Dance With Me

by Kristin Leigh

  He sat on the floor and pulled the computer onto his lap. He hijacked a neighbor’s Wi-Fi connection and logged into a Star Trek chat room as “Borg.” The irony was not lost on the major.

  He hung around, chatting with some of the technogeeks and waiting for his contact. After about a half hour, “Riker” logged on and sent him a private message.

  Riker: Hey, how’s the family?

  Borg: Good, dude. Yours?

  Riker: Excellent. New baby boy.

  Borg: Congratulations!

  Riker: Thanks. Hey, did you ever find your dad’s dog?

  Borg: Not yet. Still looking though.

  Riker: Well did you ask the neighbors?

  Borg: Yeah, they’re keeping an eye out for him.

  Riker: Good. Remember a lost dog turns into a stray and then goes rabid. One rabid dog can hurt a lot of people.

  Borg: I know. We’ll find him.

  Riker: Can you trust the neighbors not to shoot the dog if they see him?

  Borg: Guess we’ll have to. No other way.

  Riker: Probably right. Do you want another loaf of the wife’s homemade bread?

  Borg: Sure, the last loaf she sent is almost gone.

  Riker: Will do. Well, good talking to you. See you later

  Borg: You too. Bye.

  The major snapped the laptop closed and set it to the side. New baby boy meant they had a new member of the team. Black Ops teams weren’t like SEAL teams though. He’d never laid eyes on most of his team members and probably never would. They provided support and intel when he needed it and sometimes even pulled their own fieldwork. The new guy would be “Baby Boy” for a while, but would eventually get his own personal Star Trek code name.

  The major wasn’t a huge Star Trek fan, but the tradition had been started long before he’d been assigned to the team. He wasn’t one to change it, especially since it gave them the freedom to flex nerd muscles without drawing undue attention. Everyone expected Star Trek nerds to be tech savvy, and that gave them a little legroom with the hacking they needed to do sometimes.

  As for the homemade bread, well, he was low on funds. The duplex and the beat-up car he’d bought had depleted the meager amount he’d traveled with. He’d have to check the online classified ads in the next day or two to find out where it was dropped. The usual amount was a hundred grand per drop, but the major didn’t think he’d need that much this time.

  The major looked around the empty room. An air mattress, one pillow, a blanket, and a laptop made sad decor. He wasn’t overly concerned about interior design, but there was something depressing about his lifestyle lately.

  He was burning out. It eventually happened to everyone who survived, and he’d been doing this for more than a decade. It was exhausting. The major scrubbed his hand down his face and sighed. He had to stop soon, or he’d get himself killed. Not that he minded dying for his country. No, he just felt there was more he could do alive than dead.

  But if he died…well, it would be a small funeral. Legally, the major was already dead. His family had been notified, given his benefits, and even had a funeral for him. Closed casket, of course. He’d shucked his name and previous life and simply had become “the major” or whatever name he was currently using.

  The major was an anomaly in the world of Black Ops. Most operatives—military or civilian—had no familial ties. It was easier that way. But he’d been too skilled to overlook, and as soon as word got out that there was a man already in Military Intelligence with ridiculously useful skills…well, they’d come sniffing around like flies to honey. The prospect of covert operations for the military had been tantalizing, hard to resist, and the major had caved in to temptation and abandoned his family.

  Most of the time he tried not to think of the way they had suffered over him. Sometimes though, when it was quiet and the mission was slow and nearly danger-free, he wondered about them. He could check on them if he really wanted to with a simple Internet search. But if anyone was watching, that would leave a trail straight back to the people he loved most. So instead of finding out for certain, he just wondered.

  Had Shelly married the piece of shit that had knocked her up? Did Aunt Elise beat the cancer? Were Mom and Dad still alive?

  The questions gnawed at the major until he couldn’t stand it any longer and shoved them to the back of his mind so he could focus on his mission.

  Paulson was going to hate that everyone believed Rick Jones was just a harmless neighbor. It was going to drive him up the wall and, considering the damage that had already been done to Paulson’s psyche, the major was actually a little worried about whether or not the man would hinder his mission.

  Paulson could blow it all to hell. He was the weak link in the plan. Chief Davis could present a problem too, but he wasn’t part of the SEAL team anymore and spent most of his time with his newfound family. The major didn’t think Davis was going to be a problem, but Paulson already was.

  The major sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried not the let the guilt eat away at him.

  It had killed him to lock them up every night and watch the bastards rape that girl one after another. Part of him—a part he didn’t want to examine too closely—had shrugged it off as part of the job. But the other part was still human, and the man he’d once been had wept every time he’d seen Paulson and Harris bloodied and weakened. It wasn’t right. They were Americans, his own countrymen, and he hadn’t been able to do more than leave enough room in their handcuffs for them to escape if they broke their thumbs.

  The only saving grace—if there was one at all—was that he hadn’t been told to torture them. That, he couldn’t have borne. So he’d plugged along, making sure they got water and at least a little food every day, keeping their restraints barely tight enough to pass inspection. After nine long fucking months of it, Paulson had finally caught a break and made his escape.

  The major had helped, leading the hunting party in the wrong direction as long as he could without raising suspicion. It had worked, and he’d finally breathed a little easier.

  But that didn’t mean he could sleep at night. How many people had he hurt in his quest to eradicate terrorism? Was it worth it? His head said yes, but he still wasn’t sure. If Harris had been asked if her imprisonment warranted the intel he’d gathered, she would have said hell no. If she spoke at all. The major’s sources told him she was alive, but not really living: silent, unmoving, and unresponsive. Her family probably didn’t think it was justified either.

  And what had Chief Davis done to deserve a lost limb and the nightmares that still haunted him? That had been a huge oversight on the part of the major’s team, and they’d all been guilt-ridden over the lives lost in that particular fiasco.

  The major shook his head and tried to banish the remorse and depression. He was here to complete a mission, and he’d get it done no matter the cost. Because that’s what Black Ops did, and it was all the major knew anymore.

  * * * *

  Rebecca hummed softly to herself as she scrubbed her sink. She’d already cleaned it after breakfast, but she’d washed her lunch dishes and it was dirty again. She was a little obsessive about cleanliness, and her friends lovingly teased her about it. They didn’t understand why Rebecca dusted and vacuumed every single day whether her house was clean or not—and if she had her way, they never would.

  Rebecca didn’t want to be anything to them except a good, fun-loving, boisterous, fashionable friend that sometimes sold them beauty products. They didn’t need to see the ugliness and shame hiding behind a mask of exuberance.

  She scrubbed harder, trying to wash away the memories. Her soft hums became grunts as she put all of her strength into the task. She wouldn’t live in filth again. Molding, rotting food everywhere, stepping on trash, sleeping with rodents and bugs…Never!

  Her doorbell rang and with a short grunt of frustration she threw the scrubbing brush into the sink. Rebecca peeled the yellow rubber gloves o
ff her hands, folded them carefully, and placed them in a plastic baggie before putting them neatly back in the drawer. The scrubbing brush followed suit as she laid it neatly beside the gloves. She adjusted the brush slightly, then closed the drawer, satisfied.

  “Coming!” she called in a singsong voice. Rebecca threw her bright red hair over her shoulder, straightened her shirt, and went to answer the door.

  She never glanced out her peephole and had stood with her arms crossed and eyes rolling through many of Chris’s lectures about safety. She didn’t check this time either, but when she flung her door open, it wasn’t Chris standing there. It was the guy from the barbecue the day before. The one Chris had tried to pummel.

  “Howdy, neighbor!” He grinned awkwardly at her and stuck his hand out. “Rick Jones. Just moved in next door.”

  Rebecca grasped his hand hesitantly. She trusted Chris, she really did, and he had found this man to be dangerous. But at first glance Rick Jones seemed like a pretty harmless character to her, even if his forced smile was fake. “Rebecca Batiste,” she murmured. “Good to meet you.”

  He smiled at her, a kind of sad smile that clung to his lips without moving into his eyes. “I just wanted to introduce myself, since I didn’t have a chance to at the barbecue yesterday. It uh…it got a little weird.”

  Rebecca nodded and tugged her hand free. He was kind of cute, in a sad, lost boy sort of way. “Chris is a good guy. He’s had a tough time lately, that’s all.” She glanced over at Callie’s duplex to make certain no one was home. After yesterday’s incident, Chris and Callie had both left for his apartment. Callie had sent Rebecca a text explaining it was probably best if they stayed there a few days.

  Rick laughed a little, but it was strained. “Yeah, I’d sure hate to actually be whoever he thought I was.”

  Rebecca nodded. She understood that completely. “If I were you, I’d be concerned about resembling that guy. You don’t want to be on his bad side.” She pulled the door closed behind her and stepped outside for a harmless little neighborly chat.

  Rick’s face sobered suddenly, the sad half smile disappearing as she stepped out of the dark interior into the bright sunlight. His hazel eyes grew wide and his jaw clenched.

  Rebecca tilted her head to the side and asked, “Hey, are you okay?” He looked a little pale, maybe even surprised.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Rick responded, shaking his head. “I just don’t remember seeing you at the barbecue.” His voice had gotten deeper, huskier.

  Rebecca smiled at him. He was a strange guy, but when he used that deep voice it sent shivers down her spine. Sexy. “Well I saw you. Of course, everyone that was there saw you.”

  Rick nodded and looked in the direction of his house for a moment. He turned back to her and opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  “Well spit it out.” Rebecca shoved a strand of hair behind her ear, put her hands on her hips, and waited.

  A mild look of surprise crossed his face, and then a small but genuine smile barely turned up the corners of his lips. “I was just going to ask if you’d like to get a cup of coffee.”

  Coffee? Seriously? That was the best he could do? Rebecca tilted her head to the side and decided to screw with him a little. He was too cute not to. “I don’t drink coffee.” Bullshit. She drank coffee like a cop.

  “Oh,” he responded, a little deflated.

  “But I could go for some organic blackberry chamomile tea.”

  “Uh, I uh…” He was stuck, poor guy.

  Rebecca laughed. Men were so very predictable. “I’m pulling your leg. I love coffee. Want to meet for a cup tomorrow afternoon? Say around five?” That would give her time to get home from school and change clothes. And maybe he would drop the friendly neighbor routine and actually talk to her.

  “Meet for coffee?” He frowned. “I guess, yeah, that would be great.” He rubbed his neck absently and said, “Where should we meet?”

  “How about the Blue Bean? It’s down by the boardwalk. Outside tables, lounge chairs, and everything.” It was her favorite place to get coffee, and she didn’t go there often because of the cost. But hell, if he was paying she was going to get what she wanted.

  “Sounds great to me. I’ll see you then.” With a little wave and smile Rick was off, walking down the sidewalk back toward his duplex.

  Rebecca waved back and watched him leave. He had a confident walk, but he slouched a little. It looked odd. Most men stood as straight as they could to make themselves seem taller. It was almost as though he wanted to be shorter. Slouched or not, her head had barely reached his chin. He wasn’t huge like Chris the giant, but he was big enough to be intimidating. That’s why she wanted to meet somewhere public. No need to be alone with him. Rebecca shook her head slightly. Hanging around with SEALs was making her paranoid.

  Rebecca crossed her arms and grinned at Rick’s retreating back. He was a little softer than the men she usually went for. She was a sucker for a tough man. It had always been her downfall. Rick might be tough, she didn’t know yet, but he was just a little too pretty.

  Pretty or not, he had a fantastic ass and Rebecca watched it in appreciation as he walked back home. As she turned to go inside a little voice in her head chided her. Ex-uniform is still a Uniform.

  Rebecca scowled. It’s coffee, not a moonlight walk on the beach. Besides, she reasoned, it was always a good idea to know your neighbors. They were just going to have a friendly little cup of coffee and chat.

  She closed the door, locked it, and went back to the kitchen to continue cleaning the sink.

  Chapter 4

  Rick ran his fingers through the short blond strands of his hair and sighed. He’d gone over and over it in his head for twenty-four hours and he still couldn’t comprehend what had compelled him to ask the redhead out.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t have time for dates, sex, or even friendship. And it wasn’t like she could offer him much information on the SEAL team that he didn’t already have.

  Rebecca’s background check had come up clean. Suspiciously clean, actually. She’d grown up in New Orleans, lost both parents in Hurricane Katrina when she was eighteen, and moved to Virginia Beach where she’d completed a bachelor’s degree in Early Childhood Education. She had been married four months to Dillan Henderson, who was a member of the SEAL rear-support team. They had divorced quickly and easily with no messy court cases. She taught second grade at North Townsend Elementary. No arrest record, no passport, not even a speeding ticket had come up. He knew there were people who led a clean lifestyle. But in his experience, no record meant there was something lurking beneath the surface. Usually something really bad. His experience was a bit jaded, though.

  He could explain away the lack of traffic tickets with her looks. No cop would be able to resist those puppy-dog brown eyes and pouty lower lip. Not to mention the curves. She was curvy from head to toe, starting with those deep red corkscrew curls that exploded from her skull. His first good look at her had felt like a punch to the gut, and he’d stuttered and stared like a teenager. But, damn, she was smoking hot.

  The light pink tank top Rebecca had been wearing when she answered the door yesterday had actually looked good with her red hair, which was a feat all other redheads would envy. Those tight black yoga pants had hugged every line of her body, and Rick felt a distinct tightening in his jeans remembering the sight.

  I should have stood her up. He glanced down at the table where his coffee cup sat empty. He probably shouldn’t have gone to see her in the first place, but he’d been trying to appease his curiosity and make sure Paulson was all right. Rick knew where Paulson and the fiancée had gone, but he didn’t know what kind of mental state the man was in so he’d gone to see the redhead and find out.

  Instead of discovering Paulson’s mental state, he’d discovered two things about himself. First, he was still a chump for a ginger. And second, he’d been without female companionship for far too long.

  Rick let h
is head fall back against the back of the lounge chair on the deck of the Blue Bean, where he awaited Rebecca. How long had it been since he’d even touched a woman? His brow furrowed as he tried to think. Seven, eight years maybe? He’d had a quick fling with that perky brunette in Thailand. What was her name? Melinda? Melissa? Miranda? How long ago was Thailand?

  The years blurred together as he tried to pinpoint a time. He’d been pursuing a lead on an arms dealer who’d somehow managed to get his hands on a few very sensitive American UAVs that had gone missing from the air base in Bagram. The perky brunette had been convenient, writing down her name and the name of her hotel, then pressing it into his palm as she paraded by him on the way out of a restaurant.

  It hadn’t taken long to hunt down the UAVs, and when he’d disposed of the arms dealer, he’d found the brunette and taken her up on the offer. Rick smiled a little. Seven years. That had been seven years ago.

  “Well that’s an interesting smile.”

  Rick opened his eyes to see Rebecca standing by the lounge chair next to his, a smile pulling at those full lips. Curvy.

  “Well hi there.” He sat upright in the lounge chair, then stood and gestured to the chair next to him. “Please, have a seat.” He waited until she sat down to return to his chair and tried to smile at her. “This is a nice place.”

  Rebecca tossed those fiery curls behind her shoulder and grinned. Beautiful smile. “Yeah. It’s the only coffee shop I’ve ever been to that feels like you’re lounging on the beach waiting for a mai tai.” She leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “That’s why I like it.”

  Mai tai, indeed. A waiter in blue chinos and a white T-shirt came by to refill Rick’s empty coffee cup and take her order. When she ordered a plain black coffee, he stared at her in surprise.