by White, Pat
Jason looked at her as if waiting for a punch line.
“My brothers know how much I love purple, so they decorated my place when I was on the road. Madame Bovary was not happy.”
J smiled, glancing at the TV.
“I’ll bet you’re a phenomenal big brother,” she said.
“Actually, my little brother and sister can’t stand me.”
“Why?”
He raised a brow. “I’m bossy.”
“Really?” she said in mock surprise.
“Stop making fun of me.”
“Sorry.”
“I tried to do my best after Dad left, but they were angry as hell. Can’t blame them. They lost a father and got me. Besides, it was my fault,” he muttered.
“What was your fault?”
“That he left.”
“Jason.” Sandy put her hand on his shoulder and he stiffened. “Don’t say that.”
His speech wasn’t slurred, but she suspected the effects of the alcohol prompted this case of true confessions. She wondered if he would regret it later.
A few minutes of silence passed. Jason stared at the television, and Sandy waited for another kernel of information. She felt Jason’s pain and instinctively wanted to help. After all, he helped her change her self-concept from repressed female to sex goddess.
“I’m sorry your dad hurt you like that,” she said.
He shrugged. “I never should have told him about the worms.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes dimmed with regret. “Dad and I had this fishing trip planned. I wanted to impress him, so I stole some of Bobby Phipps’s worms. Brought them home to show Dad, told him how Bobby’s worms caught a three-foot muskie.” He extended his arms in illustration and slowly dropped them in his lap. “He said his own son didn’t have faith in him to get the right worms. Something like that, I don’t remember.”
She sensed Jason remembered the scene word for word.
“He left the next day,” he continued. “Never saw him again. We thought maybe he was in an accident or something but…” he hesitated, “you don’t want to hear this.”
“I do.” She stroked his shoulder. “I really do.”
“He left behind his medal of St. Michael.” He pulled the chain out from beneath his shirt as if remembering the day he found it. “That’s all.” He shrugged. “End of story.”
Hardly. Sandy eyed the gold medal gleaming against his shirt. It was as if J wore it hoping his father would come back and claim it one day.
“Jason, it wasn’t your fault,” she said. “The worm thing couldn’t have been the reason he left.”
“I know that.” Although spoken by a man, the tone sounded like that of a young boy. “Doesn’t matter,” he added.
Sandy didn’t argue, didn’t want to upset him further.
“I hope Curt and Decker make it home okay,” she said, changing the subject. She could tell he had spilled his allotment for the day.
“They’ll be fine. I’d pay money to watch them try and walk a straight line. Your brother must have had eight beers.”
“You’re a bad influence on them.”
“Me?” He placed an open hand to his chest. “Your brother sent Decker out for beer, then challenged him to drink with us. The guy wanted to stay sober for you.”
“Ah, chivalry isn’t dead.”
“Has nothing to do with chivalry. The guy’s got a problem when he has too many beers. Turns into a singing sap.”
“I thought it was sweet.”
J snorted.
“Hey, don’t put him down for wanting to share his feelings. It’s ... refreshing.”
“It’s pathetic,” Jason grumbled.
“Gee, thanks. Like I’m not worthy of a guy singing to me?”
“I didn’t say that, but Decker’s a dweeb.”
“Maybe. But he’s a sweet dweeb, if a bit transparent.”
Unlike Jason. There were so many layers to Jason McBain, so many hidden corners and secret passageways. Sandy wanted to investigate them all.
Don’t fall for this one, girl. You may think you know him, but he’ll break your heart.
Somehow, she knew this to be true.
“We should talk about your investigation,” she said. That was the wise thing to do. Once the investigation was over, he’d be gone and she could refocus on her life without distraction. “How can I help?” she asked.
“Not happening. Too dangerous.”
“Come on, I know all the boys at BAM. It’s not like any of them are hardened criminals. If someone is dealing to kids, he’s probably motivated by medical bills or bad investments or something like that.”
“You only see the good in people, don’t you?” He said it like it was a bad thing.
“Come on,” she pressed. “Who’s on the short list? Rey Risque? His wife just had their ninth kid. Or Pretty Boy Dale? It’s probably one of the little guys. They’d need the cash to keep their own flow of steroids coming.”
“We’re not talking about this,” J said.
“Fine, I’ll make some tea.” Sandy got up and went into the kitchen. “I’m pretty smart, ya’ know,” she called into the living room. “I always found the last egg in the Easter egg hunt and figured out an herbal supplement to help ease Dad’s nausea caused by radiation therapy.”
She opened the pantry and pulled out the green tea, which always tasted good after yoga. “I was quite the detective as a kid. Guessed most of my Christmas presents and I didn’t even have to shake them.” She smiled to herself and put water on to boil. “My brothers thought I had X-ray vision. You don’t have to worry about protecting me, either. I’ve taken self-defense, karate and citizen’s police academy—learned a lot about how to recognize an assailant before he gets too close. I can be your right-hand woman.”
She poked her head around the corner, but didn’t see him. At first she panicked, thinking he’d left.
“Jason?” Walking into the living room, she heard snoring. There, on her living room couch, slept the gentle giant.
She pulled the handmade afghan off the back of the couch and stretched it over him. She knelt down to tuck it around his body.
“Abandoned by your dad,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “It wasn’t your fault, Jason. Somehow I’m going to make you believe that.”
Chapter Sixteen
Okay, so Jason was a coward for closing his eyes, but he didn’t know what else to do when she started poking and prodding. Going on a few hours’ sleep and four beers, he didn’t stand a chance against her sincere interest and desire to heal him.
So he fell asleep, which got him safety through the rest of the afternoon. But how would he survive the evening hours with her humming in the next room as she cooked dinner, acting like she was his ... wife?
No, he was imagining things.
He sat up on the couch and gripped his head. Maybe he’d downed more than four beers. It seemed like a good idea at the time: drink beer with Curt, get some intel and help piece together the puzzle of the steroid-peddling wrestler.
But Jason was only able to get more information about Sandy, a sweet, natural healer with a huge heart.
Damn. He had to stay focused on nailing the perp, not enjoying his time with this special woman.
“Hey, you’re awake,” she said, coming into the room.
“Sorry, how long was I out?”
“A little over two hours.” She reached over and placed her palm against his cheek. He resisted the urge to lean into her touch.
“You okay? You don’t feel feverish,” she said.
“Just tired.”
“And a little hung over?” She smiled and withdrew her hand.
Did she feel it, too? That surge of heat every time they touched?
“You hungry?” she asked.
“Nah, still sleepy.”
“We’ll eat in about an hour.” She went back to the kitchen.
“I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she an
swered him.
Her pleasure. Great. He blinked and remembered her whispers as he’d drifted in and out of sleep: It wasn’t your fault, Jason. Somehow I’m going to make you believe that.
Wonderful. He was staying with a woman who thought of him as her pet project. Why did he spill his guts so easily to her?
To gain more sympathy, which would help him do his job. Yet something else happened when he blurted out his story. The pressure in his chest had eased a bit, which was a first. It felt good.
Sandy was the only person he’d confided in about his dad leaving, admitting that it happened without warning or explanation. Although J guessed there were plenty of reasons: the old man couldn’t deal with Jordon’s hypertension and Janette’s drama; he couldn’t deal with his oldest son stealing worms.
J knew he had contributed to his dad’s abandonment and took responsibility for his actions, unlike his little brother and sister. They continued to use the abandonment as an excuse for anything that went wrong in their lives. Jason, on the other hand, stood up to his mistake.
And he lived with his father’s cowardly tendencies on a daily basis. What kind of man would run when his family needed him the most? Or when his best friend needed him? Sure, Chauncy recovered, but a part of Jason still couldn’t forgive himself for leaving him behind.
“We should go over some things for the barbeque tomorrow afternoon,” Sandy called from the kitchen.
That’s right, J was meeting the family and needed to make a good impression. Back up, this was about getting close to more pro wrestlers, not getting in good with her parents.
“Will your dad be there?” he asked. The guy was practically a legend in the business.
“For a little while. Mom and Dad are divorced, but they’re usually civil at family events. I think we’re celebrating my niece’s birthday and Curt’s wedding anniversary. I hope he remembers to buy Trudy a gift,” she muttered, walking into the living room with a bowl of pretzels and a drinking glass.
She handed Jason the glass, and he looked at it.
“Club soda,” she said with a smile.
He sipped the beverage, wishing for a few aspirin to go with it.
“Oh, and how about a few of these?” She handed him two little pills. “Ibuprofen, okay?” she asked.
It was amazing how she could read his mind like that.
“I usually don’t—”
“I know,” she said. “You usually don’t take drugs. But I figured you might have a bit of a headache.”
He nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
“We’d better create some details about our relationship.”
“What kind of details?”
She blushed. “Knock it off. You know what I mean.”
He hadn’t meant it that way, but liked that the memory of their night together was the first thing that crossed her mind.
“We should decide where we met and what you do for a living,” she said. “You can’t tell Mama you’re a stripping pro wrestler. She’ll disown me for sure.”
J considered. “I can’t tell her I’m a federal agent.”
“True. Well…” She tapped her forefinger against her lips—lips that looked ready to be kissed again.
“I don’t think we should make up anything complicated,” he said. “Lies always get you into trouble.”
“Now that’s funny, coming from you.” She chuckled. “Okay, let’s talk about how we met. How about in yoga class?”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Just kidding,” she said.
“How about at a bar?”
“Mom will love that,” she said sarcastically.
“I could tell her we met through pro wrestling,” he shot back.
She made a face. “Okay, a bar, in the city. I was out with my girlfriends—she likes hearing that I have a life outside of work—and you and I danced to—”
“We have to be that specific?”
“I’m trying to set the stage here,” she said, clearly irritated.
“Okay, sorry.”
“We met, we danced, you got my number and you called me the next day.”
“The next week.”
“Three days later.”
“Five.”
“Agreed.”
“Why don’t you tell her the truth?” he said.
“What, that you’re Jack the Stripper and I’m your Virgin Nurse? Sure, that will go over well.”
“Tell her we met through work. I’m part of the security team.”
“I guess that would work.”
She settled on the sofa and leaned forward. Damn, if she didn’t smell like fresh-cut flowers.
“I need to know more details about you,” she said.
“You know enough.” Uncomfortable, he stretched out his neck.
“I can help with that. Turn around.”
He eyed her.
“Come on, you trust me, right?”
That was the problem. He trusted her too much.
“Do it,” she ordered.
He reluctantly turned his back to her. She massaged his neck and shoulders, uncoiling his taut muscles. His neck muscles relaxed and he tipped his head to one side.
“So ... you have a brother and sister,” she said. “Your dad left when you were a kid. Your mom ... what about your mom?”
“She’s a nice lady. Too nice,” he said.
“How can someone be too nice?”
Press, knead, press. God, he was going to fall asleep again, but not because of one too many beers.
“Jason?”
“Huh?”
“What do you mean, ‘too nice’?”
“She’s gullible, trusting. After what Dad did to her, you’d think she would have learned that men are bastards.”
“And do you put yourself in that category, Mr. Stripper?” Sandy teased.
“Sure, why not?”
Press, knead. Press, knead. He was so relaxed he started to drift.
“Man, I can tell I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she said.
“My muscles are that bad, huh?”
“One in particular.”
“Should I see a doctor?”
“Yeah, a heart specialist,” she whispered.
Sandy thought she heard Jason grunt after her comment, but she couldn’t be sure. He’d relaxed under her ministrations, his muscles loosening and giving way to her healing energy. If only she could heal the most damaged muscle of all—his heart.
Being betrayed by someone who was supposed to love him so unconditionally had caused Jason to believe that no one was trustworthy. She’d start there, by cultivating his trust. She needed to create a safe place.
Why? Why was she doing this?
Because he brought out the best in her, because he cared so much about nailing the bad guy, and heck, he’d awakened her feminine side. She owed him.
“Jason?” she said, pressing her fingers into his shoulder muscles.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Lots of stuff. Like, letting me have my way with you last night.”
His body tensed and he stood up.
“Hey, get back here,” she commanded.
“I need a walk.”
“Okay, I’ll get my jacket.”
“Alone,” he said.
She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “What’s the problem?”
“I need some air.”
“A second ago you were putty in my hands. All I said was thanks and you freak out on me.”
He turned to walk out, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her. “Don’t blow me off like that.”
His eyes flared.
“What the heck is going on?”
He clenched his jaw.
“Okay, I’ll guess. You secretly hated last night, but don’t want to hurt my feelings.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t dese
rve to be thanked.” He turned to leave.
She stepped around him and blocked the door. Kind of a silly gesture considering she was nearly a foot shorter than Jason.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Stop it.”
“No, I mean it. Thanks,” she repeated.
“Get out of my way.”
“Not until you tell me what terrifies you about that word.”
He stared her down.
She smiled. “Thanks, Jason.”
“Don’t, okay?”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re smarter than other women. You should recognize last night for what it was.”
“A crazed, amazing night of passion?”
He gripped her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. “I used you for sex because you wanted it, because I knew if I gave you what you wanted, I’d get what I needed: information about BAM to help with this case. Once I nail the perp, I’m gone. Out of your life. I use people and I leave.” Like my father.
She heard the inference. He was seriously messed up if he thought he was like his dad just because they shared the same genes.
“You are what you choose to be, Jason,” she said.
“Some of us have no choice.”
“Sure you do.”
“Let it go, Sandy, and get out of my way.”
“I need to help you.”
He growled. “Look, I didn’t ask to be your project.”
Is that what he thought? That she was taking pity on him? She felt ashamed. “Okay, I’ll back off,” she said. “But please don’t leave.”
They stood there for a few awkward seconds, silence stretched between them. Finally, he walked to the couch and turned on the television.
“Still worried about keeping an eye on me so you won’t lose your job?” he asked.
It felt like he’d plunged a knife into her heart. The bastard was implying she practically begged him to stay because of BAM, because she was legally responsible for him until his court date. Wait, did he really even have a court date?
“Wow. Okay, whatever,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I’m out of pesto.” Her hands shook as she reached for her keys on the dining room table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
