by Tee O'Fallon
“My apologies.” Jaime bowed to her so humbly she giggled.
“No apologies necessary,” she assured him. “I guess I’ll have to get used to all the manly banter, but I have to warn you, I have a pet peeve about the toilet seat being left up.”
The men laughed, and she laughed with them. After everything she’d been through, it felt good to find humor in something. Then she caught Matt watching her through narrowed eyes. He wasn’t laughing. What was up with that?
She held her arms out. “What?”
“Nothing.” Although it didn’t look like nothing to her. He looked pissed, and his friends had picked up on it, too. Half of them raised their eyebrows, while the other half looked like they were struggling not to snicker.
“We need to discuss procedure,” Matt announced, sporting the scowl she was becoming accustomed to. He slapped a small pad and pen on the counter in front of her. “While we talk, make a list of what you want me to pick up in town, and call ahead for a new set of glasses or contact lenses. I’ll pick that up, too.”
“Okay.” She reached for the everything bagel that had been calling her name for the past few minutes, then tore off a small piece and popped it into her mouth. Chewing, she asked, “C-can’t I just go with you? How will you know wh-what size clothes to get?”
His gaze did a leisurely sweep of her body, starting at her neck, then progressing slowly to her bare feet then back up, lingering on her breasts. The heat in his dark eyes set her skin on fire, and she nearly choked on the bagel in her mouth.
“Get a room,” Dayne said, rolling his beautiful green eyes.
“Think we should give them some privacy?” Kade whispered, grinning so broadly his dimples looked even deeper.
“Nah.” Jaime snickered. “This, I wanna see.”
She felt her skin flush at the implication that her and Matt’s relationship was—or would ever be—intimate.
Matt’s lips compressed into a tight line. “I’ll take an educated guess. Write while I talk.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute, then set to work making her list, relieved to have something else to do besides face him.
“I’ve explained to everyone what went down this week and the presumption that this has something to do with the Russians. If I have to leave the property, one of them will always be with you.” He paused to look around the table at each of his friends, who nodded. “Starting Monday, each of them is assigned to one of the many pre-election protective details around the Capitol. As for you, the only thing you have to do is to keep your head down. Don’t tell anyone where you are. Don’t call your friends, and don’t check your email. If one of us tells you to hit the ground, you hit it and don’t get up until you’re given the all-clear. Got it?”
“G-got it.” She bit off another piece of bagel, wishing like hell she didn’t stammer so much around Matt. It either didn’t bother his friends or they were too polite to say anything.
“I’ll stop by the police station to get their report on the fire, then call my office to see if there’s anything new we should be aware of. After that, I’ll shop for your things. I’ll be gone a few hours.”
“No problem. We got this, Matt.” Jaime put his arm around her shoulders, and Matt’s gaze instantly went hard. “She’s in good hands. And we’ll take Sheba out with Hugo. You know how she loves my big guy.”
Matt clenched his square jaw, staring at Jaime until the other man let his arm drop from her shoulders. “Good deal, then.” Matt grabbed a split bagel, slathered it with cream cheese, then pointed to her list. “Done with that?”
Nodding, she tore it from the pad and handed it to him.
“Keep an eye on her, guys.” Then he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him. A moment later, a truck’s engine started, followed by the receding sound of Matt driving off.
“Well, damn, little pixie.” Kade again grinned at her. “What’d you do to get ole Matt so worked up?”
As she reached for the tub of cream cheese, she raised her brows. “Worked up?”
Markus, who’d been silently watching them all up until then, snorted. “When Jaime put his arm around you, I thought Matt would deck him.”
“Why would he do that?” She slathered her bagel halves with a generous amount of cream cheese.
“Lady,” Nick said, uttering a low laugh in that smooth baritone of his. “That’s something the two of you need to figure out.” He went to the refrigerator, grabbed a six-pack, then pulled out a River Horse and handed it to her. “Gotta have beer with poker.”
“Me? Play poker? I don’t know how.” Having grown up with almost no friends, except for her fellow computer geeks, there hadn’t been much playtime in her life.
“Not a problem.” Eric was already shuffling a deck of cards, and the other men were pulling bills from their wallets. “We’ll teach you.”
Trista took a bite of her bagel and swallowed. “Guys, I don’t have any cash. Except for my cat, everything I own burned in the fire.”
“I’ll spot you.”
Dayne handed her twenty bucks, and before she knew it, they were dealing her in and she was quickly learning how to play poker for the first time in her life. And she was also unexpectedly enjoying herself, feeling at ease with the men around her. They didn’t make her hot and edgy, the way Matt did. More importantly, when she spoke with them, she didn’t stammer a single word.
Chapter Fourteen
Nearly three hours after he’d left, Matt pulled into his driveway. He’d spent an extra twenty minutes taking a circuitous route home, repeatedly checking for a tail. Luckily, there’d been none.
He could still use a few more hours of shut-eye to make him human again. Trista’s screams had shocked him out of some seriously needed REM sleep.
He’d jumped from the bed, grabbing his gun, prepared to throw himself between her and the threat. Hell, he remembered vividly how hard his heart was pumping as he’d yanked open his door to see Sheba standing on Trista’s bed, her sleek, brown-and-black body wriggling with glee. Understanding immediately why Trista had screamed, he’d nearly passed out with relief. And then she was in his arms.
Her body was warm and curvy, her skin soft as velvet, her full breasts pushing against his chest as she’d clung to him with her arms wrapped around his neck. Only now did he fully appreciate the stupidity of holding her like that far longer than he should have. His brain kept telling him to let her go, but he couldn’t because he liked holding her too fucking much.
Shutting off the engine, he remained in the truck, sitting with his forearm draped over the wheel, struggling with his new reality. Being around her was totally screwing with his brain.
Before he’d left the house, the urge to wrench his friend’s arm from Trista’s shoulders hit him with such force he’d been taken aback. The only recourse he’d had was to bolt out of there and simmer the fuck down.
His stomach growled, and when he glanced at his watch, he understood why. It was nearly seven p.m. The guys had better have some of those strip steaks on the grill.
Grabbing the bottle from the liquor store, two large department store bags chock-full of female stuff, cat food, and kitty litter, he barely managed to tuck the police report he’d picked up from Jake under his arm. It turned out Solonik really was sloppy. With all the evidence he’d left behind, there was no way in hell that fire could have been deemed anything but arson.
He kicked the door to his truck shut, and when he was still a good ten feet from the kitchen door, a burst of laughter came from inside. Female and male laughter, and lots of it.
A spurt of jealousy blew through him. Why doesn’t she laugh like that around me?
Because you haven’t given her a reason to, moron.
And just like that, he realized he wanted her to share that part of herself with him. The part that was happy he was there with her and wanted him to know it. Was she? Damned if he knew. Frowning, he managed to open the door and was met by a series of greetings.
“’Bout time you got your ass back here.” Nick tilted a beer bottle to his lips and took a long swig. “This pixie is about to wipe us off the table.”
Matt set everything he was carrying on the floor and stared. Trista and his friends were seated around the table, playing blackjack. Each had a beer in front of them, although from the looks of hers, she hadn’t really touched it. His friends each had a couple dollars left in front of them, but Trista’s pile of cash had to be nearly a hundred bucks.
“I’m out,” Dayne said, flicking his cards across the table at Nick, who’d dealt the last round.
“Shit.” Markus smacked his cards on the table in defeat, his obsidian eyes casting a dumbfounded look in Trista’s direction.
“How does she do that?” With his big, beefy hands, Eric shoved his cards away.
“Hot damn,” Trista exclaimed with glee, grinning as she leaned forward and, using her hands as shovels, gathered the cash in with the rest of her winnings. “Now I can buy myself something pretty.”
The men laughed again at Trista’s remark, another reminder that while he’d been gone running errands, they’d all been bonding and having a blast in his absence.
“You coulda warned us, Matt.” Kade got up for another bottle of beer. “She’s a ringer.”
“I think she’s counting cards,” Nick said.
Trista gasped. “I was not counting cards. At least, I don’t think so. Come to think of it, I don’t really know what card counting is. It’s illegal, isn’t it?” Wide-eyed, she looked to each man at the table, then to Matt.
“Then how’d you do it?” Matt asked, filling a glass with ice water.
“Well,” she said, arranging her cash into neat stacks. “After they taught me the basics, I approached the game analytically. It seemed logical to start keeping track of the cards being played in order to estimate the chances of hitting it big later. I’m good at memorizing things. I almost have a photographic memory.”
“And?” Matt prodded, then took a long gulp of water. Curiosity was eating at him. He really did want to hear how she’d managed to beat six of the best card sharks he’d ever played with.
“And,” she continued, scrunching her face as if she was only now realizing the tactics she’d employed to whip their butts. “I keep a running tally in my head of all the high and low cards. That way I can bet more with less risk, thereby minimizing my losses when I’ve been dealt an unfavorable hand.”
Matt nearly snorted the water he’d been drinking. “That’s exactly what card counting is.”
“Oh, no.” Her frown deepened, and her face fell. “I’m so sorry. I’ve heard of card counting, of course, but since I don’t gamble, I guess I never really knew what it entailed. You should take this back.” She looked to each of his friends and began handing them cash from her winnings pile. “I swear I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Not one man accepted the money she held out to them.
“Keep it.” Nick crossed his arms, his thick biceps and forearms rippling with muscle. “You earned it fair and square, and you need it right now more than any of us.”
“Thank you,” she replied in a reluctant tone.
“Here.” Matt plunked the bottle he’d gotten her into the center of the table.
She gave him a megawatt smile that did something weird to his heart. “Dalwhinnie,” she cried.
“Pixie girl,” Nick said, “I never woulda figured you for a Scotch drinker.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Making quick work of peeling the plastic wrapper off the top of the bottle, she uncorked the Scotch and held it under her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “Mmm,” she moaned. “I love that smell. Honey. Vanilla. Spices.”
“I think the lady’s in love, Romeo,” Kade said to Jaime. “And not with you.”
“Pooh on you.” Jaime gave Kade a look of mock annoyance.
Pooh on you? Shit. Now Trista has my friends talking non-trash, too? I’m in an alternate reality.
“At least I have money to pay for all this now.” She glanced at the bags on the floor.
“I won’t take a dime from you.” Matt set down his glass, then picked up one of the bags and held it out to her. “Clothes, shoes, toiletries, disposable contact lenses. There’s kitty litter and cat food over there.” He indicated the other bag he’d set on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.
Slowly, she rose from the table and took the bag. “If you w-won’t take my money, how c-can I repay you?”
Kade and Dayne snorted. From the corner of his eye, Matt caught Nick raising his brows. One sharp look from him and they all shut up. “Make yourselves useful by lighting that grill out back and getting some steaks going.”
As a unit, they rose, pulled steaks, corn, potatoes, and squash from the refrigerator, and disappeared outside. Almost immediately, a cacophony of barking sounded from the kennels. Turning back to Trista, Matt saw gratitude in her eyes, although he fully intended to extract a price. It just wouldn’t be what his friends’ lascivious minds had been conjuring up.
To answer her question, he said, “I’ll think of something. For now, get dressed, then meet me in my office.” He canted his head to the kitchen door. “Down the hall to the left.”
He watched her leave, then listened as she climbed the stairs. When he heard her door click shut, he went to his office and sat at his grandfather’s enormous, inlaid leather-covered desk and powered up one of the many high-end computers and monitors.
When he’d set up the security system for his home and the new kennel, he installed top-of-the-line computers, alarms, monitors, and other hardware, although he’d been reluctant to wire the entire perimeter. If the funding he needed to get Jerry’s Place up and running ever came through, the last thing he wanted was for the property to be a place of surveillance, one with Big Brother watching from every corner.
His plan was for a laid-back, camplike atmosphere, one that included a dog training curriculum and regular counseling sessions for kids with alcohol problems. The kids would be referred to Jerry’s Place by juvenile court judges, probation officers, or even school guidance counselors. In addition to the counseling they’d receive, kids would work with and care for dogs Matt would rescue from local shelters.
Jerry’s Place was intended to be a place of healing, learning, and peace. For kids and dogs in need. But reality was like a kick to his gut.
I’m the one who needs Jerry’s Place most of all.
Deep down, he hoped it would be his salvation. His penance.
For killing his best friend.
Flicking on his monitoring station, he cued up the camera facing the road from his driveway, gratified not to see a single vehicle. Living where he did was another benefit for Jerry’s Place. With most residents in the area coming from old, wealthy stock, each family still owned major hunks of land and hadn’t sold off to developers. As a result, his neighborhood was peaceful, and any vehicles driving along the main road that didn’t belong to one of his neighbors would stand out like a Belgian Malinois wearing a pink tutu. The image had him thinking of Tinkerbell, fairies, and pixies.
Speaking of pixies, it bugged the shit out of him that Nick had called Trista a pixie. Christ, they’d nicknamed her. Three hours was all it had taken for her to tame the pants off six of the baddest, most kick-ass cops he’d ever worked with. Not that he wasn’t glad she was settling in. He just wished she was more like that around him.
And why the fuck was he the only one she stammered around?
When she talked with his friends, Jake, and the paramedics, she hadn’t done it once. Was she afraid of him? Shit. He didn’t want that.
Shaking it off, he got online and began a search on all things Russian in the D.C. area. Twenty minutes later, he looked up to see Trista standing in the open doorway, holding a crystal glass of what he assumed was Dalwhinnie. Then he took in the rest of her, and swallowed. Hard.
She�
��d brushed her hair, which now curled around her face in thick waves of golden brown that reminded him of summer wheat in his neighbor’s fields. Her face was devoid of makeup, but that didn’t stop him from staring at her creamy skin, the becoming tint of red on her cheekbones, or lips that needed no help in appearing pink, rosy, and—hell—totally kissable.
Christ, he wanted her, but he couldn’t have her. Ever. Not only was she under his protection, but he just couldn’t go there.
The emerald-green short-sleeved V-neck shirt she wore was one of several he’d selected in different colors because he was clueless as to what colors she preferred. And he sure as hell didn’t want to see her prancing around his house wearing any more of that mousy gray he hated. The shirt not only made her bright-green eyes even greener, it accentuated the lush curves of her breasts.
Had he gotten the shirt a size too small? He’d bought mediums, but maybe he’d been shopping in the teen department. Either way, he didn’t give a fuck, because he loved what it did to her breasts.
Lastly, the boot-cut jeans he’d gotten her were slightly snug, and he loved that, too. The denim hugged her thighs, displaying just how shapely her legs were. She might be petite, but everything about her was perfectly proportioned. He was betting those jeans also hugged a cute ass, too. Seeing just how good she looked made him wonder if she’d discovered the green silk garment in the bottom of the bag or the matching undies. Yeah, that had been fun, shopping in the lingerie department for women’s undergarments. He hoped she liked what he’d selected. Particularly the silver charm bracelet that, he noted with satisfaction, she wore around her left wrist.
Aside from the toe ring, he knew she didn’t wear jewelry so the bracelet had been a risk, one that hadn’t been completely altruistic.
A month ago, he’d ordered a tracker to hook on Sheba’s collar, one he could link to a satellite in the event his dog was lost or stolen. Instead, he’d hooked it on the charm bracelet, figuring since it was also silver in color, it would blend in with the dangly heart, star, dragonfly, and other cutesy charms.