by Mimi Barbour
“That’s just it. I guess I didn’t make myself clear. You’re my choice for the mother, not hers. I want another kid like Kean. And I always get what I want. Think about it. I’ll give you a month.”
Two weeks later, Alia had settled in her new home on the island of Oahu. A helpful realtor had found a house with high walls around a good-sized yard. She’d added a top-of-the-line security system. Then she’d tried to forget about the shadow hanging over her.
Tried…
Chapter Twelve
Before heading to the agency the next morning, as promised, Sloan stopped at the garage first to find Les working in his area. Airbrushes, spray guns and paint surrounded the beaming man immersed in his specialty.
A few days before, he’d taken a custom detailing on a Harley for a demanding customer. With the steady hand of a master, he was working the ultimate touches on his intricate dragon versus angel design.
The purple and dark pink hues of the swirling angels offset the vibrant reds, golds and oranges of the dragons. The battle between the two sets of warriors waged on, encircled by filmy smoke, burning flames and sparkling mist that swirled around the heavenly beings.
Sloan shook his head, still not able to understand how this old genius could come up with such details and then replicate it exactly on both fenders.
“Hey, Sloan, whaddaya think? Figure Bo will like it?”
Since Bo, the Harley’s owner, weighed in at over three hundred pounds, sported a Hell’s Angels vest and carried himself with a hard-assed attitude that screamed… Don’t fuck with me, Sloan sure as hell hoped so.
“How can he not? You’ve outdone yourself, Les. I think this is the best one yet.”
“Crissakes, boy. You say that about all my work. Can’t you spit out an original compliment?”
“Quit angling, you old fart. I like it already.”
A twinkle appeared in the sapphire sparkles of Les’s still attractive eyes. He stretched his lean, muscular body that almost reached Sloan’s own six feet, three inches before speaking again. “I’m thinking Bo’s gonna get his shit in a knot when I tell him the price has doubled. The son of a bitch paid me, but the ugly asshole’s laughing behind my back.”
Visualizing the invoice from the new system that’d been recently instigated, Sloan shook his head. “You charged the man fifteen hundred. It’s fair.”
“Ratfink bastard added stuff to the design after I wrote out that stupid bill; wanted two angels instead of the original one. And he decided I should cover the whole area rather than the smaller picture we’d agreed on. To top that off, he wanted the image replicated on both sides. Fuck’s sake, Sloan, I can’t afford to work for nuthin’.”
Roy climbed out of the pit from under the Stingray. He dropped his tools and joined Sloan and Les. “Pfft. You jus’ gotta make trouble, old man, don’tcha? Sloan’s been working so hard to get this place in shape, and ya buck him at every turn.”
Les winked at Sloan, put his hands on his hips and grumbled, “Watch yer mouth, Roy. You never let me say fuck. Not without getting shit.”
Red exploded in Roy’s cheeks as he spit his indignation. “I said buck. B-U-C-K. Get your ears cleaned, and while you’re at it, get them to wash out your mouth too.”
Les laughed, delighted that he’d riled Roy. The two were at it all day. “Who said you could come out of your cage?”
“I heard you trying to make trouble. That Bo’s a mean one.”
“Yep, bat-shit crazy. And cheap as a pimp trying to cut down the booze for his alcoholic whore. I know that already, nosey-parker. I’m havin’ a discussion with my boy here so butt out.” In a way that no sixty-five-year-old should be able to do, Les lifted himself on the counter as easily as a man half his age.
Red-faced, agitation bristling his whiskers, Roy yelled. “He’s not your boy, you old fool. He’s your boss and you treat him with respect. If he says you charge what you invoiced, that’s the end of it.”
“But he never said that, did he? How could he when you interrupted before he could get a word out… nosey asshole.”
Sloan recognized the beginnings of a full-out battle between the two old co-workers. He’d heard them going at it all his life and had learned to either take off or cut it short at the start.
“Hey, enough! Did you tell Bo you’d have to charge more when he told you to change the plans?”
Les pushed his long ponytail over his shoulder and leaned forward, both hands now on his knees. “Fuck him. He’s got a brain, don’t he? It makes sense it’ll cost more.”
“What costs more?” Bo ambled into sight from around the corner. Soon as he saw the finished bike, he moved swiftly and bent to his knees. “Dammit all to hell, dude. You got it perfect.”
Les drawled his response, “I knew you’d like it. I added the stuff you wanted but it’s gonna cost you more. You told me to double the image and that means double the price.”
Bo straightened.
Sloan stiffened.
Roy groaned.
“I don’t think so, Les. You gave me an invoice, overcharged me as far as I’m concerned, but I’m a fair guy and I paid you.” Bo’s beady eyes glowed, almost obliterated by the bushy eyebrows and overgrown whiskers that covered his face. “Don’t fuck with me, man.”
Les didn’t hesitate. “Sure you paid for the image on the right, you cheap prick. You want I should erase the other side, I can do it. You gotta understand, my time’s worth money, man. Seems only right you should pay for it—if you want your bike back.”
Sloan, wishing Les had cleared the cost with Bo before doing the work, clenched his fists. He could see Bo wasn’t taking to being dissed from the likes of a garage employee.
“Okay, let’s all calm down. We can talk about this.” Since he’d never interfered with Les’s prices and his way of charging before, Sloan had no idea if the estimate was fair or not. Every designer set his own rates, which was as it should be. Some were geniuses like Les, and others… not so much.
Provoked, Bo started to walk towards Les, his hands clenched, his manner that of a man who was pissed.
Sloan blocked his path. “I said we’d discuss this, like professionals—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Bo pushed him aside to get to Les. Not willing to let that happen, Sloan hauled back and slugged the guy in the stomach. Before he could follow through with a blow to the head, Bo swung his arm and brushed Sloan off like a bug. He had Les in his sights.
Roy, not liking this treatment, stepped into the fray and got himself shoved aside in a similar manner.
Throughout the skirmish, Les never moved. Not until Bo reached for him. Then his feet came up and the strong surfer’s muscles in his legs kicked out, sending the big man went flying ass-over-tea-kettle, crashing into the steel cabinets lined up along the wall.
Totally wild now, he rushed back to Les, whose fists were up and ready, but met Sloan who wasn’t about to let Bo loose.
First he kicked out Bo’s leg using the tackling method taught to him during basic training. Then he forced the man to his knees. He had Bo’s hands behind his back in seconds. Restraining his arm in a move-and-you’ll-be-sorry hold, he hissed. “Bo, I swear I’ll break the goddamn thing if you don’t stop. Then how’ll you ride your precious Harley?”
Bo’s struggling ceased. He cussed a fine string and then heaved a sigh. “Okay! Fine. I’ll pay.”
Les, seeing as how he’d gotten his way, decided to be magnanimous. He pushed his long silver tail of thick hair back over his shoulder and crouched down. “If I halve the price because it wasn’t discussed beforehand, will you accept it? Don’t wanna make enemies. Jus’ wanna get paid for an honest day’s work.”
Bo stared into Les’s eyes, taking his measure. “Seriously, man? You gonna take seven-fifty?”
“I will.”
“I don’t have that much on me, got a couple hundred. Can I take the bike and bring back the rest?”
“You can. Let him up, Sloan. We gotta s
hake on it so I know the man won’t break his word.”
Sloan let go of Bo’s arms and helped him to his feet. Without a break in his movement, Bo slugged Sloan in the face and then stuck his hand out toward Les. “I didn’t hit him hard, but the man’s gotta know he can’t be punching me and getting away with it.”
Sloan stayed Les’s fist and rubbed his cheek where he had no doubt a bruise would be showing up soon. “Just get this over with so I can leave. Bo, give Les the money.”
Bo made a point of handing Les the money, and then waited for Les to finally shake hands. Once the deal was settled, he wheeled his bike to the entrance and the three left behind listened as the motor clicked and then clicked again without starting.
Taking the two spark plugs and a wrench from the drawer where they’d been hidden, Les threw them at Bo and watched as the man fit the parts into place and retried the bike, which started with a roar and disappeared.
Les turned to Sloan and grinned. “Let that be a lesson to you, son. Don’t ever let anyone ever take advantage of you. Know your worth.”
Roy pointed at Les before he disappeared back to his own area. “One thing I know, you ain’t worth a punch in the face.”
“I love you, too, Santa Claus.”
Roy flashed him his middle finger and an unholy grin split his face. “Hope Bo gets a lot of use from your wrench he just rode off with.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alia saw Sloan’s arrival in the main area at work and watched the others crowd around to welcome the good-looker. She knew the crew at the agency liked him. Many times, they’d indulged in their hero-worshipping tales until she’d felt nauseated and left.
In the coffee room, they told funny stories about his exploits, women troubles and, with awe in their voices, talked about the times he’d put his life on the line to save others. Their favorite was when he’d taken a bullet while dragging a fallen co-worker to safety during a shootout at a drug bust.
From their respectful summary, she’d discovered that his comrades admired him. But in her mind, he was nothing but a womanizing prick with no fear for his safety, and he epitomized a man who always got his way. Well, she was one woman he wouldn’t be getting his way with.
Don’t talk so fast, chickie!
Riiight! She’d been assigned to live with him for an unspecified amount of time. Him and his friggin’ dimples and sexy buns and his melting, brown-eyed stare. That ‘him’. The drool-trigger who could be a game-changer.
Shaken, she remembered her promise to Kean about how she’d spend more time with, because the one person in his life he’d always depended on for every meal and bedtime story was leaving.
Her stomach knotted and the world began to close in. She made a silent plea to the big guy upstairs. As if in answer, a spark suddenly lit up some dazed brain cells that, due to all the stress, hadn’t been wholly functional. An incredible idea surfaced.
It could work.
And be the perfect solution.
She’d take Kean along as her son. He’d stay with her and out of Paul’s reach. And, be a part of her cover as Sloan’s stepsister. After all, there’s nothing saying you have to be a single sister, right?
Her clenched muscles began to unwind as did the tightness in her chest. Kean would also be a safety net in case Sloan attempted any of his womanizing tricks on her. Not that she couldn’t handle the prick if he tried any hanky-panky, but in her state of sexual deprivation, would she even want to stop him?
Her brain went into overdrive and began creating a story to tell Kean about her and Sloan being separated as youngsters. About how she’d found her stepbrother and now she wanted to get to know him better. Good. That’s good. And, with them having to leave their house because of the termites, maybe he’d invite them to stay with him for a while.
It was plausible.
Okay, it was thin, but with Ruby leaving, it might fly. Especially if she hired the contractors to do the work needed in her house and presented the whole package well. Her eight-year-old was smart as a whip, but he usually accepted whatever she said as gospel.
Besides, he wouldn’t have any reason to be suspicious. Thankfully, she hadn’t talked about her childhood a lot, other than to say she had been adopted and her parents had died. If she brought in a fictional stepbrother, he’d have no reason to doubt the truth.
So far, all the dialogue surrounding the case had been about the Aman family, discussing options and strategies. No doubt, bringing her son into the picture at this late date might be like throwing a lit match on a propane barbecue but what could she do?
As far as Kean’s safety went, it wasn’t expected there would be any danger during this undercover investigation. It was strictly surveillance: record Samir Aman’s visitors, get close to his wife, Janna, and see if she could discover information about their earlier life, mainly zeroing in on Janna’s family.
Homeland Security wanted her and Sloan together before for the Amans’ anticipated visitors from Pakistan arrived. They were expected in the coming week. The agencies had their sights on those people especially, and wanted to know the reasons for the trip, where they spent their time while in the city and with whom.
Previously, Ruby would have been there to look after Kean and they would have managed. Alia’s lifestyle of long hours and undercover cases had taken her away from him many times and they’d always dealt with those situations fairly well. How ironic that she’d been pissed at Paul for having let his work rule his life, and she’d become his female equivalent with the same sin.
In fact, lately, she’d worried that Kean’s attachment to Ruby overrode his love for his mother. But then she’d always stifled her affections, kept them to herself, unable to openly show him her devotion.
As an only child raised by stoic Brits who didn’t believe in coddling or displays of affection other than a pat on the head, it was hard to overcome that kind of early training.
After her parents died within a year of one another, both from different cancers, her aunt, who’d married a man of the Islam faith had taken her from her home in Chicago to live with their large family halfway across the world.
Everyone had treated her kindly and they were always willing to listen, but again, they weren’t an affectionate family either. Her uncle had been the Imam in the mosque close to where they’d lived, a very gentle, knowledgeable man. He’d prayed for a daughter and believed Mohammad had sent Alia as the answer to his prayers. He was probably the only person in her life who’d made her feel truly cherished.
She’d returned to the US to attend university and attain her Bachelor of Science in Criminology, and then signed up for her FBI training at Quantico. Her first assignment had taken place back home in Chicago, where she’d met Paul.
For a short time, she’d been madly infatuated with him. He’d been a voracious lover, demanding but equally giving. Every minute they’d shared, he’d lavished her with affection that she’d sucked up like a person who’d been on a starvation diet for years.
Which she had.
In turn, she’d adored the man, and in those first few glorious months of marriage, she’d floated through each day with blinkers on her eyes and a song in her heart, that had soon turned into a wail of disappointment.
Like everything that was too good to be true, her romanticized reality was too good to be true. She’d found her hero was actually a dud, a phony. Having been with the agency for a few years, she’d seen the signs that his business buddies weren’t of the highest calibre, and that corruption tended to be their way of making a living, but she’d turned a blind eye.
After she’d gotten pregnant with Kean, Paul was never present. A night or two a week he’d show up late and basically ignore her. By then, she’d accepted that not only did he care more about the scads of money he made, but his mistresses had superseded her place in his life. Problem was, she hadn’t given a damn.
She’d locked her bedroom door, and when he’d graced their home with his presence, he
slept in a room down the hall.
Once the baby arrived, sick of the pretense, she’d divorced him, gotten sole custody of Kean, a son he’d never wanted, and moved herself, Kean and Ruby to San Diego. This way, she wouldn’t be aware of his shady dealings. And her small family could begin to live a normal, happy life.
Over the next years, her job had ranked number two in her life, second to only her son. Because of her reputation as a dependable agent with certain skills and knowledge about Muslim customs and the Islam faith, on occasion she’d gotten loaned out to different cities.
Her career had blossomed and she’d found a certain happiness in being the person in charge of her destiny. Men had come and gone but none made any difference to her way of life.
During these years, she’d been as gentle as she knew how with her son. She’d even gotten used to his demanding goodnight kisses and the hugs he spread around, but instigating this affectionate behavior was still hard for her.
Unlike the Filipino woman who showered him with all kinds of embraces and smooches. Ruby had a huge heart and her very openness was what had attracted Alia to her in the first place. Such opposing personalities, and yet they’d managed to build a strong and healthy family unit.
But now things were different. With Paul’s threat hanging over her and no one around who she trusted to step into Ruby’s place, this latest option could work. Kean would be safe, they’d be together every day, and maybe he could begin to rely on her as his mother, rather than Ruby.
A wall of insecurity spread over her like syrup. Just thinking about this new mothering role made nerves rattle around in her stomach causing pain and doubts. Fearful of a revolt, with eyes down, she started making her way to the ladies’ room, swallowing the whole time.
“Are you ignoring me on purpose?” Sloan stood in her path, and she looked up, gulped and exhaled slowly.
“Sorry? I was thinking about something and didn’t know you’d arrived.”