Always Ready

by Joanne Rock

  Lacey would have a headache after three minutes of a statistics textbook, so that wasn’t going to happen. She wondered how her kooky, astrology-loving sister had ended up with such a mathematically inclined brain. No surprise her twin had never really put her degree to use. But then, maybe Laura had just been in a hurry to get to college to study most anything in order to get out of their house, the same way Lacey had been. And wasn’t that an epiphany for the day? Maybe Laura hadn’t come through their shared childhood as unscathed as Lacey had always imagined.

  “Even if you’re right about that, advertisers don’t care about some theories an old Roman spouted about math. They look at visitor numbers.” Lacey had overhauled her whole matchmaking system, and still wasn’t confident she’d yield any better results when she uploaded it next week. Her obsessive online checking from the queen-size lounger at poolside told her there hadn’t been any significant jump in the site’s users or her blog’s readers, but maybe her newest entry would cause more of a stir.

  She’d learned a few things about human nature last night at In the Flesh that might change her whole dating outlook. First of all, she couldn’t trust people’s kneejerk response that they weren’t looking for love or lasting intimacy; even those who said they weren’t ready to commit had admitted—upon deeper questioning—that they would be open to a lasting relationship with the right person.

  That new knowledge proved that people didn’t always know what they were looking for until they found it. Something Damon had effectively expressed to her from the night they met.

  “Sure, they look at numbers. Just not very well.” Laura turned up some Native American wind flute music as if to drown out her dog with the instrument. “My system’s strengths are that I offer a comprehensive personality inventory and spin the stats in every way imaginable. That’s fun for people but I don’t ever suggest the data means a whole hell of a lot.”

  “Yes, but they can read most anything they want into your stats since you don’t interpret them. They’ve got a fifty percent chance of this, a thirty percent chance of that—”

  “Because matchmaking is like meteorology to me. All I can do is make some predictions and entertain on the way.”

  Lacey sighed. “And you with a science-based degree. Doesn’t something seem wrong about that?”

  “Attraction isn’t a science.”

  Where had she heard all this before? “Spoken like a woman whose Web site isn’t in peril.” Lacey clicked through the hits to the Connections site and saw that some of the visitors had come from other dating Web sites, which was typical.

  A few, however, came from more risqué sites. Nakedchick Web pages. Web sites promoting sex-enhancement products.

  Normal enough. But the percent of hits from those places seemed high.

  “You know, Lacey, sometimes confronting your worst fear removes a great deal of stress from life.”

  “Are you suggesting I should lose my business on purpose?” Maybe her sister had been inhaling too much incense. “How about I just get a wind flute CD and crank up the music a little louder instead?”

  “At least I won’t be combating ulcers by the time I’m forty.”

  Lacey paused to consider that, wondering if Laura had a point. The stress had been eating her up lately. The doctor this morning—who hadn’t been nearly as cute as Tejal—had asked her about her blood pressure and sleep habits, finding both of them sub par.

  Maybe she was working too hard.

  “Then I guess I’ll get back to my vacation so I can keep my toes in the sand and my mind off work.”

  “While you’re dodging drug runners and a puddle pirate who is too busy saving the world to look out for you? Good luck with that.”

  Lacey had the urge to stick her fingers in her ears and shout over top of her sister’s words, an ancient ploy that had never worked well since Laura’s hippie bent—present from her earliest years—had given her a ridiculous amount of patience.

  “Thank you,” Lacey told her, taking the high road.

  “I’m not even kidding, sis. You’d better be careful down there.”

  They disconnected, and Lacey tried to close her laptop and soak up the sun. But she couldn’t quite conquer the need to keep a finger between the keypad and the monitor, holding her place as if she was in the middle of War and Peace. Just in case she needed to revisit her compatibility charts for people with extrovert tendencies.

  Who could relax like that? Answer—no one. Subtext of that answer—Lacey never relaxed. She thought about work all the time.

  Or she had until this week when there had been some notable hours in which work had been the furthest thing from her mind.

  Maybe she didn’t need to relax in the sun as much as she needed a certain lieutenant.

  The idea rocked her. She’d never needed a man. Her mom’s dependency on guys had taught her how destructive the pattern could be. But maybe instead of growing into the independent woman she’d wanted to be, she’d merely traded one dependency for another.

  Because Lacey needed her work. There were no two ways about it. She could practically feel the ulcer coming on already.

  So, rather than give her sister the satisfaction of being right, she reached for her phone to call the only man who’d ever been capable of capturing her attention so thoroughly she wouldn’t think about her job.

  Clearly Damon Craig was therapeutic for her. And as long as she was only indulging in her chosen therapy during vacation, there was no risk of turning into her mother—convinced each new man she dated could save her from the train wreck of her life.

  As his phone rang on the other end, she closed her laptop all the way and allowed herself to anticipate hearing his voice.

  “I NEED YOU to take the first flight back home.” Damon didn’t mince words when Lacey called.

  He’d been planning to get in touch with her himself after the afternoon briefing. He’d followed up on the lead from his ex, and the information had proven solid. The Coast Guard had located several possible barges that could be headed toward Rincon, two of which had known connections to Castine’s operation. The lead had been well timed. Critical.

  So critical it smelled like a setup to him. He’d argued against the quick movement of deployable resources to the waters off Rincon, but with no concrete reason to disbelieve the new information, he hadn’t convinced his CO to wait. But Damon’s every sixth sense was tingling, urging him to get Lacey out of town before Castine put his plans into motion.

  “Excuse me?” She sounded like a miffed English teacher waiting for him to say “may I” instead of “can I.” Something about her voice made him smile inside despite all hell breaking loose around them.

  “Sorry. That was a crap excuse for a greeting, I know.” He shoved a few files into his desk and walked out of his office for privacy. “What I mean is—the shit is hitting the fan around here. Castine’s buddies have been all over the island in the past twenty-four hours. The activity means he’s close to making a move.”

  He wasn’t telling her anything he shouldn’t. Half of Puerto Rico knew about Castine’s reputation and that he was a person of interest to the Coast Guard.

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice broke up, the cell-phone connection weak. “How does that affect me? If Castine is busy with his business interests, won’t he be less apt to bother me?”

  “We haven’t ruled out that he doesn’t see you as a business interest.” He couldn’t speak at liberty here, on an unsecured phone. But he wanted to see her. Needed to get her on a plane headed home.

  No matter that he’d been more attracted to her than he could remember being with any other woman. She’d made it clear she only wanted the kind of relationship he couldn’t give right now—his first priority had to be the commitment he’d made to his job. He’d been a military man long enough to know relationships had a high mortality rate around here. Especially for guys like him who didn’t leave anything on the field.

  Or, in his case,
in the air.

  “What is that supposed to mean? I haven’t been ruled out as a business interest?” Her voice had picked up a healthy dose of irritation. “Do you really think I’m down here to buy myself a caseload of club drugs?”

  “No.” He shouldn’t have started this conversation here. Not when Lacey didn’t have a clue about the information he’d learned today. “We need to meet as soon as possible. I can leave right away.”

  He would ask her to come here, but he had to pick up his car, and besides, she was already close to the airport in San Juan. He just wanted to see her long enough to convince her that leaving was for the best.

  In fact, when she heard what he had to say, she’d probably sprint for the nearest aircraft of her own free will. And as much as he knew that’s what had to happen, the vision of her leaving had already drained something out of him. A piece of him that he was going to miss.

  “I can meet you by the hotel pool or down in the casino.” She sniffed on the other end, and he figured she must be unhappy with him to downgrade him from sharing her bed to meeting in public places.

  “The casino is fine. But stay indoors in public places where people can see you at all times.” He checked his watch as he walked past a row of trees heavy with orange flowers toward the parking lot and Enrique’s truck. “I’ll be there in two hours.”

  He was half-dead on his feet from no sleep the night before and the long drives back and forth between the west coast of the island and San Juan, but he’d crash in the pickup. He’d been awake this long floating in the Atlantic during his training days, so he could damn well manage a little exhaustion on dry land.

  “Fine.” Was it his imagination or did she sound disappointed? “Did Tejal or one of the other doctors ever get back to you about the blood they drew from me?”

  “No one phoned you?” He spotted Enrique jogging toward him, keys in hand. “They were supposed to speak to you directly, but they did confirm it was Ecstasy.”

  Guilt nagged him for a whole lot of reasons when it came to her and this was just one more. Unfortunately, the docs based in Borinquen hadn’t seen Lacey as relevant to the drug runners the Coast Guard had been chasing and had no doubt dropped the ball in taking care of her, if they hadn’t informed her of the confirmed substance.

  “Great. I’ll contemplate my sordid history as a user while I wait for you.”

  Damon slid into the truck as Enrique unlocked it. He thought how he was going to miss her sense of humor along with a whole lot of other things when she left.

  Clicking off the connection, he leaned his head back in the seat as Enrique took the wheel. Normally Damon hated riding shotgun, but right now he didn’t mind so much.

  It would give him time to figure out how in hell he was going to say goodbye to Lacey so he could go after Castine full throttle.

  THE STARBUCKS near the lobby was in full view of the casino, so Lacey figured she may as well spend her money on a grande caramel macchiato as opposed to the slot machines. She clutched her drink in her hand, savoring the warmth and the intoxicating java scent as she settled into one of the overstuffed couches near the lobby to wait for Damon.

  So he could convince her to leave town.

  And wasn’t that the way of it with her and men? She didn’t normally give them the time of day—too busy, too choosy—but when she did, they didn’t want to be anywhere near her. Of course Damon wanted to boot her back to the States now that she’d uncovered intriguing new facets of him that attracted her brain as much as her body. Judging by how disappointed she’d felt on the phone today, she’d have to guess her heart had gotten involved in the mix, too.

  The lobby of the El San Juan was a far cry from where she’d been last night. The rich mahogany moldings were thick and elaborately carved, trimming doors and walls with extravagant details. The sitting area where she’d retreated with her coffee boasted big carved wooden pillars that separated the space into intimate, smaller conversation nooks. Each of the four enclaves featured a small dome in the ceiling, furthering the sense that she’d stepped into a high-brow personal living room instead of a busy public space. It helped that no one else had chosen to join her in the sitting room closest to Starbucks.

  From her vantage point, she watched the roulette wheel, wondering where Damon would head in a casino. Would he like the mathematical appeal of blackjack the way her sister did? The James Bond sexiness of baccarat? Or the simple ease of the slots?

  “Lacey.” His voice behind her startled and soothed her at the same time. In the few days that she’d known him, she’d formed a sharp, automatic response to simply hearing him speak.

  Turning, she found him clutching his own coffee—generic black brew in a plain paper cup he must have bought on the way. He looked dark and dangerous with his unshaven face and the hollows under his eyes.

  “You should be in bed,” she informed him, gesturing to the seat beside her. “You’re exhausted.”

  “I’m fine.” He settled beside her, checking out the people around them as if he wanted to be sure she’d chosen well. “How are you feeling?”

  He scrutinized her with eyes that missed nothing, taking in every detail of the slinky green dress she’d bought at the gift shop, the tiny spaghetti straps and surplice cut sexier than her usual fare. It wasn’t often she wanted to turn heads, but she’d like to think tonight she would fare better than normal in that department. Her heels alone—purple crushed-velvet sandals with a square-cut green stone at the toes—could catapult any woman from so-so to sultry.

  “I feel much better than last night.” Sipping her coffee, she savored Damon’s eyes on her as much as the sweet blend of caramel syrup and caffeine. “Tejal was right—no hangover feelings. And I called the second doctor tonight to follow up on the news that I’d taken Ecstasy. He assured me there was no reason to worry about delayed effects.”

  She’d weathered her first drug trip with flying colors. Too bad she couldn’t say the same about her first vacation fling. Not only was she falling for Damon Craig hard and fast—she was doing it with such little success that he couldn’t wait to boot her out of town.

  “Good.” He drained the last of his coffee and rose to toss the cup. “Why don’t we walk around for a minute?”

  He had that steely, superspy look about him, the one that reminded her he was as married to his job as she was to hers. She had no idea why he wanted to take a stroll around the hotel now of all times, but she didn’t mind.

  “Okay.” Still holding her coffee in one hand, she slid her other arm through his, and it occurred to her he’d already changed out of his uniform. “Did you retrieve your car from Loiza today?”

  He steered them around the fringes of a bar where long, thin strips of glass and mirrors were suspended from the ceiling. A wind chime to end all wind chimes if a breeze ever blew through the bar.

  “Yeah. No signs of any Hummers. I had a few cigarettes stubbed out on the hood, but otherwise, everything was fine. Our intel office contacted the police and confirmed the vehicles are owned by Castine’s importing business. In particular, one is the company car for a higher-up who was reported missing by his wife this afternoon.”

  “Was that what you wanted to tell me over the phone?” She’d been curious about the urgency behind his need to see her—and his desire to send her home. “What do you think that means?”

  “I’m not at liberty to speculate on that. And no, that’s not what I needed to tell you.” His jaw flexed, his body tense as he brought her into the casino and leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I did a little outside research of my own today and discovered Castine might be using matchmaking Web sites to meet women. As a sex addict, he might have resorted to new means to fulfill the need.”

  “Excuse me?” Her coffee sloshed over the rim of the sipping slot as she came to a halt.

  “Let’s keep moving, okay?” Damon peered around the place and it occurred to her maybe he thought someone was following him. Them. “I don’t have confir
mation on the addiction diagnosis. It’s a slippery label by clinical psychological standards and hasn’t really been investigated by our people, because up until now it hasn’t been relevant to the main charges we hope to lodge against him.”

  Lacey blinked, trying to process too much at once. She let Damon lead her past the slot machines, where an old Puerto Rican woman in a glittery blue pantsuit pumped quarters into a machine. The woman winked at Damon before going back to her quarters.

  “Why is it relevant now? Because he suggested I check out a sex club?” She kept her voice low, but she wanted answers. The pieces he’d offered didn’t fit together.

  How could he have possibly used her matchmaking site to meet her?

  “He might have started selling club drugs because he’s a user himself. If he’s meeting as many women as we believe, he may be plying them with drugs to coerce them into having sex with him. And if he’s guilty of those kinds of crimes, it would be imprudent to haul him in until local police have the evidence they need for their own prosecution process.”

  Lacey watched the woman in the pantsuit play and wished she could be so serene. So oblivious to the dark undercurrents that swirled around her.

  “Won’t drug trafficking put him away long enough for everyone to be happy?”

  “That’s not fair to his victims who want to see him tried for crimes against them. Apparently he’s been rumored to be behind a night of debauchery at that club in Loiza before where four different women say someone gave them Special K—Ketamine—and raped them in a back room before releasing them.”

  Lacey recognized the name. The so-called date-rape drug gave victims amnesialike symptoms, similar to if they’d been given anesthesia. She shuddered, wondering if she’d come close to that kind of experience.