by Diana Layne
“Time flies and all that.” Jeff waved his hand in a noncommittal way. “MJ’s retired now, but I’m trying to pull her out of retirement to find Tasha.”
MJ retired? She couldn’t even be forty yet. Maybe as young as thirty-five. But Dave supposed nearly losing your life was enough motivation to get out of the business. “Bringing her back not going so well?”
“Well enough. I’m confident we’ll soon have Tasha in custody.”
“What–”
Before Dave could ask what Tasha had done, Jeff picked up a folder and passed it to Dave. “The reason I called you in here though is the missing agent. I think you can help find him.”
Dave opened the folder, knowing he’d do a little more research on his own about Tasha and MJ. He scanned the paper before him. “Nikolai Shivko?”
“Tasha’s brother.”
“You don’t think he’s with her?”
“No, I’m sure they’re not together. If you’ll look on the second page…”
Dave turned the page.
“You’ll see he’s likely in–”
“Russia,” Dave supplied. “And there’s no evidence Tasha is in Russia? It’s always possible she could go in a back way.”
“No, we have every reason to believe she’s in the states,” Jeff said, but didn’t expound further.
Making Dave even more curious, but he tucked that bit information away for when he could explore it on his own. “And you’re worried about this Nikolai because. . .”
“We didn’t send him to Russia. He took some time off and went on his own. And then he just disappeared.”
“Any contact with the Russian government?”
“No. We’ve sent out queries but no answers. I want you to follow up. Find him. Learn why he’s there.” Jeff met Dave’s gaze. “Learn if he’s still alive.”
With a grim set to his mouth, Dave determined he’d learn more than that.
Chapter 5
At the moment, revenge was on Ben’s mind. Bamboo shoots shoved under fingernails, water boarding, caning, sleep deprivation . . . the rack. During a brief respite while the waitress, Paula, went for the order, Ben entertained himself with ways to torture MJ for sending him to Roy’s in the first place. But he plastered a smile on his face when the waitress came back from the kitchen.
“Here you go, sugar dumplin’s.” Paula handed Ben the white plastic bag filled with hot food packed in Styrofoam containers. “I put some extra gravy in there for the mashed potatoes.” She winked at him and handed him a smaller sack. “And you tell MJ I packed two big old pieces of chocolate pie. She loves Lily’s—that’s Roy’s wife—chocolate pie. And I put a sugar cookie in there for that little Angel.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Ben gave her another well-practiced smile, grabbed the two sacks and escaped faster than a mouse running from a cat. The chimes jangled as the door closed behind him.
Once outside, he paused long enough to take a breath and enjoy the silence of the early evening. Ask for Paula indeed.
The woman could talk the ears off a mannequin. But she had been a fountain of information, confirming that MJ had made herself fit into this small dinky town. A feat in itself considering her background. He wondered how long she planned to keep up the act. After all, how long could a woman trained as she’d been trained, stay in such a sleepy town and not die of boredom? That was the main reason he had never gone back to his small hometown in Oklahoma. Drinking seemed an easier way to be miserable.
Ben glanced at his watch. If he didn’t hurry, he’d be late. All that time spent at the diner, and he hadn’t had a bite to eat yet.
The smell of homecooked food flooded the truck. His stomach rumbled painfully as he pulled up in front of MJ’s building. He didn’t know if she would welcome food or not, but if she didn’t, he could probably eat it all himself.
MJ opened the door, towel-drying her short dark hair, smelling slightly damp and now wearing white leggings and a body-hugging gray t-shirt.
Angelina, propped on MJ’s hip, kicked her feet and gurgled some garbled greeting to him. The baby’s bouncy moves brought his gaze down to MJ’s sculpted thighs, clearly visible beneath the white leggings. Her quads contracted as she jiggled the baby.
Even with the homey mommy-filled atmosphere, MJ still looked formidable and sexy, muscles as well as curves well-defined now that they weren’t hidden beneath baggy work coveralls. Something about muscles on a woman, Ben thought with appreciation. Yep, muscles were a turn-on for sure.
She seemed to ignore his scrutiny with ease, no doubt intent on sending him on his way as quickly as possible.
“You don’t have long. I have to feed Ang–” She stopped, sniffed. Her eyes widened, grew hopeful, making her look less intimidating, and more appealing. “Chicken fried steak from Roy’s?”
He waggled his eyebrows with promise. “And chocolate pie.” Without waiting to be invited, he walked inside and set the sacks on the table. If chocolate pie didn’t get her, the woman truly was heartless.
Fortunately, she was practically salivating, and before she could ask, he told her, “Yes, I brought enough for you. And something for the kid, too.” He nodded at the baby, hoping his good deed earned him her help. “Paula said she knew what Angel liked.”
“Good thing you brought enough. Otherwise I’d have to kill you and eat yours.”
“He– er, heck,” he corrected last minute, conscious of the kid, “you’re the one needs killing, setting me up with Paula.”
“Talked your ear off, did she?”
“Did you know her son’s in the last year of vet school?”
MJ stared at him with a “puh-lease” look on her face.
“Of course, you would know.”
“I know every touchdown, homerun, soccer goal or term paper little Johnny’s aced in college since I moved here.”
Ben flinched. “Surprised you’ve stayed here for as long as you have.”
MJ shrugged, brushed a lock of hair lovingly from Angelina’s forehead. “It’s a nice change.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
MJ buckled the baby in her high chair.
“Eat. Eat.”
“Yeah, if slowpoke there will pull out the food,” MJ said, buckling the safety strap on the chair.
“Toe poke.” Angelina giggled and banged her hand on the tray.
Dropping a kiss on her cheek, MJ went to the kitchen. Ben tried not to let the sweet little girl laughter and love-filled scene tug at his heartstrings. Kids—and mommy-type women—equaled bad luck and bad news. At least for him.
MJ returned from the kitchen with two adult-sized plates with silverware and one small compartmentalized pink plate with a suction cup on the bottom along with a kid friendly pink spoon. Ben passed her the containers Paula had sent for Angelina, noticing how soft MJ’s skin felt when their hands touched.
MJ seemed not to notice the brief contact. Instead she focused on filling the little plate and cutting up the chicken, carrots and green beans into bite sizes. Angelina ignored the spoon beside her and dug in with her fingers.
“We’re still learning table manners,” MJ said with a smile. “Like using utensils.”
“We are, are we?” Ben took out another Styrofoam container. “I look forward to watching you eat these mashed potatoes with your fingers. Might make this whole trip worth it.” He grinned.
“What? Oh. I always seem to talk in plurals now, sorry.”
While she supervised feeding Angelina, Ben served their plates. “Want gravy on your potatoes?”
“Definitely. And don’t be skimpy with it.” Angelina tossed her spoon from her high chair to the table. MJ picked it up, wiped it off with a napkin, and offered it again to the toddler.
Ben smacked a generous dollop of the flour, grease and milk mixture on top of butter-laden potatoes. “Heart attack on a plate,” he said. He passed it to her.
“But what a way to go.” She took a bite. Her face softened with a dreamy
quality, as if she had just been satisfied by good sex. Ben surprised himself with that thought, but had to admit the idea with sex with her was becoming more intriguing. Appealing, actually.
When Ben recognized the direction of his thoughts, he distracted himself with a bite of steak, admitting it was mouth-watering good—the steak that is. He wouldn’t even think about how MJ might taste, or if her skin would feel as silky to his tongue as his fingers. . . .
Convincing himself he was merely going through alcohol-withdrawal induced fantasies, Ben jerked his mind back to the reason he was here in this little podunk town that was a “nice change.”
“About Tasha–”
“Nope.”
“Say what?”
“I have a rule. No unpleasant subjects discussed while eating. You’ll have to wait until we’re finished.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
“And I bathe Angel.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’ll help settle her down.”
When she put it that way . . . and besides, the little girl was covered with food. “That might be best.”
“Then I’ll have to read her a bedtime story.”
He frowned. “Now look.”
“We can talk more freely when she’s asleep.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. Your keeping me here so long makes me think you want to sleep with me.” He couldn’t help goading her, curious how she’d react.
“You wish.” Then a sly look entered her eyes. “Unless . . . ? If I do, will you leave me alone?”
“You know the answer to that.” It was the only reason she made such a ridiculous offer—she knew she wouldn’t have to keep it. Too bad.
“Well. . . if you can’t be persuaded. . .” She paused and let her gaze run over him. When her eyes came back to his, he held her stare, carefully hiding any urge to pant at the thought of her naked and writhing–
“Then forget it,” she finished abruptly.
“Guess that’s settled then.” He took his time when he cut off another bite of steak, put it in his mouth and chewed. He waited until he swallowed before he said, “Of course, you’ll never know what you’re missing.”
She choked on her drink. “I’ll survive,” she said between coughs.
“You sure?” He leaped to his feet to whack her back which only managed to thoroughly distress Angelina.
“Momma, momma!”
MJ knocked his hand away. “I’m all right, sweetie,” she cooed. “Change subjects,” she said with a pointed look to him.
“I’m all out of things to talk about.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the one track mind of men. Makes it decidedly hard...um difficult to have an intelligent discussion.”
“Wait just a–”
“Never mind.” She cut him off. “Just eat.” Her next bite looked as if she were enjoying the food much less.
All too soon, the silence stretched long, making Ben crave a drink with a surprising intensity. Surprising because it hadn’t been that long since he’d hit the bottle. It hadn’t been more than . . . he frowned. He couldn’t remember how long it had been. Not good. Jeff was right to drag him out of his bottle-intensified self-pity.
He deliberately pulled his mind into focus before it became lost in a daydream of remembered fuzziness. “Glad to see you’re still staying in shape.”
One eyebrow raised high. “What brought that out of nowhere?”
“You’re either still working out or someone picked a fight with you.”
She frowned, then the light dawned. “Oh, my eye.”
“It’s more noticeable here.”
“Thanks so much. Every woman loves having her flaws pointed out to her.” She took a bite. “I used make up at work so I wouldn’t scare off the customers.”
He thought her prickly attitude could scare the customers off easier than a black eye, but decided not to comment on his observation. Besides, it might only be him she was prickly with. Or maybe it went with the territory when your boyfriend tried to take you out. Ben searched for something more to say. “I like your hair longer, looks good on you.”
Both eyebrows lifted this time. “You have some obsession with my looks or what?”
Yeah, or what? Why was he focusing so damned much on her looks? He scrambled for some way to answer, decided on the truth. “I’m a man. Studying beautiful women is what men do.”
“Oh, please. My b.s. meter is going off.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m sincere. Your hair was shorter . . . um, in the picture I had.” Good recovery, he told himself, then added, “I like it this--”
“Picture? Where did you–” With narrowed eyes, it only took her a moment to figure it out. “They gave you a dossier on me?”
“You think they’d send me out here without any information?”
“I don’t see why they sent you at all. I’m not going to help,” she snapped.
Angelina squirmed and fussed at her tone.
“Is this an unpleasant subject we should discuss later?” he reminded her.
She glared at him. “It’s okay, Angel, Mommy’s not upset.” She turned back to him and said in a fake happy tone with a fake happy smile that didn’t fool him but worked with Angelina, “Find something pleasant or shut the– I mean, don’t talk.”
Definitely prickly. Or thorny to play on her last name. Did that last mission with Keith cause it, or did it go back further—with the death of her parents perhaps? Did growing up being groomed for the business rob her of a normal childhood?
Was she sharp and brittle with everyone—or just with him?
Obviously she was warm and loving with her baby. And the waitress Paula loved her. More than likely her boss Tex and his wife loved her. So maybe it was him. Or men in general.
Or maybe she really thought she had finished with the business. Surely she wasn’t so naïve to think she could ever truly leave. No one–
Wait. Why the hell did he care? He was here to do a job. Nothing else. No matter how she intrigued him.
They even managed to rope him back in, though he’d been lost in an alcoholic haze thick enough to cut with a knife. Somehow Jeff had gotten through to him, and Ben finally decided if he had to keep living—the slow poisoning with alcohol hadn’t managed to kill him—then he might as well work.
Angelina tossed a piece of chicken onto the table, obviously finished with her meal.
“Angel, no! Don’t throw your food,” MJ scolded and moved the child-sized plate to the table. MJ took a last bite of her own food before taking the baby out of her high chair. “I’ll give her a bath now. Be right back. Maybe.”
“Are we going to talk anytime soon?”
“Define soon? She does like her bath, and then there’s story time.”
Ben shook his head. “I might as well make myself at home then.”
“Don’t you dare. You are, however, free to leave.”
“I’ll still be here, don’t worry. I’m a patient sort.”
“Terrific.” MJ left the room with Angel in her arms, watching him over her mother’s shoulder.
Soon he heard happy splashing sounds and lots of giggling down the hall. Ben busied himself cleaning the table and loading the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
Her cabinets were neat and organized and it didn’t take long to find containers to store the extra food. Inside, the fridge was neat as well—overall, MJ seemed to have her life neat, organized and running smoothly.
And here he came to mess it up. As he shut the refrigerator door, a quick blast of cool air hit him. The chill seemed to go to his bones, and for the briefest moment he had the bizarre sensation that he would never be the same again after this job. Nothing but stupidity. He’d certainly had other jobs more life-changing. The last couple in fact. Nothing could top those two.
Brushing the feeling aside, he
told himself this was a job well below his training and experience, with the bonus of seeing how MJ had recovered. And once he finished, he’d get Jeff off his back, leaving Ben to go back to . . . what? More drinking?
Ben turned and strode deliberately from the small kitchen, but paused at the sight of MJ returning to the living room carrying Angelina, now well-scrubbed and shiny with no traces of food from her dinner. A book in one hand, MJ settled into the rocking chair, the little girl tucked into her lap.
The picture of mother and child brought vivid memories sharply into focus. The woman he’d married, rocking her son.
Ben gripped the edge of doorway separating the kitchen and dining/living area, the tips of his fingers going white from the pressure. From long practice, he shut down those images. And wanted a drink more than ever.
Breathe. “Do you have cable?” he asked when he found his voice.
She nodded as she opened the first page of the book.
“Mind if I watch the news?”
“Just keep the sound down,” she said. She listed the news channels for him, and turned her attention back to the story.
Seated on the sofa, Ben listened to the latest national news while keeping half an ear to the fairy tale MJ read.
“Once upon a time a king and queen wished for a child. Their wishes were answered when they had a beautiful baby girl. Just like you,” MJ said, then there was sound of a kiss and a giggle.
Ben dragged his attention away from the story and flipped the channel. O’Reilly was interviewing someone about the ability to rehabilitate sex offenders. Ben kept his attention focused on the interview, until the end of the fairytale, when MJ offered a critique of the story.
“. . .and they were married and lived happily-ever-after. But you see, my darling daughter, there are some basic problems with this story. If Aurora’s dear daddy the king had just taught her about spinning wheels, and that they were dangerous to her, he wouldn’t have had to worry. Because you know, no matter if he thought he’d destroyed all the spinning wheels the bad fairy is going to make sure one is there for Aurora to find.
