by AJ Nuest
Seemed right, though, given the friendship he’d developed with Charlie and Xander the past few months.
For some strange reason, ever since he’d played a small role in making sure she made it home safe and sound from the hands of her abductors, Charlie had taken up the torch to give him guff whenever possible. Most likely, in an effort to try and lighten his mood.
Though why the woman seemed so hell bent on fiddling with something that didn’t need to be fixed remained a mystery to him. Especially since both she and Xander had never seemed the type to place judgment or dig up a bunch of shit from the past.
They accepted him at face value. Always had, from the day Eden had made the introductions at Malcolm’s wake. In Ben’s experience, that quality was a hard thing to come by, and their unspoken respect to let his private life remain private had gone a long way toward helping him lower his guard around them.
“Your timing’s perfect, actually.” Leaving the island for the sink, Charlie snagged a glass pitcher off the white-tiled countertop and held it under the running tap. “Tanner’s in the library with Xander, and I just texted Eden that she and Kelly need to hightail it over here ASAP. Adder’s back.”
Adder…as in Casper Addison? Lips turned down in a shrewd frown, Ben shoved aside the impulse to double-check his sidearm contained a full clip. Though whoever this Adder character was or why he’d been MIA since Malcolm Smith’s murder wasn’t really the issue. Ben’s instinct stemmed more from how every time another member of the Dirty Deeds organization showed up, trouble invariably stepped onto the stoop and rang the bell of Smith Manor. “How long’s he stayin’?”
“Not sure, why?” Charlie stared down into the sink. “Trying to get rid of him already?”
Yes, if the situation called for it. Whatever was necessary to back-up Xander’s precautionary measures, keep the gears greased and the meat wagon from rolling to a stop out front.
There was no rule that said just because Adder had been chosen as one of Malcolm’s top three benefactors the guy was trustworthy. It’d been ten years since anyone had laid eyes on him, and life had a way of making people change on a dime.
Shit, Ben was proof of that. “Never hurts to be cautious, and with all the recent activity around this place, the last thing we need is another security breach.”
“Pffth, what is it with you and this constant need to borrow trouble?” Smacking the lever down with the heel of her hand, Charlie left the counter and carried the filled pitcher back to the tray. “Adder’s not gonna cause any grief, especially where Eden’s concerned. And if he does, you can bet that walnut-cracking Van Damage ass of yours, Xander will have Adder by the short hairs before he can say boo.”
Waving off his concern, she shoved a plate of sugar cookies next to the thermal pot and grabbed the handles, but Ben hip-checked her to the side before she got it in her head to lift the damn thing and blow out the discs in her back. “Move aside, soldier. I got it.”
“Of course, you do. And you wanna know why?” Charlie sized him up from the top of his head to the treads of his worn, steel-toed boots. “I got your number, Ben Archer. Coming in here all broody Rambo when, truth is, you’re nothing but a big ol’ burned marshmallow. Singed, crispy crust on the outside, and inside, a whole lotta sweet, sugary goo.”
Detective Marshmallow? Pokerfaced, he shrugged his jacket down his arms and tossed it onto the island, tugged the sleeves of his gray Under Armor shirt up his forearms and hefted the tray. Word of that hit the precinct, and he could kiss any chance at keeping his latest batch of recruits in line goodbye.
A wide grin lifted her cheeks as Charlie rounded his back and held open the swinging door to the front hall, waited as he passed through and then fell in step beside him. “Seriously, you don’t need to worry. Adder’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s cool. And besides, you’re gonna have enough going on, what with the way you’ve agreed to help Tanner.”
Ben hit the skids so fast, ice rattled, glasses clinked and everything on the tray pitched forward. “Help who with what?”
But whether or not Charlie noticed the whole works had nearly skipped the ledge for the floor, she apparently didn’t care. Or, if she did, losing the spread didn’t stress her out enough to bother stopping.
Tossing a wink over her shoulder, she kept right on walking past the end of the stairs and disappeared through the open library door.
Good Christ. Ben tightened his grip on the tray. He’d spent enough time belly-crawling past the eagle-eyed scrutiny of the Dirty Deeds women, it didn’t take a snake eater with his combat training to know he’d just stepped on a trip a wire and successfully trapped his balls in a vise. Sure as shit, or Charlie would’ve never let on she was up to no good.
Darting his focus back and forth over the wood grain of the front door, he resisted the urge to drop the refreshments where he stood and hightail it straight back downstairs for the garage.
They’d targeted him. In usual Dirty Deeds fashion, the female delegation had hatched some screwy scheme and assigned him the lead position. Hell, if that were the case, he’d be better off calling his CO and re-upping for active duty right now.
But knowing them, they’d already planned for that contingency.
All escape routes blocked.
Enemy closing in.
Fuck.
So, now what? He had no other tack but to keep his big mouth shut? Agree with everything Charlie proposed and stay frosty until she filled in the blanks?
Or decline. Outright refuse to participate, and put his foot down about getting involved in whatever screwy plot they’d cooked up before it even got started.
A grunt cinched his stomach. As if that would work. He’d be demoted to taking cover between the precinct and his condo, second-guessing every case he took on and who was really behind the curtain pulling the strings. One misstep on his part and no matter what his intentions, he’d still end up balls deep in God only knew what kind of fallout.
His shoulders dropped a solid inch at the same time his eyes slammed shut. Basic training, graduating at the top of his class, two grueling tours as part of an elite team of U.S. Special Forces, and now he was quaking in his boots? Over of a bunch of goofy women?
Damn, maybe Charlie was right and he was going soft.
He blinked and shook his head. Running scared wasn’t an option. For Christ’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d never had to slip past an insurgent blockade before. But then, at least he’d had a clear campaign in place. Understood what he was up against. Not this time. Unless…
Narrowing his eyes, he scoured his brain for any clues to what Charlie might have up her sleeve. The only thing that triggered his memory was the phone call he’d taken from Xander a couple weeks back, when he’d asked Ben to pull the file on the murder of Trey’s parents.
Ben had been happy to provide a copy of the Intel, even though there wasn’t much to go on other than a few weak leads. Still, he’d kept the file on his desk, thinking he’d do a little recon once Eden and Kelly had dodged the wedding rice.
Christ knew, it was the least Ben could do after finding Trey holed up like a POW in the middle of the South Side’s drug-dealing version of guerilla warfare. Acid churned in his stomach, and Ben smacked his lips as bile threatened to scorch the lining of this throat. The way those assholes had shown Trey less consideration than the shepherds that occasionally accompanied his platoon on patrol had made him beg for any excuse to plant a bullet in every single one of their heads. Follow that up with how the kid had landed there as a result of his parents being gunned down on the street, and the twenty-year sentences the judge had handed down didn’t come anywhere close to evening that score.
No question about it, out of everyone involved, Trey deserved to have someone pound a few faces on his behalf. Until the shooters responsible for leaving him homeless in the first place were hauled in and made to be held accountable for their—
Shit. Ben tipped his head back and muttered every curse in
his mental dictionary toward the ceiling. That was it. Charlie had asked Tanner to take on the case. Her first case. Smack-dab in the middle of Eden and Kelly being away on vacation.
Ice shifted in a glass, and Ben lowered his chin. No chance in hell that was happening. Charlie and her female cohorts would have to get through him first. The criminal element surrounding Trey’s case weren’t in the same category as the average Dirty Deeds mark. This wasn’t some weak-willed husband stepping out on his wife or a girl done wrong by her boyfriend.
These were psychotic scumbags. Answerable to no law but those on the street.
Brutal. Armed and dangerous. Not one sliver of respect for human life.
And Tanner had yet to see the backside of twenty.
Popping her head around the threshold, Charlie frowned and Ben locked onto her face. “Um, are you coming?”
Retreat, hell. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until Tanner got it through her head her only involvement in the case would be far outside any danger.
Starting forward, he ate up the remaining distance to the library. Tanner jerked her eyes toward him and her jaw firmed, every bit as sharp and uncompromising as the blunt, chin-length angle of her hair.
But she could go right ahead and fight him as much as she wanted.
As of ten seconds ago, he was running ops on the case.
Why? Could someone please tell her why avoiding eye contact with the man was so damn difficult?
Tanner swung back and mentally socked herself in the arm for even glancing toward the doorway in the first place. She should’ve worked harder at trying to ignore him. What, like this was her first day? And to make matters worse, she’d done so at the expense of sharing a smile with holy-hell hotness, thy name is Casper Addison.
Less than point-two seconds after meeting the guy, and any explanations about Xander’s less-than-enthusiastic response to welcoming Adder back into the fold had become an insult to her intelligence. Uh-h-h, ya think? It made perfect sense Xander’s briefs had gone from comfortable to wedged-too-tight. The third member of the Dirty Deeds monarchy was a tall, cool block of amaretto-skinned muscle, with eyes the color of fresh spring moss. Toss in his whiskey-roughened voice, the razor-sharp diction that spoke of years living abroad, and every time Casper Addison opened his mouth, Tanner’s insides steamed hotter than a volcanic pool dotting the Icelandic terrain.
Charlie laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, standing between Xander and Casper as they reminisced over the pranks they’d pulled on Malcolm as kids. But whether Ben realized or even cared anyone else was in the room was apparently not up for discussion.
Awareness doused Tanner’s skin as his heated glare slid down her body. She shifted before the fireplace, and then scowled as his inspection screeched to a halt on the bottom edge of her yoga shorts. Good Lord, now what was his problem? He flicked a sharp glance over the backs of her fingers and she fisted her aching knuckles as his lips flattened to a hard line.
Fine. Crossing her arms, she tucked her bruised hands out of sight. If Detective Cramp Her Style was looking to force some stupid high-noon stare down, she’d be happy to oblige.
After all, it wasn’t like she done anything wrong. She arched a brow and Archer’s attention snapped right back up to her face. Last time she checked, she could smile and talk and even flirt with whomever she wanted.
And the thing that made it even better? Satisfaction nearly had her shaking her booty in a touchdown victory dance. Casper hadn’t so much as flinched when Xander had introduced her as the woman soon to be heading up the Chicago-based branch of Dirty Deeds. There hadn’t been a single hesitation as he’d taken her hand and congratulated her on landing her first case.
So, there. Know-it-all Ben Archer could go find a straw and try sucking the joy out of someone else’s day. She’d worked too damn hard for the recognition, and no matter what kinda Cro-Magnon insults flew out of his mouth, she wasn’t about to let him take her happiness away.
The cutting edge of the mantel dug into her shoulder blades as he closed in on the group. The ridges of his pecs rode his shirt in her lower peripheral vision. Light winked off the badge at his hip, but she refused to break from his gaze.
Geez. The man could shrink the size of a room down to a rodeo bull chute just by entering. There was no ignoring him. No matter where she looked. And she always tensed as if any second the gate was about to pop open and she’d have to sprint for the fence or get trampled.
All he needed to complete the look was a silver ring through his nose and a set of horns.
He halted near the coffee table and his biceps flexed as he leaned down. The black leather straps of his holster creaked in distress and, inside her head, the seams of his shirt screamed for mercy.
Air scuffed the back of her throat in an irritated huff. It really was beyond annoying the guy’s attitude was consistently dialed to life sucks and so do you. The first time they’d met, she’d actually thought he was cute. Would’ve even gone so far as to say sexy in a dude, seriously—do the world a favor and switch to decaf sort of way.
Right up until he’d opened his mouth, that was, and had sufficiently whitewashed any ideas she might’ve been toying with about getting him alone.
He dropped the tray to the top. An inch too high. And completely unnecessary if he just would’ve been paying attention to what he was doing.
Mugs clanked, the cookies shimmied along the plate, and the murmuring conversation on her right cut off quicker than if he’d whipped out his Glock and fired a shot at the ceiling.
But it was anger flickering in the depths of his rich, mahogany gaze that finally scrubbed out any hesitation about what he might be thinking.
Dammit all. Tanner’s stomach seized as if in preparation to fend off an incoming jab to her solar plexus.
Charlie had told him about Trey’s case.
Well, so what. Tanner boosted her chin. It was only a matter of time before he found out, and she’d be good and god damned before she let him bust in here as if he had any say over whether or not she took the lead.
He wasn’t her boss. She was way older than five and this was no game of Keep Away. The job was hers. She was doing it, and if he didn’t like it, he could press those firm lips of his against her lily-white ass.
He straightened, his persistent scowl inched left, and Tanner started in her sneakers as a bolt of recognition arced through the air.
Whoa. Frowning, she followed Ben’s gaze toward Casper. What in the hell was that?
“Hey, Ben. Glad you stopped by.” Xander stepped away from the fireplace, tipping his head toward Casper, and offered his hand across the coffee table. “I take it from the surprise on your face, you two have crossed paths before?”
“Brofessor.” Ben clasped Xander’s palm at the same moment Casper swiveled his head toward Tanner.
He blinked as if Ben had just held up a sign labeled Bat-Crap Crazy, and she resisted the urge to snort.
Casper got that right. Or, there was always the chance his reaction had more to do with how six-feet-two of pure pissed-off cop had just thundered into the room. It wasn’t like Ben had gone out of his way to hide his badge and gun, and being new to the changes that had taken place around the manor the past few months, Casper was bound to be questioning everyone’s sanity at this point.
“Not sure.” Ben released Xander’s hand but stayed where he was, extending his palm toward Casper. “Detective Ben Archer. Sorry for the confusion, you just… Remind me of someone I used to know.”
And evidently, this someone had done an excellent job of reserving themselves a spot on Archer’s hater list. Welcome to the club…
“Not a problem. Tends to be a hazard of the job.” A hint of Casper’s yummy cologne wafted past Tanner’s cheeks as he stepped forward to pump Ben’s arm.
Like myrrh. She pulled the scent deep into her lungs. A mingling of incense and exotic spices that reminded her of the days she’d spent in that New Delhi market, trying to earn enough c
ake to hop a flight back to the States.
She glanced toward Ben with a sneer. The few times he’d gotten within smelling range, the most exotic thing she’d caught a whiff of was Downy fabric softener and soap.
He squinted at Casper, his coarse stubble rasping like sandpaper as he swiped his hand along his cheek. “You ever spend any time in the Middle East?”
As if that was any of his business. Tanner sighed.
“I have, actually, although I can’t say I’m anxious to head back.” Casper resettled against the mantel, his broad shoulder grazing hers as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his gray canvas pants. “About a year ago, I followed a lead out of London on some arms dealers that landed me in the middle of a Syrian refugee camp.” He cocked a brow. “The general in charge wasn’t too keen on how I’d shown up to the negotiations uninvited, so he decided it might be a good idea to rearrange my face.”
Tanner winced at the graphic images that story brought to mind. The guy was lucky to have survived in one piece, much less be walking around like the embodiment of sin.
“God, Cas, I’m so sorry.” Charlie placed her hand on her chest. “You know, I thought you looked different, but after all this time I wasn’t sure so…” She grimaced, sneaking a peek up at Xander. “Thank God you got out.”
Settling his hand on her waist, Xander tugged her right up against his hip. “Just out of curiosity, how did you get out?”
The angle of Ben’s chin ratcheted a few degrees north as if that had been his go-to question, as well. “Sounds pretty dicey, if you ask me.” His focus flicked to the wicked scar edging the short sleeve of Casper’s white t-shirt. “And doesn’t really explain where you’ve been ever since.”
Tanner slumped, darting a frown from one male face to the next. Casper’s gaze hardened to an exact match as the rest, and she clenched her jaw against the knee-jerk response to jump to his defense.
The men in this room had better slap a governor on the engines or the testosterone fumes were gonna make them all high. Far as she knew, Casper was one of the good guys. Or, at least, that was the drift she’d gotten from Eden. Would it have killed Xander and Ben to aim for oh, say, a smidgen of tact?
