Jamie looked away and swore under his breath and Guy chuckled, as though this was somehow funny. Payne’s expression, as usual, was unreadable. “Is this going to be a problem?” he asked.
“No,” Tanner said, not quite following.
“Ha,” Guy remarked. “She’ll be pregnant before they get to Dallas. Did you see the look on his face? We know that look. We’ve seen it many times over the past several years.”
Pregnant before Dallas? Who? Mia? What the fu— Ahhhhh. “I can assure you, she will not be pregnant before we get to Dallas,” he said, infusing enough lead into his voice for all three men to take notice.
“Can you assure us you haven’t slept with her before?” Guy asked.
Tanner hesitated, not willing to lie.
Guy merely smiled knowingly.
“Whether he has or hasn’t isn’t any of our business,” Jamie said. He glared at Guy. “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones, remember? Mixing business with pleasure has been a bit of a stumbling block for all of us.”
Tanner knew that, too. Will had told him all about it when he’d told Tanner about his fiancée, Rhiannon. Given the successful pairings of the men who worked there, Ranger Security should go into the matchmaking business, as well, Tanner thought.
But he wasn’t looking for a relationship of any sort, temporary, permanent or otherwise. He could barely stand to be in his own head at the moment, much less let anyone else inside it. He had to focus on putting his life back together, on creating a new normal. On not disappointing anyone else.
Besides, given how he and Mia had parted ways the last time they were together, he knew hooking up with her again was completely out of the question. He grimaced.
It hadn’t been the right time for them back then, either.
“How do you think Ms. Hawthorne is going to react to your presence as her security detail?” Payne asked.
“She’ll be shocked,” he said, imagining the look on her face when he showed up as her protection. His lips twitched. “But otherwise she should be okay with it. We’re both professionals, after all, with the same goal.”
Protecting Dick.
Payne evaluated him for a moment longer, as though there was something else he wanted to say. Ultimately, he decided against it. He nodded once, then offered his hand. “Welcome aboard,” he said.
Tanner smiled. “I’m glad to be here.”
He stood and was halfway to the door before Jamie stopped him.
Tanner turned reflexively and a box whizzed its way through the air toward him. He instinctively caught it—too many years playing with a pigskin to do otherwise—then glanced down and a felt a smile roll over his lips. Condoms.
“Just in case,” Jamie said with a wink.
“THIS HAS GOT DISASTER written all over it,” Guy said after their newest recruit was safely out the room. “They’re former lovers.” His eyes widened significantly. “Traveling with a fertility statue.”
Though it was only 9:00 a.m. and he wasn’t much of a drinker, Brian Payne pulled a Corona out of the refrigerator, popped the top and settled heavily into a leather recliner. “Did you want to go?” Payne asked Guy.
“Hell, no,” he immediately replied.
“And your overall impression of Tanner?” he asked, looking at his two partners.
“Capable, but haunted,” Jamie said.
Guy nodded. “And tired. Like he’s not getting enough sleep.”
“He’s having nightmares,” Jamie remarked offhandedly.
Payne arched a brow.
“He told Will and Will mentioned it to me,” Jamie explained.
Having been a part of their own mission gone wrong—one in which they lost a dear friend—Payne, Jamie and Guy could certainly empathize.
War was hell.
But Will Forrester—who’d also been part of Tanner’s ill-fated unit outside Mosul—was settling in nicely and had had nothing but wonderful things to say about his friend. Combined with Colonel Garrett’s recommendation, hiring the former Ranger had been a no-brainer.
But the college-girl connection was a bit worrisome, particularly considering—
“Do you think we should have mentioned the other so-called side effect of being around Dick?” Guy asked, his lips twisting with familiar humor. Payne had considered it and rejected the idea. Some things were better left unsaid.
Jamie chuckled and shook his head. “Tanner will figure that one out soon enough. It’s a fertility statue, after all. And there’s only one way to be fertile.”
“I don’t believe it,” Guy said, kicking his legs out onto the coffee table in front of him. He settled more fully into the couch and snorted. “Like that little statue has the power to make you horny.”
Jamie chuckled. “Sounds like Mia Hawthorne can do that well enough on her own when it comes to Tanner. Did you see the look on his face?”
Yes, he had, Payne thought speculatively. Who knew? Maybe Mia and Dick would be just the sort of distraction Tanner needed. If he was too busy thinking about having sex, maybe his dreams would take a different direction.
Payne lifted his beer. “To our newest recruit,” he said.
“May he use the condoms we gave him,” Jamie added.
Guy chuckled darkly, clinked his bottle against theirs. “Guess it’s too much to hope that he won’t need them at all.”
2
“YOU SOUND LIKE A SKEPTIC, Ms. Hawthorne,” the reporter remarked with a droll smile. “Do you not believe all the evidence that proves Maulu Hautu’s powers are real?”
Mia pasted a smile onto her face and lied again. “I believe in the power of suggestion,” she said, thankful once more when a bolt of lightning didn’t rend the heavens and strike her dead. She’d never had a drama class in her life, but she was now beginning to think she’d missed her calling.
She did believe.
That was the problem.
Aside from the perpetual achy heaviness in her womb and the thick thread of desire constantly weaving through her blood, she’d been ridiculously preoccupied with the idea of sex since the moment she’d come into contact with Maulu Hautu.
The hot, sweaty, frantic, up-against-the-wall variety, specifically.
Considering she’d only had that sort of sex one time in her life, with a partner who had thoughtlessly set the standard then meandered on his way, Mia had been irritatingly preoccupied with the memory of him, as well.
Which was hardly fair to her current boyfriend who, while he didn’t necessarily set her on fire, could kindle a flame that occasionally resulted in an almost-orgasm. Mia inwardly winced. She could feel the tingle, but never quite made it to the quake.
It was depressing as hell.
But there was a lot to be said for stability, Mia thought bracingly, for a man who wouldn’t bail at the first sign of trouble. Though Harlan would never rock her world in the bedroom or make her belly flutter with a mere look, he knew how to prepare her tea and could carry on a decent conversation. Besides, there was a sardonic intellectual sexiness about him—that’s what had drawn her to him in the first place. But was it enough to base a forever kind of relationship on? Mia wondered once again. She’d been asking herself that question a lot in recent weeks and, while she knew she suspected the answer, she dreaded the inevitable conversation.
Mia glanced at her watch, a silent signal to the contingent of reporters amassed in the briefing room. Almost time to go. Her security detail would be arriving soon and they would break down the exhibit, pack it up and move on to Dallas. In light of the interest in Maulu Hautu—or Moe, as she’d dubbed him—the powers that be had devised an alternate plan for transporting the increasingly popular statue, one that included her, a personal bodyguard and the little fertility god.
Admittedly the exhibit’s success was a feather in her cap, but the criminal interest in Moe was definitely a fly in the ointment. She’d learned from Ed Thompson, their head of security, that they suspected a private collector by the na
me of Ramirez was the one behind the past three burglary attempts. As it happened, she’d met Ramirez at the opening in Atlanta and, though she’d noticed the affected air of wealth around the older man, there was something chilling—strangely reptilian and knowing—in his eyes. She’d felt dirty after shaking his hand and had made a point to avoid him when he’d shown up here in Washington, too.
“Are you anticipating a large crowd in Dallas?” Freddie Ackerman, the eccentric, tenacious reporter who had dogged the exhibit’s every move for the past several weeks, asked. He’d recently started traveling with a round-faced assistant who seemed to be under the deluded impression that her boss hung the moon. It was sad proof that there was a nut for every screw, even if hers hadn’t made an appearance yet.
Freddie had been waiting for his big break and, for reasons Mia couldn’t begin to fathom, he’d decided Maulu Hautu was it. Since she was the mobile curator for the exhibit—which had been her big break—Freddie had been shadowing her every move.
This new plan was sure to thwart him, she thought with a private grin while framing a reply.
“We are, Mr. Ackerman.” She smiled. “Due to the media’s interest in Fertility Through The Ages—” the crowd tittered as she purposely put her tongue in cheek “—we’re expecting record turnouts in Dallas.”
Freddie’s gaze sharpened. “Can you tell us, have there been any additional burglary attempts?”
“No,” she said, lying smoothly once again. In fact, there had been one last night. The guy had been an amateur, though, and he’d been easily deflected. The at tempt, nevertheless, rattled her cage. Mia released a small breath.
Nothing would make her happier than getting on the road—away from the scrutiny, in particular—with the security expert. She could hand over the reins to him for a while—inasmuch as she was able—and simply relax. She’d filled her iPod with old Monty Python movies, lots of show tunes and had packed her knitting needles and enough yarn to circle the globe. She was actually looking forward to the drive, to watching beloved movies and knitting her way from D.C. to Dallas, to letting the passing landscape and road noise soothe her frayed nerves. Though this plan hadn’t been her idea, she wholeheartedly approved of it.
Speaking of which, it was time to get moving. “I’m afraid that’s all the time there is, ladies and gentlemen.” Her gaze slid to Ackerman and his cohort. She felt her lips twitch. “I’m sure I’ll see some of you in Dallas.”
Grizzled and gray with Newman blue eyes, an unfortunate sense of style and a small port wine stain on his cheek, Ackerman merely smiled at her and inclined his head.
No doubt he’d booked a seat on her flight, Mia thought. Pity for him she wouldn’t be on the plane. She felt a twinge of regret on his behalf for that. Something about the old guy tugged at her heartstrings. Even though he was surly and obnoxious with a bulldog reputation for always finding the facts, he reminded her of her grandfather. All bark and no bite. She’d lost him years ago, but remembered him fondly. Ackerman, for whatever reason, stirred the same sentiment.
Briskly descending the stairs down the platform in her customary heels, Mia clicked her way through the little throng of people and exited the room. Sophie, her own assistant, was waiting on her. Bright-eyed, brilliant and clumsy to the point that she was almost disabled, Sophie wore a huge smile and excitement pulsed around her in waves. Her platinum curls ringed her head in a halo of light. She put Mia in mind of an absurdly happy puppy, waiting for a bone.
“He’s here,” she said significantly, the words practically bursting out of her.
“Who? Oh, the gentleman from Ranger Security?” Mia said, as understanding dawned. Excellent. He was punctual. She appreciated timeliness. While being late was occasionally unavoidable, a habitual offender signaled a disrespectful lack of regard for other people’s time. Frankly, it pissed her off to no end.
Her mother, God rest her soul, had never managed to make it anywhere on time, including her own funeral, Mia thought with a wry smile. The hearse had picked up a nail, resulting in a flat tire on the way to the cemetery. Though the funeral director had been properly horrified and apologetic, the sheer predictability of her mother’s ability to be late—even in death—had loosened the choke hold of grief Mia had been trying to claw away from her neck. The humor of the situation had enabled her to laugh while she was grieving. That had been three years ago and there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t think of her, Mia thought.
She never spared a thought for her father, though. The faithless bastard didn’t deserve it. The last time she’d seen him had been at the funeral. His appearance had been an unwelcome surprise on more than one level. He’d been unshaven, dirty and knee-walking drunk. And the pièce de résistance? He’d needed a “loan.” He’d been trying to contact her over the past few weeks and had left messages with Harlan, but Mia hadn’t returned his calls and never planned to. As far as she was concerned, she’d become an orphan when her mother died.
Honestly, how her mother had ever gotten involved with Charlie Hawthorne was beyond Mia’s scope of understanding. She’d asked her mother once, years after he’d left. Her mother had merely shrugged and told her love was blind. In that case it would have had to have been deaf and dumb, too. It boggled the mind. Charlie was handsome enough she supposed—dark hair, dark eyes—and she imagined to her mother, who’d been raised by strict Irish Catholic parents, he was the forbidden bad boy.
He was bad, all right.
Though he’d never been physically abusive to her mother, Mia remembered her father as an unconcerned selfish man more interested in boozing it up with his friends and televised sports than his wife or child. He’d been a thug, a petty criminal determined to avoid legitimate work. She did have one nice memory of him though, one that she dragged out on the occasions when she was feeling particularly bitter.
It had been the summer she’d turned five. She’d learned to ride the neighbor’s bike and had desperately wanted one of her own. Her mother had told her that if she was a good girl, Santa might see fit to get her a new bike for Christmas. But to Mia Christmas was too late.
Her father had agreed and had gone down to the hardware store and bought her a brand-new hot pink-and-white bike with gleaming hot pink streamers and a dazzling white wicker hand basket with flowers on the front. She’d woken up to see it sitting at the foot of her bed the next morning. She’d been overjoyed, ecstatic and absolutely over the moon. She remembered hugging her father, delighted by his unusual generosity, and being mildly resentful of her mother, who had wanted to wait on Santa Claus.
What she hadn’t known until much later was that her father had stolen the money from her mother’s purse—the cash she’d tucked back to pay the electricity bill—and her mother had ultimately had to pawn a ring that had been given to her by her grandmother to cover the bill. Mia had a picture of that ring—a large opal surrounded by a band of small diamonds and trimmed with baguette rubies—and was still combing pawnshops, antiques malls and online auctions, hoping she might be able to recover it. Fruitless probably, but she’d always felt horribly guilty about it. She hadn’t been directly responsible, of course, but that didn’t change the way she felt.
Closing the door on that line of thinking, Mia straightened her shoulders, looked at Sophie and quirked a brow. “First impression?”
“Gorgeous,” Sophie said instantly with a dreamy smile.
Mia chuckled. “While interesting, that’s not what I meant. Does he look capable?”
“He looks like a badass,” her assistant said, practically shivering all over. “Like he could break you into small pieces and make you think it was your idea.”
Had she mentioned Sophie had a flair for the dramatic, as well? Mia smiled wryly. “He sounds quite interesting.”
Actually, he didn’t sound anything at all like the retired police officer she’d been imagining as her security guard. For whatever reason, she’d had a brawnier Columbo in mind.
“He’s got
great eyes,” Sophie told her as they made their way down the hall. “They’re the palest green I’ve ever seen and ringed in dark blue.” She released an unsteady breath. “It’s quite…arresting.”
She’d seen a pair of eyes like before, Mia thought with a jolt of shock. They belonged to the same guy she’d been fantasizing about with increasing frequency over the past several weeks. Unbidden, a tingle of unease slid up her spine. Ridiculous, she thought, shaking the sensation off. It was impossible. The odds of Tanner Crawford being her security detail were greater than the odds of her becoming the next Miss America.
Slim to none.
After all, to start on the pageant tour, she’d need to lose twenty pounds, grow five inches and get breast implants, none of which she was willing or able to do. But that was okay. She was comfortable in her own skin, liked her rather curvy body and had invested in good makeup and good foundation garments to accentuate the positive.
“And his lips,” Sophie continued, seemingly determined to list this man’s every attribute. “Wide, full and sculpted, like they should belong on a Greek statue. Very Romanesque,” she said, punctuating the statement with another dreamy sigh. She turned a hopeful face in Mia’s direction. “Are you sure you don’t need me to go with you? I am your personal assistant, after all.”
“I’m sure,” Mia replied with a chuckle. “I need you to travel with the exhibit. You’re my eyes and ears on the scene.”
Sophie’s face fell. “But—”
Mia tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Where is he?”
“He’s waiting for you in the lounge,” her assistant said glumly.
“Excellent. I’m thirsty.”
Because her mouth had gone inexplicably dry and her palms had begun to sweat. Sophie’s further description of her new security guard was sounding more and more like the guy she’d been thinking about, the blast from her past, former football player turned ROTC soldier, Tanner Crawford. Last she heard he was a Ranger—the thought made her smile because she knew that had been his dream—serving in Iraq.
The Renegade Page 2