by Becky McGraw
Please say no. Please, please say no. I offered and my conscience is clear.
“Of course I want it. I don’t have any choice at the moment and you know it. It beats shoving hamburgers out of a window at a fast food joint.” Susan stepped nearer to put her palms down on the desk and lean in closer. “I just hope one day you’re in a similar position and maybe I’ll let you be my secretary. You will regret this, I promise.”
Of that, he had no doubt. He was already regretting it.
She stood back up and a hint of wood smoke tickled his nose, then he realized it wasn’t wood smoke. It was cigarette smoke. Lord have mercy. He’d never seen her smoking before, or smelled it on her. But then Dave hadn’t been around her all that much, at least not close enough to know what she smelled like. That was striking distance, and he’d always kept his safety cushion where she was concerned.
His jaw tightened, as his eyes met hers. “Do you smoke? Because I don’t hire smokers, Susan. You’ll have to choose the cigarettes or this job.”
“I quit two years ago, but I was so upset when I left the federal building my last day, I stopped to pick up a pack on the way to my dojo,” Susan admitted with a shrug. “It was that or go postal, so I figure I made the right decision.”
“Well stop again immediately,” he ordered, holding her gaze to let her know he meant business. “Throw them in the garbage when you walk out of here.”
Susan studied him a moment, while she chewed on the inside of her cheek. Dave could tell what it was costing her to keep from blasting him. “You’re damned bossy, you know that?”
“Since I’m your boss now, I can be bossy,” he shot back, and her lips pinched.
She folded her arms over her chest, and the gi gaped open drawing his eyes there. “You can’t tell me what to do on my off time,” she informed sharply. “When I leave here at five o’clock, I’ll smoke if I damn well please.”
Dave dragged his eyes up to hers. “This is the private sector, Susan,” he reminded. She was used to doing things on banker’s hours with the government. That’s not how Deep Six Security worked. “Your hours aren’t nine to five, and neither are ours. You’re always on call. If I need you in this office to service the team for a mission at midnight, you’ll be expected to drop what you’re doing and show up here not smelling like cigarette smoke,” he informed succinctly.
When she didn’t respond, just stood there staring at him, Dave asked, “Got it? Or do we call this off?”
Jerking the edges of her gi together, she cinched the belt tighter then lifted her chin. “I’ve got it. What time do you want me here tomorrow?”
Dave pulled his left foot from under the stack of new papers that had just slid out of the box when he bumped it again. “Be here at seven o’clock.”
Susan nodded, and his eyes fell to her feet as she spun to walk out of his office. He hadn’t noticed when she came in that she was barefooted. And he certainly hadn’t noticed that her toenails were painted bright pink. Why that struck him as insanely sexy, he didn’t know. Probably because it was in such a stark contrast to the buttoned up, baggy-black-suit-wearing woman he’d known for so long. Pink toenails were just entirely too feminine a touch for the woman he knew as the Barracuda.
But they were definitely pink. And Dave knew he was definitely in trouble because he noticed it too. With a groan he threw his head against the back of his chair and sent up a prayer that he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
CHAPTER THREE
Susan walked into the offices of Deep Six Security at precisely seven o’clock the next morning with her arms loaded down with boxes of popsicles and blow pops. She knew from her first time quitting smoking two years ago, when she and Carlos started dating, this wasn’t going to be easy. The popsicles and candy pops would help curb the cravings for the feel of that soft filter between her lips, the satisfaction of the sucking action and the rush of nicotine in her bloodstream. The sugar would give her the same rush as the nicotine. It was just as bad for her, but at least she wouldn’t be jonesing for a cigarette.
It was amazing how quickly she had become addicted again. One cigarette and she was off the wagon. Twenty-four hours and half a pack later, she was addicted again. Those little white sticks were like crack, and more addictive than heroin. In the future, if she wanted to stay a non-smoker, she would need to remember that before she picked one up. And the more she thought about it, the more Susan realized she did want to be a non-smoker from here on out. She needed to be a non-smoker, regardless of Dave Logan’s controlling mandate. She was quitting again because she wanted to, not because he said she had to. And because she didn’t want to set a bad example for Jenna. That was the most important reason.
Smoking also cut her wind in her jiu jitsu workouts and her energy. It didn’t take her long yesterday to figure that out, after she smoked two on her way to the dojo. She was a freaking second degree black belt, had been a practitioner since she was twelve and her father introduced her to martial arts to protect herself against the bullies she faced every day at school. Now, she continued to work to advance her skills because she not only loved the discipline of the ancient art, it gave her an edge in her former job, and also helped her maintain her weight.
Before her jiu jitsu days, the extra pounds she carried around had been the source of much of the teasing she endured. Add on being a child genius and wearing glasses as thick as the bottom of a Coke bottle and there was enough fodder for a lifetime of teasing from bullies.
Contacts at sixteen fixed the glasses issue, martial arts the weight, and finally the people around her had caught up to her maturity to some degree. Susan thought sometimes she had been born an adult soul in a kid’s body. That’s how she’d always felt growing up. Older, wiser and a helluva lot more mature than her classmates. She still felt like that sometimes as an adult.
The only reason she started smoking in the first place was to try once again to fit in.
After she graduated from college with her master’s at twenty-four, she applied to the federal agent training academy in Quantico, Virginia, the same place her father had gone for his training. As she had most of her life, Susan felt out of place there too, isolated. Some of the trainees in her class smoked, so she tried it hoping maybe that would give her something in common with them. All it did was get her into the habit of social smoking.
Her classmates ended up resenting her anyway when the instructors put her on a pedestal because she was at the top of her class. What the others had to struggle to achieve came easily to her. And dammit that wasn’t her fault, but it was her cross to bear. It had been all her life.
After she graduated from the academy, smoking became a closet addiction, a panacea to help her cope with the extreme stress of her job as a federal agent. When she was promoted to SAC of the Dallas Regional FBI headquarters, Susan quickly found out what real stress was. Not only did the agents she’d worked beside on the same level really hate her then, they treated her like a three-headed monster, so to deal, Susan became one.
The Barracuda. A woman who took shit from no one, but got the job done. At home alone though, she smoked like a chimney to self-soothe. That pattern continued until Carlos Ramos entered her life and insisted she quit. Because she thought there was promise of a future with him, Susan did it to please him. She should have kept the cigarettes and told Carlos to take a hike. She would’ve if she knew then what she knew now about him.
Lying, deceitful, traitorous bastard.
Susan was going to think long and hard before she ever trusted another man. Even the man she’d agreed to work for temporarily. No, especially him. Because since she was gone from the agency, Dave would most likely be trying to cozy up to Carlos now. He needed high-level connections at the bureau to help with his cases, and Carlos Ramos was her replacement.
Her determination to have a positive attitude here, even though the job was beneath her, took a nose dive at the thought. If Carlos called to talk to Logan, she wou
ld be answering the phone, and he would recognize her voice. The snake would realize that she was only clerical staff at Deep Six, not an agent. That would be the greatest humiliation she’d ever endured.
The popsicles in her hand froze her fingers, and woke her up to the fact she was standing beside her desk staring into space. Walking to the kitchenette she’d seen yesterday, Susan opened the freezer to stick her head inside, inhaling deeply of the crisp, cool air. Exhaling, she shoved the box inside and slammed the door.
“Good morning,” a deep, sleepy voice grumbled behind her.
Susan spun around to find a very rumpled-looking Dave Logan jerking the pot from the coffee maker. He poured the last two ounces of black tar into his cup and cursed. Flipping open the cabinet, he took down the grounds and another filter.
Her eyes traveled over him, and she realized he had on the same dress shirt and jeans he’d worn yesterday. The cuffs were rolled up to his elbows now, the collar flipped half up and half down at his throat, and the buttons mismatched to the holes at the front, but it was the same shirt. His dark hair stuck up in fifty different directions, and a beard growth shadowed his square jaw. The overall effect was that he’d just rolled out of bed.
That thought sent a delicious little tickle through her body, but it didn’t surprise her. Her new boss had always been an enigma to her, a sexy, mysterious puzzle. Dave Logan was as close-mouthed about his operations and personal information as the CIA spooks she’d dealt with from time to time in her former job. Even after working with Dave Logan for six years, she knew next to nothing about him. The only things she knew, she’d overheard from others. He was former military of some kind and law enforcement.
One thing she did know personally was that he had the same air of danger and arrogance around him that those spooks possessed, and that always titillated her. Logan was the consummate bad boy, but a good man at the same time. A benefit, the only benefit, of taking this menial job would be finally having the opportunity to figure out what made the man tick.
“You sleep here?” she asked casually.
Dave flipped the basket of used grounds into the garbage can, and without looking at her mumbled, “When I work too late to drive out to my compound in the boonies, yeah.”
“How often is that?” Susan pressed. If it was as often as she had slept in the sleeping bag she had stashed in the closet of her office at the bureau, he might as well say he lived there.
Giving her a hot glance that told her exactly what kind of mood he was in right then, Logan mumbled, “As often as I need to.”
He put a new filter in the basket and filled it almost to the top with grounds. That coffee was going to be so strong he probably wouldn’t be able to blink for days. Hopefully, it would put him in a better mood. Susan had lived on the stuff at her office, but knew if she had a cup she’d just want a cigarette.
Bad mood or not, she was too curious not to ask, “Let me phrase it this way…how often do you go home?”
Dave shot her another red-rimmed, hot blue glare that verged on homicidal. “As often as I can,” he growled, stabbing the start button on the coffee maker with his finger. “What’s with the fucking inquisition?” He turned and walked over to lean in and sniff her hair. “I see you took me seriously. Good, I’d hate to fire you before you get started.”
Anger and indignation filled her, as she folded her arms across her chest to ask, “Do you always give your employees the sniff test?” Leaning in Susan sniffed him, then pulled back. Wrinkling her nose, she raked him with her eyes. “If so, I’d say you might want to sniff yourself first, mister. You need a shower, and you look like a homeless person in those wrinkled clothes.”
His eyebrow lifted then slammed down over his eyes, as the left side of his mouth ticked. “Well you’ll fit right in then, sweetheart,” He let his eyes float over her body, before they glided back up to lock with hers. “Because you look like a bag lady in that ugly black suit. You buy those in bulk from the agency surplus store?”
Susan’s face scorched as she smoothed her hands over her well-worn suit jacket and stiffened her shoulders. “This was standard dress for the bur—“
“Well it’s not standard dress in my office. You don’t work for the FBI anymore, Susan, you work for me. I don’t want to see another one of those black suits in this office.” Dave turned to jerk the half-full pot of coffee from the coffee maker and filled his cup. He leaned against the counter and cradled the cup in his palms. “Got that, Ms. Whitmore?”
Susan didn’t dare open her mouth. She gritted her teeth to keep condescencing fucktard right on the end of her tongue where it belonged.
His eyebrow raised, as he blew the steam from his cup. “I expect an answer when I ask a question, Susan.”
Anger consumed her to the point Susan saw him through a red haze, and the urge for a cigarette almost brought her to her knees. The other urge was to give him a solid roundhouse kick to the side of his head to wipe that smirk from his face. Susan chose to spin toward the refrigerator and open the freezer door to stick her head inside again. Once her face cooled, she jerked the box open, pulled out a popsicle and shoved it in her mouth. She stayed there breathing for a minute more, until a pain from the cold stabbed her between her eyebrows. Pulling back, she elbowed the door closed and realized Dave had left the kitchen.
She was very thankful, and he should be too. Please Lord, help me keep from killing this man, she prayed, as she walked back to the outer office and sat down behind the front desk. Just as she settled, the front door of the office opened, and a large dog rushed inside. The gasp stuck in her throat as their eyes locked and the fierce-looking animal bounded toward her. The dog didn’t eat her though, it stopped beside her to slide its cold, wet nose up her leg to her knee. A huge dark-haired guy in black BDUs paired with a white muscle shirt walked inside and closed the door behind him. Hopefully, he was the dog’s owner.
When the man turned back toward her, he took one step, his eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks to stare. After flapping a few times, his mouth widened into a grin. “Holy shit, you hired the Barracuda,” he said, as his eyes darted to Logan who had just walked out of his office with his arms wrapped around a heaping box. “You finally listened to something I said.”
“She’s our temporary office help,” Logan grumbled as he sat the box on the corner of her desk. Papers rained down from both sides to scatter around the desk and the floor. As if he didn’t notice the mess he’d made, Logan turned to walk back toward his office.
“Wait! I need to tell you what I found out from Carmen,” the big man shouted following behind him.
“I don’t want to hear anything until I have a shower.” Dave stopped at his door and glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I have it on good authority I look like a homeless person. I need to rectify that, or go check in at Goodwill.” With that he walked into his office and slammed the door behind him. The tacky, but obviously expensive, framed prints on the wall shook.
Susan stuffed the popsicle into her mouth again and the grape flavor exploded on her taste buds. She sucked it a few times, satisfying the urge to follow her new boss into his office to tell him exactly what she thought of his sarcasm. When she was relatively sure it had passed, she slid it out of her mouth with a pop.
The heavily muscled man, a man who reminded Susan a lot of a non-latino version of Carlos, put his hands on his hips and just stared at Dave’s office door a minute. Finally, with a shake of his head, he turned to walk back toward her desk.
“I’m Slade,” he said sticking his hand out to her.
Susan switched the popsicle to her other hand to shake his. His eyes dropped to his dog, who now had his nose stuffed under the hem of Susan’s skirt and was moving up the inside of her left calf. If that nose reached her crotch, Susan was definitely going to call a stop to the inspection. When that nose inched up even higher inside her thigh, she clamped her knees against the dog’s head.
Slade laughed, and released h
er hand to grab the dog’s collar. “Don’t worry about Lola, she’ll decide in a minute if we like you. If she doesn’t, you should definitely get yourself out of here.” He dragged the dog a few inches back. “Lola, platz,” he said firmly and the dog immediately laid down to look up at him as if waiting on another command. When none came, she relaxed and swung her gaze back to Susan.
“I’m ah, Susan, Lola,” she said, then looked back up at Slade. “You let your dog decide who you like?”
“Yeah, she’s a much better judge of character than I am. If she likes you, I trust her instincts and like you too.”
This was ridiculous, but Susan almost wished more people would do the same. The world would be a better place, and maybe she’d have more friends. Dogs didn’t rely on their own judgmental attitudes, jealousies and prejudices to decide if a person was worthy of their friendship. From her body language and relaxed posture, obviously the dog liked her, or was at least comfortable that she posed no threat to her master.
“Did I pass inspection?” Susan asked a minute later, with a laugh. She stuffed the popsicle back in her mouth and swirled her tongue over the iciness.
“With flying colors, which surprises the hell out of me. I think the guys at the federal building had it all wrong,” he replied with a grin that made her insides warm. “You’re not a barracuda at all. You’re more of a snapping turtle. You snap your jaws to get people to back off when they get too close.”
Susan coughed, pulled the popsicle out of her mouth and lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “You know me?”
“Who doesn’t?” he asked, and the right corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re a legend at the federal building. The Barracuda. Men quake in their boots when they hear your name. Some probably even piss themselves.” He laughed loudly. “But I think the legend is overblown, and I think you nurtured it, because their fear served your purpose.”
