by Casey Hagen
Josie in a flirty sundress that stopped mid-thigh.
Her abundant curves spilling out of a string bikini.
Her naked, tan flesh a feast for his hungry eyes as she lay in the center of his king-sized bed.
He definitely needed to scratch whatever this itch was…with someone other than the woman occupying his mind.
“Not just any woman. Josie. I spotted her keeping an eye on Eric’s place, too,” Cole said.
The adrenaline still coursed through him, prompting him to keep a close eye on the area. EMTs chatted while leaning against the side of the ambulance closest to the fire as the fireman flooded the hot embers left from the blaze that ate away at the house in under twenty minutes.
The EMTs presence were no more than a formality at this point, and the way they laughed and socialized showed that they knew it.
Not that they were callous either, but first responders knew not to wallow in the shitty aspects of their jobs because it might just ruin their relationships, suck away any quality of life, and swallow them whole.
Not unlike being a SEAL.
A former SEAL.
Still a SEAL.
Shit, he thought he had left that crap behind, but the brotherhood burrowed its way under the skin and took root there, keeping soldiers connected by impenetrable, invisible threads—whether they liked it or not.
“I’d make a deal with the devil right now if you’d just tell me it’s a different Josie. Any different Josie,” Dylan said.
“No can do,” Cole said.
“Hell,” Dylan muttered.
Cole kept his eyes trained on foliage and houses around him, just on the off chance that whoever lit Eric’s house like a roman candle hung around to admire their handy work. “She didn’t look like she was visiting her best friend. More like she was keeping an eye out for him.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Dylan said.
“Yeah, well, you really won’t like this then…it was Eric’s house that blew.”
“I had a feeling. The footage on the news was hard to make out, and they didn’t divulge an address. We knew it was in your vicinity, but didn’t know for sure. Fuck,” Dylan muttered.
“Yeah.”
“Was he in it?”
“Not sure yet, but I plan to be there the minute it cools off to go over what’s left,” Cole said.
“Don’t step on any toes. I’m sure the authorities are thinking this is just a gas leak or something, but that’s because they don’t realize the ramifications of what Eric invented or that he’d had people pursuing him for a while now.”
Cole sighed. “We’ve got another player in the game, and I’ve got to tell you, something about this job is starting to stink. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and shit’s blowing up. I’m not cool with that. I’m going to reach out to Tex and get him to do some digging,” Cole said.
“We have a report on Eric—”
“And that’s great, but I want to know how Josie is connected, besides being Eric’s best friend, and I want some more information about the man that hired us,” Cole said voicing a concern that he knew Dylan wouldn’t like.
“Ret Dawson was a decorated Army Ranger,” Dylan said with a note of warning in his voice.
“Then he has nothing to hide.”
“Cole—”
“It’s my ass on the line, Dylan.” Even if the next fifty years turned out to be nothing more than one-night stands, maybe some light dating, the occasional barbecue for two with his dad at his modest ranch in Costa Mesa, he’d take it over dying.
He could easily steal moments of the day with others—every other Saturday night hanging with Dylan, his new wife and daughter, along with the rest of the guys, a cold bottle of Corona in his hand or an afternoon ball game with his dad and turn them into a fulfilling life.
“Okay, I get it. Harlow would insist on the same if it were mine. Look, I want full disclosure as the information comes in, in case anything happens and we need to step in at the eleventh hour,” Dylan said.
“You got it.”
“Good. Now hurry up and give Tex a call. Make sure you apologize to Melody for calling in the middle of the night. Keep us in her good graces so if we need to steal him away again, she’ll let him come play,” Dylan said.
Cole laughed, the sound scratching his raw throat. “Will do.”
Josie slammed her shoulder, wincing, as the door first stuck, then gave with the effort she put behind the hit. She really needed to get that fixed. Using just as much force to close the door all the way so she could lock it, she flipped the deadbolt and slumped against the wood.
The tears finally came.
He had to be okay. He just had to be. They’d been friends for twenty-two years. Ever since that day on the playground in first grade, when the mean girls of Ocean Park Elementary descended upon her at the foot of the slide, sly smiles in place, not three weeks after her mother had died, calling her Orphan Josie.
Her six-year-old heart knew that she wasn’t an orphan, she had her dad after all, but their barbs had hit their mark.
Because a little girl needed her mother and despite knowing she wasn’t an orphan, she very much felt like one for a long time.
They’d almost made her cry that day.
Until Eric.
He’d brought his remote control truck for show and tell, and right when they’d pushed Josie to the breaking point, he’d driven it right under the ringleader’s skirt and turned on the nerf dart gun he’d built into the hood. It didn’t shoot a dart, but it blasted air hard enough to shoot her skirt over her head and for everyone to see the tread marks in her My Little Pony undies.
Eric had become her hero that day.
And he’d gotten in a world of trouble doing so.
They’d been best friends ever since through bullies, illness, loneliness, dances, acne, dating, bad grades, sneaking out of the house, graduation, and even beyond when Eric’s brains took him to an Ivy League school hours away for four long years.
He was the brilliant inventor and she the fearless brawn behind their duo. She’d vowed to protect him no matter what. And tonight, she hadn’t been able to do that.
A hot tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a cold trail in its wake. She swiped it away and sniffled.
It didn’t help that Cole was there and holding her back.
Again.
The man had a knack for being wherever she was and if she didn’t know better, she’d wonder if he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He had that way about him, superior and judgmental as hell if the looks he gave her when they crossed paths was any indication.
He’d watch her, his lips pinched, just waiting for her to screw up, as if he were burdened with the task of riding to her rescue when she did. She slid her phone out and started texting Eric, just in case, but stopped. Without knowing his whereabouts, anything she sent could fall into the wrong hands. It wasn’t unlike him to take off for a few hours, sometimes a few days. Especially since he’d been dodging men in black for weeks…and unsavory looking thugs for a bit longer.
What if they’d finally gotten a hold of him?
She needed to wait it out for a bit. Think it through. And maybe, although she hated to admit it, maybe she needed some help on this one.
She could call her dad, but hell, she didn’t want to. He’d hold her back. Make her follow the letter of the law. Basically, he’d expect her to offer up every last bit of information she had and then push her aside while the big boys in blue did their jobs.
Fuck that.
She’d never been a stand aside kind of girl and she sure as hell didn’t plan to start now.
By the time they pushed through bullshit bureaucracy, Eric would be dead.
If he wasn’t already.
Her mind flashed to Cole. She’d first met him six months ago when he showed up in her dad’s office to report on a stolen weapons ring he’d stumbled upon during one of his cases. The system was extensive enough that he’d want
As if Cole were the living, breathing example of the son he’d wished his own son could have been, instead of the peace-loving humanitarian her brother, Jeff, had grown into, living in squalor halfway around the world as he worked himself to the bone to make better lives for those less fortunate.
And here Josie sat, in her hometown, doing everything she could to make her father proud. To make him see her…and for what?
He dwelled in the disappointment of having a son who’d shunned the family tradition of sons who had joined the force for the past five generations.
And behind him, she may as well have been transparent because in the absence of his biological son, his adoration transferred straight to Cole.
Instead of seeing her, her father saw—Cole.
Swell.
She saw Cole, too. Too damn much of Cole. His All-American, apple pie grin and those coppery, assessing eyes haunted her dreams since the first time they met. Why couldn’t he be different? Instead, he was one more man thinking she needed to stand aside while they did the big boy work.
Well, to hell with that. To hell with her dad and Cole.
But the man had resources. Resources she could only dream of. And he didn’t seem to mind skirting the letter of the law if necessary, but he knew when to turn things over if they were too big for him to handle. He respected the system, for the most part. If she could pull him in, maybe only give him enough detail so he could dig up the information she needed, she could hold on to control of the situation.
But, did she really want to turn to him for help?
Because once she let Cole in, their relationship was sure to become a tug of war, two sides constantly trying to exert will over the other, until it all blew up.
She didn’t know the people behind the men in suits who continued to pursue Eric. They could have been government, but maybe not. As for the thugs, they could have worked for anyone.
So, who was Cole working for?
The sound of scraping caught her attention, and her gaze darted through the open living room to the back door next to the kitchen tucked toward the back of her condo.
The scratching sound came again, and she reached for the 9mm in her shoulder holster. She pushed to her feet and took the safety off the gun as she approached the door, her steps light and silent.
Click. Click. Click.
She faltered, her eyes going to the doorknob right as it jiggled.
She took aim, both hands on her gun, her arms steady, ready to take out anyone who crossed the threshold.
The latch clicked, and the door creaked open.
“One more step and I’ll put a bullet right through your throat,” she said.
“It’s me, JoJo,” Eric said, putting both hands in the air.
The weight pressing on her heart lifted, she took her first deep breath since her lungs seized at the sight of his burning house, dropped her gun, and snatched him inside, wrapping her arms around him tight. “You scared me half to death, you know that, you big jerk?” she said, sniffling into the collar of his jean jacket and smacking his arm.
“Yeah, well, try being underground when all hell breaks loose above you. It wasn’t a picnic for me either,” he said, giving her an extra tight squeeze.
“You were in the bunker?”
“The whole time. I’ve been staying down there more since I’ve had surprise visitors showing up at my door,” he said, pulling back and swiping a thumb under her eyes to wipe away her tears.
She reared back and held his cheeks in her hands. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I left my cell in the bunker,” he said with a shake of his head. “It was stupid.”
“Not stupid. Forgetful. And not unlike you,” she said, pulling him back into her arms.
“You’d think a guy that can invent a team of drones that can hack other drones in less than ten seconds would remember something like that.”
She shook her head and gave him a watery smile as she pushed the door closed and locked it once again. “No, I don’t. You’re too busy being brilliant to remember trivial stuff the rest of us humans have to. Come on, how about a beer?” she asked as she slung an arm around his shoulders and walked him to the small kitchen tucked into the back of the condo.
“How about whiskey?” he asked.
“Fine, but keep it within reason. We have work to do,” she said, sliding a bottle of Jack Daniels out from the cabinet over the fridge.
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” he muttered, grabbing the shot glasses from the ledge on the back of the stove and carrying them to the small, drop leaf table.
“I tried to tell you this sudden interest in your technology meant you needed to watch your back,” she said, filling each of the glasses. His rumpled hair smelled of the smoke that would likely linger in the air around what remained of his house for some weeks to come. His glasses sat askew on his gaunt, freckled face.
One step above a waif, Eric only outweighed her by maybe ten pounds and not of muscle. He’d spent a good part of his childhood constantly sick with bronchitis, pneumonia, chronic ear infections, and asthma.
He still resembled that sickly kid who always looked like he lacked in the vitamin and sunlight department. Even at twenty-eight.
All those sick days and that brilliant mind of his are exactly what brought him to this point in time, holding technology that could change the military world and give the country that attained power over his invention immense power over enemies.
“You’re more valuable alive,” she blurted out.
“Gee, thanks,” he said, furrowing his thick, dark eyebrows and pursing his lips.
“No, really. If the first guys who showed up at your place were government agents, they’d know that. They wouldn’t blow up your house. They’d try harder to win you over…or they’d just take you,” she said, right before downing her shot.
“Still not making me feel better,” he said, gulping half of his shot and choking on the burn of the alcohol.
“Which is why I need to hide you,” she said, pouring another shot.
Eric reached out for the bottle despite the half-full shot glass still in front of him.
She snatched it out of his reach and smiled. “Nope. I need you sharp.”
His mouth fell open, and his eyes widened. “But you get another.”
“I think better with two,” she said, knocking back the second glass. “Yup, definitely think better with two. I know right where to hide you.” She grinned at him before tucking the bottle away.
“I don’t like the look of glee in your eye,” he said, draining his shot glass.
Chapter 3
“Tell me this is a joke,” Eric said, wincing at the back door of The Lit Dragon.
The low hum of traffic from Ocean Boulevard reached them behind the club and through the windows of Josie’s car.
The occasional dim street light lit the cracked asphalt of the back alley lined with dumpsters next to the rear exits of each business.
“Nope,” Josie said, trying not to laugh at the trepidation on his face.
While he had been killing it in graduate school, she had been trolling the nightlife and learning the ropes behind the bar of one of the hottest drag clubs in Long Beach. She’d worn wigs and glitter every night and the owner, Diamond, paid her under the table which worked out well since there were no traceable links between her and the club.
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, you know I’ve got nothing against this kind of place, but what the hell do you expect me to do here?”
“Make friends,” Josie said, patting his shoulder.
He didn’t like being out of his element. And really? Who did? But for Eric, thrusting him into the unknown was right up there with torture.
He always surrounded himself with what made him most comfortable, the things that allowed him to focus on taking the information swirling in his head and making it a reality.
His bunker surrounded by his computers and tools.
His wall full of notebooks each filled with formulas and sketches of his inventions.
And her.
He had no social game, but The Lit Dragon seduced even the most repressed of people to let out their inner wild side and live it up. It would be good for him.
“I can do that,” he said.
She smiled at him and patted his thigh. “Blend.”
He shook his head, and his eyes widened. “Not doing that.”
A guy stumbled out of the back door of the Thai place just beyond the drag club and hunched over, spasms wracking his body as he hurled behind the dumpster.
Eric’s lip curled with distaste.
She turned to him and cupped his thin face between her hands, still finding reassurance in having his warm skin under her palms. The thought of him burning to death…God, she didn’t know how she would have lived with that. “At this point, your life depends on it. Diamond will keep you safe. He owes me.”
He laid his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. “What does this Diamond owe you for?”
“For saving his week’s deposits…and his life right in this very alley,” Eric’s hand fell from hers, and he shifted in his seat as he searched the area around them.
The club had closed twenty minutes earlier. The staff spent a good half hour after closing time hustling people out the door before cleanup started.
Diamond had promised to give them a heads up when it was all clear to go in which would be any minute so she had to bust her ass to convince Eric because she had a lot of work to do to find out who was after him if he ever had hopes of living a normal life.
Well, normal for Eric.
“Isn’t there a nice religious family you can stick me with? Or find a spot for me in Amish country?” he asked.
She laughed, realizing how desperate he must be if he preferred being trapped with bible thumpers. “Nope, this is even safer than that. They can disguise you here.”
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