Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  What were the chances karma would bring them back together again? Knowing her luck?—pretty damn good. It was just like that bitch to tempt her to risk everything she believed in and walk down the dark, tangled road that was Nikko Del Toro. She could rationalize this shit all day long. If she hadn’t already met him . . . If the sex hadn’t been so mind-blowingly incredible . . . Bottom line, the moment the CFA hired her to become Nikko’s therapist, he became off-limits, and this . . . attraction was wrong. Black was black and white was white. Unfortunately, Nikko’s world was nothing but gray.

  “—don’t know. Or do you think I’m just being crazy?”

  What? Knowing Bob, the answer was most assuredly yes. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t heard the question.

  “Bob,” she gently scolded, wracking her brain as she tried to remember what he’d just said. “You know we don’t say the C word here.”

  “I know, but I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  If that was the bar for crazy, then she was in trouble. Since the moment Nikko walked into her office, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. Hell, if she was being honest, she hadn’t stopped thinking about the man since he’d rocked her world in the bathroom of a freaking 747.

  “Does she know how you feel about her? This woman?”

  “Oh, no . . . I couldn’t tell her.”

  “Why not?”

  His gaze darted nervously to the floor. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way? I’m not sure how I’d handle that kind of rejection.” There was something in Bob’s eyes that put Vi on notice. Bob had a lot of issues. Along with OCD, he also struggled with addiction, rage, and impulse control.

  Whoever had caught this guy’s attention would be wise to be careful. A man like this would easily misinterpret nice and polite for something more. He read into everything. She’d been treating him since she’d moved here, and in the beginning she’d had to set clear limits with him. She was good at boundary setting. She did it all the time, so why was she having such a hard time doing it with Nikko?

  “Well . . . does this woman meet the ‘acceptable to date’ criteria we’ve discussed?” They had developed the checklist to help give him guidelines with which to self-govern. Perhaps she should take her own advice, because there was a sexy MMA fighter who would definitely not make the cut.

  Before Bob could answer, the timer dinged, marking that their session was up. “I should go,” he said abruptly, jumping up from his chair so fast the thing scooted back. Shit . . . Well, there was her answer—nope. Vi scribbled a note in Bob’s file reminding her to press him about the identity of the woman at their next session. Love made sane people do crazy things, and lust was even more dangerous. She should know, because she was having one hell of a time not looking forward to seeing Nikko at his next appointment.

  She was writing in Bob’s file when a knock sounded on her door. “Come in,” she called, not bothering to look up from her desk.

  “Za’s. I have your lunch, ma’am.”

  Vi glanced up. “What lunch?”

  “The lunch you ordered?” he said, holding up the paper bag and checking the address. “Chicken Parmesan on a ciabatta roll.”

  It was her favorite, but Vi hadn’t ordered it. Oh, well, Pen probably realized she hadn’t eaten when she’d seen Nikko leave and ordered her lunch. “Come on in.” Vi grabbed her purse from under the desk and began digging for her wallet.

  “I don’t need any money, ma’am. The bill has already been covered.”

  Really? “Tip, too?”

  He nodded.

  Wow, Pen must be in a generous mood. Now she felt even worse for snapping at her this morning. The delivery guy handed her the sack and left. Vi reached across the desk and pressed the intercom. “Thanks for lunch, Pen. You’re the best.”

  “What lunch? I thought you ordered that.”

  Vi’s pulse spiked, a niggling of unease working its way up her spine. If Pen didn’t order this, then who in the hell did? And more importantly, how did they know chicken parmesan on a ciabatta roll was her favorite lunch from Za’s?

  She had her answer when she opened the sack and pulled out the Styrofoam container. Lying on top of the package was a napkin with black ink scribbled on it.

  Clover,

  Sorry you missed your lunch.

  “They’re stonewalling me.”

  “What?”

  “Camp Pendleton.” Pen handed her Nikko’s release of information. “They won’t give me Nikko’s military records.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. If you want to try to get them, be my guest.” She dropped into the chair across from Vi. “I give up.”

  “You can’t give up. That’s your job.”

  Pen reached over to her desk and handed her the receiver. “Go ahead, call them. Their number’s on the second page I gave you.”

  Really? This was ridiculous. How hard could it be to get someone’s military records? Exhaling an exasperated sigh, Vi took the phone from Pen’s hand and dialed the number. After a few rings a friendly voice answered, “Camp Pendleton records department.”

  “Good afternoon. This is Dr. Violet Summers. My secretary called earlier requesting the military records of an ex-officer who is now under my care. Who do I need to speak with to get those sent to my office?”

  “Just a moment . . .”

  There were a series of clicks and then silence. Did they just hang up on her? “Hello?” Crap . . . “Hello?”

  “Dr. Summers?” The deep voice on the other end of the phone startled her. “This is Lieutenant Williams. How can I help you?”

  “Yes, thank you for taking my call. My secretary has faxed your records department a release of information for Sergeant Nikko Del Toro.”

  Without missing a beat he replied, “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. We have no record of the officer you’re inquiring about. There must be some mistake.”

  Her eyes shot to Pen, who was watching her with a smug See, I told you so grin. There was no mistake. The psychologist Nikko had seen for clearance to join the CFA had been clear and detailed in his notes. It was all in Nikko’s file.

  “There is no mistake. He was stationed at Camp Pendleton. How can you have no record of one of your officers?” she pressed. “He was in the Marine MARSOC division, honorably discharged from active duty after an injury and advised to begin psychological treatment for PTSD. Seems someone should have a record of that somewhere.”

  “Listen, Dr. Summers, do you have any idea how many Marines come through this camp? Do you honestly expect me to remember one from two years ago?” His voice was sharp with impatience.

  “I never told you it was two years ago, Lieutenant Williams. It seems you remember my soldier far better than you’re letting on. Why are you refusing to share his records with me? What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything, Dr. Summers. Nor do I owe you any explanations. If you have any further concerns, I suggest you take them up with the Pentagon. We’re done here.”

  Before she could come back with a rebuttal, the line went dead. Well, shit . . . That hadn’t gone how she was expecting it to. Seems the remark Nikko made when he’d signed that release had certainly come to fruition. Waste of time indeed. He’d known this was going to happen. But how? And why? What was he hiding? What was the military hiding?

  If Lieutenant Williams’s abrasive attitude was meant to dissuade her, he’d be sorely disappointed. His evasiveness and obvious lies were only making the puzzle that was Nikko Del Toro more interesting, and one she was determined to solve.

  Wednesday had come and gone, and still no sign of Nikko with those damn forms. The office was about to close, and Violet had spent the afternoon watching the clock, fully expecting him to walk through the door any moment. She asked him to return the paperwork she’d given him no later than today. The infuriating man was making it glaringly obvious that, while he may intend to cooperate, it wo
uld only be under his terms. Which meant if she wanted to do her job and have any chance of going over his psych eval before his appointment tomorrow morning, she was going to have to concede another battle and go to Carboni’s to get those papers.

  At the thought of seeing Nikko tonight, little butterflies woke in the pit of her stomach. She quickly netted those traitorous little rascals by telling herself this was a business meeting only—a get-in-and-get-out mission. It wasn’t a date, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to dress up for him. Although those new skinny jeans she just bought did make her ass look pretty incredible, and if she wore them, then she had to wear her black boots with those pirate buckles. Damn, those butterflies were back, and this time there was no containing them.

  If she were smart, she would send Pen to get those papers. It’d serve him right for trying to manipulate her. But then the thought of Pen and Nikko having dinner together made her want to throw up. She may not be able to have Nikko herself, but that didn’t mean she was willing to hand him over to her friend. Nor did she think she could sit home all night, wondering what they were talking about, what they were doing—and how many different ways they might be doing it. She loved Pen, she really did, but her friend wasn’t selfish with her lady bits, and if she actually thought Nikko was fair game, then the gloves would come off and that guy wouldn’t know what hit him.

  Vi didn’t know Nikko well enough to gamble that he wouldn’t take Pen up on an offer, especially if he were angry at Vi for standing him up. But, on the other hand, nothing good could come from Vi seeing him out of the office. At least behind a desk she was the one calling the shots, the one in control. Then again, she was starting to wonder if, when it came to Nikko Del Toro, maybe that control was nothing but an illusion.

  It was already pushing six. Her session with Bob had run late—again. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to get him to disclose the identity of his love interest. Getting him to leave was always a chore when he knew she didn’t have other patients waiting. She suspected he was purposely slotting himself into the last appointment of the day so he could keep her late. She would have to tell Pen not to let him have that opening anymore. Maybe she’d ask Nikko if he could start filling that spot. She could use a Bob buffer for the next month.

  In a way, Pen was right. Nikko wasn’t like her other patients. None of the MMA fighters were. For the most part, she was a hoop they needed to jump through in order to get their contracts signed. And as hard as she was trying to do the right thing here, as much as she wanted to toe the line of ethics, it didn’t change the fact that she knew Nikko in another capacity, and it was really hard for her to start seeing him in any other way. No matter how many times she reminded herself otherwise, or tried to convince herself this was wrong, there was something about that man that intrigued her, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She just hoped she didn’t end up getting burned.

  “Ugh . . . Bob is finally gone,” Pen sighed dramatically from the doorway. “I didn’t think that guy was ever going to leave. You about ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” Vi shut down her computer and grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. “I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought you’d left.”

  “Of course I’m still here. You didn’t think I’d leave you here alone with Bonkers Bob, did you?”

  “Pen . . .” she scolded. “Don’t call him that.”

  “Why not? It’s true, and I’m officially off the clock, so I can tell you that guy gives me the ever-loving creeps. He’s Looney Tunes, straight up Elmer Fudd style.”

  The truth of Pen’s words unnerved her a bit. She didn’t have many patients that sent her hackles up, but Bob Miller was one of them. Not only was he obsessive compulsive and manic, but the longer she treated him the more she was starting to see underlying tendencies of grandiose ideologies and borderline personality disorder.

  “I was going to mention not to let Bob book the last appointment of the day anymore. I’d prefer early or late morning, if possible.”

  Pen nodded her agreement. “I noticed he started doing that, and I was going to say something to you about it. I don’t like the idea of him hanging around here at the end of the day.”

  Vi stood and glanced up at the clock. Shit, she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry. She wanted to go home and change before heading to Carboni’s. “Check his future appointments and reschedule any he has for the morning, will ya?”

  “Sure. You in a hurry to go somewhere?”

  “What?” Vi came around the desk and began digging in her purse for her keys. It was a lot easier to lie to her friend when she didn’t have to look her in the face.

  “You’re looking at the clock like you’re running late. What’s up? You got a hot date tonight or what?”

  “Of course not.” She kept pawing through her purse as she walked past Pen and out the door. “It’s just been a long day and I’m ready to go home, that’s all. Lock the door behind you?”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  It was a quarter after seven by the time Vi pulled into the parking lot. Her heart fluttered inside her chest, and her stomach was doing this twisted little knot thing that made her feel borderline nauseous. For crying out loud, her palms were sweaty. Why was she so nervous? For all she knew, he wasn’t even here, or maybe he’d left. She was late, and Nikko didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy who’d sit around and patiently wait for anyone.

  This is not a date, this is not a date . . . she reminded herself over and over, trying to calm her nerves. It didn’t work. Taking a deep breath, Vi slid her palms down her thighs, drying her hands before climbing out of her car. Slipping her purse over her shoulder, she tossed her platinum hair behind her and strode into the restaurant with a confident poise she didn’t possess. The moment Vi stepped inside, she felt Nikko’s eyes light on her. She couldn’t see him yet, only knew that he was here somewhere watching her. She knew that all-too-familiar feeling, the heat of his stare. It did crazy things to her body, making her skin feel flushed and too tight. How was it possible for a look to ignite her like this? It was insane—

  There he was, sitting off in a quiet corner at a table for two. Her breath froze in her lungs when their gazes clashed. Mercy, he was gorgeous—everything about him—from his raven hair to his olive-tone skin. Not even the scar streaking down the side of his face could detract from his masculine beauty. But of all the qualities that made Nikko Del Toro a stunning man, it was his eyes that took her breath away—gray with flecks of sapphire and a ring of silver around his pupil—eyes that were intelligent and calculating, taking everything in and giving nothing back.

  Without realizing she was moving, Vi’s feet were propelling her toward him, her heart hammering in her chest as she struggled to hide his effect on her. Nikko rose before she reached the table and stood beside her chair. He was tall—taller than she remembered. And he smelled fantastic—a little woodsy, with just a hint of spice. It was the kind of scent that made a woman want to wrap her fists in a guy’s shirt and pull him in close so she could bury her face in the side of his neck and breathe him deep into her lungs.

  He was dressed casually in a midnight-blue T-shirt with a modest V and relaxed-fit jeans that hugged him in all the right places. He pulled out her chair as she approached, his top lip curving up to what she suspected for him was a smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said in way of a greeting.

  “I’m not sure I should have,” she confessed, sitting in the chair he held out for her. Instead of scooting her forward and dragging her chair against the tile, her feet left the ground as he lifted her up, setting her back down gently.

  She didn’t realized how close he stood behind her until his low, throaty chuckle rumbled beside her ear. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Do you have my papers?” she asked, just in case he thought she was here for another reason.

  “I do. What do you like to drink?” Nikko asked, returning to his seat but making no move
to produce said papers. Instead, he reached for the wine list in the center of the table. “Do you prefer red or white?”

  “I’ve recently switched to red.” Why was he doing this? What did he want from her? Curiosity gave her the justification to let this play out. Perhaps he’d be more forthcoming outside of the office. Maybe she’d learn a thing or two about Nikko Del Toro she could pass on to Jim for their therapy sessions. She was just doing her job by being a compassionate, dedicated therapist. Oh, yeah, and she was lying her ass off, but that was okay, as long as her gullible self kept buying every word of it.

  “Dry or sweet?” he asked, glancing up at her over the menu.

  “Sweet.”

  “Sweet and red, huh? Lambrusco all right?”

  “It’s fine. Nikko, what are you doing?”

  His brow arched at her question. “I’m going to order a bottle of wine.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m thirsty and you seem like you could use a glass yourself. Tough day at the office?”

  And just like that he managed to strip away all of her bravado. “Is it that obvious?” She dropped her face into her hands, suddenly feeling out of place and self-conscious. Did she really look that bad? True, she’d had a long day, and she had hardly slept at all the last two nights. When she wasn’t lying awake thinking about Nikko and wrestling with the moral dilemma of wanting him, he was playing a starring role in her erotic fantasies.

  His hand wrapped around her wrist, sending a jolt of heat racing up her arm. “That wasn’t what I meant, Clover. You look beautiful. You just seem . . .” He shrugged. “Really tense, is all.”

  “That’s because I shouldn’t be here, Nikko.”

  He scowled, his voice dipping lower. “Then why did you come?”

  “Because you wouldn’t turn in your papers and I need them before tomorrow.”