undercovertrouble_341-1e1.htm

by Undercover Trouble (Wings) (lit)

  She broke away to cautiously dispose of the covering. As she eased before him in her bikini panties, his heart somersaulted. She slipped slowly to her knees when, without a word, he motioned for her to come down within reach. Her fingers entwined his tight chest curls moistened with sweat from where she had lain.

  Mitch’s fingers rimmed the waist of her underwear, then with her help, he sent them over the rise of her hips. She accommodated his action by slipping them off. She lay beside him, waiting. His briefs followed, joining the pile of her clothes on the floor. He braced himself on his elbows and raised his body above her so he could look down at the wonder waiting for him. He wasn’t prepared for the tenseness that rippled the full length of her body. Nor was he expecting the horror that spilled from her eyes.

  "Mitch, I can’t do this. Let me up!"

  Seven

  "Spike, we’d better make tracks. Finally, we can tell Bull where Mitch lives."

  Spike blew a puff of smoke through the open window, stuck the cigarette between his teeth and moved to switch on the ignition. "Christ, Pugsy, Mitch has gotten careless. Wonder how come? First time he hasn’t given us the slip. Musta had his mind on somethin’."

  "Maybe he was anxious to get back to his woman," Pugsy replied, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

  Spike snorted and laughed. "She looked like she’d do fine in the sack. If Mitch isn’t on the level, I’m gonna give her a try."

  "Okay, let’s go. Hey, what’s that going across the yard?"

  "Where?" Spike’s car key suspended in midair.

  "Spike, I just seen someone running across to the trees. Can’t see anybody now. Wait and see if anyone comes out on the other side. I’d swear..."

  Spike narrowed his eyes and peered into the dark. "You’d swear what?"

  "Judging by the shape, I’d swear it was a nekkid woman!"

  "Hot damn, your imagination is in overdrive." Spike let out a croaky laugh. "Dream on."

  "No. I tell you, Spike, she’s buck nekkid. Wait. There she is. See?"

  "By damn, look at that!"

  "C’mon. It’s gotta be the broad Mitch was with at the bar." Spike opened his door.

  "Listen!"

  The creak of a screen door’s hinges was followed by a slam.

  Spike hopped out, closing his door softly. "Old Mitch has been makin’ out with the neighbor. Isn’t that the bitch he led Bull to believe he was shacked up with? Maybe he’s no good in bed, and she’s fed up. What’s say we pay her a visit and check her out?"

  "Maybe we should get to Bull and report what we seen," Pugsy answered trailing Spike.

  Spike snorted. "Maybe we should save Bull some time and take her to him after we’re finished."

  "Nope, he wouldn’t like it. We better have our fun and leave. If we play it right, Mitch won’t hear a sound and in the dark she won’t know who we are."

  ~ * ~

  The onset of a night breeze off the lake cooled the perspiration pebbling Jen’s skin. With no explanation for her flight, Jen figured Mitch’s anger would culminate in disgust. She felt disgusted toward her actions, too. She should have given him some warning. Instead, her leap from desire to rejection was abrupt and hurtful. The moment Mitch loomed above her, ready for the finale, she’d panicked and had to get out of there. The tightening of her lungs and throat demanded it. She’d slipped into her sneakers, grabbed her clothes and taken off.

  Once she locked her cabin door, she leaned against it, listening. He hadn’t followed. Lucky him. She glanced at her purse still neatly tucked behind the bookends on the shelf. Spooky’s warm paws kneading her legs offered little comfort. Tuned to the fight or flight mode, she had chosen the latter this time. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she had regained control of herself after all.

  The porch step creaked. Her senses vaulted to alert. Mitch wasn’t smart. He was coming after her. Big mistake. Maybe she should frighten him off. Jen knew what lay in her purse; the question was: did his presence threaten her enough to haul it out? The last time he’d invaded she hadn’t been able to get past him to grab her gun. And she hadn’t needed it, thank God. She didn’t know if she could pull the trigger again, even against a ruffian like him. After his tenderness in bed, Jen couldn’t imagine him being a threat.

  When the police had returned her weapon, she’d been warned against any rash use, but they understood her need. Now, if for some unfathomable reason she needed protection, it was within reach. From the darkness she peered around the kitchen curtain. Two shadows, near the top step, bent over and peeked into the living room window. Two! Both short. Mitch couldn’t be one of them. Prowlers? Spooky let out a low growl--the only warning she’d ever heard him utter. The shadows straightened.

  Her hands shaking, Jen grabbed her purse and opened it. The cold solid steel reassured her. The shadows lit off the doorstep in a single bound and ran out her driveway. She raced to a back window in time to hear slamming car doors and see a set of headlights flash down the road. The vehicle drove off. Only then did she realize that Spooky was barking at the other door. "Quiet, Spooks, they’re gone."

  The screen door crashed to the floor; the inner door burst wide. A frightening dark hulk appeared. She whirled, letting the purse drop to the floor. In her hand she held a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver. The moonlight glinted on the barrel.

  "Jen?"

  "You’re a hard one on doors, Mitch." She lowered the gun.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  "You tell me. A couple of your cronies on the loose?"

  "What did you see?"

  "Two men on my porch. They left in a hurry."

  "I don’t know who they could be. Not friends of mine, that’s for sure. Ditch the gun." He took a step backward. "What are you doing with the damn thing here, anyway?"

  "That should be self-explanatory."

  "Put it away. You could get hurt. Hell, I could get seriously killed! What can you tell me about the guys who were here?"

  Jen picked up her purse and stowed the revolver. "Not much. Two men, shorter than you. Maybe I should have turned on the light, but then they would have seen that Spooky was only a pup. His ferocious growl scared them into leaving; they couldn’t even see I had the gun--holy shit, I still haven’t any clothes on. Don’t turn on the lamp. I’ll be back in a minute." Jen darted behind her bedroom curtain, laid her shoulder bag on the bureau, and not bothering with underwear, threw on a tank top and a pair of shorts.

  Mitch turned on the lamp and paced the floor. "We need to talk."

  Jen bounced from her bedroom. "We don’t need to talk. We have a different value system. A relationship with you would cause more problems than its worth, and you know it. It’s no one’s fault. It’s the way it is. Now go home and take a cold shower."

  "The hell I will. Level with me for once. Why’d you stop?"

  "Bad vibes." She motioned him to the door. "Care to leave?"

  "No. Were you planning on shooting me when I came in here just now like the poor bastard you gunned down?"

  She stopped short. He’d hit a nerve. "Not at all, not that you shouldn’t be ‘gunned down’ for scaring me to death. I’ll take into consideration you were on a rescue mission. Okay, you can go now. Spooky already saved me, and he gets the credit." She couldn’t figure out why she was so hostile. Mitch’s intentions had been honorable, yet she resented his interference. Must be the curse of having red hair.

  "You got it, Jen. I’m history."

  Her slide of the deadbolt when he left spelled an end to whatever might have developed in the loft. Mitch had raised one point that she’d never before questioned. Why had she been interested in guns in the first place? She couldn’t answer. The need to have one had been with her as far back as she could recall.

  Once she crawled into bed, she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily even though she’d been up half the night. Exhaustion wouldn’t buy rest for a troubled mind. As she sat up and stared in the direction Mitch had gone, cold shivers brought out goosebu
mps. Seemed like she’d been shaking for years inside, all the time wondering why. Mitch’s questioning of her possession of a gun brought her life into focus.

  A shadow had followed her, as far back as she could remember. The black, angry monster had sucked away all joy, leaving her floundering and confused. The mood tonight had been set for lovemaking in an ideal situation. When she had tried to focus on Mitch as he loomed above her, another face came into view--closer than any of the other scary times she’d seen it. A burst of terror had seized her and once again she’d missed out on something that should have embodied enchantment and satisfaction.

  With Mitch’s face in mind, she laid her head on the pillow and carefully lifted her legs onto the mattress. A slight ache had started again--the pills were wearing off. She’d have to weather the next spasm of pain alone. She sighed. A wave of dejection dampened her enthusiasm to get to the root of her troubles.

  Her reaction to Mitch’s advances, the very thing she’d encouraged, was nothing short of treachery. And she had complained about lacking trust in him? Now he’d never be able to trust her. Why had she been hit with such suffocation in the blink of an eye?

  Spooky’s nose nudged her arm.

  "Am I keeping you awake, Spooks? It’s almost dawn. We’ll soon have to pack and get out of here. I just need some rest first, then we’ll go." Her fingers wound around his curls and she yawned and slowly relaxed.

  Thud, thud, thud! Spooky’s bounce jostled her awake as the noise assaulted her ears. The hammering came from some place other than her head. In her return to consciousness, the sudden movement of her back triggered a moan. Forced to lie back, she could only wait and hope she’d be able to maneuver herself gradually. "I thought Mitch said he wouldn’t be around, Spooky. Go bite his leg off. Damn, you can’t get at him." She brought her knees to her chin then stretched her legs and repeated the motion several times. The stiffness faded and she rolled off the edge of the mattress, working herself to a sitting position. Nausea struck instantly and she flopped back.

  "Yip-Yip-Yip!"

  "Hush up. You’ll wake everyone across the lake."

  Tap-tap-tap. Jen glanced at the window beside her bed. She shuttered her eyes against the morning’s bright light.

  "Aren’t you getting up today?" His hands and face pressed tight against the glass, Mitch’s eyes narrowed to see inside.

  "In time. Go away."

  "I came to fix your door, then I’ll gladly be gone. I need some screws."

  "Forget the door. I’m leaving today."

  "I’ll be done in no time. Let me in."

  "Not by the hair of my... I can’t get up."

  "Why didn’t you say so?"

  "I just did, dammit." Sinking into the restful quiet when he disappeared, she closed her eyes from the pain. The next thing she heard was her window going up. When she looked, Mitch was slinging his leg over the sill. "You’re breaking into my home again?"

  "I’m rescuing a damsel who doesn’t have sense enough to realize she’s in distress."

  "Mitch, I’m serious. I don’t want you here."

  "Tough! You need me and you know it." Once both feet landed inside, he patted Spooky on the head. "How are you little fella?"

  "Yip-yip-yip."

  "He’s a traitor. That’s how he is," Jen muttered, turning to see Mitch’s big frame approach her bed. "He ought to be chasing you out of here."

  "That’s no way to talk about a hero. He saved your hide last night with his growl."

  "I know he did. But he also saved theirs. I could have used my gun."

  "I want to talk to you about that."

  "Well, I don’t intend to listen. Keep in mind that I have one the next time you don’t do as I ‘direct.’"

  He clicked his tongue. "I should have known better than to tangle with a redhead."

  "Enough of that crap. Why are you really here?"

  "I’m going to fix your door, if you behave." He moved toward the bedroom curtain.

  "Why, Mitch?"

  "I have time to kill."

  "You’re thinking those guys might come back, aren’t you?"

  "It’s possible, Jen, but unlikely, since they think you have a watchdog." He sat down on the edge of her mattress and rubbed Spooky’s back with long strokes. "Some protection."

  Jen groaned and wiggled a few inches away. "Have you any idea who they could be?"

  "I might."

  "What kind of friends do you ride with, Mitch? Isn’t it true some have been in jail?"

  "Yes, a few, but I’m not involved in what they do."

  "What did they do time for? And don’t sugar-coat it."

  "Drugs mostly, assault, forgery."

  "Forgery?" She could feel the heat from an idea’s germination. "I wouldn’t think your friends would be stupid enough to forge anything. It’s well known the local police keep a close tab on gang members.

  "Well, there’s no accounting for stupidity."

  "And Bull is one of the gang?"

  "Yes, I won’t deny it. He’s the leader. I like having friends with power."

  Jen wrinkled her nose but remained pensive. How could she get the name of a forger from Mitch without arousing his suspicion? "Want some coffee?"

  "No, thanks. I’m going to get started on the job." He rose and stared down at her. "Look, I know the wheels are grinding in your head, but I don’t know what track they’re taking. You’re a hard one to figure, Jen."

  "I know, so don’t try. I can’t figure me out, either." Her mind filled with Bull’s image. He would know who could forge the documents she needed and probably ask a lot fewer questions if he was used to these kinds of dealings. Her fingers scraped along the sheet. She wished she could be anywhere but here. Mitch’s presence was driving her crazy; she couldn’t think. His nearness always sent pinpricks along her nerves: prodding, titillating, annoying the hell out of her; and it all added to an emotional tug of war that she already didn’t understand. She wilted under the pressure of his steady gaze and concentrated on smoothing wrinkles from her bedclothes.

  "I think you need serious help, Jen, and I don’t mean just with your back. I’m going to get you more pills. We’ll discuss it later."

  "Don’t rush back. I can manage without your help." She bit down on her lip. Some management. Her usual tack had been to weather a storm knowing eventually it would pass. There seemed to be no end in sight to the tornado that had entered her life and taken over. She’d never had to face such upheavals. Could she survive the damage? Not unless she got out of here, and to do that, she needed Mitch and his hooligan friend.

  Mitch stared at her a minute, waiting; but when she didn’t retract what she said, he left. She objected to his air of authority and resented the guilt she felt for her unkind words. He didn’t waste time because he was back in a few minutes standing over her to administer medication like he’d been doing it all of his life. When she thought about it, though, she decided he’d probably been banged up so often in brawls that finding relief from pain was second nature. Yet, he showed no battle scars or other signs of having led a rough life. He didn’t have any tattoos, either, like most of the disreputable types she’d seen before.

  Jen brought the glass to her lips and swallowed the medication; she studied his every move. Aside from his shaggy appearance and forceful intrusion into her life, he hadn’t been crude or physical toward her, doing only what she allowed. He could have followed the violent path she’d expected. Were his threats only that? Her mind spun in a whirl of confusion. The contrast between the arrogance typical of gang members and Mitch’s stalwart self-assurance, brought the first doubt he was the hardened scum she’d presumed. She needed to dwell on this, but she couldn’t with him hovering above like some damned angel on the make.

  "I’m going to apply heat to your back today. See if it makes a difference."

  "You make a good nurse, Mitch."

  "Hate to see anyone in pain." The flush on his face surprised her. "Now rest. That’s a ‘directi
on’ of my own." He winked and his sparkling eye contact brought about an immediate quivering response low in her body. She sought a reprieve from the sensation by gulping the last of the water and shoving the tumbler into his outstretched hand. She worked her way under the covers without disgracing herself with a yelp.

  "I’ll take a look at the door and be back with the hot pad when it’s heated through."

  Jen stared at the curtain as it waved his departure. "Spooky?"

  "He’s out here with me," Mitch yelled from the kitchen.

  "Double-crosser," she retorted.

  A few minutes later Mitch returned, a hot, wet towel in his hands and a plastic grocery bag to protect the bed sheet. "Where’s the sorest place on your back?"

  She kept her cover pulled up to her chin but lifted her back slightly and pointed. He slipped the wad underneath the spot. A moan of pleasure escaped as she eased herself down. I could get used to being looked after by someone.

  As Mitch worked away at the door, and she soaked up the heat, Jen concentrated on what she knew about him. Investigative work covered a broad range of things. Troubleshooter? Private eye? Hitman?

  No, one thing she knew instinctively: he wasn’t a killer. He’d not volunteered much personal information, though to be honest she hadn’t asked. She could only rely on what she’d observed. And what she’d seen had more to do with his animal magnetism--or lack thereof at times. Come to think of it, he’d been sweet-smelling lately, as if he’d actually made an attempt to be less revolting. Maybe that was why her original repulsion no longer stood her in good stead. Last night she’d been drawn to him like a flying critter to a light bulb, fully prepared to be incinerated. Look how that turned out. Instead of getting burned, she’d been frozen in fear. But not of him. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him that he didn’t appear to hold a grudge? There was more to this hunk of masculinity than met the eye. Much more. Perhaps Bull could fill her in. Two reasons to get in touch with the insufferable hoodlum... but did she dare?