Bull (Red, Hot, & Blue)

by Cat Johnson

  Dammit, she was such a sissy. Under no circumstances would she take him back. There was no doubt she didn’t want to, but what if she did anyway?

  Why did the thought of being alone scare her so much that she’d settled for whatever little John had been willing to give her all these years? If only she didn’t have this job tonight. If he showed up with sweet talk and promises, she was afraid she might do something crazy in a moment of weakness and take him back. Being that close to him was going to be the hardest thing she’d done, right up there with finally having the guts to end it last night.

  Marly took a deep breath and hated she could hear it shake. She couldn’t worry about him now. She had to work the kinks out of her repertoire and get her dress out for tonight. If she was going to play badly, she had better at least look good doing it.

  Bull crawled into the team meeting at zero-eight-hundred the following morning feeling and looking, he was pretty sure, like absolute shit. Of all the things he’d wanted and needed the night before, he’d gotten his hot shower, but as for the hot and sweaty sex and good night’s sleep? After what he’d discovered on his trip to Lana’s, neither the sex nor the sleep had been in the cards for him.

  He made his way to the coffee pot and poured himself a steaming mug full. The commander was a coffee addict. So much so he’d had an industrial-sized coffee maker put in the meeting room. He also instructed each member of the team to bring in a mug. A real mug. Bull was just a newbie to the team when the commander told him drinking coffee out of a paper cup—or even worse, Styrofoam—was sacrilege, and he wouldn’t put up with any one of his own committing that sin.

  The way he felt this morning, Bull would gladly kiss the commander just for the steady supply of coffee alone. Although a little bourbon in his mug would be even better.

  Christ. How could Lana’s cheating make him feel so damn bad? He hadn’t even fallen in love with her yet. Maybe it was that the revelation had hit him on the same night he’d blown the training exercise and let down his team. These guys he did love, even when they annoyed him. He’d kill or die for any one of them. Maybe that was what made him feel so crappy—letting down the team—and he didn’t care that much about Lana’s straying.

  That thought made him feel a little better. At least he wasn’t turning into some soft, pansy-ass who couldn’t deal with a little adversity from a female.

  “You look like you had an eventful night.” Matt glanced at Bull while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone about last night, especially not Matt, king of the comments. Even the man’s mug had a smart-assed comment written on it. The probability of someone watching you is proportional to the stupidity of your action.

  Bull usually found the saying funny. Not today.

  Matt eyed Bull more closely. “I mean, I’m not surprised you look like you didn’t sleep at all, but I would have thought you’d look a little happier after being up with Lana all night. No pun intended.”

  Bull picked up his mug. “Do yourself a favor, Matt. Take my advice and leave me alone today.”

  The low tone of warning in Bull’s voice wiped the smile off Matt’s face. His brows drew low. “You need to talk?”

  “No. I need to drink this coffee, get the fuck out of this meeting room and go shoot something.”

  Matt pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay then. Good plan.”

  Jimmy came out of the inner office, followed closely by their commander, Hank Miller. Show time. The assembled team took their seats.

  The commander walked to the coffee maker and glanced over his shoulder as he refilled his cup. “All right, boys and girls. Before we go over the events of last night’s practice exercise, I have an actual assignment to hand out. It’s a cakewalk, so I’m putting it out there on a voluntary basis. The gig is solo, no team backup.”

  Bull raised his hand. “I volunteer.”

  “You don’t even know what it is yet.” Trey turned to frown at Bull.

  What the assignment was didn’t matter. That he would be busy and away from his team so he wouldn’t have to answer questions about his foul mood did.

  Bull looked up and found the commander watching him. “It doesn’t matter what it is, sir. I’ll take it.”

  “Okay then. It’s yours.” The commander put his mug down on the table and shuffled through the papers in his hand. He walked to the white board on the wall and grabbed a marker. “Let’s go over yesterday.”

  Bull watched him, and when it was obvious no more information was forthcoming, he interrupted. “Um, excuse me, sir. Aren’t you going to tell me what my assignment is?”

  He turned, graying brow raised. “You said it didn’t matter.”

  Bull heard Jack snicker at the other end of the table. He did his best to ignore it. “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t you worry your head, Bull. I’ll tell you where to be and when before tonight. Now, back to the exercise. Somebody hit the lights. Matt, bring up the course layout from yesterday.”

  The man was the commander for a reason. Besides the free-flowing coffee to keep the troops happy, he’d just effectively taught Bull a valuable lesson. Never volunteer until you’re told what the assignment involves. He stifled a sigh and did his best to concentrate on the review of yesterday’s debacle. No matter what Jimmy had said last night at the bar, Bull still took full responsibility for the loss. He deserved whatever this unspecified assignment turned out to be, no matter how bad.

  Bull tried to remember that a little later in the morning when he sat opposite the commander in the office and wondered if he’d made a big mistake.

  “Excuse me, sir?” He hoped he’d heard wrong.

  “I asked if you own a tuxedo,” the commander repeated himself. His grin didn’t bode well.

  “No, sir. Just my dress uniform.”

  “That won’t do for this. I’ll get you a tuxedo.” His gaze swept the expanse of Bull’s frame hanging off the office chair. “I hope the big and tall shop rents them.” He picked up a pencil and scribbled something on a pad of paper.

  “I’m afraid to ask this, but why do I need a tuxedo?”

  The grin widened. “You’re going to a party, Bull.”

  “A party?” Bull groaned. “Do I have to pretend to be a waiter again?”

  The last party they’d worked undercover together as a team had entailed them all playing wait staff at a fancy black-tie event for a bunch of rich snobs. Bull was good at many things, but serving hors d’oeuvres off tiny and very slippery silver trays wasn’t one of them.

  “Nope, this time you get to be a guest. That make it sound any more appealing?” the commander asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. Hmm. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be too bad after all. Good food, served to him by someone else this time. Pretty women, hopefully in low-cut dresses. Bull remembered Jimmy had met his girlfriend Lia during the now infamous wait-staff assignment. Bull wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, especially not in light of recent events, but he wouldn’t mind a pretty little thing as a distraction for the night.

  This assignment might be exactly what he needed. He couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yes, sir. It sounds good. What are the particulars?”

  The commander went on to cover the unverified internet threat against a number of high-profile events across the country, one being tonight’s party for some political big wigs.

  “Homeland Security isn’t taking the threat seriously?” Bull asked. That was obvious since he was going in alone with no team backup.

  “Not serious enough to devote manpower to it. They consider this right up there with that guy who announced on the internet he’d put dirty bombs in those seven football stadiums. You know the one. This threat has no more validity than that one did in the eyes of the higher ups.”

  Bull remembered. When they’d found the guy, he’d been some nerd living in his parents’ basement who got his thrills by scaring a bunch of innocent people.

  “Then why am I going in at
all?” Bull frowned.

  “Senator Dickson is concerned for—let me see if I remember it right—the physical safety of himself and that of his son.” The commander did a pretty accurate imitation of the senator they all loved to hate. Not only was the politician a dick, a few years ago he was a big proponent of military budget cuts that would have shut down their base.

  “I’m going to be a personal body guard for Senator Dickhead?” That idea made the whole thing a whole lot less appealing.

  The commander’s lips twitched at the nickname. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Will Jimmy and Lia at least be at this thing too?” Since Jimmy was dating the governor’s daughter, and this was a big political thing, maybe they’d be there. Bull could handle the security detail alone, but mentally he might need to vent to Jimmy rather than punch Senator Dickhead if the guy decided to mouth off.

  “Nope. Sorry.” The commander didn’t look all that sorry.

  Bull drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh. “All right.”

  It looked as if he’d be alone in his duties playing Dickhead’s date for the night. He could only hope to land himself a pretty party guest as a consolation.

  Chapter Three

  Marly had taken extra time with her hair and makeup tonight. Since she wouldn’t be dazzling the party guests with her musical ability in the state she was in, she figured she better at least distract them with her looks. Not that she thought she was gorgeous, but a big ball gown and an even bigger harp seemed to go a long way in impressing people.

  She had no doubt people’s opinion of her playing rose in direct proportion to the extravagance of her outfits. It was a phenomenon she’d often observed but didn’t understand. Thank God for it tonight. She didn’t know which she dreaded more, having to perform on a night when her heart wasn’t in it, or seeing her ex-boyfriend, John.

  But dread it or not, she still arrived at the job an hour early, as usual. That way she could do her last-minute tuning in private. More times than not, while she tuned the instrument the party staff and management would run up and tell her how beautiful it sounded. She’d smile and thank them, all while thinking they must be tone deaf because tuning, to her at least, was far from melodic.

  It was an impressive instrument though. Beautiful to look at and to hear. Hopefully the instrument would dazzle the crowd on its own, because she wasn’t going to with her playing. Not with John in the room.

  With a sigh, she rolled the waist of the full, ball-gown length shirt she wore to temporarily shorten it. She’d modernized the traditional black and white checked taffeta skirt with the addition of a black short-sleeved top that showed just enough cleavage. The combination of the long skirt and fitted top was demure and sexy at the same time.

  Of course, while she had the floor-length skirt hiked up so she could carry the forty-pound harp without tripping over her skirt, it was less attractive. Meanwhile, she had to keep assuring the more than helpful staff she could manage the instrument alone. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last she’d carry it.

  Ground-floor gigs, like tonight, were easy. It was stairs that gave her trouble. The weight of the piece wasn’t the issue, its height—or rather her lack of height—was. The harp was taller than she was, all five-foot of her, plus a few inches more if she added heels.

  She’d taken her heels off to carry the instrument inside tonight. She definitely hadn’t been looking glamorous upon arrival in the main room, barefooted with her skirt bunched up, when she first spotted the tall hulk of a man in a tuxedo. He was watching her. Funny, he was the biggest guy present and the only one who didn’t try to wrestle the harp out of her hands and carry it for her. Interesting. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  He wore a tuxedo—vest, bowtie, cufflinks and all—but he was early for a guest and it somehow didn’t seem as though he was there for the party. Marly didn’t know who the mystery man was. He wasn’t one of the wait staff. Maybe part of a security detail? That would fit, judging by the sheer size of him. All she did know was that she had better fix herself before any other guests showed up. She pulled down the skirt to proper length, slipped her shoes back on and then set about divesting the harp of its canvas bag.

  She threw the harp cover and her big purse in the corner of what was now serving as a storage closet. It was nice being in a familiar venue. She knew where everything was and didn’t have to bother the staff. This wasn’t the first time she’d been hired to entertain here. This mansion was used for more political fundraisers and hoity-toity parties than she could count. The rich may stay at the outrageously overpriced suites at the Hilton in town, but they partied in the historic Lynwood House. Since it had once belonged to a turn-of-the-century robber baron, she figured parties in the forty thousand square foot house were nothing new. These walls had seen their share of rich people doing all sorts of things over the past century.

  Mr. Big caught her eye again as she set up her music stand. He was intent on staring at her while still managing to scan the room, before his gaze would come back to her. Definitely security. Probably secret service. Who knew? Maybe the president would show up. Great. Just what she needed. As if she weren’t nervous enough.

  She propped up the notebook full of sheet music and turned to adjust her stool. When she glanced his way again, it was to discover that the tall, dark and mysterious man had moved out of the room. Thank God for small favors. She didn’t need him as a distraction too. It was all she could do to concentrate given her dread of the impending confrontation with her ex. No matter John had assured her he would leave her alone during the party, there was still after the party to worry about.

  “I want you by my side at all times. Do you understand?”

  Senator Dickhead was tall, but Bull was taller and wider, so when he stood next to the man for his lecture, he felt like an overgrown child.

  “Sir, I’ll be far more effective standing apart from you where I can see a threat coming from any direction. If I’m next to you, there will always be a blind spot.” Didn’t the man know to trust the professionals?

  Bull had learned the hazards of ignoring the blind spot when he’d gotten taken out during last night’s exercise. Only anyone shooting at Dickhead tonight wouldn’t be using paint balls. As much of an idiot as the senator was, it was still Bull’s job to protect him.

  Dickhead considered Bull’s point for a moment. “All right. But no farther than ten feet. And when my son arrives, you’ll have to keep an eye on both of us.”

  Oh, joy. Why didn’t Bull just get some rope and tie the three of them together? Jimmy should have been sent with him on this crap assignment. These were his people now that he was living with the governor’s daughter. They sure as hell weren’t Bull’s kind of people.

  Not only was Dickhead a…well, dickhead, but Bull’s bowtie was strangling him and his leg holster was starting to chafe his skin beneath his pants leg when he walked. Fuck this formal wear crap. Give him his flak jacket and an automatic weapon strap over his shoulder any day.

  The senator turned and strode from the relative privacy of the foyer where they’d been discussing the safety issue to the main room. As instructed, Bull paced ten feet, rolled his eyes and then followed in Dickhead’s wake. Once in the main room, the older man paused to speak with some rich dude, so Bull stopped and took the opportunity to evaluate the guests.

  He thought it doubtful the man and woman Dickhead was currently bending the ear of posed a risk. He doubted anyone invited to this party presented any sort of danger at all, except for maybe boring him to death. Matt and his magic computer had run an in-depth search on every name on the guest and staff lists. They’d all come up clean as a whistle. Well, at least as far as security was concerned. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were plenty of skeletons in the closets of these folks. It seemed rich people and politicians were on the news every day for some scandal or another. Couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants or their hands out of someone else’s pocket.

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nbsp; He glanced around the room one more time. There wasn’t much else to do except stand here and keep his eyes open. He’d arrived earlier than the guests and swept the building top to bottom for explosives. And if the threat came sometime during the party from outside the building, such as a missile or a car bomb, Bull was helpless to stop it anyway. Especially if he remained tied to the senator on an invisible ten-foot leash.

  So all he could do was endure his uncomfortable shoes and wait for the unlikely event that the little old man and his much-too-young date speaking with the senator now might whip out a knife and stab Dickhead, not that Bull could blame them if they did. Oh, he’d stop them, but he’d definitely understand their motivation.

  At least there was one upside to the evening. His gaze swept the room and settled on the cute little thing he’d seen effortlessly hefting a harp bigger than she was. It seemed she wouldn’t have had any problem at all if she weren’t wearing that ridiculously long skirt. He did like her top though. Low cut and tight in all the right places. She had the assets to show it off right too. She played the harp like an angel but had a body built for the devil, just like he liked.

  Mmm, mmm. He’d have to volunteer for babysitting duty more often if this scenery came with it. Maybe after Dickhead left for the night, Bull would help her carry the thing out to her car. She might even thank him with a kiss. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  “Bull.” Matt’s voice seemed to explode out of Bull’s eardrum.

  He jumped and turned toward the wall so the other guests in the room wouldn’t see him talking to himself. “Jesus, Matt. You scared the crap out of me. What?”

  “The threat’s been bumped up. It looks like it’s fucking real. We’re on our way to you now.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” Bull’s heart kicked into high gear.

  “It’s right up your alley, buddy. Chatter on the lines indicates a bomb.”