by White, Pat
Looking into those amazing green eyes lit with hope, he couldn’t speak.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips warm and sweet, like honey.
He was a goner. He’d crossed into the danger zone, was running headlong into blazing fire and kept on running. He wanted more of this, much more.
What he needed was a break from this case, time to get his perspective. Hell, he was so weak he’d given up his cover to this girl, willingly. What a mistake.
No, that had been a strategic move to convert her as an ally. This investigation would move faster with someone on the inside working with him.
You sure it’s about strategy and not something else? Damn, how did he end up here? Wanting her trust ... her love?
He broke the kiss. “I’ve been lying to you this whole time,” he said, breathless.
“You lie to protect yourself. I get it.”
“No, this isn’t okay, Sandra. I lied. I slept with you.”
“No kidding.” She grinned and came at him for another kiss.
“Stop,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “I’m a federal agent.”
“You said that already.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I sensed you were hiding something big. You aren’t exactly the pro wrestling type. Or the stripping type.”
“And you trusted me anyway?” he said, dumbfounded.
“Sure. You’ve got a pure, honorable heart.”
Pure? She must have put whiskey in her tea instead of honey.
“Pure is not a word I’d use to describe myself,” he said.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She stroked his cheek.
He could only stand so much compassion. He grabbed her wrist and held her hand away.
“This changes everything,” he said.
Panic filled her eyes. Panic at not being able to make love to him again? Nah, he was dreaming. Last night had been a one-night stand. They both agreed.
“It changes things how?” she asked.
“I’ve exposed myself to you—”
“Did you ever,” she said with a grin.
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay, sorry.”
“My cover has been compromised. I should ask for a replacement.”
“Because you told me? I’m one person. I’m not telling anyone.”
“It’s not that.” He automatically reached for her hand and she interlaced their fingers. “I think someone else in BAM knows. That’s why they planted drugs in my bag.”
“To have you arrested?”
“And to get me out of there.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea. I suspected you were the dealer since the boys said you passed out drugs like candy.”
“Herbal supplements,” she corrected.
“I get that now. Sorry.”
“The boys think they’re wonder drugs, so don’t burst their bubble, okay?” she said.
He shook his head.
“What? A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially if it helps them take care of themselves properly.”
“You are something else, ya’ know that?”
She looked annoyed. “And you’re a federal agent. Okay, fed man, why are you posing as Jack the Stripper?”
“Steroids. They’re being distributed to high school kids. We’ve connected the distribution to BAM’s tour schedule. Some heartless son of a bitch is playing on the insecurities of teenage boys to make money.”
“And kids are getting hurt,” she whispered.
She didn’t press for more information. He knew it would drive her nuts to think about kids hurting themselves by abusing steroids, especially steroids supplied by someone in her wrestling family.
She fingered his hair, slipping a strand behind his ear.
“There’s only one thing to do,” she said. “Nail the bastard.”
“Yep.” He closed his eyes, hypnotized by her warm, soft strokes through his hair.
“So, how do we find him?”
His eyes popped open. “We? There is no we.” Involving civilians in his investigation wasn’t an option, especially not Sandy.
Why’s that, because he cared about her? If he really cared, he’d break ties now.
“I know the business better than anyone,” she said. “I know the guys, their families, backgrounds—everything. Why wouldn’t you take advantage of that?”
Why, indeed?
“Because it’s dangerous. I shouldn’t have told you about it in the first place.”
“But you did.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t do anything stupid,” she said. “I’ll follow your orders to the letter.”
And if he ordered her to take off her T-shirt and jeans? Get a hold of yourself.
“Jason, this is my fight, too. Last year two wrestlers died of heart attacks. The oldest was forty.” She got up and paced to her entertainment center. “Uncle Terry can’t get out of his wheelchair long enough to walk to the bathroom. Arthritis? Bullshit. Steroids, that’s what I think. That stuff strips a man of his dignity and his soul. I hate it. Let me help.”
“Help him what?” Curt asked from the doorway.
Hell, how much did he hear?
J looked at Sandy. She had to know that revealing his identity would destroy his chances of nailing the steroid dealer.
“I’m trying to get him to quit using drugs,” she said.
Good recovery. She must have read his mind.
“Drugs, huh?” Curt said, dropping his toolbox on the ground and kneeling beside it. Decker stood next to him like a surgical assistant. “So, the drug bust last night was legit?” Curt asked.
“No, those weren’t my drugs,” J replied.
“Oh, okay.” Curt glanced over his shoulder and winked. “They were someone else’s.”
J ground his teeth.
“Actually, they did belong to someone else,” Sandy defended.
“Whatever.” Curt focused on his task of fixing the hinge. “I’m not passing judgment. Maybe if Duke had been using steroids, he would have been stronger when—”
“Shut up, Curt,” Sandy snapped.
“Sorry, okay, sorry.” He sat back and put up his hands, one still holding a Phillips screwdriver. “Man, I wish you’d let go of that guilt.”
“What guilt?” J said.
“Nothing. I’ve got yoga class.” Sandy grabbed a multicolored bag off a chair and headed for the door.
“Sandy, I got your message yesterday,” Decker said. “I’ve already been invited to the family barbeque.”
“So ... my mom knows you?”
“She does. Curt and I have been working on her downstairs bathroom.”
“Oh, great, I’ll see you there, then.”
“I’d be happy to pick you up,” Decker offered.
“No, that’s okay. I need to show up with someone Mom doesn’t know.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Curt said.
“Long story. And you’ve never met The Stripper, okay?”
Curt shrugged.
“I’ll be back later.” Sandy hesitated at the door then turned back to Jason. “You’ll be here, right?”
Which he took as, Please be here when I get home.
“Yep,” he said.
She nodded, then glanced at her brother, who was back to fixing the door. “You’re a jerk,” she said and stormed off.
“Sorry, Sandy. Come on, I’m sorry, okay?” he called after her.
The door to her building slammed shut.
“You make me crazy!” Curt shouted after her.
“Sounds like you make her crazy,” J offered.
Curt spun around, wielding his screwdriver. J should have kept his mouth shut.
“What do you know, huh?” Curt said. “I’ve been her big brother for almost thirty years. I know her a little better than some fly-by-night stripper.”
“Wrestler.
”
“I hear you strip better than you wrestle.” He took a step closer.
Jason didn’t move. He placed his arm across the back of the couch and eyed his opponent. How did he end up fighting with Sandy’s brother again?
“Actually,” he said, chuckling, “I don’t do either very well.”
Curt’s shoulders visibly sagged and he tossed the screwdriver into the box. “I’m not usually such a jerk,” he said. “I never seem to say the right thing to her.”
Curt tested the door, moving it one way, then the other. “I want to help so bad. I want to do the big brother thing right for once.”
“Sandy’s a pretty independent person,” J said.
“Too independent,” Curt muttered.
“Why’s that?”
“She takes everything on herself, like it’s her fault Duke got hurt; it’s her fault Dad got cancer. I mean, come on, even Sandy the Great can’t cure cancer.”
“I’d love to see her try.” The words of admiration slipped past J’s lips. He admired her. He cared about her. It had been a long time since he could say that about anyone.
“Ya’ know, I forgot to pick up beer,” Curt said. “Decker, could you run over to The Purple Duck and get a case of Bud?” He tossed his friend car keys.
“Sure thing.” Decker’s eyes lit up. J figured Curt must drive an eight-cylinder truck with Mag wheels and a kick-ass sound system.
Decker left and Curt closed the door. And locked it. Uh-oh. Was this his way of being alone with Jason so he could beat the crap out of him?
Curt wandered to the stuffed chair and sat down. He crossed one leg over the other and tapped his fingertips on the armrest.
Now what?
“I don’t like you,” Curt said.
“You don’t know me.”
Curt put up his hand. “Let me finish. I don’t know you, you’re right, but I don’t like you because—honestly—I wouldn’t like any guy who was after my sister.”
“I’m not after—”
“Stop. I see how you two look at each other. Hell, I can feel the heat between you. And ya know what? A part of me is glad. I haven’t seen her look like that since Cody Monroe talked her into bed.”
J shifted on the sofa, hating the mention of that bastard Monroe.
“I’m her big brother, and I’m supposed to protect her. God knows Dad isn’t capable of protecting his little girl.”
“Why’s that?”
“Dad is ... Dad. I can’t explain it.” Curt sighed. “All I’m asking is that you treat her well, okay? Don’t break her heart, and don’t lead her on and lie to her. I think she could recover from anything but another lie.”
Jason almost laughed. “I can’t lie to her. She sees right through me.”
“Good. Then maybe she won’t be as devastated this time.”
“This time?”
“Look, I know you mean well. Everyone does where Sandy is concerned. She’s a nice kid, but she always picks the wrong guys.”
Like Jason. But she didn’t pick him for anything other than sex, right? Sure, but Curt didn’t know that.
“She always finds the guys who are unable to give her what she needs most,” Curt continued. “I can’t imagine you’ll be different.”
Love. Curt didn’t say what Sandy needed most, but J heard the implication. Like the rest of the bad boys on Sandy’s list, J was incapable of giving love. A person had to be complete and healthy in order to share that gift. J had shattered to pieces the day he’d driven his dad away. After that day, J accepted the fact he was destined to drive away anyone who dared to love him.
So, in a way, he was safe. No one, especially Sandy, would hang around long enough to see his broken parts. She’d be long gone because of something J did or said. There was nothing to worry about. Especially not love.
Love? Why was he even thinking of that? He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. As it stands, Sandy used him for fast and hard sex, and he used her for information about this investigation. That’s the way you wanted it, remember?
“Anyway, I didn’t mean to dump that on you,” Curt said. “I feel so helpless where she’s concerned.”
J felt helpless, too, but not in the same way as Sandy’s big brother.
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation.
“Open up, guys!” Decker called. “They had a two-for-one sale!”
Curt and J both jumped up to open the door, then laughed.
“Guess we both need a beer, huh?” Curt said. “Or is it too early in the day?”
“Nope. It’s almost happy hour.” J smiled. Hell, maybe drinking with Sandy’s big brother would ease the tension a bit. The last thing J needed was an over-protective sibling breathing down his neck while he tried to wrap up this case.
Curt whipped open the door. “What took ya so long?” he teased.
“Sorry, got a great deal on Flying Nun beer,” Decker said, heading for the kitchen. “Two cases for the price of one.”
“Clever man.” Curt took one case off his hands and put it in the refrigerator. “Decker’s good with money.”
“Which will make me a good provider one day,” Decker boasted.
“Then why don’t you provide me with one of those cold beers,” J said.
Decker looked at Curt, who nodded in approval, then handed J and Curt each a beer. Decker didn’t take one himself.
“What, not joining us?” J asked.
“No, I...”
“He doesn’t want my baby sister to get a bad impression,” Curt said. “Come on, man, she’s seen worse than a thirty-five-year-old having a beer.” He waved his hand. “Never mind. Let’s raid the fridge and watch some baseball.”
J took a swig of beer. He’d drink with the guys, watch some ball and pump Curt for information about the boys at BAM. Maybe this would be a productive weekend after all.
* * *
Sauntering down the sidewalk toward home, Sandy realized a part of her should be angry with Jason for pretending to be a wrestler when he was really an undercover cop, but she wasn’t. He didn’t know her. How could he trust her with his secret? He couldn’t, until now. Which meant, he trusted her?
Maybe. Then again, up until this afternoon he’d considered her a steroid peddler. She couldn’t blame him since she freely handed out herbal supplements.
The fact that someone was peddling steroids to kids made her sick. She’d love to help Jason with his investigation; heck, she’d love nothing more than to get the boys to stop using steroids altogether.
Approaching her building, she considered her weekend. She hoped to spend it reading, working on her latest bead project and catching up on e-mail. She welcomed the peace in contrast to her insane week of healing broken men. Broken men like Jason, the man bunking at her place.
With a sigh, she climbed the stairs to her building. He was broken in so many ways, and she ached to help him.
Isn’t that how it started with Cody?
No, this was different. She had control over this situation. She’d kept Jason at arm’s length, emotionally. That was the perfect place for him to be: in her bed and out of her heart. No problem.
The sound of singing echoed down the hallway. It was coming from her condo. She opened the door and hesitated, tempted to go back for a second yoga class.
Decker stood near the television set, swaying on his feet and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” his beer sloshing over the lip of the can. Curt egged him on, waving his arm like a conductor, and Jason—well, Jason just sat on her couch and grinned.
He was grinning? Now there was an expression she’d never seen. Were they all drunk?
She slammed the door to get their attention.
Curt glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hey, sis!”
Jason pinned her with his silly grin.
Decker kept singing.
“What’s going on?” she asked, dropping her bag.
“The Cubs are winning,” her brother said.
“Boo, Cubs,” said Jason.
“Hey, that’s the home team,” Decker slurred, facing off with him.
“I don’t care, I hate the Cubs. They’re for yuppies and wimps.”
“You take that back.” Decker put his beer on the television.
“Or what?” Jason shot back.
Decker lunged, but Curt caught him before he landed on Jason. Unfortunately, the men knocked over Sandy’s green ceramic lamp again. The poor lamp couldn’t take two assaults in one day. It cracked down the middle.
“Take it outside,” Sandy cried. “All of you!” She picked up the lamp and studied the damage.
“Shoot. Sorry, sis,” Curt said.
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand.
“We’d better go.” Curt grabbed Decker’s arm.
“You’re not driving in your condition,” she said.
“I know. We’re walking. Decker could use the fresh air—right, Deck?”
“Deck! Deck, like a deck of cards! I get it. I was conceived in Vegas. No wonder I have such a stupid name.”
“Come on, buddy.” Curt led him to the door.
“Wait!” Decker spun around and pinned Sandy with his unfocused gaze. “You light up my life. You set my heart on fire…” he sang.
Curt let go of his friend’s arm and stared in shock.
“Like soul mates basking under the full moon,” Decker belted out. “Toasting marshmallows and—”
“Enough!” Jason sprang to his feet. “I can’t stand it anymore.”
“What?” Decker challenged. “You can’t stand to see a man profess his love, his vul-nur-bility to the woman of his dreams?”
“Come on, buddy.” Curt led Decker to the door.
“I mean it, Sandy,” Decker said as Curt pulled him out. “Holding hands by the campfire…”
The door slammed on his off-key voice. Sandy glanced at Jason; they burst out laughing. J resettled on the couch and took a sip of beer.
“Curt is a pain,” she said. She sat at the opposite end of the couch and a part of her wanted to reach for him, but she didn’t.
“He’s a good big brother,” Jason replied after a moment.
“He tries. So does Duke. I suppose it’s great to have family, even if they’re bossy. They always back you up and forgive you, even if you’re a jerk.”
“Your family does that?” J asked.
“Yep. I have my issues with them, but I love ’em. I’d do anything to make Dad proud. And my brothers,” she said with a smile. “I’ll never forget my twenty-seventh birthday. I was having the worst day and I came home to a condo stuffed with purple balloons. It was amazing.”
