For the First Time

by Stephanie Doyle

  “You do understand you’re in my office. Yours is the one next door. The small one.”

  When he had decided to hire another detective, Mark had rented a bigger space in the same Liberty Plaza building. The new office had a reception area, two offices, a conference room and even a small kitchenette with a single-serving coffeemaker. He was intensely fond of that, as he preferred fresh coffee to stale coffee that had been forming sludge on a burner.

  “I’ve been here for days already and you haven’t given me anything to do.”

  JoJo had not waited until Monday to start her new job. Instead she had shown up the very next morning, on time and ready to work. He’d had no idea what to do with her so he introduced her to the receptionist, Susan, and gave her an excessive amount of paperwork to fill out.

  “I checked with Susan and she said she put a bunch of new cases on your desk.” JoJo stood with the files in her hand, assessing him. “You’re not going to be one of those bosses, are you?”

  “Those bosses?”

  “The ones that are always telling everyone what to do and when to do it.”

  “Isn’t that the very definition of a boss?”

  She sat on the edge of his desk, her tights-wearing perfect little butt touching his phone. “I work best if I’m left alone to do my thing. Hand me the cases and I’ll get you results.”

  “You sound confident.” A self-starter. Wasn’t that exactly what he wanted in a colleague? Someone who wouldn’t wait around to be told what to do? “Do you always sit on furniture like that? More specifically, furniture not made for sitting on?”

  For whatever reason it bothered him. The way she sat. The way her body touched his stuff. The way she seemed to take up all the space in his office. The way she called attention to her very small bottom. He could probably hold it in two hands.

  No. He did not just have that thought. He didn’t.

  She stood. “Sorry. Jeez. Sensitive about people being in his office, sensitive about people sitting on his desk. I’m starting to wonder about you. I took you for the laid-back sort.”

  He stepped in front of her even as she tried to walk around him. “I’m not a sort. And you don’t know anything about me.”

  He was sure it was the expression on his face that made her body tense. Mark knew the power of his glare well. Hell, he practiced his hard-core intimidation look. He used it to knock people off guard.

  She was right. For the most part, he was a laid-back guy. Right up until the point when he wasn’t.

  It was time JoJo—and, really, what was with that ridiculous name?—knew that about him.

  He’d sent hardened soldiers, Taliban fighters and steely covert operatives into retreat with this very expression. No doubt it would work on her.

  JoJo snorted and shoved his chest. “Give me a break. You don’t scare me, spy man. Now, do you want me to go over these cases or not?”

  Mark was stunned by her lack of fear. Her lack of awe. Her lack of every reaction he was accustomed to. Had he become so domesticated since returning stateside that his once infamous back-the-hell-down face was no longer effective?

  He sighed with disgust. It was official. He was no longer a badass. Merely the remnant of one. He supposed that was a good thing, but it felt deflating.

  She still waited for him to give her enough room to pass, her arms filled with the cases he’d planned to have her go over. But he abruptly knew he didn’t want her working on any of them.

  A woman who could stand up to him when he was being his worst was someone who also stood a chance with Sophie when she was being her worst.

  Leaving Sophie at rehearsal today had been difficult. He didn’t like the idea of her without protection. But given her attitude toward him, Mark knew he needed an alternative to following her around himself. Having someone Sophie actually liked do it was the answer he was looking for.

  “No, I don’t want you to look at those cases. I have something more important that I need you to handle. Something incredibly important to me.”

  “And that would be?”

  “My daughter’s safety.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JOJO LOOKED AT the note and felt a jab of anger behind her breastbone. Like someone had stabbed an old wound, reminding her of how real pain used to feel. The kid had lost her mother and she was building a relationship with a father she hadn’t known growing up.

  Now this? It didn’t seem fair.

  JoJo walked the few steps to her office. She felt more in control in her office. More of a problem solver and less of an empathizer. Mark followed and leaned against the door, his arms crossed.

  “What are you thinking?” She sat behind her desk. Placed her elbows on its surface. Asked questions. Acted out the same role she would with any client.

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Old enemies, new enemies? You’re starting to build a reputation in this city as someone who solves unsolvable crimes. There must have been people along the way who would want to hurt you. Hurt you through her.”

  “You’re not going to ask me if I think she sent it?”

  “No. I’ve met Sophie. This isn’t her.”

  “You say that confidently. You met her this week and chatted for a few hours.”

  JoJo shrugged. “I know what I know. Giving your father a hard time is something I’m an expert on. While Sophie might sarcasm you to death, sneaky scare tactics aren’t her style. She’s too up front.”

  “Is that what you did after it happened? Gave your father a hard time?”

  She didn’t need to ask what he was referring to—any investigator by trade would certainly ferret out his employees’ personal details. JoJo wondered if poor Susan knew the extent to which her privacy had been violated. It was most likely beyond what many employees would consider reasonable.

  No, there was no question whether he knew about her past. But she didn’t know what to say in response.

  He wore a sheepish grin, yet didn’t look apologetic. “It’s who I am. It’s what I do. I knew about it peripherally when I did the background check before I hired you. I heard you tell Sophie about it at dinner and I learned everything there was to know. I’m sorry for your loss, of course.”

  Right. This was the point where she nodded demurely and said thank you because it was usually the most expedient way to get people to stop talking about it. With her eyes lowered and her lips turned down in a hard frown, most people didn’t press the topic. No one actually wanted to make a woman cry. Not that she had. Not for a long time.

  But something about what he said rubbed her the wrong way. The way he stood in front of her thinking he knew everything, when all he had was facts from his internet search. Trying, but failing, to be apologetic for invading her privacy. It made her want to punch him in his smug face.

  It made her want to cry, just to watch him squirm.

  “You don’t know shit about it. All you know is what you read. You don’t know what happened to me. To my family. Nobody does.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Why would I do that? I don’t know you.”

  “But I want to know you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I meant for professional reasons,” he said quickly. “I need you. I need someone to watch my daughter because she won’t let me. You have to be someone I can trust and that trust has to be built instantly. I agree that sometimes facts aren’t enough. So tell me what really happened.”

  “Telling you about my family tragedy will build trust?”

  “Telling me about what happened between you and your father might.” Mark’s expression was dour. “Okay, fine, it also might help give me some insight into Sophie. Figure out how I can change us. Fix us.”

  JoJo smiled sadly. “Trust me when I tell you there is nothing about what happened between me and my father that will help you to fix anything. You might say my dad and I are…permanently broken.”

  “It was that bad?”

  “It was wo
rse.”

  “I don’t want to break things with Sophie. I really don’t.”

  “Then you won’t. The problem my dad and I had—and eventually my mom and I—wasn’t the result of what I did. It was because of them. A kid can try to let go and parents can refuse to allow it. But if parents let go, there is nothing for the kid to do but walk away. As long as you refuse to let her go, it doesn’t matter how angry Sophie gets or how snarky or how combative. That bond will still be there.”

  She could see him absorbing her words. Understanding what it said about her own family. What it meant.

  “They had already lost one daughter. How could they let you go?”

  “I spent a lot of time taking psychology courses to figure out that very thing. The truth is, murder is destructive and it has many victims. And I was not…easy.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  JoJo didn’t reply. It was such a useless phrase. One that people felt obligated to offer. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change anything. It only made a person say, “Thank you.” Thank you for what?

  “I’ll need a list of everyone you suspect might have written this note. I’ll also want a list of anyone involved in any case you’ve solved since your return to the States. I imagine you can’t put together a list of potential threats from your days in the government—security clearance and all—so you’ll have to do your own work there.”

  “Right. And you’ll—”

  “I’ll need to get familiar with Sophie’s schedule. Her friends, teachers, et cetera. Do you want my surveillance to be covert or open?”

  Mark hesitated and JoJo imagined he was weighing the pros and cons.

  “Do you want to take the risk of me doing this without her knowledge, knowing at some point she might learn the truth or—”

  “You can’t handle covert surveillance on a teenager?”

  JoJo nearly growled. “Of course I can. But should danger threaten her in some way I may need to expose myself. The girl’s pretty bright. I’m thinking she wouldn’t buy the story that my presence was a coincidence. Or do you want to spare the righteous teen outrage that would follow such a revelation and simply explain what’s happening? A threat was made, we’re checking it out, but in the meantime I’m going to be hanging around to make sure nothing happens.”

  Still, he hesitated.

  “What did you say about wanting to fix the relationship between you and your daughter?”

  “I don’t want to scare the crap out of her with this. She’s got enough on her plate.”

  “Then you need to ask yourself who Sophie is. Is she the type of kid who is going to be freaked out by this and will shut down out of fear? Or is she the type of kid who can deal with the situation and take reasonable steps to secure her own safety by accepting a necessary precaution?”

  “Are you seriously trying to out-reason me?”

  “I’m saying you’re not a spy anymore. Getting away with a covert operation isn’t the goal. Establishing trust between you and your daughter is. You know? That silly thing called trust—that thing you want to have with me. Well, I’m no expert but I’m fairly sure it’s a critical component in any relationship, especially one between a father and daughter who are only starting to know one another.”

  “You did out-reason me,” he whispered, sounding disgusted. “Okay. Come over tonight. We’ll talk to her together. I’ll let her know what the deal is and you can explain your role. She’ll probably take it better coming from you.”

  “Deal.”

  “Did you find an apartment yet?”

  “Not yet. I have some appointments tomorrow.”

  “To rent or buy?”

  This time she was the one to hesitate, pondering how much he needed to know about her personal life. In her mind, the more space the better, especially since she realized she sort of liked him.

  Not the dangerous red-zone level of like. More bordering on orange. He was funny and could trade barbs with anyone. But there was something else that made him different from other men she’d known. She’d worked for detectives, she’d trained with law enforcers. The term swinging dick was a staple in her descriptive vocabulary.

  The difference between Mark and the other types she’d known in this profession was that he didn’t have to swing his dick to prove anything to anyone.

  He was a badass, and his dick was just there. Impressive without having to announce its presence.

  And that is enough time thinking about the Penis. Move on.

  She considered what he had said earlier. If he was going to trust her with his daughter’s safety, then she could at least be honest with him about the basic facts of her life.

  “Rent.”

  “Because you can’t buy or won’t buy?”

  “If you’re offering me a raise already…”

  He sneered at her. That was the only description she could come up with for the way his lips thinned while half his mouth curled up. “I’m trying to find out if you’re renting for a reason.”

  “Like, duh,” she said, with what she hoped was enough teenage speak so he would understand.

  It only made him sneer harder.

  “Yes, I’m renting for a reason. Until you and I figure out if we can mesh together, I don’t want to make any long-term commitments.”

  “Why do we have to…mesh? Why can’t we simply be two people working together?”

  “Dude, small office. You need to accept the fact that I’m the type who will go into your office and take the case folders if I need them. I probably need to accept the fact that, deep at heart, you’re still a paranoid spy guy. If we can’t do that, no meshing.”

  “Well, then I want to mesh.” He shook his head slightly. “What I meant to say is, I want this to work out. With us.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Good. Okay, well, if you don’t have a place of your own, you’re probably sick of eating out. Come over for dinner.”

  “You cook?”

  “Why did your voice go up an octave? You don’t think I can cook? Is it because I’m a man? That’s so stereotypical and, I have to say, a little cliché.”

  JoJo bit her lip because who knew? Maybe his secret passion was cooking. But she had a feeling she was being played. In fact, that was always how she felt around him. Like she was being tested or there was some hidden agenda behind everything he did and said. It constantly kept her on her toes.

  The man—the real man—behind the intimidating spy or the sarcastic jokester or the seriously lost new dad, was a mystery.

  Which was not a good thing because there was nothing she loved better than solving a mystery.

  He’s your boss. He’s not a mystery. He’s your boss. A boss without a Penis.

  Still, a home-cooked meal—if he could deliver it—was not something a woman who ate most of her meals at restaurants ever passed up. Cooking was a luxury her job rarely afforded.

  “You’re on, chef.”

  *

  MARK CLUTCHED THE takeout bags in one hand while he fiddled with his key. He opened the door and found Sophie where he’d left her after he had picked her up from rehearsal. Nancy was with her and the two of them had their heads down over a big book.

  “Hey, I’m home.”

  Nancy lifted her head and smiled. “Hi.”

  Again, Mark was struck by the sweet nature of her smile. So open and friendly and welcoming. So unlike the woman who was coming for dinner tonight.

  I want to mesh….

  Where in the hell had that come from? It had been her word, but to him it conjured all sorts of lurid images. Mostly involving naked bodies and what happened to them when they meshed.

  He wasn’t even sure why the images arose. It wasn’t like he was attracted to her. She was so far from what he wanted in a woman she might as well be a man. Any thoughts of meshing should be irrelevant.

  That was what he needed to do. He needed to think of her as a man. A man, a fellow detective, a coworker. A hey-buddy-let’s-get-a-b
eer-after-work dude. Or a go-watch-the-game-and-burp kind of man.

  Did JoJo burp?

  “What’s that?” Sophie asked him.

  Shifting his thoughts away from his she-man coworker, Mark set the bags in the kitchen. “This is lasagna. Homemade. Well, at least homemade by someone else. But we’re going to pretend tonight. What are the odds I have a dish remotely this size?”

  He started foraging through his cabinets, where he knew he’d stashed the pots and pans and serving dishes he’d bought. When he first realized that it only made sense for Sophie to live with him, he’d gone out and bought everything he thought a home should have. Things like kitchen implements. He was a man who owned a grater, a juicer and a whisk.

  Not one of those tools had ever been used in this kitchen.

  “Ah-ha!” Mark pulled out a square white ceramic dish and a saucepan and held them up to show off his discovery to the two ladies seated at the island.

  “Yeah, so you have pots? I don’t get it.”

  Mark opened the bags and pulled out a container of red sauce. He dumped the contents into the pot and put it on the stove, setting the heat level to warm.

  Next action item: the delicate surgery of removing the lasagna from the aluminum container and placing it into the serving dish. What might a man need for that? Spatula. Yes! That was a kitchen tool he was familiar with. A man had to have eggs and pancakes after all.

  Sophie followed his activities with a bemused expression. “What are you doing? What is the point?”

  “I think he’s trying to impress someone.”

  Mark glanced at Nancy and saw a sad smile on her face. It was crazy, but he had the feeling he’d disappointed her by being interested in somebody else. The crazy thought occurred to him that his daughter’s tutor might have a crush on him.

  If so, it was flattering. She was a woman in her early thirties and attractive in a no-nonsense way. Long, ash-blond hair, pretty green eyes. Soft in all the right places. She was a woman any man would find it easy to be around. Hell, if she wasn’t his daughter’s tutor, he might consider asking her out.

  Because wasn’t that what he wanted? A nice woman. A steady woman. A woman with a lovely smile.