by Maggie Ryan
“Good save,” she said, “even though I don’t consider weasels as trophy material. So, what does that leave?”
“Relax—”
“Any more relaxed and you’re going to have to pour me into my car.” She laughed and held up her frosted mug.
Dillon shook his head. “I mean on your vacation. Don’t even think about work, don’t train, don’t read manuals… just be a girl.”
Charlie smiled. “In case you haven’t noticed, MacAllister, I am a girl.”
“A smartass girl,” he said. “I’m serious. Go shopping for shit you don’t really need. Get your hair and nails done. Hell, go to a spa and let someone pamper you for a change. You’re damn good at your job, but how about giving just being Charlize a chance? I know that beneath that tough exterior is a rose—a yellow rose—just dying to bloom.”
She didn’t just spout out some snarky remark. His low tone, the look in his eyes, was doing something to her insides. “Wow, so how in the hell did she get to you, huh?”
“What? Who?”
“Martha.” She laughed as it was obvious he was at a total loss. “Never mind. It’s just that when you said all that about relaxing, I couldn’t help but think you’d spoken to Martha. She was my college roommate, and actually, I’m going to spend part of my vacation with her. She is the poster woman for all that ‘girly’ stuff.”
“Good. You deserve to have some fun. Get all dolled up and go strut your stuff. Go dancing, just don’t flip the guy over your shoulder when he holds you during some slow song. We’re not all misogynists, you know. Some of us actually know how to treat a lady.” His expression changed as his lips curled and his eyes darkened.
When her stomach fluttered again, she set down her margarita, her hand a bit shaky.
“You okay?”
“Brain freeze,” she said, not about to admit that she’d just felt a pull that had been missing from her life for so long.
“Let’s order,” he said, signaling for the waitress. “You’re tough as shit but you’re a skinny little thing. No more margaritas for you. You need some food to counter that tequila.”
Charlize pulled her mug to her chest as he reached for it. “No way. I’m on vacation, remember?” As if to emphasize her statement, she sucked down the last of the glass’s contents in one long slurp, giving a long moan of appreciation.
“You’re the only person I know who moans like that,” Dillon said, lifting his beer bottle to his lips.
Charlize swallowed, shaking her head. “God, that’s just so sad, MacAllister.”
Dillon lowered his bottle and gave her a puzzled look then chuckled. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” Charlie teased, reaching for the menu, but looking at him instead. “If you’ll buy me another margarita, I can give you a list of books, or heck, even some videos that could help you with that problem.”
“How very generous of you,” he interjected. “But that won’t be necessary.”
Closing the menu as she knew she’d be ordering the same thing she always did, ever since Dillon had first brought her to the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant, she sat back and smiled. “Whew, good to know. For a moment there, I thought I was gonna learn that you were lacking in some very vital skills.”
A dimple appeared in his cheek as he bent forward to whisper, “Don’t you fret, little one. I graduated with top honors in the course Fabulous Bedroom Interactions. That’s the part of the training we take to make us Special FBI Agents.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “You are so full of shit, MacAllister.”
“Shut up and order, Fullerton.”
They enjoyed their meal, and he did buy her a second margarita. Charlie knew she was really going to miss some of the best conversation she’d ever had as well as the most authentic Tex-Mex food she’d ever eaten. Picking up the last sopapilla in the basket, she dipped it in the bowl of warm honey, closing her eyes in bliss as the crisply fried dough melted on her tongue. When she opened them again, she found Dillon staring at her, an expression on his face that she hadn’t seen before.
“What?”
He reached across the table and touched his fingertip to the corner of her mouth, and a bolt of electricity shot straight through her. When he withdrew it, a drop of honey glistening on his fingertip, and his tongue flicked to lick the sweetness, she was instantly thrown back several months to the night he’d caught her by surprise and kissed her. She was suddenly very sorry she’d stepped away even though her heart had started to pound the moment his lips touched hers. She was even sorrier that when he’d not given up and had asked her out, she turned him down. Knowing they needed to focus on the operation, their research turning up the fact that the ranch hosted these sex parties, she’d had a suspicion she’d be going undercover. Once again, she’d set aside her personal wishes and insisted they keep their relationship professional… and strictly platonic. Now, she was having regrets… big time.
“I was just thinking, I’m really gonna miss you,” Dillon said.
Charlize was about to lift her finger to lick the last of the honey off, but stuck it in her water glass instead, wiping it clean with her napkin, blushing when he just grinned. “No, you’re not. I’ve been nothing but a burr under your saddle since I got here. Admit it, the captain wasn’t exactly thrilled to discover he’d be forced to include a female DEA Agent in his little club. Big tough FBI and ICE agents, yeah, they are automatic members. But a female agent? Nope, not so much. Don’t think I don’t know how many times you stood up for me when he was bitching.”
Dillon gave a self-deprecating grin. “Well, you heard him. Captain Morrow may be old-school, but he admitted you taught him a thing or two about how very effective women are when given the chance. Hell, you’ve got more balls than most men I know.” When she lifted her margarita glass, he clicked his bottle of Corona against it in a toast. “And nobody can deny that you’ve kept it interesting.” Swallowing the last of his beer, he shook his head. “Promise me something, Charlie.”
“I’m not a big believer in promises,” she said, then saw the question in his eyes. Instead of answering, she took another sip of her drink and added, “But, go ahead and ask. If I can, I’ll do my best to try.”
“I mean it, Charlie, you keep at it and one day you’re going to wake up and realize that you’re old and life has passed you by. There is more to life than your job.”
“The job is who I am,” Charlie said, wondering how their celebration had turned into a discussion she didn’t particularly want to have.
“No,” Dillon said, shaking his head. “It’s what you do. Granted, you’re one of the toughest people I know, but, fuck, Charlie, you’ve got to step away and take a good long look at yourself. Is this really what you want?”
Charlize knew she could have blown him off, could have lied or flat out told him to put a lid on it, but she’d come to think of Dillon as a friend. They’d worked side by side for months, shared many a meal, and she was honest enough to say that while she thought Lucy was great, she was also jealous of her. “I’ve worked very hard to get where I am. I’m happy.”
“Bullshit.”
Her head snapped up from where she’d been looking down into her drink, a little shocked at the vehemence of his tone. “How about we just cut the therapy session?”
“How is that vow of solitude working out for you?”
She slammed down the mug she’d just emptied. “What the fuck, Dillon? You don’t have the right to judge me. Hell, you don’t even know me!”
“I know enough, and even if you want to throw it back in my face, I care enough about you to be honest. Yes, you’ve worked your ass off. Yes, you’ve had to deal with a bunch of assholes who think women should be kept barefoot and pregnant and preferably in the kitchen. You’ve had to fight for the right to be given the opportunities that most men are simply handed. But, tell me, Charlie, and for fuck’s sake, be honest for once… tell me, is that all you
want in life? To go it all alone? Too scared of being seen as a female to actually enjoy being one?”
“Don’t! You have no idea what it’s like to be a woman in a man’s world. When you have to struggle for every damn thing!”
“Wrong, I do. And do you know how? Because I’ve worked with a great many female agents. And, Charlie, not all of them are as determined to prove they have a set of balls swinging between their legs as you are. They find a way to balance the job and allow themselves to find joy in living a life outside the damn job. Hell, you’re whining about being forced to take a vacation.”
“When’s the last time you had a vacation? Huh? You work as hard as I do, and yet… yet you act like I- I… I don’t know, like I’m a freak or something.”
Dillon sat back and sighed. “That’s not what I was saying and you know it. I’m just saying give yourself a chance to see the things I see. Don’t only be proud that you’re a great agent, be proud that you’re an intelligent, beautiful—”
“Girl? Is that what you want? For me to wear dresses and high heels? The last time I did was the same night I had a knife put to my throat. It was a damn good thing I could take care of myself then and I can take care of myself now.”
Dillon leaned closer, his eyes dark as molten chocolate. “You aren’t listening to what I’m saying.” When her mouth opened, he shook his head, reached across and put his fingertip on her lips. “Enough. All I’m saying is that you don’t have to go it alone, Charlie. Let someone—”
She jerked her head back. “What? Park their ass in my living room where they’ll fart, belch, and scratch their balls while I bring them beers and cook their dinner? Is that what you really want?”
If anything, he leaned even closer. “No, damn it! What I’m saying is I should have followed my gut and given you what you needed that night. I should have—”
“What? Turned me over your knee and taken your turn at beating my ass?” She could hear herself almost cackling but couldn’t seem to stop. “Well, hell, Dillon, you missed a great opportunity. You wouldn’t have even had to yank my panties down as I was already —how did Cortez put it—oh, yeah, buck ass naked!” She could feel her heart racing and the fact that she was having trouble drawing in enough air had it taking a moment before she realized the gasp she heard hadn’t come from her.
Turning her head, Charlize saw that diners at nearby booths had stopped dipping chips into bowls of salsa to stare over and listen. She’d long thought she’d become immune to what others thought, but that was no excuse to be shouting in a restaurant where families with children were enjoying dinner out.
“Oh, God, I- I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassment over her behavior causing her to bury her face in her hands… a face that felt like it had a third degree sunburn.
Dillon reached across and pulled her hands away from her face, holding them in his. “No, Charlize. I should have pulled you into my arms and held you. I should have told you that I knew how scared you were despite the bravado you hide behind. Instead, I let you hurt—”
“Don’t,” she said softly, fighting back tears that threatened to fall. “You were the only one who even asked if I was all right.” Looking across the table, she saw Dillon in a new light. Somehow he understood that she wasn’t anywhere near as tough as she appeared. That the persona she projected, one she’d worked so hard to attain, was nothing but a tough exterior protecting the true woman inside. “I- I volunteered. I knew going in what was likely to happen. Hell, I prepared for it for months when we discovered that they threw those parties. But… but you called and sent a text. That allowed me to forgive myself.”
“Fuck, Charlie, you have nothing to forgive yourself for…” When she opened her mouth to protest, he again touched her lips with a fingertip. “And, young lady, if you dare say one smartass word in argument, I will be flipping you over my knees.”
“You and what army?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
“Okay, I’ll let that one go, smartass,” he said with a grin. “I deserve that for not stepping up when you needed me. But, I am serious. You deserve better. Promise me that you’ll take this chance to start over. To build a life you’ll actually enjoy existing in—not just watch the days come and go.”
She didn’t pull her hand away, didn’t instantly pop off with some smartass remark. What she did do was wonder if perhaps he was right… not about being deserving. Hell, she wasn’t any more deserving than the next guy, but maybe Dillon was right that it was time to make some changes.
“I’ll promise I’ll try.”
He gave her fingers a squeeze and then lifted his hand. “That’s all I ask. How about some coffee?”
“No, I’ve got to finish packing and get some sleep. I’ve got a long drive so need to get on the road early tomorrow, but, thanks, Dillon. Despite the therapy session, it really was a pleasure working with you. I mean that.”
Dillon motioned to the waitress for the check. Once the tab was paid, he walked her out to her Tahoe and when she pressed the fob to unlock it, he pulled the door open. When she turned and extended her hand, he ignored it, pulling her into a hug. “The pleasure is all mine, Charlie. If you’re ever in need of back-up, just give me a call.”
“Thanks again, Dillon. I really am going to miss you.” As she had done with Captain Morrow, she lifted up and kissed his cheek, wishing she had the guts to kiss him as she suddenly yearned to do. To pull his lips to hers, to show him she was sorry she’d not given them a chance to become more than friends. To cover the emotion that thought had caused, she said, “You do have something in common with the captain you know.”
“How come I think you’re going to disparage my honor and call me a chauvinistic pig?” Dillon asked.
“And insult some poor sweet little piggy?” Charlie said, her hand over her heart. “Not at all. But, you are both a bit old-school and bossy… hey! What was that for?” she asked, her hand moving to her ass to rub the spot he’d just popped.
“If I took the time to tell you all the reasons, well, darlin’, I’m afraid you’d find your vacation was over before it began.” He smiled and lifted her chin with his fingertip and bent down to kiss her softly. Straightening, he said, “Drive carefully and take care of yourself, Charlize. And when you walk onto that field, know that I’m there in the stadium, proud as hell to be your twelfth man.”
Memories of standing in the bleachers at Kyle Field, screaming for her team, one of thousands of fans who all represented that one person—that twelfth man—never sitting down in a show of support, had been some of the best days of her life, and she so appreciated Dillon stating he was her fan and yet she was fighting back tears as she slipped behind the wheel. Looking up, she said, “You’re a good man, Special Agent MacAllister.” He smiled and shut her door and she pulled out. Turning right, knowing he’d be turning left, she watched in her rearview mirror as his taillights disappeared. Only then did she pull around the corner and to the curb. She couldn’t see for the tears in her eyes. Charlie felt her heart stutter in her chest as she felt the promise of what might have been and realized she’d been a fool. Yes, they’d partnered together, had taken down a drug ring but at what cost? She’d not taken a chance to discover what they might have found together. Not as agents, but as a man and a woman. And now… now it was too late.
Chapter 3
“Oh my God! You’re finally here!” Martha said as she yanked the door open and practically pulled Charlie out from behind the wheel, wrapping her arms around her. “Next time how about taking a plane? I mean, who drives across country anymore? I could have picked you up at the airport.”
Charlie laughed and hugged her right back. “I actually enjoy the drive and I really didn’t want to put you out—”
“Are you out of your ever freaking mind? I’ve been begging you to get your ass to D.C. for years,” Martha said, pulling Charlie’s suitcase from the Tahoe. “Hurry up. Grab your shit and let’s get inside.”
Charlie grinned, pulling t
he strap of her duffle over her shoulder. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Martha smiled as she closed the door after getting Charlie’s laptop bag. “Of course not. But we’ve got a lot of catching up to do and…” she paused, her head swiveling as she looked around. Evidently satisfied, she said, “And what I’ve got to tell you is gonna blow your socks off.”
“Don’t tell me, you’ve discovered some big loophole in the tax law,” Charlie teased as the two women entered the townhouse.
“I said blow your socks off, not put you into a coma,” Martha retorted. “Though, you would be surprised at how interesting taxes can be.”
“No, I’d be stunned,” Charlie said, following her old college roommate up the stairs.
“Ha-ha, very funny. You’re in here.” Martha opened the door and led the way inside. “It’s not much, but at least it’s bigger than our dorm room was.”
Charlie looked around. There was an antique white, iron bed with beautiful metal work of vines and leaves at the head and foot of the bed. A dresser that had been painted white and then distressed to look a bit battered sat against one wall. A sturdy oak table that reminded Charlie of those she’d sat at in many a library served as a desk and was placed beneath a window where white lacy curtains hung. A thick blue rug covered a large portion of the hardwood floors, and a vase of fresh flowers stood on the nightstand. Charlie set her duffel on top of the patchwork quilt that covered the bed.
“It’s lovely,” she said, then grinned. “God, it really is good to see you.”
The two women embraced. The first time they’d met had been in a dorm room. They both showed up that first day as freshmen at Texas A&M, to discover that they were roomies. That was the day they began a friendship that graduation, separate career paths, and moves across country hadn’t weakened. After Charlie released her, Martha said. “I’m glad you like it. The bathroom is across the hall and my room is at the end. Go ahead and unpack and freshen up, then come downstairs. I’ve got chili in the crockpot and cornbread ready to go into the oven.”
