SIX DAYS

by Williams, Mary J.

  The sparkly stilettos she wore on her feet were a perfect example of Dee’s new outlook on fashion. Never a fan of sky-high heels, she preferred her good old Army boots, scuffs, scratches, and all. They were a heck of a lot more comfortable and in her line of work, a necessity.

  Looking down, Dee had to admit the shoes were pretty. Aided by the extra inches, they made her legs appear to go on forever. The way she was dressed, with the touch of makeup and a bit of bling at her ears, she could have passed for a Park Avenue matron. Except for the streaks of color in her hair and abundance of ink on her skin.

  Dee didn’t shy from what made her different. Her job, her sense of style, her fuck you attitude. Last New Year’s, she had happily hunkered down, alone, with a tub of popcorn and a bottle of beer.

  If anyone had tried to sell her the idea that, twelve months later, she would rub elbows with New York society elite, people she normally avoided on principle, she would have laughed in his or her face. Yet, here she was. Because Andi, Calder, Bryce, and Destry Benedict accepted her for who she was, warts, snark, tattoos, and all.

  The muted click of the door alerted Dee to the fact she was no longer alone with her thoughts. Crowds were fine for short periods of time, but she was more at ease with her own company.

  Resigned, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, waiting for her companion to speak, or, preferably, get the hint and leave.

  “Hiding?”

  Though Dee hadn’t heard his voice until now, she guessed his identity immediately.

  Nothing Lincoln James said could have annoyed her more. As he moved to her side, the expression on his handsome face part question, a lot smirk, she felt her hackles rise to new heights. Rather than give him what he obviously wanted—a confrontation of some kind—she kept her heated reply trapped behind firmly locked lips.

  “Should I introduce myself?” he asked after a sizable pause.

  “No.”

  “You already know who I am.”

  Lord save her from a smug, self-satisfied male. She’d dealt with enough of them over the years—especially during her decade-plus time in the service. She served her country with pride, and she hoped valor. The people who worked beside her were some of the best she had the privilege to know. Trouble was, as far as women had come, the military was by and large still a man’s world.

  Arrogance didn’t begin to describe what she encountered daily. By necessity, she learned to bite her tongue and toe the line. The second she returned to civilian life, the raw, thirteen-year-old groove she’d worn into her tongue began to heal, and she made a vow. Never again.

  “Go away.”

  “You honestly want to usher in the year alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll go,” Lincoln said after a slight hesitation.

  “Good.”

  Dee felt a wave of satisfaction. She wanted to tell Lincoln to piss off. Instead, drove her point home with few words and little emotion. A classy brush-off. Must be the surroundings.

  Refusing to turn, Dee listened for the click of the door, proof she was alone. Unconsciously, she rubbed her arms. If she stayed outside much longer, she was likely to freeze to death, but damn if she’d make a move toward the warmth of the house until Lincoln was gone.

  “Stubborn,” he muttered, closer than she realized. “Take my jacket before you turn into an icicle.

  Without thought, Dee sighed as the material, heated by Lincoln’s body, enveloped her, shivering as her body began to warm. Good manners demanded she thank him. But, as her mother could attest, manners, good or otherwise, weren’t Dee’s long suit.

  She turned and, for the first time, came face to face with Lincoln James. The impact was quick, sharp, and annoyingly exciting. So much for her immunity to handsome men.

  He wore a crisp white dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark trousers with a razor-sharp pleat down the legs. His only accessory, a smile she could only characterize as charming, tinged with just the right amount of cocky.

  “I didn’t ask for your coat.”

  “Wonder of wonders, chivalry is not dead.”

  Lincoln performed a bow that, considering the circumstances, should have struck Dee as incongruous. Yet, he pulled off the move with a natural ease she had to admire despite herself.

  Warning bells went off in Dee’s head. The man was dangerous in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. She should have handed him the jacket and marched into the house without another word. Or better yet, kicked his pretty butt into the nearby snowbank. Instead, she tugged the coat closer. Something, perhaps the lure of the unknown, kept her rooted to the spot.

  “What do you want?”

  “Straight to the point.” Lincoln’s blue eyes glinted with admiration. “What I want is simple. A kiss at midnight.”

  Though his request didn’t come as a complete surprise, Dee was oddly disappointed. Everything came with a price. As she slipped the jacket from her shoulders, the sound of cheers filled the air accompanied by bells, whistles, and the familiar strains of Auld Lang Syne.

  Lincoln took the garment without protest. He opened the door to the sitting room, standing aside to let her enter. Drawn to the heat, Dee moved toward the flames of a roaring fire.

  “I didn’t specify which midnight.”

  “Did you say something?” Dee asked in a vague manner. She heard him perfectly but cared more about her frozen hands and feet than the man she’d already concluded wasn’t worth another second of her time.

  “I don’t expect our first kiss to be tonight. Tomorrow at midnight is fine. Or the day after. Set the date. I’ll be there.”

  First kiss? As in more than one? The man was delusional.

  “Not going to happen.”

  “The first sets the tone for everything to come.” Uninvited, Lincoln joined her by the fire. Still in just his shirtsleeves, he held a pair of strong, long-fingered hands toward the blaze, his tone casual and matter of fact. “Not that a couple can’t recover from a less-than-stellar inaugural smooch. But, I say, why take a chance? Better to start out on the right foot. Or, lips, as the case may be.”

  Inaugural smooch? Really? Charming, she could resist. But charmingly funny was a rare combination.

  “You have a nice smile.”

  “You have a high opinion of yourself.”

  “True.” Lincoln seemed to take her observation as a compliment. “I’m a confident man, Dee. Should I apologize?”

  “No.” Dee admired confidence—to a point. “You must realize I’m not interested in anything you have to offer.”

  “Except my jacket.”

  Shaking her head, Dee laughed. She had to admit, Lincoln James could be irresistible—if she were the kind of woman who let herself fall for roguishly handsome men. Or any other kind of man. Yes, he was easy on the eyes, but she hadn’t lost her sense of self-preservation.

  Dee looked into his dark-blue eyes and felt a tug somewhere in the region of her libido. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, but the intensity left her shaken. She liked sex, now and then. Most of the time, she turned her passion toward her job, leaving little left. Or so she thought.

  Unsettled, Dee took a quick step back. She stumbled—damn shoes—and might have fallen into the flames if not for Lincoln’s excellent reflexes. He kept his arm around her waist until he was certain she’d regained her balance, then, before she had to ask, moved away.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “No.”

  Dee’s answer was automatic. If she stopped and took time to think, nothing would change. She didn’t date. Period. Lincoln James, appealing as she found him, was no exception.

  “Lunch?”

  Dee shook her head.

  “Breakfast? Brunch? Afternoon tea? Drinks? A hot dog in the park? A pretzel at a Knicks game?”

  “The Knicks suck,” Dee argued for no reason she could explain.

  “But the pretzels at the Garden are the best,” Lincoln
countered.

  “Smothered in mustard?”

  “Naturally.”

  What was she doing? With each question, Lincoln moved a little closer. And, as if drawn by something she didn’t want to name, she let him. Coming to her senses, Dee placed a hand on his chest. Her palm rested on rock-solid muscle covered by a thin layer of silk.

  “I said no.”

  If he chose, he could have resisted. Instead, when she gave him a shove, he let her pass without protest.

  “You did,” Lincoln nodded, his tone somber. But the twinkle in his blue eyes told a different tale.

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  With a shrug, he slipped on his jacket. His dark hair, thick and mussed from the winter breeze, curled slightly at the ends.

  Even if she agreed to go out with him, other than sex, what would be the purpose? Unlike Dee, Lincoln James lived surrounded by wealth and luxury. They had little in common except an itch she refused to scratch. Their relationship—or whatever he was after—was doomed before they began.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  Dee raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “Where do you carry your gun?”

  Unprepared for Linc’s abrupt change of topic, Dee frowned.

  “What makes you think I carry a gun?”

  “A little birdy told me.”

  Dee appreciated a man who didn’t rat out his friends. Lincoln didn’t need to. She could guess the answer without his help.

  “I can think of many words to describe Adam Stone. Little isn’t one of them.”

  “Mmm.” Lincoln’s shrug was noncommittal. “Forget I asked. More fun to find out on my own.”

  Since she wore her Beretta Nano strapped to her thigh, Lincoln had two chances to fulfill his fantasy. None, and not on his life.

  “Why would a tennis player have any interest in a firearm?”

  “I love the way you sneer when you say tennis player. Dismissive and sexy as hell all at once.”

  Sexy? Was he joking? With a few carefully chosen words, Dee could wither a man at twenty paces. Not Lincoln. He seemed to enjoy her less-than-welcoming attitude. Obviously, the man had problems.

  “Give me a little hint. A garter/holster?” Lincoln’s blue gaze dropped to her feet. Slowly, his eyes moved up her legs, stopping at the hem of her dress. “Black lace with a red ribbon? Oh, please say I’m right.”

  “Absolutely not.” Too impractical.

  “A man can dream,” he sighed.

  “Be my guest,” Dee told him. “Dreams are all you’ll get from me.”

  Sly and mysterious, as though he knew something she didn’t, Lincoln sent her a smile that would taunt her for days to come.

  “Happy New Year, Dee.”

  “Happy New Year, Lincoln.”

  With a nod, he was gone. Dee watched the door close behind him. Under her breath, she whispered a silent prayer she hoped, for the sake of her peace of mind, would come true.

  “Goodbye, Lincoln James. Forever.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ~~~~

  DEE LOVED HER job. Honestly, she did.

  Most days she woke with a purpose, filled with a sense of excitement and curiosity for what was ahead. An adrenaline junkie, she wouldn’t have stuck with her chosen profession if the highs didn’t far outweigh the lows.

  True, a private investigator’s work could be tedious. Her years in the military gave her the discipline she needed to park her butt in one place for hours on end with nothing to do except keep one eye on her quarry—cheating husbands and wives on most occasions—while her mind raced through possible solutions for other more stimulating cases on her books.

  Dee couldn’t complain. People willingly paid ridiculous amounts of money to prove, or disprove, the fidelity of their spouses. Since the client’s instincts were right more often than not, her task was to provide photographs. Graphic and in living color, the pictures were a quick, usually bloodless, way to break even the tightest of airtight prenuptial agreements.

  In the beginning, when Dee’s hold on the P.I. market was tenuous at best, arrogant cuckolds and the weepy female equivalent were her bread and butter. Now, with a hard-earned reputation and well-padded bank account to her credit, she earned the right to pick her cases and clients with care.

  Dee didn’t suffer fools easily. Unfortunately, try as she might, one occasionally snuck under her radar. The man in the middle of a one-sided rant was a not-so-perfect example.

  With her ear to the phone, Dee plopped her feet onto her desk, ankles crossed, as she absently listened to R. Lawson Todd go on, and, on, and on. Swiveling from side to side, she suppressed a sigh.

  Yes, her job was perfect—practically. The only fly in her ointment? A client who believed he knew more than she did. Of course, he was one hundred percent wrong. A fact Dee would happily point out if R. Lawson Todd ever paused long enough for her to get a word in edgeways.

  “Well?” R. Lawson bellowed. “Well?”

  Confused as well as annoyed, Dee frowned at the phone. She hadn’t heard a question.

  “Mr. Todd.” Gritting her teeth, she gripped the last thread of her rapidly fraying patience. “I can’t give you evidence when none exists.”

  “Bullshit. Look harder.”

  Dee had looked. One month of late nights filled with her best skullduggery, days of discreet interviews, plus hours and miles of useless surveillance produced nothing but sore feet and a tired ass.

  True, her ballooning expense account was a soothing balm for all her pain; a bill she would send R. Lawson without losing a second of sleep. He wouldn’t miss the money. Her entitled dick-wad, trust fund baby client spent more each week on imported cigars.

  However, as much as the burgeoning zeros on the end of her current paycheck made Dee smile, she had her reputation to think about. She worked damn hard to get where she was and a big reason for her success was because she adhered to a steadfast code of ethics. Near the top of the list? Never bilk a client.

  Dee didn’t pad her expense account or charge for hours she didn’t work, and, when a job turned into a dead end, she refused to waste her time or her client’s money.

  “I know my wife is screwing around.”

  With a sigh, Dee closed her eyes and counted to ten. For good measure, she added another fifteen. She knew what J. Lawson Todd wanted to hear. He’d come to her with a specific request. Prove his wife had a lover.

  Dee had discovered many things about her client’s wife, Amber Paxton-Todd, Miss South Carolina, 2011. The former beauty queen had her dark roots bleached blonde once a week at Manhattan’s most exclusive beauty salon. The woman maintained a perfect body and face with a combination of regular touch-ups from her plastic surgeon and a rigorous workout regimen.

  Amber filled her time shopping, lunched with friends where none of them consumed more than a bite or two and rounded out her time on an exhausting carousel of social activities too various to recall without a cheat sheet.

  As Dee’s report stated, the current Mrs. Todd could be accused of many things. She was vain. A bit shallow, but with a dedicated lean toward charitable activities.

  After a thorough examination of the woman’s habits, preferences, and peccadilloes, one thing was certain. Though Amber occasionally cheated on her diet—cheesecake was the woman’s weakness—she was faithful to her husband.

  “Good news, Mr. Todd. Your wife isn’t having an affair.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” J. Lawson shouted. With a wince, Dee moved the phone several inches from her ear. “I was told you were the best.”

  Dee agreed, but she kept her opinion to herself. Her record and reputation spoke for themselves. She reached the point in her career where she no longer needed to hustle for business or lie awake at night worried about how she would pay the rent.

  These days, clients came to her. Booked solid, Dee’s time was precious. The last thing she wanted or needed was to spen
d a rare free morning letting a soon-to-be ex-client berate her because she couldn’t find dirt on his squeaky-clean trophy wife number four.

  “You have my report, Mr. Todd. What else do you want?”

  “I want the names of Amber’s lovers. She was a bitch in heat before we married. No reason to think she’s changed.”

  Dee suspected J. Lawson wanted his wife out of the way because he already had the next love of his life lined up, ready for wedded bliss. The easiest—and cheapest—path would be to present proof to the courts of Amber’s infidelity.

  “I can’t give you something that doesn’t exist, Mr. Todd.”

  “Bullshit. Private investigators manipulate evidence all the time.” The contempt in J. Lawson’s voice was palpable. “We both know money isn’t an issue. How much? Ten thousand? Twenty?”

  Dee didn’t take bribes. And she sure as hell didn’t falsify evidence. But she was curious how high J. Lawson Todd would go to get what he wanted.

  “You expect me to put my license on the line for a measly twenty thousand dollars?” Dee scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Name your price.”

  Money, Dee sighed to herself. Why did everything always come down to the almighty dollar? Hardly a child, enough water had traveled under her bridge to make her cynical. Yet, for all she’d done, all the bad she’d witnessed, all the horrors she knew man—and woman—could wreak on each other, she maintained an oddly optimistic outlook where people were concerned.

  Now and then, when her faith was at the lowest point, everyday heroes stepped up and proved the world wasn’t a wasteland of narcissistic bastards out for themselves and pity to the person who stood in the way.

  J. Lawson Todd, unfortunately, was nobody’s hero. Not even his own.

  While Dee’s sympathy lay firmly with J. Lawson’s wife, she didn’t see Amber Todd as a victim. Once the other woman, the former beauty queen willingly married a well-documented serial cheater. Now was the time for Amber to reap what she sowed—so to speak.

  Divorce was inevitable. Would the current Mrs. Todd leave with a bundle in the bank? Or would her weaselly husband slip away with a newer model on his arm and his fortune relatively unscathed?