“So this is it,” Bratton said. “Nice.”
Before shifting into park, Roxy turned to her charge. “Are you okay?”
Bratton nodded. “I wasn’t expecting… this. It makes my house look like a dump.” The home was extraordinarily large for a federal safe house, but that’s the way things were on Embassy Row. Nothing was too big or too ornate, and Roxy’d bet a month’s pay this was the confiscated home of one Bernie Koldewyn, the District’s own ponzi scheme artist who’d bilked millions from unsuspecting investors, friends, and family.
The massive, wooden, double entry doors split as two children ran to the car. “Mom!” the red-haired little boy yelled, but the dark-haired girl trailed behind him, shrugging her shoulders like it was no big deal to be uprooted in the middle of the day and stashed in an FBI safe house.
Isaiah followed, his attention on the cruiser beyond the gate. “Welcome to your home away from home, Candy.”
Roxy rolled out of her vehicle with her hand on her pistol grip, instantly on edge, and not because Isaiah looked happy to see Candy. “You want to let my escort in?” she asked, nodding at the kids. “They’ve got a suspect these two need to interrogate.” A big hairy suspect.
In minutes, Humphrey and White rolled to a stop beside Roxy’s sedan and Bratton’s son squealed, “Nugget!”
“Sorry about that, guys,” Roxy told her fellow officers as they handed the leash on Nugget’s collar off to the anxious boy. “Let me know whose fingerprints were all over Bratton’s place, will you?”
“You bet,” White replied. “Good luck, Officer Thurston. Call if you need anything?”
“Will do. Same to you.”
That earned her a raised brow as if Officer White didn’t think he’d ever need her help. Isaiah interrupted the snarky retort forming on Roxy’s lips with a hurried, “Let’s take this party inside, folks.”
By then, Bratton’s son had Nugget inside with Bratton and her daughter following, while Roxy and Isaiah took up the rear. “Any problems finding this place?” he asked, his palm in the middle of her back, not pushing, just lightly herding her along with the others like she needed his superior male presence.
Roxy shrugged out from under him. “What? You think just because I’m late that I don’t know my own backyard?” Instantly, she regretted snapping his head off. It was a fair question, but why her hackles were up, she didn’t know. They just were, damn it.
“No, Officer Thurston, but traffic’s heavy when there’s entertainment in the capital. Have you eaten yet today? Are you hungry?”
Ha. He thought her snarky attitude came from her empty belly. Well, guess again, Mr. FBI. Security details always turned her into an alpha bitch protecting her litter. The waves of warmth radiating from that wide, firm palm were deliciously distracting, though. All at once, every atom in her body seemed to be leaning toward him for a—hug.
Inside the mansion now, because this place was a freaking mansion—Roxy stepped away from Zaroyin and took in the high vaulted ceilings and the marble floor of the entry with an aggravated glance.
“Christ, couldn’t you guys get something easier to secure?” she bit out to get her mind off the delicious way he smelled. “This place is a nightmare. How can we possibly defend it against Randall? The man’s got explosives, damn it. What were you thinking?”
“Do you honestly think he knows where we are?” Isaiah replied, his tone light and downright cheerful as he pointed to the crystal chandelier overhead. “Security cameras, Roxy. Smile. You’re on someone’s TV right now, and that someone’s as sharp as you are. They already know your weight, height, and what you ate for breakfast.”
Grunting, she told him what she thought of that stupid FBI comment. As if she wasn’t already plenty distracted, now Roxy had to deal with the loss of that warm hand on her back. The chemistry, or whatever this thing zinging between them was, annoyed and tantalized her like nothing before. Randall had better make his move soon because Roxy could feel her control slipping whenever Zaroyin came around.
He went on as if he had no idea what his proximity did to her. “This place is under twenty-four-seven video surveillance, inside and outside. Once I activate the system…” He took one step behind the entry door, lifted what looked like an oil painting but was actually a hinged door to a control panel, and tapped over the numeric keypad. “There. We are officially secure in one of the safest, safe houses in the District. Candy and her children will be under armed guard—that’s you and me—until this thing is over. Two more agents are outside in an unmarked car, so yes. I think we’ve got the upper hand where Randall’s concerned. Don’t you?”
He’d just answered all her questions, but did she want to admit the Bureau might just know what they were doing? Not so much. “Are they your men or mine?” she asked in a civil tone. “Those two in the unmarked?”
“FBI, but we’re willing to work with MPD in any capacity you’d like. Are there officers in particular you’d recommend for this detail?” He cocked his head, his dark eyes hooded. Yeah. He could feel the energy crackling between them like the lightning in a plasma globe the same as she could. His tongue made a quick swipe over his bottom lip as if he were thinking the same thing she was. Sex on the floor. Now. Hurry. Fast!
“Umm, no,” Roxy said, her voice gone hoarse again, damn it. How’d he do that to her? “Excuse me but I’ve got to check in.”
“As do I,” he replied, his cell in his hand, but not at his ear.
Roxy placed her call to Captain Quinlan and advised him that she was in for the night. All the while, she kept one eye on Isaiah. He hadn’t lifted his cell to make his call, yet his eyes had darkened, and he nodded as if he were speaking with someone. Interesting. The man must have some kind of psychic link with his boss. She couldn’t help wondering if he could turn it on and off like a phone. Was it only mind-speak or was there a mental video upload that came with it? Could Isaiah project pictures to his boss or just conversation? Was there a limit to the distance he could reach? Better yet, could he teach her to do that mind-speak thing, too?
When he winked, she blinked, embarrassed he’d caught her staring. She cut him off. “Let’s go eat, Zaroyin. What’d you fix? It better be good.”
Cranking her neck to break eye contact, she turned her back on him and headed for the room where Nugget’s big bark had just come from. Had to be the kitchen or dining room judging by the smells emanating from that direction.
“Your favorite,” Isaiah murmured as he stepped to her six.
Again, his palm hit the small of her back, but she had an arsenal, too, and snark was her weapon of choice. “Ha. You don’t have a clue what my favorite foods…” Oh, my hell. Maybe you do. What’s all this?
Roxy came to a full stop at the lavish banquet table where Bratton now sat cheerfully between her kids, a feast laid before them. Someone certainly knew how to set a formal table setting. Shrimp Alfredo. Cold, peeled shrimp. Cocktail sauce in cute little ceramic dipping cups. A crisp green salad full of cucumbers, black olives, tomatoes, and some kind of white cheese. Goblets full of what had better be water, not white wine, stood near elegant white china plates and bright shiny silverware.
The dining room looked utterly resplendent, like nothing Roxy had ever seen before in a safe house. She shot Isaiah an appreciative look even as her belly growled, giving her away.
“Have a seat, Officer Thurston,” he offered gallantly, his hand at his side instead of on her back, where she would’ve preferred it. But this was just a job. Nothing more. The mistake she’d made in the broom closet wouldn’t happen again.
“Hi guys,” she offered to the kids. “I’m Metro Police Officer Roxy Thurston, but from now on you can call me Roxy, got it?”
The girl rolled her big, brown eyes. Okay, message received. You think you’re tougher than me. I can deal with that, especially since you’re just a teenager. “You must be Kitty.”
“Wow, and you must be a rocket scientist
,” Kitty drawled.
That earned the girl Roxy’s most sincere smile. Snark, she understood. “I think I’m going to like you.” Turning to the boy and his dog, she asked, “Darrin, right?”
His head bobbed. “And this here’s Nugget. Thanks for finding him for me, Officer, umm, Roxy.”
Her shoulders lifted. “I couldn’t leave him behind, could I?” she said as she ruffled said dog’s pointed, hard head. The crazy mutt seemed to like her. He’d come to her knee at the sound of his name as if she’d intentionally called him. As if she liked dogs. “Are you a good boy?” she asked.
“Woof!” Nugget answered. The goofy guy dropped to his butt, lifted his sleek gold muzzle and told her again, “Woof, woof!” in his great big outdoor voice.
“He likes you!” Darrin squealed. “Look Mom! Nugget likes Officer Thurs… ah, I mean Roxy!”
A frown tweaked Roxy’s lips at this new development. She didn’t like dogs, per se. She was a cat person, the adoring staff to the feline goddess that shared her father’s home with her. Not dogs. Well, okay. Maybe this one dog had a few redeeming qualities. Now that he wasn’t running loose, he was an obedient sort of fellow and he did have big brown eyes that seemed to draw her in. She took a knee and gave him another pat and a long stroke down his fluffy neck.
“Down,” Isaiah said quietly behind her. His palm was flat and his fingers were spread forward as he talked to the dog like he knew what he was doing. Damned if Nugget didn’t drop to his belly, his gaze bright on Isaiah.
Roxy cupped his head and smoothed both hands over his ears. The dog’s fur was sleek and smooth, nothing like Toy’s soft and cuddly fur, but it was more pleasant than Roxy expected.
“This bad boy’s had obedience training, hasn’t he, Candy?” Isaiah asked.
She’d changed from a nervous woman into a happy mother, her gray eyes bright with relief instead of clouded with worry. “It cost me an arm and a leg, but he grew so big and so fast his first year, so yes. I sent him and Darrin to puppy obedience school. I didn’t need Nugget tearing my house apart.”
“Wanna see the tricks he can do?” Darrin asked.
“How about we save that show for after dinner?” Isaiah replied smoothly.
Kitty’s brow lifted in typical teenage annoyance, but Darrin’s eyes sparkled. “You got it, Agent Zaroyin.” The hero worship glittering in his eyes was hard to miss. Wow. Isaiah had certainly imbedded himself quickly within this little family. The cozy scene looked good and normal at first glance, but getting friendly with the clients could go wrong on so many levels. This was still a security detail, yet Isaiah didn’t seem worried at all. If anything, he looked at home.
Annoyed, Roxy lifted to her feet, wondering which of the several doors in the two hallways that branched off the dining room led to the nearest bathroom. She needed a moment to catch her balance. The troll sitting on her shoulder had too easily roiled her jealous side into attack mode, and so had Isaiah’s apparent friendship with every Bratton sitting around the table. Even the snarky teenager Roxy’d felt an instant kinship with.
“Through that door, first room on the right,” he said. “If you’re looking for some place to wash your hands, that is.”
Roxy leveled a shrewd eye at him. Had he just read her mind? Embarrassed at the notion and what else he might’ve psychically deduced, she smoothed her palms down her thighs. There was no way he could see through her clothes, but not knowing that for certain kept her self-conscious and off-balance.
“Umm, thanks,” she murmured, as flustered as she’d ever been. “Be right back.”
Roxy made a quick get away as the banter between Isaiah, Darrin, Kitty, and Candy followed her down the hall. Once behind the closed door of an equally opulent washroom that made her feel even more out of place, maybe out of her league, she pressed her hand to her breastbone to calm her wildly beating heart.
She was the job, damn it, and the job was her. That’s all there was to it, and this was nothing But. A. Job. So why’d she feel like she didn’t belong at that dining table? This was the District, for hell’s sake. My District. My turf. She knew every street and every back alley, and more than anyone else, she belonged, damn it.
Swallowing hard, she took a quick look in the ornate, gold-framed mirror that stretched the entire wall over multiple sinks that looked like china bowls lined up on the expensive marble counter. Damn, how many sinks do rich people need to wash their hands and powder their faces? Apparently six.
Roxy could’ve cried. After her service on the force, after all of the men and women she’d arrested, tackled to the ground when they thought they could run from her, after all her arrests, bookings, and testifying in court—the dark eyes staring back at her from the mirror were still the same.
She forced another swallow past the tightness clamping her throat. This time she couldn’t run home to Mama. That escape route was forever closed to her, but the first free moment she got, she meant to call her father.
Isaiah Zaroyin had better watch his step, damn him. He might’ve had his way with her once, but it wouldn’t happen again. Mama and Daddy had taught Roxy well, and Roxy Thurston was tough. She didn’t need a man in her life. That was who’d made her weak in the first place. It wouldn’t happen again.
Chapter Nine
After Isaiah showed Candy and her children to their rooms, he returned to clear the dining room table and start dishes. Cleanliness may not be next to godliness, but an orderly house made everything else run smoother. When he got there, the table was not only cleared, but wiped clean. The sound of Roxy’s authoritative voice led him into the kitchen where Nugget sat in apt attention at her knee.
“Who’s a good boy?” she asked him in an adorable babyish voice that made Isaiah grin. Of course, Nugget’s bright brown eyes followed her as she bent at the waist, talking to him like he was a kid. “Can you shake hands with me, too?”
Nugget wiggled his fluffy butt before his right paw landed in her upturned palm.
“Good boy!” She all but squealed. Tossing a dog biscuit from the opened bag on the counter, she told him, “Roll over.”
No sooner asked than accomplished. Nugget couldn’t seem to obey this delightful woman quickly enough, and Isaiah knew how he felt. Clawing back to his feet, the other ‘good boy’ in the room, resumed sitting with his ears perked forward and his attention riveted on his new friend, or at least on the treats in her hand.
Folding his arms over his chest, Isaiah leaned against the door jamb, content to watch the show. What a sight. Officer Thurston seemed to enjoy this four-legged Bratton more than the others. Roxy’s uniform, the one he’d nearly torn off her in his one and only out of control moment in the broom closet back at FBI HQ, wrinkled at the waist and smoothed over her backside as she bent over again. Oddly, he wasn’t as embarrassed by that observation as he thought he’d be. Normally not one to ogle the ladies, he knew he’d tear her clothes off again if she didn’t turn around and notice him pretty soon. Nugget wasn’t the only hound dog in the house.
The long ponytail down her back flipped from side to side while she ran Nugget through several more easy tricks. Sit. Beg. Lay. Over. “One more, big guy,” she told him, the treat in her hand now held high over his head. Her enthusiasm ranked right up there with Darrin’s. “Take it.”
He looked up. Then, as gingerly as Tinker Bell landing on a flower petal, Nugget stretched to his back feet, and, without touching Roxy’s fingers, he snagged the end of that biscuit and carefully eased it out of her grip.
She dropped to her knees, hugging the shaggy fellow once he was back on all fours. “You’re such a good boy,” she crooned, her fingertips dancing over his snout and cradling his face even as he chewed. Some dogs red-zoned when anyone came too near their food, but not Nugget. He seemed as gentle as a lamb. A big, golden lamb.
“Tell him to hold,” Isaiah said quietly, not wanting to startle Roxy or the dog.
Her brows lifted as she cast a qui
ck glance over her shoulder. “How long have you been standing there?”
Isaiah shrugged. “A minute or two.”
Lifting to her feet, she dropped one hand to her hip and cocked a saucy eye at him. “What’s that mean? Hold?”
Isaiah egged her on. “Just tell him. If he’s as smart as I think he is, you’ll see.”
“Fine.” Roxy turned her back on Isaiah and told Nugget to,” Hold.”
The dog never hesitated. In one lightning fast leap, he launched his big furry body at Roxy, knocked her to the floor, and placed his slobbery alligator jaws over her throat. Roxy let out an unladylike, “Ugh,” when she hit. One big paw hit the center of her chest, mashing her breasts, but holding her where she’d fallen.
Worried she’d hurt her head, Isaiah ran to her side. “Are you hurt?”
Angry brown eyes locked on him even as she ran her fingers over Nugget’s big head. “Damn you, Zaroyin,” she hissed. “This isn’t funny. You knew he’d do this, didn’t you? Now tell me what to say to get him off.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Just tell him, off.”
She lay there running her fingers over Nugget’s grinning face for a second longer before she muttered, “Okay, off, you big hairy mutt. Get. Off.”
A silly grin stretched his black lips as Nugget promptly did as she’d commanded, but not until his tongue took a healthy swipe over her chin and mouth, covering her in drool.
“Ugh! Stop it! Eww. Dog slobber. Eww!”
Chuckling, Isaiah gave her a hand up, and there it was again. The sizzle. The fire. That overwhelming, inner-caveman need to shelter her, to serve and protect this hot-blooded woman. It happened every time he came too close. The second he touched her skin, his body hardened into a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal while his overly-intelligent, twenty-first century, gentlemanly resolve melted like chalk dust on a hot summer sidewalk in the rain.
One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3) Page 8