by Diana Layne
She picked up the wrapper. “Are you a slob or what?”
“Be happy I’m eating.”
True. And he wasn’t a boyfriend she’d need to train in neatness anyway. Still. . . “I’ll get you a trashcan to keep beside the bed.”
He finished the granola bar in three bites.
“Good. Here’s your medicine.” She unscrewed the child proof lid, poured out a pill and passed it to him along with a glass of water. “Do you need something for pain or fever?” she asked, not wanting to touch his forehead today.
With a shake of his head, he swallowed the antibiotic without further comment. A real chatty kind of guy.
“You’re lucky Jeff got to you when he did, got you away from the booze.”
“Can’t imagine why I don’t feel lucky.”
“Meaning, you’d rather be back home, wherever that is, drunk and passed out, instead of here with me?” She twisted her lips into a fake amused smile. “I feel so flattered.”
He sat the water on the nightstand. “So far you haven’t offered me anything more appealing.”
“What?” MJ gasped, the word slipping out at his unexpected words. Just what the hell was she supposed to offer him? “You’re the one who came dragging me–”
“Being drunk’s less painful than being shot.” He interrupted what was sure to be a tirade.
She went along with the redirection. “What about hangovers?”
“What hangovers? If you stay drunk it keeps the hangovers away.”
She frowned. "You can’t stay drunk 24/7."
“Sure you can. Look at that dude from the Eagles, what’s his name? Joe Walsh. He said he got drunk once. For twenty years.”
“And it’s your childhood dream to be Joe Walsh? If that’s the case, here’s a news flash, he’s sober now.” She laid her half eaten pastry on the tray. “I need to look at your arm.”
With less than steady hands, he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.
“Let me help.” Aware her libido was still being quite unruly, she steeled herself and pushed his hands out of the way. Her fingertips brushed against his bare skin.
“Now, this is getting more interesting,” he said.
She looked down, saw him starting at her breasts and jerked his injured arm out of the sleeve.
“Ouch, you did that on purpose.”
“Sorry.” There was no doubt of the insincerity of her apology. She pulled away the bandage, then found her bottle of peroxide in her medical supply kit.
She cleaned the wound efficiently; aware his eyes remained on her. Her gaze kept wandering as well. His chest, hard and almost hairless was ridged with muscles. The smooth chest was as dark as his face and arms, suggesting he spent time outside without a shirt. Or else it was his natural color and he hadn't been out in a while. A case more likely if he’d been drinking himself into a stupor every day.
But she wouldn’t know unless he pulled down those boxers so she could see if his butt was as dark as the rest of him. Whoa, back up, she told herself. She did not want to go there.
She taped the fresh gauze in place. “It’s obvious you haven’t been drinking too long—you’re still in good shape.”
“Aside from being flattered you’ve noticed my body, what does that mean?”
“Don’t be flattered, with your muscles I’d be blind not to notice.”
“But you had to comment . . .”
“This conversation is going nowhere." She forced herself to meet his eyes, his large, dark, sexy eyes. Stop that, she told herself. "I meant you’re not too far gone to find something else to focus on other than drinking.”
His gaze swept over her; strangely her skin prickled from the look as if he’d run his fingers over her body.
“You’re right. I can think of something more interesting to do,” he said at last.
Already supersensitive, his words made her skin tighten, her stomach jump. She forced an indignant look on her face, careful to hide her desire. “Stop being such a man. Go back to sleep.”
She packed up her medical supplies in the kit on the night table. He reached out and took hold of her hand. Her stomach took another dive, damn, what was wrong with her?
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
Sincerity laced his voice, which was worse than his smart ass comments.
Before she could think of a comment, he continued, “You don’t know me, I barged into your life–”
“Bled on my floor.”
“Bled on your floor,” he agreed.
“Followed me.”
“Followed you,” he repeated.
“Been a big pain.”
“Okay, now you’re pushing it. I haven’t been a big pain.”
“That’s debatable. Even so, if not now, you soon will be. It’s inevitable.”
“You’re probably right. Especially if we’re just going to sit here waiting. What’s on the agenda?”
“Meaning?”
“Why are we here? What are we supposed to be doing?”
“I’m not sure. Tasha left a letter at Lauryn’s that indicated we should . . .”
“We should what? Wait for her here, she’s just going to show up, turn herself in? Wouldn’t that be nice,” he half muttered to himself in a voice that said he didn’t believe a word of it.
“Well, yes, that is rather what she indicated, that she would show up soon.”
“Oh, really?”
When he put it that way, it did sound stupid, but, “What other choice do we have at the moment? Did Jeff give you anything more for us to go on other than they suspect Tasha?”
“No. Not even the names of the dead guys.”
“That didn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. “I would say I wasn’t thinking too clearly. My job, as I was capable of understanding at that moment, was to bring you in to find Tasha, not to find Tasha myself.”
“And yet you were planning on going with me?”
“On the trip to Texas, I started getting curious.”
“Did you ask Jeff more questions then?”
“No. My instincts said it would be a bad idea. I don’t know why, but I generally follow my instincts.”
Could MJ fault him for that? Most agents learned to rely on a sixth sense type of intuition. Her own instinct was saying too much didn’t add up—did Jeff think Ben had lost the ability to be a top agent? Best to keep things to herself, at least until she found out more from Tasha. “Then the way I see it,” she said, “we really have no choice but to try this option, wait here a couple of days.”
“Great.” Ben adjusted his position in bed before sending a smile loaded with innuendo. “So what’s for entertainment?” As soon as he uttered the question, his eyes settled on her mouth.
His gaze felt like heat on her lips. Was he doing this on purpose or was she overreacting? She took a step back. “We can um...go outside and watch the birds and squirrels.”
“Yippee.” No enthusiasm at all.
“I bought cards.”
“So we can play go fish?” Weariness laced his voice.
“Or poker.”
A leer appeared on his face this time as he gave her a slow once over. “Strip poker?”
She completely ignored his predictable response and suggestive look—and the way her pulse thrummed at the thought. “I think there’s some fishing equipment out in the storage shed.”
He made a clucking sound.
She looked at him askance, “What–”
“Chicken.”
Careful to keep her voice level, she said, “I’ve already seen you half naked, that’s enough."
“Ouch.” He looked down at his still naked chest. “Unless you mean you couldn’t resist me if I were totally naked.”
She swallowed, forced herself to shake her head and adopt a bored tone. “You’re such a man.”
“What? You’d prefer I have boobs? Did you become gay after what your partner did?”
Heat rushed up her neck. She clenche
d her teeth. “No. That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“You’re vain and arrogant like most men.”
“Pretty harsh of you.”
“I might as well play it straight so you don’t keep wasting your time with all your sexual innuendoes. I’m not interested in sex with a man or a woman. And you’re not using me to distract yourself from wanting a drink.”
“Okay then.” He sat up, turned sideways in bed, put his feet on the floor. “Where’s the fishing poles?”
* * *
These woods brought MJ mixed emotions. It was here that she’d received her first training when she was ten. Ed had rigged the forest with booby traps and within minutes, she and Niko were hanging by their heels. She ended up with a sprained ankle; she was lucky her leg hadn’t been broken.
While Tasha had made it four hours before she fell into a leaf-covered hole. Tasha might not like the outdoors but she was good. She had a natural instinct for subterfuge that MJ lacked. Even if intensive training had leveled the playing field between the two women, MJ knew if Tasha didn’t want to be caught, she probably wouldn’t be.
MJ wondered what Tasha could be up to. Old dead retired senators, just weird.
“You’re still weak,” MJ noted taking time to zip her jacket against the cool in the air as they walked the half mile to the fishing pond. Ben wasn’t wobbling so much anymore, but strain lines formed grooves around his mouth.
“You always this observant?” he snapped.
Suddenly her senses went on alert. An old memory dropped into place. “Wait!”
He stopped without hesitation. No trouble taking orders from a woman. MJ liked that in a man.
“I haven’t been here in years, but something . . .” she began as explanation to his unasked question. She scanned the woods. “Something is familiar.”
She picked up a broken tree branch, used it to poke the ground as she walked forward.
“Are you trying to aerate the earth? I’ve heard golf shoes work well,” Ben said.
She shook her head and ignored his smart-ass dig. “No, there was . . . Ed liked to plant traps . . .”
“Is that the dead Ed we’re talking about it?”
She was still poking the ground. “Obviously when he was alive, doofus. There’s something here that looks famil–” She broke off when the stick sank instead of hitting solid ground.
“Bingo.” She dropped to her knees and shoved aside a layer of leaves to reveal a pit covered in lightweight plastic sheeting, designed to give way when pressure was applied.
“Shit.” Obviously Ben realized it was directly ahead in his pathway and he would’ve been the first to drop into the deep hole. “I can’t believe it’s stayed covered all these years, that some animal hadn’t fallen in and exposed it.”
“It . . .” MJ dug further into her memory. “It was covered. Ed always left a piece of plywood over the hole so nothing would fall in by mistake.” She dug around further, but found no evidence of the plywood.
What Ben said made sense though, if this hole had been exposed like this for any length of time, a wild animal would have likely fallen in. She scanned the ground until she found a clue. “This hole was recently rigged again,” she said. “Look, here’s a broken twig on this baby tree. Here and here.” She pointed. “Someone moved the plywood and set the booby trap again.
“Someone?”
“Tasha’s a good guess, yes.”
“There’s not pointy sticks down at the bottom of that thing is there?”
“No, it was always just a hole.”
Ben squatted beside her.
“She always did have a weird sense of humor.” MJ could think of no other explanation.
“Obviously.” Ben stood. “Why don’t you lead the way this time?”
“Gee thanks.”
“You know the area better than me, and I’m carrying all this equipment.”
“I can carry something.”
“No, you lead.”
They made it without further mishap. She climbed down the bank of the pond to reach the water, looking this time for other booby trap surprises waiting. It was sure Tasha planned for them to go fishing, given she’d specifically mentioned it in her letter. MJ should have been suspicious much earlier.
“Want to dig some worms?" Ben asked, following behind her.
His question pulled her from her thoughts. “What? Worms? Ewww, no."
“You might not like them, but the fish would.”
“Feel free to dig them yourself then.”
He opened the tackle-box. “There’s some decent lures in here, I’ll start with those. Here.” He handed her a fishing rod. “What kind do you want?”
“Lure?” Holding the fishing rod she looked into the box, saw an assortment of squiggly plastic worms, brightly colored fake fish, balls, weights. “I don’t know anything about them.”
“Didn’t you used to vacation here?”
“I hunted for rocks when I wasn’t caught in one of Ed’s traps.”
Ben chuckled, perhaps thinking she was joking.
She let it go. “Niko is the only one who liked fishing.”
“What about the survival training we took with Vista?”
“I cheated. Niko helped me.”
“Well, isn’t Niko just the prince.”
“Huh?” That sounded especially snappy, even for Ben.
“So you don’t know how to tie on bait?” he asked.
“No clue.”
“Want to learn?”
“Not really.” He took the fishing rod back from her. “Why don’t you run along and hunt for some pretty rocks. That’s what my sisters used to do, too.”
“You have sisters?” At his look she decided not to pursue the topic. “Good idea. I’ll hunt for rocks.” Half-serious, she went off looking, tromping through the dry leaves and dead grass, careful to stay alert for additional traps enroute. It was just as well she got away from him. With all the sexual references earlier, she didn’t need to watch him doing something manly and outdoorsy.
When he finished tying the bait on the rods, she showed up and handed him a rock.
“Gee thanks,” he said as he took it from her, tossed it on the ground beside him.
So much for her rock hunting.
“You know how to cast?” he asked.
“Sure.” She’d learned that part.
“Figures.”
“What?”
“If you hadn’t known how, I could’ve gotten behind you like this.” He moved close enough behind her to touch her. His jacket made a whispering sound against hers as he reached his arms forward on the rod, covering her hands with his. “Then I could’ve shown you," he said into her ear. He cast the line.
His breath on her neck, his warm hard arms around her body made her toes curl. Way too sexual for her comfort zone. Danger, her brain shouted while her body wanted to melt into him. Her brain won. “Stop that. You’re being a pest.”
“True.” He threw his own line into the water, started reeling. “Aren’t all men?”
She frowned, slowly turned her reel. “Wisdom from your sisters? Or are you finally starting to pay attention to what I’ve been saying?”
“Ever catch anything here?” he asked.
She noted how he obviously ignored her questions, including the one about his sisters. Just as well, she didn’t want to know any personal details about him. Not really.
“There are fish here. Or used to be. I just didn’t catch them.”
“Let me guess. Niko caught them.”
“Well, yeah.” And what was his hang up with Niko? Or was she being too sensitive?
Time passed. Mostly they stood side by side, casting, reeling in the line, making occasional small talk. They debated on when Tasha would show up. The sun climbed in the sky, though the temperature stayed hovering near downright cold under the shade of the trees.
“It’s getting late, time for you to eat and take more me
dicine.”
“Oh, goody, what kind of junk food are you going to feed me this time?”
“That’s ungracious of you. I’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with canned ravioli.”
“It comes in a can?”
MJ felt a tug on her line. “Or maybe you can have fish.” She jerked on the line, felt the sudden weight. She reeled.
Ben realized what was happening. “Thought you didn’t catch fish here.”
“Guess my luck’s changing.”
“Slow. Go slow.” He moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her and took hold of the rod again.
“I’ve got it. Back off.” He stepped away. She reeled in the fish, bringing it onto the bank. Ben grabbed the line. A shiny fish swung on the end.
“A nice sized bass. Probably weighs two pounds.”
He took it off the hook, put it in the fish bucket sitting in the water.
“You’re not really keeping it?” He was going to eat that thing?
“I don’t know. Let’s see. Fish or canned ravioli?” He looked thoughtful. “Fish definitely. Catch another and you can eat too.”
Fish fillets from the frozen section she could deal with, but that slimy silver thing didn’t really look edible. “I’ll stick with ravioli, thanks.”
“Your loss. Do you have any lemon?”
“No.”
“It would be better with lemon.”
“I can go back to town and buy one. You could take a nap.”
“I don't need a nap. Unless you want to take one with me.”
His words were provocative but she sensed he didn’t want to be alone. She felt his forehead. “No fever.”
“What?”
“I thought you might have a fever to make you hallucinate, if you thought I’d take a nap with you.”
He grinned. “Come on, you’re tempted.”
She ignored his boyish charm. “Not in the least.”
“Guess I’ll go to town with you then. I need to charge my phone, check for messages anyway.”
“Yeah, you probably have one or two from Jeff.” She stood up. “Let’s get this cleaned up. I’ll get your ravioli. You can have the fish tonight.”
“Or we can stop somewhere in town and get fast food for lunch.”
“Chicken.”
