Troubleshooters 04 Out of Control

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She knew it. Despite their age difference, this attraction she felt wasn’t a one-way street. When he’d ogled her back in the bar, that had just been for show—an attempt to frighten her away.

  But what he’d just said now smacked of a raw honesty.

  “I don’t know. That might’ve been a perfect thank-you gift.” She managed to lift a casual eyebrow. “Are you any good at it?”

  He laughed at that. He’d been trying to shock her with his language, and she’d managed to turn it around on him. Score.

  “Yes,” he told her. “I am.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly keep that in mind the next time you get the flu.”

  He shook his head, still laughing. “You are so full of shit.”

  She gazed at him across the table. “Takes one to know one, Mr. Jones.”

  Out of all the things she’d asked and said, this made him most uncomfortable. “Look, don’t call me that, all right?”

  “Well, if you told me your first name, I could—”

  “It’s Jones,” he said.

  “Your name is Jones Jones?” Molly shook her head, enjoying his discomfort. “Sorry, I don’t believe it. If you want me to call you anything other than Mr. Jones, you’re going to have to give me a first name. And I have to be frank with you. I’m not going to have sex with someone I know only as Mr. Jones. I mean, talk about awkward. ‘Mr. Jones, kiss me there again . . .’ “ She laughed. “I’m sorry, there’s not a chance of that happening.”

  His gaze was unwavering in the candlelight. “So if I tell you my first name, then you and me—”

  “Thank you so much for the box of books,” she interrupted him sweetly. “I read them all in about three days. I wrote you a note—”

  “I got it. Go back a sec, will you?”

  She leaned forward. “Actually, let’s go back to the day you left my tent after being so sick. After vomiting on my running shoes. Doing diarrhea on my sheets and in my bed. After all that, you were finally starting to be pleasant to be around, and you just left.”

  He pretended to be absorbed in peeling the label off his bottle of beer. She suspected that if the light were any better in here, she would see that he was blushing. There was no doubt about it. He absolutely hated his memories of her washing him clean, particularly now that he knew she wasn’t a nurse.

  He glanced up, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. “I sent you new sheets.”

  “And they were very pretty, thank you very much. But that was unnecessary. Sheets can be washed. Didn’t it occur to you that if you really wanted to fuck me, as you so eloquently put it, you’d have a better chance getting what you wanted by sticking around? By visiting in the evenings? By occasionally dropping the word please into your speech? By smiling at me, oh, every few days or so?”

  He put down the bottle. “So you’re telling me that if I tell you my name, if I come to see you, if I say pretty please and smile . . .” He gave her a big fake grimace of a grin.

  “And mean it,” she interjected.

  “You’ll have sex with me.”

  “Don’t forget the shower and shave.”

  “Check,” he said. “Shower and shave.”

  “Very important.”

  Jones laughed. “You’re completely conning me, aren’t you? Jerking my chain.”

  Molly shrugged. “Maybe. You want to hear a fact?”

  He was staring at her mouth again. “Absolutely.”

  “All those things . . . ?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you don’t do those things,” she told him, “you definitely won’t have a chance with me. I’m an old-fashioned girl. I like being courted before being fucked.” Molly pushed back her chair and stood up. “It’s time for me to go. I’m staying with some friends from the local church. They’re picking me up, they’re probably already outside, and I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  “Stay with me tonight,” Jones said, still sitting back in his chair, but looking up at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. All sense of banter was dropped from his voice. It was thick, vibrant with desire. “Please,” he whispered.

  Somehow Molly managed to smile. “My oh my,” she whispered back. “The P-word puts in an appearance. Maybe the man can learn.”

  If he had been anyone else, she would’ve kissed him. But Jones was far too magnetic, far too attractive. She didn’t trust herself to get that close. Instead, she slowly backed away. Blew him a kiss from the distance.

  “Good night, Mr. Jones. Sleep well. And thank you, again, for saving Joaquin’s life.”

  Savannah looked so completely different when she opened the door of her hotel room that Ken froze.

  He’d imagined her greeting him with a smile as she leaped into his arms. He’d pictured them shedding their clothes right in the entrance to her room, barely getting the door closed first. He’d imagined pulling her down to the floor and . . .

  “Hi,” she said.

  She was . . . beautiful. Perfect. Too perfect. Scary-looking perfect. Her short curls were tamed and obediently in place. She was wearing makeup that accentuated her incredible eyes, lipstick that outlined her lips. No way was he going to kiss her and risk marring all that perfection.

  And her clothes . . .

  She wore the kind of high heels that managed to be both sternly practical-looking and yet still impractical as hell. No way could you run in them—not without twisting an ankle.

  Panty hose glimmered on her legs, as if she’d shrink-wrapped them to protect herself from germs. Her light-colored business suit, a skirt and jacket over a similarly colored blouse, was crisp and neat and well tailored.

  He’d washed up before leaving the base, but he’d need to scour himself before he risked touching her in a suit that color.

  “Hi,” he said back to her like the dumbass chickenshit that he was. “You look . . . uh . . . nice.”

  There was definitely one freaking weird vibe here. Because the smile she gave him was some stranger’s smile. A little too polite, a little nervous. “It’s nice to be back in my own clothes.”

  Jesus, did she actually like wearing that shit? Ken clenched his teeth over the question. Obviously, she did.

  “I’m not quite ready,” she informed him.

  Ready for what? He’d come here with the belief that they were going to have immediate sex so anchored in the forefront of his brain, he had no clue what she was talking about.

  “Oh,” he said lamely. “That’s okay.”

  God damn, he should have just grabbed her and kissed her when she opened the door. So what if she was dressed like Barbara Bush. Beneath that suit was a warm, funny, intelligent woman who was capable of multiple orgasms. And once he got the clothes off her, messed up her hair and smudged her makeup, his more user-friendly version of Savannah would be back—hot and eager and ready to blow his mind.

  He’d keep her naked for two weeks straight, then take her to the mall and buy her a pair of blue jeans and some T-shirts.

  But he’d blown it. Instead of kissing her, he’d stood there, like an idiot. And now, here they were mired in Weirdville with all the exit routes to Normal-land completely blocked.

  “Won’t you come in?” she asked politely, as if he hadn’t made her come five different times last night.

  Screw this. Ken grabbed her and kissed her and—glory alleluia—she melted against him, hot and soft and eager. As long as he kept his eyes closed, this could’ve been an extension of last night.

  Except for the part where she tried to pull away from him. God, but he didn’t want to let her go.

  “Don’t,” she said. “I’m sorry . . . Kenny, stop.”

  He released her and she took more steps back from him than necessary. Jesus, what did she think, he was going to grab her again after she’d shouted stop at him like that?

  He could take a hint. They weren’t going to start up today from the place they’d left off last night. That sucked, and it also sucked that he didn’t understand why. He had abs
olutely no clue. It didn’t compute. What had happened between the time that she’d called him and now?

  Then he saw her suitcases. Two large ones and one of those hard metallic briefcases with a combination lock, all packed and ready to go, right by the door. Two suitcases for someone who was in town for only a few days? This was making less and less sense.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Savannah said. Her face was pale, and her hands were fidgeting.

  And he knew. She was going back to her husband. Or to the nunnery. Or to Mars. It didn’t really matter which.

  “You’re leaving,” he said flatly.

  God, he was such a gullible schmuck. She’d completely played him and now she was going back to wherever she’d come from.

  She saw he was looking at her luggage. “Oh,” she said. “Well, yes, checkout’s at noon. But there’s a room downstairs where they’ll hold my bags until it’s time to go to the airport.”

  He wanted to ask her if it had been something he’d done or said. Had he come on too strong? Was it that note he’d written or was it what he’d said on the phone? Love ya. God, he was a fool. She’d probably been laughing her ass off.

  Instead he asked, “Where you going?” Amazing how matter-of-fact he could sound while his heart was breaking. Amazing how much it could matter to him even when he’d already told himself that where she was going was moot.

  She got very still, just looking at him. “I told you last night,” she finally said. “Indonesia.”

  What? It was his turn to stare at her. This was too goddamn hard to figure out. His voice cracked. “Jesus, you were serious?”

  “You weren’t?”

  This was getting weirder and weirder. She didn’t want him to kiss her, but she did want him to come with her to flipping Indonesia. He wanted to call a time-out, or maybe start over. Just leave the room and come to the door again.

  “I thought you were having some kind of funky dream,” he told her. “So, no, I didn’t think you were serious.”

  “I was,” she said. “I am. Kenny, I bought tickets. The flight leaves at 9:45 tonight.”

  “You bought me an airline ticket to freaking Indonesia?” Last minute like this, that kind of fare had to cost a small fortune.

  Savannah nodded. “To Jakarta.”

  This wasn’t Weirdville, this was fricking Wonderland. Alice here was all grown up, but she was still chowing down on too much of that psychedelic mushroom.

  Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was making this seem so wack. He’d had about three hours total last night, which normally would be fine. He could get by on even less sleep. But combined with the intensity of the sex and the exercise his pathetic, lonely, ever hopeful heart had gotten as well . . .

  Ken sat down on the bed. “Why in God’s name would you want to go to Jakarta? Things aren’t so swell over there right now. The American Consulate’s office issued an additional travel warning for Indonesia three weeks ago. It’s not considered a safe place to take a vacation, what with terrorism and religious disputes among the locals. Oh, and did I mention pirates? Don’t plan to go anywhere by boat. Except the entire country is ocean and islands. You can’t get around if you don’t go by freaking boat.”

  “I don’t want to go to Jakarta,” Savannah said. “I have to.”

  “If you want to be relatively safe while you’re there, it’s a good idea to find one of the better-known drug runners or terrorist leaders and hang with him. He’s got security and protection that rivals the U.S. Secret Service. Of course, rival gangs will be gunning for him, so . . .”

  “I thought I would be relatively safe by traveling with you. I knew since you were a SEAL . . .” She closed her eyes. “Shit.”

  Ken stared at her. Imperturbable. She knew he was a SEAL. Since when did she know he was a SEAL? Something about her delivery shook him, but he was determined not to lose it.

  “Okay,” he said, trying to make sense of this. “Help me out here, Savannah, because there’s obviously something I’m missing. Let’s start at the top. Why do you have to go to Jakarta?”

  “This wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you about this.” She was obviously upset. “Kenny, please don’t—”

  A loud knock on the door made her jump, but she quickly composed herself. Completely. It was kind of freaky to watch.

  She opened the door to a bellhop with a luggage cart, and dealt with him smoothly, in total control, smiling as if absolutely nothing was wrong. The kid left with the two larger bags and a hefty tip, and she closed the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said to Ken.

  “Will you stop being so fucking polite and just answer my question?” Well, that wasn’t quite as imperturbable as he’d intended. He took a breath. “Why do you have to go to Jakarta?”

  “My uncle’s there. He’s in some kind of trouble,” she told him. “He called me a few days ago and told me that he needed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash and he needed it by the end of the week.”

  Ken looked at the metal briefcase.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s in there.”

  No fucking way.

  He laughed and stood up. He had to get out of here. “Okay, Savannah. You completely win. Whatever you intended to do here, whatever mind game you’re playing . . . you win. Hands down. This is just too freaking weird for me and—”

  She hefted the briefcase up and onto the bed, quickly spun open the combination lock.

  And holy Lord Almighty God Jesus, the case was filled with hundred-dollar bills. Twenty-five hundred of them, he would’ve been willing to bet.

  “Where did you get this kind of money?” He couldn’t manage more than a whisper as he sat back down.

  “I had it in the bank.”

  Of course.

  “So, let me get this straight. Your uncle calls and says hi, how are ya, bring me a quarter of a million dollars, and you take the money out of the bank and jump on a plane? You have one freaking strange family.”

  “Uncle Alex and I have a special relationship.”

  Ken closed his eyes. “I don’t know if I want to hear this.”

  “Oh, my God, Kenny, not like that! It’s just that, well, he’s gay, all right? When I was thirteen I found out somewhat . . . unexpectedly. Alex sat down with me and talked about it, about who he was, about what it meant to be gay in the world he lived in—in the world my parents and I live in. He was very honest with me. I’d always loved the way he treated me like an adult and this was no exception. So I kept his secret from the rest of the family—my father, my grandmother. Can you imagine—fifty-something years old and still in the closet? But that was his choice, and I respected it. So I call him when I’m in trouble and he calls me when he’s in trouble. We trust each other. It’s that kind of special relationship.”

  “So where do I fit into this, Savannah?” He already thought he knew—I knew you were a SEAL—but Jesus, maybe she had some good explanation for that, too. “We didn’t meet by chance yesterday, did we?”

  She closed and locked the briefcase, pushed it back and sat down heavily on the bed. Not a good sign.

  “Who gave you my name and address?” he asked her.

  She finally spoke, only briefly meeting his eyes. “Adele.”

  It was a knife hit to the heart. A searing hot flash of pain that made him want to double over and howl.

  He’d wanted her to laugh in disbelief. To say “Oh, my God, you’re wrong. We did meet completely by chance. It was the biggest coincidence of my life. I needed to go to Jakarta, and then I met you, and . . .”

  “This was what I wanted to tell you,” she said quietly. “This is why I didn’t want to kiss you when you got here. I knew if I let myself kiss you, we’d . . . well, we wouldn’t talk, and I had to tell you the truth about everything, so we could, you know, laugh about it, and move on.”

  Laugh about it? Laugh about it? “Yeah,” Ken said numbly. “It’s really funny that you slept with me to get
me to go to Indonesia with you.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s not true. I didn’t—”

  “How do you know Adele?” What did it matter? Still, he needed to know.

  “From college. She was on my floor of the dorm. We met, you and me, a couple of times when you came to visit. You probably don’t remember me.”

  He didn’t. He’d been so wrapped up in Adele.