The woman made his heart nearly goddamned stop.
It was her. There was no rain this time, but the palpable tension still vibrated between them, zinging through him like an electric shock and threatening to explode.
*
The dog stopped as soon as it got in front of Kayla, and then it sat, patiently.
“Hey, aren’t you beautiful,” she told it, held out her palm and got the quick lick of approval. Then she patted its neck for distraction while she gingerly checked the tags with her free hand.
“Hanny,” she said and got an openmouthed pant of approval. The tag listed Teige Junos as the owner, along with a phone number, and she pulled her cell phone out to call him.
Before she could dial, a red-faced man came up fast next to her. For a quick second she thought it was the dog’s owner, until he started yelling at her. “Your dog needs to be on a leash, dammit.”
“She’s not my dog,” Kayla started, but the man continued.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not following the rules and I’m going to report you.”
The anger rose fast and hot for her, and she attempted to swallow it back. But the man kept yelling and she stood, ready to yell back. Before she could say anything, a low male voice that sent a tingle up her spine said, “It’s my dog, so why don’t you yell at me?”
Kayla looked up at the soldier. He towered over the screaming man, and he was broader too. His blond hair was longer, shaggier when compared to the majority of what she assumed to be military regulation close-cropped cuts on the other men. He looked like a surfer, and his drawl made him sound slow and easy.
The expression on his face was anything but, and she knew instantly that this was the same man who’d scared the hell out of her in the rain. If Mrs. Mueller hadn’t told her he was military, she’d have known it for sure. It was the command in his voice, the way she felt instantly protected next to him.
But the hair…
Hanny looked between Kayla and the soldier expectantly. The yelling man lowered his voice, looked suddenly humbled.
“Maybe you should apologize to Miss…”
“It’s Kayla.”
“Sorry,” the now-cowed man mumbled and looked grateful when she nodded.
He escaped into the crowd and the soldier/surfer named Teige turned to her with the most amazing looking green eyes—jungle-green—she decided, and asked, “You all right?”
“Yes, fine.”
“You’re the photographer.”
“And you’re the one who doesn’t like his picture taken.”
“Guess no further introductions are necessary. Come on, Hanny.” He started to walk away, but instead of following him, Hanny lay down at her feet.
He called to the dog again. Hanny put her head down on her paws and stared up at Kayla, purposely ignoring her owner. Kayla bit her lip to keep from laughing. Teige was outwardly keeping his cool but the frustration in his eyes was unmistakable—and priceless.
Payback—and karma—were bitches indeed.
“She can stay with me,” she offered sweetly.
He pressed his lips together in a grim line, like he was in the midst of battle. “I’ll be back,” he said tightly, like he didn’t want to be there at all.
Join the damned club, she thought. Mrs. Mueller had called over to the house about ten that morning, said something about a town picnic in the park and how it was a great time for Kayla to meet people.
“You’ll come with me,” she’d said firmly, and Kayla knew there was no reason to argue, so she hadn’t. Instead, she’d helped Mrs. Mueller carry fresh-baked pies into the crowded park. Mrs. Mueller was the type to hound her if she didn’t show her face in town and make some introductions. And that was the point—she needed to let the small town get to know her. They would be her best protection, because they’d tell her if a stranger came around asking questions.
She felt guilty about dragging innocent people into her problems, but she understood that it might be her best line of defense.
It’s been over six months, and that’s a good sign.
But it wasn’t good enough. Never would be.
She’d been sitting at the picnic table for the better part of an hour before Hanny rescued her. She’d forced herself to look around, to try to spot anyone or anything unusual. Next to her, Mrs. Mueller had chatted with some women and Kayla hadn’t attempted to join in. The people she’d been introduced to gave her easy smiles, assuming she was shy and overwhelmed.
She was both, and hadn’t been able to get her bearings in a very long time. This was too much, too soon. Meeting the entire town wasn’t what she had on her agenda.
When she’d checked in that morning with her handler, Abby gave her the no news, good news speech and then told Kayla it was part of the plan to make friends, to let people know her.
“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb as the hermit. Small towns protect their own. Use that,” Abby said.
“I don’t like using people.”
“Then don’t. Make some friends.”
She’d almost asked, “Why bother?” but it sounded too pathetic, even to her own ears.
She’d brought her camera—her talisman—the strap hanging comfortingly around her neck. If she took photos, she could get a good sense of who belonged and more importantly, who didn’t. She could ask Mrs. Mueller to help her with names and faces later, after she printed the pictures.
She picked up the camera and began to take some shots of Hanny, who, she discovered, was both a complete ham and totally photogenic. Then she moved on to snapping Mrs. Mueller and the women at the table, also hams after a slight bit of convincing. They were having a lot of fun, hugging one another while mugging for the camera.
Kayla found that most of the time, those who protested having their pictures taken only needed a little coaxing before they were posing like models. She moved the camera over the crowd, capturing the little kids in the wading pool some smart parent had brought, and also took several shots of kids flying down a Slip ’N Slide, crashing into one another on the wet grass.
They were so free. Laughing. It made Kayla smile, actually, and it felt good. Until she turned to find Teige in her viewfinder’s focus.
Immediately, she dropped the camera, let it hang by the neck strap.
He looked at her defiantly. She assumed her look was similar.
He handed her a soda anyway, sat down at the edge of the picnic table bench, his back to the women. Mrs. Mueller pretended not to notice, but she did a piss-poor job of it by moving herself and the other women away.
Hanny was still glued to Kayla’s side. Teige mentally called the dog a traitor and he swore she snorted at him.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a new protector,” he said finally, and for a second an unreadable expression flickered across her face. And Teige was the master of reading expressions.
She pet Hanny, running her fingers through her thick fur. Right hand, no ring. No tan line.
Good.
“You came here with Willa?”
She nodded. “She wants to read my tarot cards.”
“She refuses to read mine.”
“Why’s that?”
“An old superstition her husband had. Far as I know, she’s never read any military man or woman’s cards.”
“People take her seriously?”
“Some people do.” He glanced at her as he opened his soda. “And I guess you’re not one of them.”
“I’m not crazy about anyone knowing my future. Maybe not even me.”
“I hear you.”
“She said you wouldn’t be home a lot.”
“She’s right.” He paused, then held his hand out. “I’m Teige.”
She accepted the gesture. Her palm was cool, soft. He wanted to rub it against his face.
He was losing his fucking mind and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Mrs. Mueller calls you a very nice man.”
“And what h
ave you been calling me?”
“An asshole,” she said and he almost shot the soda through his nose. Recovered. Realized he was in big damned trouble here.
“Thanks for grabbing Hanny,” was all he said before whistling to the dog. This time, Hanny actually followed him and neither of them turned to look back at Kayla, who was definitely watching them leave.
Chapter Six
Hanny stood guard while he attempted to sleep but even she was restless. Out of sorts.
Like dog, like master.
He finally surrendered to the inevitable, jacked himself up with caffeine, went through his email and voice mail, ready to field the next job offer.
A couple had him leaving tomorrow. Too soon.
Two years ago he would’ve jumped at them.
The one for two weeks out looked promising. High danger equaled higher pay. He answered the email and closed the laptop. He spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, watching old movies. Just before night fell, he stretched and went out to the back porch. Last night’s summer storm hadn’t done much more than down a few branches here, but the local news confirmed twisters wreaked havoc in a town that was only fifteen miles away. He’d been involved in some aftermath cleanup when he was enlisted. Fucking heartbreaking to go through the shards of someone’s life, finding the occasional teddy bear mixed in with the debris. He could only imagine what was happening over there today and he switched off the news, unable to bring himself to watch it.
At least he was starting to learn his limits.
He glanced over at the blue house when he heard Kayla calling goodnight to Willa, and wondered if she was going to tell Mrs. Mueller about what happened last night. From the warm greeting Willa had given him at the picnic, it appeared Kayla hadn’t as of yet. He walked back through his house with Hanny at his heels to stare out his side window.
Her truck had been parked all the way up the driveway. A big truck with tinted windows. Not the type a single woman typically drove. Georgia plates.
It was also a big house for a single woman. Granted, the price tag wasn’t astronomical out here in the semi sticks, but still…
Not your problem.
“Don’t even think about it,” he told Hanny, who was paws-up on the windowsill next to him, watching Kayla as well.
She was skittish. Angry too, although he’d watched her bite it back. She acted like a woman in trouble, at least to his practiced eye. With the law? He made a mental note to find out her full name and run it to see if anything came up.
Damn, he was a suspicious bastard. He hated it, but he was wired this way and fighting it hadn’t ever done him any good. And someone whose name showed nothing in the system always signaled trouble.
She’s not your problem.
His attention was pulled from Kayla to a splash of red.
Diane. And she was his problem. She parked her flashy car in his driveway and gave Kayla a hard stare. He wouldn’t be surprised if Diane pissed in a circle around his lawn. She’d always been possessive. The problem was, she’d never been in love with him. He wasn’t in love with her either, so in that regard, they’d been well matched. They were good together in bed, but they brought out the absolute worst in each other in all other regards.
He waited for her to ring the bell, prepared to ignore her. But she let herself in with the key he’d given her years ago, the one she swore she’d lost.
He held out his hand and she tossed it to him.
“I thought we broke up,” he said.
She watched his face for a long moment, like she was reading him. Good fucking luck.
“I thought you might need some help with a welcome home.” She began to undress in his front hallway, her tank top tossed carelessly aside to reveal high, rounded breasts, her jeans already unbuttoned to show a hint of her smooth belly and no doubt, no underwear at all. “Well?”
“I’m thinking.”
“You think too much.”
“That’s not one of your problems.”
“You’re a funny man.” She skimmed her jeans off and threw them at him, his jab not bothering her. Nothing did, except when Teige tried to end things and then she’d buck.
He caught the soft denim and folded them, hung them over the bannister.
“I’ll never be able to find another man who does the things you do to me,” she’d always tell him, usually post-sex.
And Teige did have a need for control in the bedroom for as long as he could remember. Finding women to go along with those kinks had never been a problem. Hell, it seemed to push women in his direction, although the need to do so was deep-seated, born and bred, not something he trotted out to attract them.
Diane made sure to spread the word about what he liked. She also slept with other men in order to make him jealous.
Didn’t work.
“I’m using you,” he told her flat-out.
“Same here,” she told him coolly. Hanny growled her disapproval at both of them and slunk away.
He threw her over his shoulder roughly and then bound her to his headboard with leather straps and delayed her orgasm to the point of madness, thinking about Kayla all the while. About pulling Kayla out into the rain and taking her on the soft, wet ground.
He came twice before he untied Diane and told her to take care of herself. She did, because that was what she liked—the orders. But she didn’t want anything beyond the sex and he felt like an empty wrapper.
And when it was over and they both stopped panting, he said, “You can leave now.”
“You bastard.”
“I never promised otherwise.”
“Who else are you going to find?”
“I didn’t say I was going to find anyone.”
“You’re looking at Ms. Vanilla next door? You think she’s going to let you tie her up and fuck her—”
“Shut up and leave.”
“You’re a freak. Everyone knows it,” Diane taunted, knowing she could easily goad him. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly dark, more sex would follow and he knew that’s what she was looking for.
He didn’t take the bait and that made her rant at him all the way to the bathroom, where he heard her breaking things.
He’d spent time as a young boy wondering if he was exactly that, a freak. It was only after getting the guts up to explore it further that he accepted he was born wanting sex this goddamned way. Needed it in all its hard, hot, dominating glory.
The past several years, he’d had the wrong partner, had taken things too far. Diane liked pain far more than he liked to give it. And after Mac’s death, he went to a dark place, didn’t think he was worthy of different.
Diane loved that.
But when he saw Kayla, he wanted different so badly. She had enough of an edge, and no matter what Diane said, Kayla could handle him.
And she wanted to. He knew that for a fact.
He heard Hanny bark, coupled with the familiar sound of her heavy paws slamming against the screen door. Except this time, there was a snap that spoke of her escape, and he knew exactly where his dog was heading as he yanked on jeans.
“Where you going, darling?”
He barely glanced at her. “You need to be out of here by the time I get back. This is it, Diane. I mean it.”
“You always do, honey,” she called to him as he slammed the back door behind him.
*
Teige hadn’t seemed upset when Kayla had called him an asshole, but then again, it wasn’t exactly a compliment.
Teige. She liked the name. He was handsome, but still dangerous. And she had no time for any of that in her life.
Teige also had a girlfriend. A jealous one, if the daggers she’d shot at Kayla were any indication.
Honey, you have no idea how little that scares me, she’d wanted to tell the tall blond, but she’d pressed her lips together instead before going inside. She was losing precious sleep time and she couldn’t afford to fall asleep again tonight. She’d print the photos to keep
her busy through the night and she’d start memorizing the faces.
Tomorrow, she’d make an album with Mrs. Mueller. Maybe she’d even go to the diner. Try to grow some roots.
Erasing yourself was a lot like committing suicide, she’d decided a long time ago. Taking yourself off the grid, disconnecting from everyone and everything you knew, was harder than it sounded. It left her alone and paranoid, too scared to get close to anyone.
Then again, there was good reason for that.
She’d deleted her hard drive before this latest move, cleaning the camera’s memory card as well, deleting all pictures of any of the places she’d tried to root in, and the ones she hadn’t for good measure. She thought of the plants her mom used to cultivate, how she’d start them off in a kitchen glass until the brown roots began to spider out, floating with a slimy film in the clear water.
Roots, yes, but they weren’t rooted until they were in the ground. Kayla knew how they felt.
She locked the doors, checked the cameras and alarms and then texted Marshal Daniels—the twice-a-day I’m home and alive one they’d decided on for the next month until Kayla got settled.
She took Teige’s picture out of the drawer, knew she should rip it up, and not only because he’d told her to. But she couldn’t, not yet, and so she put it back under the phone book, shut the drawer and went to take a long, cool shower.
She padded downstairs an hour later in black leggings and an old broken-in T-shirt and was grateful Mrs. Mueller had pushed the to-go plate on her. She ate a sandwich as she glanced at the TV, then settled in on the couch, thinking she could sleep here with the sunlight blazing in through the windows. That if she closed the back door, locked up, she could doze off safely.
She heard the footsteps creaking upstairs, automatically looked to the security camera and saw nothing. She went back upstairs, gun in hand, just to be sure.
The rocking chair in the small room was rocking, as if someone had just gotten up from it. She felt the chill and then it passed. “Nice to see you too,” she murmured, went back downstairs and made a mental note to mention this to Mrs. Mueller. Maybe she could get a reduction in rent with a roommate.
Mirror Me Page 3
