any bodies. “How upset do you think Hunt, Ethan, Brock and Carter would be if the four of you suddenly disappeared without a trace?” A girl needed to have a back-up plan, in life and in death.
Instead of looking upset or frightened like any normal human being with a pulse, Trinity merely tapped a bright fingernail to her lips a few moments before speaking. “Hunt, Ethan and Brock will threaten you with everything up to and including death. They would even relish the situation. However, the one to keep your eye on, in case you choose this track for your crazy train, is Carter. The man is quiet, smart and sneaky, very worrisome traits in a male if you're determined to kill his woman."
Recee shook her head, causing her hastily erected hairdo to tumble down. Irritated, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, and leaned against the wide wooden desk, arms crossed. “Why I expected a sane answer from you I have no idea. Though I will admit Carter's more the underhanded, CIA spooky, poison-your-ice-cream type guy. You think Briley knows this?"
Trinity snorted before smiling. “Briley probably encouraged the poor man to the point of having plans A through Z. Garen must be rubbing off on all of us with his lists, plans and schedules."
Bolts of guilt, need, and shame slammed in her chest at the mention of her one night stand. Why it should bothe
r her Recee didn't know and was determined not to care. Before their time together two nights ago, the two of them hardly ever ran into each other. The chances of seeing him any time soon were minimal at best.
The silence stretched on too long. “Yeah...uh huh.” Brilliant, Recee, she scolded herself. Any other time she'd have the perfect words tripping over themselves to leave her mouth. The one time it counted, the one singular time she needed her wits and words about her, she sounded like a stoned teenager, brain damaged from too many video games.
"Before you go planning our funerals—I want to be cremated by the way—maybe we should steer the U.S.S. Insanity back to the port of reality. Now tell me what I want to know or I'll get Emma over here. You know the woman won't think twice about using her powers for evil instead of good."
Her friend's sombre yet threatening words jolted Recee back into the here and now. “Just because you think I had sex doesn't mean anyone else is going to put faith in your delusions."
Not to mention Recee really couldn't stand it if they brought Emma in with the big guns. Tears didn't work on her—at least anyone else's tears—but that of her sweet author buddy. One look into those eyes welling up and Recee would confess to being Jack the Ripper to make her stop. Weird, considering she hated tears in herself and anyone else, but it was the secret power with which Emma ruled her.
Shaking her head slowly, Trinity advanced on Recee, eyes narrowed. “Doesn't matter how much you protest, the truth will come out. You can stop this with...just...one...word. Give me his name, Recee, and none of this will have to happen."
Hello rock, howdy hard place. Recee mentally scrambled for a plan, a diversion tactic, a smoke screen...anything that would prevent her friends from taking action and discovering the big secret. Normally telling her girls the absolute truth about everything wasn't a problem. The tendency to over-share sometimes got her a show of crossed fingers and screams of TMI. Maybe if she wasn't so tired she wouldn't be this off her game.
Romancing Recee Page 7
