by Diana Layne
After all, there was nothing suggesting this handsome stranger with the flat was anything other than he appeared.
Just because someone had broken into her apartment.
And someone had been watching her.
And her instincts screamed otherwise.
Paranoid or not, she learned a hard lesson about trust not too long ago. A lesson she wouldn’t forget.
She hefted the tire out of the water tank, plopped it on the workbench. “Passing through town?” she asked as if making conversation, but in reality probing to find out what the hell he was doing here.
“You always ask your customers that?”
Defensiveness. She was on the right track. Most people would answer the casual question without a second thought.
“Only the strangers.”
“You think I’m a stranger?”
“Either that, or you just moved here. And I figure if you just moved here, Cindy at the Lamplighter Apartments would have already spread it over town.”
“What if I rented a house?”
“None for rent.”
“Bought one then?”
“Julie at the realtor’s office–”
“Would have spread it over town,” he finished for her. “I take it you know everyone in town.”
“Pretty much. It’s a small town.” She finished plugging his tire and reached for the air hose. The air compressor kicked on while she filled the tire. The loud noise burst through the stall.
“You’re good at that,” he said when silence reigned again.
She noted the subject change. “Nothing to it.”
“What’s it like being a mechanic?”
“It’s a job like any other.”
“Doesn’t being a woman mechanic in such a small town garner a few strange looks, maybe a few snide comments? At least raise some eyebrows.”
“You so nosey with every mechanic who works on your truck?” she asked pointedly, echoing his earlier answer to her question.
Even as she knew he caught her not-so-subtle dig, he smiled, a damned lethal smile that about made her swallow her tongue. Another unexpected reaction. Unwanted, she reminded herself. Just been without sex too long, she told herself and forced her mind back to business.
In grim silence, she jerked the tire off the workbench and hauled it to his truck, never mind it would’ve been easier to roll it. She lined the tire up with the bolts and tightened the lug nuts in record time, aware of him watching her every move. She dropped the lever to lower the truck back to the ground.
“That’ll be ten bucks,” she said, smearing the dirt from her hands onto her shop rag.
He followed her to the cash register inside the small air-conditioned office.
“Quality work, prompt friendly service. Ten dollars is a bargain.” He handed her a twenty from his wallet. “I have one more question for you.”
She pulled a ten from the cash drawer. “Finally.” She handed him his change.
“Finally?”
She narrowed her gaze. “You’re finally going to tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”
“I had a leaking–”
“Cut the bullshit. You’ve been following me for two days.”
His innocent look fell away. She walked around the counter to face him.
“Jeff said you were good,” he said, referring to the Vista boss.
“I was the best, honey. And I’m still good enough to break your knee if you don’t start talking.” One quick snap of her foot, and he’d be howling on the floor.
“Think so? Maybe I’m not so bad myself.”
She twisted her lips in a semblance of a smile. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here bugging me. What’d you do to get on Jeff’s bad side?”
“I’d laugh at your obvious joke, but I don’t find it amusing.”
“Who said I was joking? I’ll make it easy for you. Who are you, and what do you want?”
Surprisingly, he stayed quite calm. He leaned on the counter, propping himself on an elbow.
“Name’s Ben Walker. You’re right. Jeff sent me. Can we talk over lunch?”
“Nope.” No way would she miss lunchtime with her daughter.
The look on his face said he’d expected her to be uncooperative. “Coffee then?” he asked. “Right now is fine.”
“No coffee. But ‘right now is fine’ is right. Spit it out, Mr. Walker. And don’t waste your breath. If Jeff wants me to do something for Vista, I’m retired. Out of the business. A real lady of leisure now.”
He rubbed his hand on his chin, drawing her gaze to his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Happily playing mommy.”
She bristled at the faint bitterness she heard in his voice. There was no crime in being a mother. “What I’m doing with my life is none of your business.”
“Now, unfortunately, you’re wrong. Jeff made it my business.”
She was tired of the back and forth obscure references. It somehow reminded her of foreplay. Something she definitely didn’t want to have on her mind, especially with the good-looking man standing in front of her.
“Just what is it you think you can dangle over my head, Mr. Walker, to make me give a damn about what you have to say?”
“Your sister.”
His answer was so unexpected it took her a heartbeat to gather her thoughts. “I don’t have-”
“Tasha.”
“Has she been captured?”
He shook his head.
“Injured?”
“No.”
That only left. . . Dread tightened MJ’s stomach, but she made herself ask anyway. “Is she dead?”
This time another headshake before he said, “Not yet.”
Thoughts of breaking his knee tantalized her more each moment. “Just what the hell is ‘not yet’ supposed to mean?”
He jerked a small envelope out of the side pocket on his jacket, thrust it toward her. When she made no move to take it, he reached across the counter, took her hand and slapped the envelope onto her palm.
His touch scorched her, a totally unexpected reaction, not unlike brushing against a boiling radiator. She resisted the urge to jerk away, but her gaze collided with his before she could stop herself. The touch affected him, too; maybe it didn’t burn him, but awareness glowed in the depths of his eyes.
Damn.
Time hung still until he finally stepped back. “There’s a card in there with my cell number. I’m not going to discuss Tasha here, so call me when you can talk.”
She squinted at the envelope. “Why’d you put your card in an envelope?”
“There’s a present in there for you, too.”
MJ stared hard as he walked off, unable to avoid noticing his tight butt outlined by the soft faded blue jeans made the backside view every bit as tempting as the front. When he climbed into his truck and put it into gear, she turned her attention to the envelope. She wasn’t going to-
Oh, hell, why not. She lifted the flap. At first she only saw his card, but once she pulled it out of the way she saw the present.
The string from her door.
She blinked in surprise. The smart ass.
She ripped up the card, dropped it in the wastebasket, then folded the flap back over to hold the string in place and slid the envelope into her coverall pocket. It’d save her from having to get another string of the same color when she went back to her apartment.
She didn’t admit to herself the least bit of curiosity about Tasha. The two had spent enough years living in the same household that MJ knew the woman could take care of herself. And if it was something important enough for Vista to send an agent, then he wasn’t going anywhere until he delivered his message.
She pushed open the door connecting the office to the garage. And just like the swinging door closing behind her as she stepped over to her work area, MJ mentally swung the door closed on the encounter, and her unwanted reaction, with Mr. Ben Walker.
* * *
A week earlier:
/> “Ah, baby, that’s it . . . just a little . . . um, yeah . . .” he urged. His low ragged moan changed to a satisfied growl. Sweat droplets beaded around his receding, yet still dark hairline. If he opened his eyes to look at her on top of him he would think she was enjoying herself as well. Tasha slid her lips into a sexy smile to hide her revulsion.
Crumpled satin sheets clung in damp patches around her knees. Her muscles quivered like a lioness ready to pounce. She cautioned herself to wait, knowing the outcome of this planned encounter, even if he didn’t. To temper her impatience she brought to mind the refrain from “Another One Bites the Dust,” letting it run through her head in a slow easy beat.
“You like it when I do this?” Tasha increased her rhythm in time to music only she heard; faster, harder, squeezing him with her inner muscles, bringing him to the edge, denying him.
He grabbed her hips with his bony, surprisingly strong hands, trying to buck his way deeper inside, and her resistance changed the sex into a struggle for dominance. How fitting that this time she wielded the power, and he would lose.
His determined dance for domination ended moments later when he lost control. His body stiffened, then pumped wildly beneath her. The force of his orgasm subsided, but with the need to keep him distracted, she used her breasts to full advantage, massaging them against his age-sunken chest.
Still humming to herself, she slipped her hand beneath the pillow, her fingers searching, then closing over what she sought. Slender and sharp. Long and lethal.
With experience born of practice, she used her palm and drove the six-inch long antique cloisonné hatpin deep into his ear. As his body jerked again, this time in a death spasm, Tasha whispered, “Goodbye, Mr. Senator.”
And another one bites the dust.
Chapter 3
Five hours after her encounter with Ben Walker, Tex called it an early day. Tonight was the first dress rehearsal for the annual Christmas play held at the local theater, and Dottie was the pianist.
“I want to boogie home,” he said, “and help Dottie so she’ll be ready to go when the kids walked out the door.”
MJ had no protest, happy to pick up Angelina early.
A combination of oatmeal cookies and baby powder infused MJ’s senses when she walked inside the old rambling house. No, baby shampoo, she decided as she gathered up her giggling squiggly daughter. “You washed your hair?”
“I had to bathe her.” Dottie carried a plate of cookies in from the kitchen. “We did finger painting and one of the children thought she was a canvas.” Three other children ranging in ages from three to five danced around Dottie like puppies after a chew bone.
MJ laughed. “And I bet you were a beautiful canvas,” she told Angelina, who was the youngest of the bunch. “Sounds like a busy day.”
“Always fun around here.” Dottie laughed as well, her teeth pearly white in her round dark face. She set the plate on the table and passed out cookies.
“How do you manage to do it all and bake cookies too?” MJ asked in awe of the woman’s organizational abilities.
“It’s all in the planning,” Dottie said. “I mix up the cookies ahead of time and freeze the dough, makes baking them easy, and much cheaper than the break and bake kind at the store. Here, have one.”
“Much better, too.” MJ, never one to turn down Dottie’s cookies, took one and shared a bite with Angelina. Even simple things like watching her little girl chew made MJ’s heart swell. She never realized such a pure, sweet love existed, since only vague images of her own parents’ love danced on the edges of her memories.
“Hey, cutie bug, where’s my hug?” Tex tweaked Angelina’s ears and grinned. The average person would never suspect gruff old Tex was a charmer with the kids. Around them he became as squishy as a soft marshmallow.
“Go see Tex while I help Dottie gather up the toys.” MJ gave Angelina a kiss before passing her off to marshmallow man.
Dottie cheerfully objected to any help but MJ insisted. Soon the living room was tidy. While MJ reclaimed Angelina, Dottie bustled into the kitchen. “Don’t hurry off until I pack you some cookies.”
Walking down the street, munching on another cookie, MJ took the time to breathe the crisp air of approaching winter. She was doing that more often lately. Stopping to smell the roses and all that crap.
Only it wasn’t crap. The slower pace gave her a deeper appreciation for life and the nuances she’d never given thought to before.
Stopping by the local diner to buy hot chocolate to wash down the cookies, she took time to chat with Paula, asking about her son who would graduate in the spring from Texas A&M as a vet. Paula, a widow, worked two, sometimes three jobs to get her son through college. And it had all paid off.
In her previous life, MJ wouldn’t have known or cared unless it was part of her job. Now it gave her a sense of belonging to a community made up of people who were more than potential assets, enemies or targets.
Though the sinking sun still shone bright, a definite chill slipped through MJ’s coveralls and light jacket, promising a very cool Texas night. It snowed maybe once in ten years here, but MJ, with no fondness in her heart for cold weather after her experience in Italy, didn’t mind the milder temperatures.
Since Angel was bundled in her jacket, MJ decided to detour by the park. The inside play area at her apartment was nice, but nothing beat fresh air and sunshine, even if there was a nip of winter in the air.
“Puck, puck,” Angelina chimed when MJ told her.
The park, a small oasis of grass, trees and toys in the middle of the town, looked oddly idyllic standing alone with no children playing. Too young to care, Angelina didn’t notice the lack of playmates as she toddled toward a mini-slide just her size.
Minutes later, Ben seemed to come from nowhere, but MJ knew he’d been waiting behind the big oak tree. Irritation pricked at her that he was being such a pest, even though he was no doubt only doing his job. She just hated that she was his job, for whatever reason.
He watched as she caught Angelina at the foot of the slide. To outer appearances, MJ didn’t let his presence bother her, focusing on her daughter, who soon tired of the slide and ran as fast as her chubby legs would go toward the swing. MJ went after her.
“Cute kid,” Ben said, following along to the swing. He held onto the chain while MJ buckled the safety harness.
The tone in his voice set her on edge. “Yes, she is.” She tried to analyze why those two simple words made her uneasy. It was as if he disliked kids. But then again, everything about him so far today had affected her senses. And not in a good way.
She silenced the thought and moved his hand away from the chain so she could push the swing. No sense in showing him his deliberate move unbalanced her, even if she hadn’t convinced herself.
He stepped back, seemed to acknowledge her message.
“Do you have children, Mr. Walker?” He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. He might be divorced. He might be an unwed father. He might not wear a ring when he was on a job.
“No.”
The word was abrupt. Clipped. Okay. Or he might not have kids at all.
No sense in pursuing the subject, and she had nothing else to say. She turned her attention to pushing the swing, enjoying Angelina’s delighted squeals and the abandoned way she kicked her little legs.
“When’s the last time you saw Tasha?” he asked over the noise.
MJ kept pushing. “I was told she visited me while I was in the hospital. I don’t remember whether she did or not.”
“No holiday visits?”
“I haven’t been back . . . h-home,” MJ stumbled over the word, the place she’d lived out the remainder of her adolescence had never really felt like a home, “ . . . since Ed died. You haven’t done your homework.”
“There’s been no reason to keep tabs on you.”
“So, why are you looking for Tasha?” MJ didn’t think about Tasha much. Tasha was the oldest of the thr
ee kids Ed had taken in—light years older it seemed when they were growing up. Tasha was beautiful—blonde, pale, curvy, and she had always known how to use her looks. Next to her, MJ had felt gangly, too skinny, her face too pointy, her hair too dark and straight. To add insult to injury, Tasha was brainy—she had both book smarts as well as a sharp cunning which had gotten her out of many sticky situations, even as a teenager.
Tasha’s brother Nikolai—Niko—was closer in age to MJ, and she had always gotten along with him better than his sister. They’d been quite close in fact, not only had Niko taught her to work on cars, but he’d taught her the meaning–
“Seems she’s killing people she’s not sanctioned to kill,” Ben said.
That shocked MJ out of her musings. She felt her eyes widen before she could stop the reaction. Her hands dropped to her side. Tasha was sly and crafty, true, and good at her job, but killing was something the Vista agents only did as an absolute necessity.
Of course, maybe Tasha did have a reason. She always adopted her own rules, her own agenda, and everyone who knew her knew Tasha didn’t appreciate interference. This time was likely no different. Regardless, MJ didn’t want to debate motives in front of this stranger, Vista employee or not. “Maybe they needed killing,” MJ commented, her tone casual.
“They were senators.”
Keeping her face blank, MJ said, “Well, there you have it. I’m sure quite a few senators need killing.”
Ben didn’t react with more than a slight raise of his left eyebrow.
“Hey, lighten up, suit. It’s a joke.”
“Do I look like a suit to you?”
“You might not dress like one, but you’re acting as stuffy as any FBI agent I ever met.”
“If you’re finished commenting on my–”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” MJ interrupted. “So give me the details. How many has she supposedly killed?”
“To date, four.”
MJ blinked. Not much shocked her; she’d seen a lot in her years in the business. “So many? Why is there no outcry on the news about the senator murderer?”
