Thousands, I decided.
Overcome by everything, I muttered my response. “Okay.”
I was nearly shot to death. A criminal was locked in the trunk of my new car. I was now waiting on the Nation’s most trigger-happy police force to show up, and there was a loaded gun in my driveway ten feet from where I stood.
I was a bundle of frayed nerves.
Braxton Rourke, however, acted as he had just called in a dinner reservation.
My thoughts went to the pistol that was sure to be the focal point of the soon to be arriving police force. Visions of overzealous officers with weapons drawn screaming demands came to mind. Me dying in a hail of gunfire while a ten-year-old with an iPhone recorded the atrocity from his second-story window would be the closing chapter on my life.
I glanced at the gun and then at him. “Are you going to pick that thing up before they get here?” I asked. “It’s making me nervous.”
“I’ll leave it there.” He curled his fingertips toward his palm and studied his fingernails. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “Everything will be fine.”
I wished I had his sense of being. While he repaired an errant cuticle, my heart was thrashing against my ribs. I couldn’t decide whether to scream, cry, or ask my sexy neighbor for a mercy fuck.
“Are you always this calm?” I asked.
“Depends on the circumstances,” he replied, not bothering to look up.
“These circumstances,” I squeaked, coughing out a nervous laugh as I spoke. “A Saturday morning carjacking. Disarming a pistol wielding maniac. Choking someone half to death and then locking him in a trunk?”
He shifted his gaze from his fingernails to me. His face, which had remained rather emotionless, now seemed slightly amused.
“I spent nearly fifteen years being shot at by people I often couldn’t see.” He raked his fingers through his silver locks. “Surviving that makes this seem like a cakewalk.”
“You were a soldier?”
“A Marine,” he replied.
His fast hands and calm demeanor now made perfect sense. I wanted to thank him for his service but didn’t want to sound like the countless others who I was sure had already done so. I glanced at his feet and then looked up.
“I like your shoes,” I murmured.
Where the hell did that come from?
He laughed. “Thank you.”
Before I could continue to make a fool of myself, a fast-approaching police car screeched to a stop behind Braxton’s SUV. The driver, a young-looking officer with closely cropped red hair thrust open the door and strutted toward the driveway.
His much younger partner cautiously followed close behind.
The first officer immediately recognized my handsome neighbor. “Braxton Rourke,” the officer announced, seeming amused. “Didn’t know what he was in for when he tried to carjack you, did he?”
“It wasn’t me he was after,” Braxton replied, tilting his head in my direction as he spoke. “He was trying to steal her Mercedes.”
The officer glanced at me. “I’m officer O’Malley. Are you okay?”
“I’m just…yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
He offered a shallow smile and then looked at Braxton. He pushed the brim of his hat up with his thumb. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Braxton shook his head.
It appeared the police were privy of Braxton’s ability to disarm criminals. A blanket of intrigue encompassed me. I wanted to know more about the soft-spoken, suit-wearing, Range Rover driving badass.
O’Malley glanced left and then right. “Where is he?”
Braxton nodded toward my car. “He’s in the trunk.”
“Handcuffed?” the officer asked.
Braxton shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”
O’Malley gestured toward the carjacker’s gun. “Is that his piece behind you?”
“It is,” Braxton replied dryly. “Glock .40 cal. It’s loaded.”
“Secure that weapon,” O’Malley said, directing his request to his partner. “Take pictures before you do.” He walked to the back of my car, drew his weapon, and looked at me. “Ma’am, would you mind opening the trunk?”
A police officer had his gun drawn and was waiting for me to reveal the wild-eyed tattooed lunatic that my handsome neighbor tossed into my trunk. Beyond him, his partner was carefully picking up a gun from my driveway with a pencil.
The entire event was utter madness. Nevertheless, I forced myself to smile and took hesitant steps toward the car. “Sure.”
I pulled the trunk release and quickly stepped to Braxton’s side.
O’Malley peered inside the trunk. Upon seeing the thief, he let out a laugh. “Nathan fucking Travis. How long you been out? Two weeks?” He slammed the trunk closed and shook his head. “This asshole’s been out of the joint for two weeks, tops. This’ll be his third strike. He’ll do twenty-five to life for this one.”
A mental sigh of relief escaped me.
“Listen, O’Malley.” Braxton cleared his throat. “She’s kind of shaken up by all of this. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get to breakfast. We can stop by the station and fill out the report on our way back.”
“I don’t suppose that’d hurt anything,” the officer replied. He looked at me. “Enjoy your breakfast, ma’am.”
My emotions were riding a runaway rollercoaster. In ten minutes, I’d been carjacked and saved by a handsome stranger. Now, I was accompanying him to breakfast. While I tried to process just what was happening, Braxton got my purse out of the car and handed it to me.
“May I have your keys?” he asked.
He was as polite as he was good-looking. I gave him my keys on the heels of a half-hidden smile. “Here you go.”
“Lock her car when you’re done and take the keys to the station,” Braxton said, tossing the officer the keys. “We’ll pick them up when we come in.”
O’Malley gave a sharp nod. “See you in the station, Rourke.”
Braxton moved aside and gestured toward his vehicle. “After you.”
I stepped around him. “How did you know I was going to breakfast?”
He smirked. “Good guess.”
I walked past him. A hint of his cologne tickled my nose. He smelled like he looked.
Striking.
He followed me to the SUV and opened the door. As I struggled to pull my five-foot-two frame inside, he pressed his open hand against the small of my back.
“Here,” he said. “Let me help you.”
My life had been dick-free since the vow of celibacy that followed my half-assed failed marriage. Subsequently, I hadn’t had a man touch me in years. Upon having Braxton do so, fiery desire shot through my veins.
One hand cupped my waist. Another pressed against the back of my bare thigh.
Every inch of my skin itched with want.
He lifted me effortlessly and then released me into the comfort of the fine leather seat. Feeling lightheaded, I glanced in his direction.
His hazel orbs expressed his interests with unclouded clarity.
Braxton Rourke may have been hungry, but it wasn’t breakfast he was hungry for.
Braxton
Anna buckled her seatbelt. “How did that police officer know you?”
A typical day for me might include removing crucial evidence from a crime scene, erasing surveillance footage, or manipulating a witness to give an alternate testimony. I worked for the police as much as anyone. Admitting the truth to Anna wasn’t in my best interest.
“I trained some of the officers in close quarters combat techniques. He was one of the officers that took the course.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “I didn’t realize Marines trained police officers.”
“I received specialized training in the military,” I responded. “After I retired, I offered a course to teach that same training. I was approached by the police chief to train the officers. Fortunately, I was the low bid on the contract.”
“What kind of specialized training?”
I merged into traffic. “Disarming attackers. Close quarters combat. Strategies to survive an ambush. Things like that.”
“Do you still train police officers?” she asked. “Is that your job?”
“Not any longer.”
“What do you do now?”
“I solve problems.”
She laughed. “What kinds of problems?”
I chewed on my response as I maneuvered through the early morning traffic. After wedging the vehicle between a Prius and a Tesla, I gave her a response that I hoped she’d find satisfactory.
“When people with financial means do something that they later regret, I make the evidence of their regretful act disappear.”
She gave me a blank look. “Have you practiced that response?”
“No.”
“It sounded canned.”
“It wasn’t.”
Traffic went from eighty miles an hour to a near stop in an instant. Curious, she gawked at the freeway ahead. While she was distracted, I looked her over.
The left side of her dress was caught in the waistline of her emerald green laced panties. I took a few admiring glances at her well-toned legs before shifting my attention to the road. “How’s the traffic where you live?”
“Not like this, I can tell you that much,” she complained. “In Tulsa, I can drive fifteen miles in ten minutes. Here, fifteen miles takes two hours.”
“How long are you staying?” I asked.
“I’m leaving on Tuesday.” She gazed through the side window, watching the traffic inch past. “I’ll decide before then what I’m doing with the house. Right now, I’m afraid I’ll probably sell it. Carjacking might be uncommon in that neighborhood, but it happened. The more I think about it the more it bothers me.”
“It’s definitely a more common occurrence here than it is in Oklahoma,” I admitted. “There’s over four million people here. We’re bound to have some criminals in the mix.”
“Back to what we were talking about.” She shifted her attention from the traffic to me. “What types of people have the financial means to hire you for your services?”
“All kinds.”
“Anyone famous?”
“I suppose.”
“Name one.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “It’s best if I keep the extent of my work confidential.”
“Okay. Work-related or not work-related, I don’t care. Have you met…” She rocked her head back and forth. “Oh, I don’t know. Tom Cruise?”
“No.”
“Brad Pitt?”
“No.”
“Britney Spears?”
“Yes.”
“Lady Gaga?”
“Yes.”
“Holy crap.” She gasped. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Her eyes lit up. “Was she nice?”
“Extremely.”
“I’d give my left arm to meet her,” she said. “I’d let them hack it off at the shoulder.”
“Your entire arm?”
“Uh huh.”
I didn’t get wrapped up in admiring the actors, actresses, or really anyone, for that matter. In my eyes, we were all the same.
“Sever and arm?” I looked at her like she was crazy. “Just to meet someone?”
“Not someone. Lady Gaga, for Christ’s sake. The part she played in A Star is Born? It changed my life.” She glanced at me. “You’ve seen in, right?”
I’d seen the one with Kris Kristofferson, but not the most recent one. I shook my head. “I haven’t,” I admitted. “Not the new one, anyway.”
“Oh, wow. That’s crazy. Well, Lady Gaga did a marvelous job. I guess I really want to just thank her for putting her heart and soul into the part she played. Her character gave me courage.”
She looked away for a moment but then appeared to have an epiphany. “What about the cute one? She was married to Ben Affleck.” She snapped her fingers a few times. “She does the credit card commercials.”
“Jennifer Garner?”
“Yes,” she said. “Her. Have you met her?”
“I have.”
“Was she nice?”
“Very.”
“Oh my God.” She shook her head in disbelief. “This is bananas. My mind is going a million different directions wondering what they must have done that they needed your assistance.”
“To be fair to everyone involved, I generally don’t speak about my work. For the sake of clarifying matters, I do offer services other than erasing regretful acts.”
“Like what?”
I felt like I was being interrogated. The women I typically spent my time with talked very little and asked even less about my profession. She was cuter than hell, but her incessant prying into my private life was going to become unnerving if she didn’t slow down.
“Security services,” I responded. “Surveillance. Things like that.”
“Like a bodyguard?”
“I suppose.”
“Everything makes sense now,” she said.
I hoped she was right. If everything made sense to her, maybe the questions would stop. I grinned in anticipation. “Everything?”
She nodded. “Pretty much.”
Regardless of her claim, she had no idea of what types of situations I got myself into. If she knew, I doubted she’d be in the car with me. We definitely wouldn’t be going to breakfast together.
Satisfied—at least for the moment—she glanced around the car’s interior. Now seeming more interested in the vehicle’s gadgetry than with me, she traced her fingertip along the edge of the dash.
“Is this the Autobiography Edition?” she asked.
“It is,” I replied. “I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I own a car dealership in Oklahoma,” she replied. “I specialize in exotics.”
I wouldn’t have guessed her for an exotic car dealership owner. She was an extremely attractive thirty-something who dressed like a successful businesswoman and drove a new Mercedes-Benz. Considering that her auburn hair was fixed differently on each day that I’d seen her and that her makeup was nothing short of perfect, my guess would have been a high-end hairstylist.
I glanced in her direction. “I didn’t know people in Oklahoma drove exotics.”
“We drive the same cars you drive we just do it with smiles on our faces,” she said in a snide tone.
“I was joking.”
She shot me a playful glare. “I wasn’t.”
I chuckled. “Not caring for California?”
“Are you aware of my parents?” she asked. “What happened to them?”
Initially, I believed Anna was a realtor planning to sell the home. Upon seeing the out of state plates on her car, I realized she was the child of my two deceased neighbors.
Her parents moved from Oklahoma to Los Angeles, hoping to retire in a location JoAnn described as paradise. After unpacking the last box from their move, she and her husband Randy traded in his restored vintage Suburban for a new Toyota 4Runner.
They intended to use the new SUV exploring the state, visiting Joshua Tree National Monument and the Mojave Desert at their earliest convenience.
On the night they obtained the vehicle, their new purchase was celebrated with dinner out on the town. Upon returning, Randy parked the Toyota and walked away, not realizing the new keyless SUV was still running.
With the key fob in his pocket, he and JoAnn retired to their bedroom, fell asleep, and never awoke. Carbon monoxide from the vehicle’s exhaust suffocated them while they slept at each other’s side.
“I am,” I said, glancing in her direction. “It was tragic. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” She shifted her gaze to the side window. “I came here not knowing whether I was going to sell their home or not. I decided I’d make the decision after I got here and looked everything over. After being here for a while, it’s obvious this place isn’t for me. People are in too big
of a hurry and everyone’s an asshole.” She looked at me. “Except for you.”
“It’s a different lifestyle, that’s for sure,” I admitted. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m an asshole on the inside.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you take away the suit, the car, and shitty little grin, what you’re left with is me.” I looked at her and laughed. “I’m a prick.”
“I don’t think you’re a prick.” She gave me an admiring look. “You saved me from that stinky asshole who was trying to steal my car. A prick wouldn’t have done that.”
I’d intervened because it was the right thing to do. It didn’t dismiss the fact that the entire time I was zip-tying the asshole and throwing him in the trunk of her car that I hoped she’d find my actions heroic enough to offer me gratuitous sex in exchange for saving her.
“It was second nature,” I argued.
“Your Marine training?”
“I suppose.”
“Well, not everyone would have done what you did.” She reached for her purse. “Because of that, I say you’re not an asshole.”
I was, but there was no sense in arguing with her. If she was leaving in six days, she wouldn’t have time to find out on her own. I’d let her continue to believe what made her happy.
I offered her an appreciative grin. “Thank you.”
In the midst of adjusting her makeup, she checked her reflection in her compact and then smiled in return. “You’re welcome.”
I exited the freeway and came to a stop at the traffic light. “The restaurant is right up the street.”
“Good,” she said, shifting her gaze to the side window. “I’m starving.”
I stole a glance at the side of her ass. “Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
Anna
People like Braxton didn’t exist in Oklahoma. Completely astonished by what I’d learned, I gazed at him with admiring eyes. Soon, I became lost in the heady scent of his cologne. Half a dozen scenarios came to mind, each of which ended with him being naked and me being happy.
After gawking much longer than I probably should have, I emerged from the carnal fog that encompassed me. I pierced a potato wedge and raised my fork to my mouth.
The Man I Hate Page 2