by Mia Dymond
“Nobody looked suspicious.”
“You were supposed to catch him,” Cameron hissed.
Max slipped in behind her. “It’s not that easy, short stuff.”
Cameron squealed and spun to face him. “Good grief! You’re awfully quiet for such a big guy.”
Max just smirked.
“We need to finish.” Rachel grinned. “Before the oil dries.”
While Rachel and Cameron returned to the action, Hawke and Max took positions near the back door with Steele and Shadow.
“Leaving will be a bitch,” Max muttered.
“I’ll sign autographs while you get her in the truck.”
Max nodded and threw a suspicious glance at Rachel and Cameron. The two women chattered and giggled as they continued to massage chests, abs and muscles. “If we can ever get them out of here.”
“They don’t act like they’re in a hurry to leave,” Shadow said under his breath.
“Damn, Shadow,” Max bellowed, “do you have a death wish?”
Activity stilled at Max’s outburst, all eyes focused on him. Hawke bit his bottom lip, unable to speak.
“No problem,” Shadow said smoothly, “we’re just discussing a sore subject over here.”
Cameron rolled her eyes and shrugged. Rachel gave a serene smile and lifted the camera back to her eye.
Hawke cleared his throat. “Need a break, Max?”
Max wiped the sweat from his brow, the mask of control securely back in place. “No.”
Steele cleared his throat. “Captain, ask Shadow what he read last night.”
“Steele,” Shadow growled.
Max cocked his head to the side. “Good book?”
Shadow didn’t speak.
“Apparently,” Steele answered, “Shadow has a collection of romance novels.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Steele gave a smug smile. “Nope. Serious as a heart attack.”
As the sun began to set, Rachel and Cameron photographed the last fireman and Max began recovery mode. After a short meeting with the fire chief and police chief, Max followed Rachel and Cameron back inside the garage.
“Steele will load Rachel into the Suburban first,” Max told them. “As soon as the fire trucks roll out, you’re on, Hawke. The crowd is pretty thick. The snipers will remain until you’re finished.”
Max turned to Cameron. “Walk straight to your car. Shadow will go with you.”
Cameron lifted her sunglasses. “Are you going to tie me to the top if I don’t?”
Hawke’s body tensed, not sure how much more Max could take. Max’s chest slowly rose and then fell. He ran his palm over the smooth surface of his head. “Just get in the damn car.”
As if she sensed the impending danger, Cameron set her glasses back on her nose. “Fine, but I’m going to the spa first, Max.”
Hawke glanced from Max to Steele to Shadow. No nickname? What the hell?
“It’s Wednesday,” Rachel murmured.
Hawke frowned. “So?”
“Wednesday is spa day.” She gave him a cursory glance. “I’ll be in the truck.”
Hawke nodded and watched Steele follow her to the safety of the Suburban.
Max turned to Shadow. “Do not leave the perimeter. Escort her in and then back out.”
Shadow nodded and then laid a hand to the small of Cameron’s back. “C’mon, tiger.”
Max motioned for the fire trucks to move and then the crowd went wild. With Max beside him, Hawke stepped outside the garage to accept offers of autographs and photographs.
Rachel sat in the quiet interior of the Suburban with Brett, content with the afternoon’s events. Hawke had once again surprised her. When the crowd gathered behind the fire trucks, she fully expected him to greet his public. After all, why not? Hawke’s presence didn’t have much to do with the calendar anyway. But instead, he remained in the depths of the garage, hidden from view. Impressive.
Rachel gazed out the window at Hawke and her heart pounded. Even in a swarm of females, she wanted him. No doubt about it, even though he betrayed and lied to her, she couldn’t resist him. And what warmed her already heated body even more, he wanted her.
“Hazard of undercover,” Brett mumbled.
Rachel lifted an eyebrow. “According to Max, you’re quite the ladies’ man.”
Brett lowered his head. “Sterling has a big mouth.”
“Actually, I’ve found Max to be very insightful.”
Brett gave her a cocky grin in response just as the passenger door opened and Hawke stepped inside. Max entered and slid behind the steering wheel.
Hawke scooted close to her. “I’d say the afternoon was a success.”
“It was,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Anything for you, angel.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp and cleared her throat. “Are you still serious about your house?”
Hawke scrubbed a hand down the side of his jaw. “Rachel, I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely truthful with you but, I was dead serious when I said I was ready to settle down and concentrate on other things.”
Careful to keep her emotions hidden, she asked the one question she wasn’t sure she really wanted him to answer. “Will you live there?”
He reached to grasp her hand again. “Yes. Jaydon Hawke will not allow me to be the SEAL I once was.”
She gave his hand a slight squeeze. “Then, I need to check the progress.”
“Sure.” He lifted her hand, turned it over and placed a kiss to the underside of her wrist. “You heard the lady, Max.”
Max nodded and steered the vehicle away from the chaos and toward the building site.
Rachel glanced out the back window to see if anyone followed. Although security gates had now been installed around the entry to the new house, the house itself wasn’t completely wired and it would be difficult to keep a determined groupie out.
“Not a problem, Rachel,” Max said from the front seat. “The police department’s got it all under control.”
Rachel grinned. More like Max had it all under control. She leaned back against the seat, relieved the afternoon was almost over.
Max stopped in front of two iron, black gates, lowered the car window, and entered the code. He parked the Suburban across the driveway near the front door.
“We’ll wait out here,” Max told Hawke when he opened the back door.
Hawke nodded and headed inside with Rachel. As soon as they entered the foyer, Hawke’s body bumped hers and he grasped her shoulders to steady them both. A tiny gasp left her lips.
Hawke peered over her head and suddenly her behavior made sense. “Sonuvabitch.”
The place looked like a wrecking ball had a field day. The windows were broken, the sheetrock literally hung off the frame, and the gargantuan chandelier in the entryway hung from three wires.
Hawke pushed Rachel the opposite direction. “We probably better steer clear,” he mumbled.
Rachel stepped toward a mountain of rock in the corner. “So much for the fountain.” She turned back toward him and fire blazed in the depths of her eyes. “This is insane.”
“Vandals?” Hawke suggested, although he knew better.
“There are no vandals in this area,” Rachel answered with icy calmness. “Should I call the police?”
Hawke stepped into the kitchen and almost fell out. “No.”
He turned, blocking her entrance to the kitchen as she stepped toward him.
She frowned and pushed one hand against his chest. “Let me see. It can’t be any worse than the rest.”
“Rachel, wait until I get Max and Steele.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Why?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh my God! There’s not a body inside is there?”
“Damn.” Hawke ran a hand through his hair. “No. Just trust me, you don’t want to go in.”
Her eyes held his for a moment and then somehow she managed
to slip past him. Hawke released a heavy breath and then braced himself in the doorway.
Rachel stood in the middle of the kitchen, turning a semicircle as she scanned glossy photographs of herself in the arms of a much older man plastered to every free inch of space. Some in vivid Technicolor, some in black and white. Some innocent and some very, very graphic. But those paled in comparison to the newspaper articles that labeled her harlot and homewrecker.
Hawke waited patiently for her to scream. Cry. Or even speak. Instead, she looked at each and every picture, some even twice, until she finally took a deep breath and turned her gaze to him. “And you thought the tabloids loved you.”
Hawke took a hesitant step toward her, fueled by the overwhelming urge to hold her. She held up a hand to stop him and then reached to pluck a newspaper clipping from the wall. “I owe you an explanation.”
Hawke shifted. So this is what it felt like to be on the other end. Acid burnt his gut. “Rachel—”
“Please.” He caught a slight quiver of her bottom lip. “I need to do this.”
Hawke nodded and propped himself against a wall.
She pointed to the man in the newspaper clipping she held. “William Bridgewater was my boss in New York City. He gave me my dream job and I respected him.”
Rachel turned back to the pictures. “Little did I know things would end up like this.”
“People have affairs all the time,” Hawke said quietly. Himself included.
Rachel turned to face him, fire in her eyes. “That’s just it, Hawke, I didn’t think it was an affair. He told me he was divorced and no one bothered to tell me any different. I had absolutely no idea there was a Mrs. Bridgewater until I opened a Sunday paper.”
“What an ass.”
She gave him a half smile. “Thank you.” She gestured to the photographs. “She hired a private investigator and the rest is pretty well self explanatory.”
The color returned to her cheeks and she appeared her usual composed self.
“I already knew.”
He braced himself for her reaction, wondering too late if he should’ve confessed.
Rachel studied him for a moment and then shrugged. “Max.”
Hawke pushed himself off the wall, still wary. “You’re not angry?”
“Not with you. I thought this was all behind me. I don’t even know how these got here. When the Bridgewaters finally divorced for real, the judge issued a gag order.”
“Believe me, things like this always get out somehow.” He stepped closer and hugged her. “This makes absolutely no difference to me.”
She untangled herself from his embrace, plucked pictures from the walls, and handed them to him.
He gestured at the countertop. “You missed one.”
Rachel reached for a wayward photo turned over on the counter. “Um, Hawke, this one’s not mine.”
Hawke frowned and took the card.
MINE AND ONLY MINE.
He smeared his thumb over the familiar red lipstick signature and then lifted his thumb to his mouth. Wild cherry.
Hawke glanced at Rachel who lifted her eyebrow in question.
“I don’t think any of this has anything to do with you.”
She waved a photo at him. “Hello? I believe this is me in this sordid position.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had several of these cards lately.”
“And you’ve tasted them all?”
“They’re all signed with wild cherry flavored lipstick.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Wow. You are talented. But did you know most lipstick contains fish scales?”
Hawke laughed, relieved at her humor, but still pissed off at the whole thing. “No.” He brushed a wayward piece of hair from her forehead. “I’m going to have to bring Max and Steele in here.”
Rachel shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ve been drugged, shot, used, lied to, and now exposed as some sort of femme fatal. It can’t get any worse.”
Hawke squeezed the top of her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
The thump of heavy boots announced Max and Brett’s arrival several seconds later. Hawke followed behind.
“Hell.” Brett gave a low whistle as he thumbed through the pictures on the counter. “Somebody’s pissed.”
Hawke handed Max the lipstick card. “Another one.”
Max scraped the edge of his jaw with the card. “This is directed at you, Hawke. Somebody objects to your partnership with Rachel.”
Hawke ran a hand through his hair. “So what now?”
“Now we go back to the house. He’s hot on her trail. I’ll take you and Shadow back to the hotel suite and Steele and Rachel back to the house. We’ll keep Steele there until I get to the bottom of this mess just in case I’m wrong.”
Hawke released a heavy sigh. Max was never wrong. He turned and took Rachel’s hand. “You okay with that?”
Rather than release his hold, she squeezed and nodded. “But I’d rather go to the spa first, if you don’t mind, Max.”
Max led them to the door and back into the Suburban. “I’ll drop you off then come back for you and Mighty Mouse after I get Hawke and Steele situated.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cameron released a soft sigh while cool cucumber slices soothed her eyes and eucalyptus oil soaked her skin in comfort. Nothing compared to spa day. Reclining on the amply padded chaise lounge, wrapped in the oversized, warm terry cloth robe, she basked in her makeshift paradise.
Reaching down beside her lounger, she passed her hand along the floor and fumbled for the bottle of lotion she left there.
Strange, it was just here.
She gasped when hand brushed something solid. Curious, she walked her fingers across the top of the object, content it was stationary. Until it wiggled.
She swung her feet over the edge of her cocoon, jumped straight into the air, and sent cucumbers flying. As soon as she wiped the oil from her eyes, she looked up to see that Max stood in front of her. Looking utterly humiliated. Dressed in a robe at least four sizes too small and opened to reveal his massive, smooth, bare chest, he stood barefoot at the side of her chair. And the wayward cucumber slice stuck to the top of his shiny head made matters worse. Laughter bubbled from her lips as he peeled the cucumber away from his skin and flicked it back onto the lounge.
“Are you finished?” He folded his arms across his corded chest muscles.
“Sorry.” She bit her lip and attempted to quell her giggles. “You look adorable but why on Earth are you dressed like that?”
“They wouldn’t let me back in my street clothes.”
“I see. And what are you doing here anyway?”
“I told Rachel I’d be back.”
“Already? Geez, you obviously don’t understand the meaning of spa, do you?”
“Come on.” He grasped her arm. “Where’s Rachel?”
“Now hold on there, Repo Man,” she hissed, jerking free of his hold, “I’m not repossessed collateral here. She’s getting a massage and I’m not finished exfoliating.”
She flung herself back onto the lounge and reclined with her feet crossed.
“Why didn’t you just call anyway?”
“You’re not answering your phone.”
“Of course not,” she scoffed, “it's spa day. But you could’ve called the front desk.”
“You should always keep your phone close, for safety.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and prepared for another argument. A brief moment of silence passed, each attempting to stare the other down, before she spoke. “Not on spa day.”
“Fine,” he answered abruptly, “I’ll wait outside for one hour.”
She studied her freshly manicured nails. “I might not be done in an hour.”
He grinned, stepped forward and tipped her chin. “One hour, Sassafrass.”
Cameron watched behind hooded eyes and waited for Max to amble out of sight before she left her cocoon. Big bully. She wiggled the robe from her shoulders, pulled her
blouse over her head, and shook her curls back into place. She was supposed to be relaxed, calm, in touch with her inner beauty. She snorted. Sure. The mad bull barging into her china shop changed all that. Now she was tense and her aura was all wrong. She sighed. Oh well. She’d just have to schedule another spa day this week. Darn the bad luck.
She flung her purse over her shoulder and smashed her sunglasses on her face as she stalked down the hall to find Rachel already waiting in the lounge.
“Did you see him?”
Rachel grinned. “Yeah, I saw him when I came out of the locker room. Cute, huh?”
“Yeah, cute,” Cameron mumbled.
Cameron’s high heels clicked loudly as they kissed the scalding pavement, counting the steps to her car.
“Marching double time, aren’t you?”
She swung her head to see Max propped against her car. An exasperated sigh left her freshly-glossed lips. “Good grief, Goliath. I don’t need an escort.”
He grinned. “I need a ride.”
“Where’s the Suburban?”
“Shadow and Hawke took it back to the hotel.” He snatched her keys from her grasp, and unlocked the door. “Get in.”
Cameron stood dumbfounded as he pushed her into the driver’s seat and walked around to the passenger side where Rachel waited. For a split second, she considered leaving the other door locked, but he’d probably crawl on the roof or something.
“Unlock the door,” he ordered, his voice full of cool authority.
“Fine.” She pressed the button on her remote.
Max waved Rachel into the tiny backseat then he entered the car legs first and folded his large frame into the small, cramped interior with his knees nearly touching his chin.
“This is such a girly car,” he mumbled as his biceps bumped the side window.
“Duh,” Cameron threw at him impatiently, “below your right hand is the seat control.” She turned to Rachel. “Sorry, he won’t fit back there unless we hogtie him and I don’t think that’s possible.”
Rachel grinned. “It’s not far.”
Cameron watched Max ease back the seat and heard him release a heavy breath when his groin wasn’t quite so squeezed.
“Put the key in the ignition.”