Big Bad Wolf (COS Commando Book 1)

by Low, Gennita

  GENNITA

  LOW

  BIG BAD WOLF

  A COS commando novel

  BIG BAD WOLF

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Gennita Low

  Big Bad Wolf

  Copyright © 1999 by Gennita Low

  Published Dec. 2008

  ISBN-13:

  ISBN-10:

  Cover by Jaxadora Design

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Big Bad Wolf. Copyright © 2008 by Gennita Low. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Glow World and Gennita Low e-books.

  DEDICATION

  To my friend, Jaime, whom I miss very much.

  To Ranger Buddy who taught me much more than roofing.

  Chapter One

  Here comes trouble. That was the first thought that crossed Jaymee Barrow’s mind when she saw him walking around the job site. There were men all around her, already busy at work at eight in the morning, men half-naked and sweaty, of all shapes and sizes, but none had the same effect on her as this stranger.

  She was a woman used to men. Having grown up among them, she understood them better than her few girlfriends. She had learned from personal experience to spot trouble of the male kind a mile away. It was still early but she was already perspiring from carrying supplies up and down the ladder. She impatiently flicked away a drop of perspiration at the end her nose, pausing in the middle of getting ready for work, her nail gun in one hand, squinting her eyes as she watched the tall man talk to Joe, the electrician, then Stan, the plumber. They both shook their heads and the stranger moved on, coming closer toward her. Her finger lightly squeezed the trigger of the nail gun as he approached.

  He was tall and whipcord lean. The tee-shirt he wore clung to his muscular shape like a second skin, damp from the searing Florida summer heat, emphasizing an impressive chest and a long torso that invited eyes to drift lower, which hers did, all the way. The faded jeans hung low on his hips, molding and hugging his thighs and legs, doing strange things to her heart rate as she continued staring. Here comes trouble, the voice in her head repeated, as if in warning.

  The stranger tapped one of Jaymee’s men on the shoulder. “The plumber there told me to ask for Jay. Which man is he?”

  She stiffened. He was asking for her?

  Her workers snickered. Lucky, the man whose shoulder the stranger tapped, gave a gap-toothed smile. “You want the boss?” he qualified, as if to make sure.

  “Yeah.”

  “You can find Jay by the blue truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jaymee couldn’t shake off the feeling of impending disaster. She knew what he would do next, and he didn’t fail her. He stopped right in front of Dicker and spoke to him. This close, the slow drawl of his gravelly voice sent shivers down her spine. “Are you Jay?”

  Dicker threw back his head and laughed. The stranger frowned. Jaymee coughed politely. Pointedly. She waited until he turned around, and cocked her head to one side when he looked down at her. She decided she didn’t like the height disadvantage.

  His eyes were gray. No, blue. Or in between. However, there wasn’t anything in between about the intensity of his gaze. He looked at her and her insides suddenly felt like the inside of a burning tar kettle. Jaymee blinked, feeling suddenly quite dizzy. What was wrong with her? He was just a man, like any other, but her heart didn’t seem to agree as it suddenly accelerated to a gallop.

  “Jay?” he asked, a frown puckering his forehead.

  Jaymee nodded, unable to say a word. Something exuded from him that she couldn’t yet pinpoint; it was a new thing, something that prickled and made her want to jump into her truck, lock it and drive off like the devil was after her. She shook off such fanciful thoughts, and belatedly tried to find her tongue. He was just too damn tall, that was all.

  “Can I help you?” To her disgust, her voice came out breathy and slightly husky.

  “You’re Jay.” It was more a statement than a question. The tone of his voice, as had his expression, had now turned skeptical. “The boss.”

  She usually handled similar situations with light amusement. It was, after all, very rare to find a woman roofer. A woman roofer/boss at that. That was why it was easier to be Jay. Homeowners and people seemed to react differently to Jay, the contractor than Jaymee, the contractor. However, his whole demeanor irritated her, and thus her answer came out sharper than intended.

  “I’m Jay,” she agreed, and after a slight pause, added, “the boss. How can I help you?”

  He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m looking for work, any kind of labor. Do you have any job openings?”

  Jaymee stared up at him. He had incredibly long eyelashes, she noted vaguely. Rugged and strong-jawed, with full sensuous lips that were slightly crooked. His hair was long and untidy, like most construction workers, and a devilish lock, black as night, fell across his forehead. Her eyes traveled down the length of him again—strong, wide shoulders, powerful biceps. She looked at his large hands. Long, artistic fingers. Clean nails. If he could roof, she thought, then she could build a rocket ship.

  He just patiently stood there under her perusal. When her eyes met his again, she found mockery glinting back at her. The man was probably used to being treated like some piece of mouth-watering meat, and she was quickly disgusted with herself. She met his eyes directly, unflinchingly, refusing to let him see how he affected her.

  “I don’t think, Mr…?” She paused.

  “Langley. Nicholas Langley.”

  “Mr. Langley,” Jaymee said, “I don’t think you have any, or enough, roofing experience. Do you?”

  Nicholas Langley shrugged again. “I’m a quick learner and a good worker,” he said, “and a damn good carpenter.”

  “So why don’t you apply to be one?” Jaymee asked. “The pay’s better.”

  “The two companies I asked already have a full crew and the third wants me to move. I’ve just gotten in town, and I’d rather stay here a while.”

  Dammit, she needed a carpenter. She needed a whole crew, with the lack of good help around here these days, and ordinarily, would hire the man on the spot. But he didn’t look like a carpenter either.

  “How do you fare working in hundred-degree heat?” She wanted to scare him off.

  “No problem.”

  “What do you know about roofing?”

  “That it’s hot work.”

  “Can you shingle at all?”

  “I can swing a hammer.”

  “We use nail guns now, Mr. Langley,” she wryly told him.

  “I’m good with guns.”

  Jaymee shivered slightly at his voice. Self-assured and deceptively potent, like good brandy, it had the same heated effect on her stomach. She sighed inwardly. She was shorthanded, having fired Rich and Chuck yesterday. She couldn’t afford to be picky. Against her better judgment, she asked, “When can you start?”

  “Now.”

  She arched a brow at him. “You need tools first,” she told him, then looked down at
his feet, “and you have on the wrong kind of shoes.”

  Nicholas Langley looked down and tapped one hiking shoe on the dusty ground. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “The sole will mark and scuff up the shingles,” Jaymee explained. “You need soft sole rubber, preferably canvas shoes. Like these.” She lifted her leg up, so he could see her shoes.

  “OK.” His eyes traveled from her shoes up her calf and then her thigh. She hastily put her foot down.

  “Why don’t you start in the morning?” she suggested. “Bring your tools here. We start around eight. I can’t pay you shingling rate until I see what you’re capable of doing. The labor rate isn’t much but once you can lay shingles fast, you get paid by the square.”

  “Fine.” The man wasn’t much of a talker, she concluded. “Mind if I hang around and watch for a bit?”

  “Be my guest,” she answered, and extended a hand. “Nice meeting you.”

  She hoped Nick Langley wouldn’t return in the morning. Most of them didn’t. Roofing wasn’t exactly a much sought-after job.

  His grip was firm and his palm felt surprisingly hard. She eyed him thoughtfully. Well, maybe her would-be new laborer could work after all. Those were the calluses of an outdoor man. And those muscles must come from somewhere.

  She couldn’t help it. A soft sigh of appreciation escaped her lips as she watched him turn around and wander off, showing her the other side of his too-good-to-be-true anatomy. Abruptly, she returned to the chore of getting ready. The man was no ordinary laborer, that was for sure. That strange tingling feeling bothered her again, and she tried to figure out what it was about Nicholas Langley that was making her nervous.

  “Just an ordinary man,” she muttered very softly.

  *

  Leaning against a tree, the man known as Killian watched the woman on the roof with hooded eyes. “Nick” was one of his many identities, usually when he was playing drifter or portraying an easy-going front. The lady had taken him by surprise in more ways than one, something that very rarely happened. Besides the obvious, she was also projecting an energetic stillness that was intriguing. He had been deliberately laid-back and unassuming, and yet her awareness of him was palpable, to the point of nervousness. Why was he making her nervous?

  He wondered what made her choose to be, of all things, a roofer. She didn’t seem strong enough for such hard work. He liked the gentle tone of her voice when she spoke, a far cry from the crew from the old days when he worked in construction.

  Not that there was anything wrong with being a roofer, he thought, studying her nimble movements as she moved across the roof. She obviously knew her job very well, barely pausing while she laid the shingles in diagonal fashion, the nail gun flashing in the sun as it moved across the shingle in rapid rat-tat-tat.

  The sun beat down relentlessly, and Nick made a note to remember to bring along a cooler for his new job in the morning. A corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. He remembered the way she had looked at him when she questioned his experience. It was easy to read her mind. Jay, the boss lady, didn’t want him to work for her. It was in the tone of her voice, the hopeful look in her eyes he would reconsider the heat and change his mind to go seek a better job.

  He knew she could tell he wasn’t a construction worker. Those quick dark eyes of hers had settled for a long moment on his hands and the slight wrinkle of her nose betrayed her certainty. He glanced down at his hands and shoved them into his jeans pockets. He was getting careless. His nails were too clean.

  Nick continued eyeing the woman on the roof as he contemplated his next move. He needed money to survive and construction was the easiest way to get quick cash in this town. He couldn’t go for the higher skills, or they would start asking for past employment history and too much information. His safest bet was as cheap labor to cover expenses for another month or two. There were plenty of transients in Florida and he wouldn’t rouse anyone’s interest.

  Jay turned around when she reached the peak of the roof, and her lycra-clad behind showed off a decidedly shapely derriere as she finished nailing the top row. Nick’s eyes narrowed a fraction. She was going to be trouble. Her ass, for one thing, roused his interest. Very much.

  But he hadn’t the time to explore all the possibilities, not when he was still in the dark as to what had happened after he’d bailed out from his boat before it exploded. He needed to find out whether he was still thought to be alive, needed to know who was out for his blood. Being unsure of the situation, he hadn’t withdrawn any cash or used his credit cards; he couldn’t successfully evade by leaving a trail of recorded cash. So he had made do with what he had; he had taken his hidden Jeep and drove inland.

  But it was time to get in touch with one or two in his unit. He needed a computer and a phone for a few days. His eyes became slits in the bright sunlight. No, he hadn’t the time to see what made Jay the boss lady tick. He needed to figure out whether someone inside had betrayed his team before he went back in. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He supposed he could waste a few more minutes watching that cute little ass at work.

  *

  It was past dinnertime when Jaymee got home. The house was a mess. Taking off her shoes and socks, she strode into the kitchen, and ignoring the dirty dishes, she poured herself a glass of juice. From the window above the kitchen sink, she could see the sun disappearing behind the tall pines on the other side of the lake, giving the water a final quick shimmer for the day. The grass needed mowing, she noted, arching her back muscles tiredly.

  “You didn’t call to let me know whether you were going to be late,” a voice said from behind her. “There’s a sandwich in the fridge.”

  “Thanks,” Jaymee said, turning around to look at her father. “You could have washed the dishes, you know.”

  He shrugged, sitting at the kitchen table. “Didn’t feel like it.” He took a swallow from the long-necked bottle in his wrinkled work-worn hand.

  He probably didn’t feel anything at all. “How many beers did you have today, Dad?” She sat down on the other chair at the table. “You’re going to give yourself another stroke.”

  “That would make you happy, wouldn’t it?” he asked, and coughed hard. “Then you could just up and go.”

  It was fortunate she also couldn’t feel a damn thing, she thought, as she studied the man who sat there carelessly drinking himself into oblivion. Very little could hurt her these days.

  “It’s been eight years,” she quietly reminded him, “and I’ve almost gotten your business back in the black. It would be a shame, don’t you think, to die on me when I’m just about to finish paying off every dime I owe you?”

  “Damn right,” her father agreed. “My daddy always taught us to pay for our mistakes, and that’s how things are done. Your bad judgment near destroyed the business my daddy and I built, girl, and don’t you forget it.”

  “My bad judgment,” Jaymee countered, emphasizing through clenched teeth, her face a frozen mask, “was foisted on me by you. You used to like him, remember? Enough to encourage him to come after me.”

  “Don’t you go putting blame of your mistakes on me,” the older man exclaimed, then started to wheeze again. When the coughing subsided, he continued, “You liked his pretty face and damn near gave away the business with your shenanigans. Killed your ma. Left me unable to work.”

  She wasn’t in the mood to defend herself. She had grown immune to her father’s brand of punishment in the past eight years. And perhaps she was partly guilty for some of the bad luck that had fallen on the Barrows, and that was why she had slaved for eight years. To pay her debts for past mistakes, she repeated her father’s litany. It wouldn’t be too long now — two years, maybe sooner — now that she had gotten the Hidden Hills subdivision account, and the business would be in the clear again. Then she could leave.

  Finishing her drink, Jaymee got up and turned the water on at the sink, clanking the dirty dishes loud enough to drown out the drunken a
ccusations behind her. She was simply not in the mood to go on being the scapegoat. Maybe it was because she was so near to her goal she was losing her usual calm acceptance of her father’s anger. A year and a half, she promised herself. If she pushed, she would be free in a year and a half. The Hidden Hills subdivision account had fallen into her lap like a sudden lottery windfall, and with Excel Construction promising her at least three houses a week, twenty thousand dollars as projected profit wasn’t too difficult a goal.

  She frowned at the memory of firing Chuck and Rich. She couldn’t afford to let them go, but they were simply doing shoddy work these days, hoping she didn’t notice. Catching them “undernailing” the shingles was the last straw. With the strict regulations after the hurricanes these days, a failed inspection for improper nailing could cost her thousands of dollars in fines. So now she was two men short and one house behind. Then she remembered Mr. Roofer Wannabe. How could she have forgotten, when he had spent the better part of the day following her every move? She couldn't forget those eyes. The incredible long lashes. The easy smile with the knowing eyes, the kind she usually avoided meeting because she knew what they did to a woman’s logic.

  Nicholas Langley. Jaymee silently mouthed his name as she piled the dishes into the dishwasher. She wondered how long he would last. Wannabes like him usually lasted a day, three at the most. They weren’t interested in sweating it out in this kind of weather for so little money, so they were gone after the first paycheck.

  Nothing like roofing to equalize all men, she thought, a slight grin forming on her lips. They could be beach bums, young surfer boys, college kids on vacation, or like this Langley, transient workers. However, once she put them through the routine of walking up and down a six/twelve pitched roof on their knees for a couple of days, they all usually made their exits in the same way—in a big hurry. And sometimes, limping, she added, her grin becoming wider.