by Sandra Owens
“I do.”
“For real?”
Gotcha, Jack thought when the kid’s eyes lit up, hope shining in them. “Yep. I’ll make a deal with you. You come here, volunteer your time with me in the mornings, and I’ll give my friend a call.”
Clint Alba wasn’t exactly a friend, but the brother of Jack’s teammate, Noah. Clint designed video games for a living, and from what Noah said, had made a name for himself in the industry. Jack had met Clint twice and he seemed like a nice guy. Hopefully nice enough to be agreeable to taking a look at Mark’s game.
“Sure. Got nothing better to do in the mornings. Does it have to be so early, though?”
“’Fraid so.” Maybe the early mornings would keep him from staying out late with assholes like Lane Gregory.
“That sucks, but okay. When are you going to call him?”
“This afternoon. Might take me a day or two to catch up with him.” First, he’d have to get in touch with Noah and get Clint’s phone number. Hopefully his team wasn’t out on an op and unreachable.
A dusty white truck pulled to a stop in front of the kennels, and Ron Kitterman got out. “Jack, good to see you back.” His gaze fell on Mark. “And who’s this?”
“Mark Masters, another volunteer. Mark, this is Ron Kitterman, the owner of this place.”
“Always good to have another pair of hands. You got any experience with dogs?”
“No, sir.”
Jack cringed. He should have cleared it with Ron before bringing Mark out here. He hoped the man wouldn’t send Mark packing.
“Like I said, we can always use the extra help, but don’t try to teach the dogs anything. They have specialized training, and even teaching one to sit messes things up.”
“I won’t,” Mark said. “And thank you, Mr. Kitterman.”
If nothing else, the kid had manners.
Ron glanced at Jack’s truck. “Where’s that dog of yours, Jack?”
“Home. Would you have a problem with me bringing her here?”
“No. Just keep her away from the other dogs.”
“Not a problem.”
“Well, I got some calls to make,” Ron said. “You boys are doing a good job.”
Mark watched him walk away. “He seems nice. What do they train these dogs for?”
“To assist people with disabilities, stuff like picking up things a person might have dropped and opening doors. They’re different from therapy dogs that are trained to give emotional support.”
“I never thought about those being two different things. Pretty cool that dogs can do stuff like that, though.”
“Yeah, it is.” And calming a man down after a nightmare was high on Jack’s list of pretty cool.
* * *
After dropping Mark off at Nichole’s, Jack went home, showered, dressed, and then loaded Dakota in his truck. He stopped at a deli and bought two ham and cheese on sourdough sandwiches, two bags of chips, and two bottles of water. But the clincher—at least he hoped—were the two dark chocolate cupcakes with raspberry frosting. Leaving there, he headed for the River Arts District.
The thing was, he couldn’t get Nichole out of his head. He wanted her under him, over him, wrapped around him, but the most surprising, he wanted her next to him. That last not having a thing to do with sex. He wanted her in his life.
Since leaving on his last deployment, up to the first night he’d spent with Nichole, he’d been sex deprived. That had been a record for him, but he’d let the woman who’d taken one look at his arm and freaked out freak him out.
Why he’d even decided to track down his middle-of-the-night caller was a mystery, one he had no interest in solving. He wasn’t a man to question a gift, and so far, Nichole was turning out to be the best gift he’d ever received.
Today he’d offer her decadent cupcakes. Maybe someday he’d offer her his heart.
Maybe.
Chapter Fourteen
Nichole sold her last fairy with the silver glitter on her blue tulle dress. She’d only made five of them, not sure how they’d sell. Adding the glitter had been a moment of inspiration when she’d gone to her studio the morning after spending her first night with Jack. Happier than she’d been in a long time, she’d felt like she’d been sprinkled with fairy dust. As a lark, she’d made the first fairy and had liked it so much that she’d made four more.
She’d also sold a set of mugs, several expensive bowls, and had another commission for dinnerware. It was turning out to be a good day, and she still had the afternoon to go. Adding to her great mood, Rambo was actually behaving. His training sessions, both with Jack and the ones with just her, were paying off.
It was lunchtime on Thursday, and Nichole’s gaze strayed to the aisle. Jack had surprised her yesterday by showing up with lunch. Would he do the same today? She’d spent the night at his house again, but he hadn’t said anything about seeing her later when she’d left.
Instead of the man she hoped to see was one she had zero desire to talk to, and he was headed straight for her.
“Swear to God, Rambo, if you so much as wag your tail at Trevor the Rat Bastard, you’ll never get another treat so long as you live.” Rambo wagged his tail. “Stop it,” she growled.
“Nichole, you look really nice today.”
She grabbed her dust rag, then turned her back on him and started cleaning her pottery.
“Come on. I just want to talk to you, okay?”
Desperation tinged his voice, and it could only mean that the theft of her commission wasn’t going so well for him. Too bad, so sad.
“Nichole! Turn around, damn it.” He came around the table, toward her.
Rambo growled. Well then, her dog was learning how to do his job. Extra treats for him tonight.
“Fine, keep your back to me, but you can still listen. My last offer was a damn good one, but I’ll sweeten the pot. I’ll give you—”
“La, la, la, la, la, la,” she sang as she put her hands over her ears. Nothing like reverting to being a twelve-year-old.
“I don’t think she wants to talk to you, Trevor.”
Hearing another voice, Nichole glanced over to see Forest Ellers, the metals artist, arms crossed over his chest as he coldly stared at Trevor.
“None of your business,” Trevor said.
Forest shifted his gaze to her. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“No. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
“You okay then with me making this my business?”
“You betcha.” She picked up the end of Rambo’s leash. “I’m going to take him for a short walk. Back in a few minutes.” Maybe Trevor would leave if she wasn’t here.
When she returned five minutes later, as she’d hoped, Trevor was gone. She stopped at Forest’s table. “Thank you. He’s refusing to take no for an answer.”
“I’m guessing he wants you to help him meet the deadline on the commission he stole from you?”
“Where’d you hear that?” The only person she’d told about Trevor’s treachery was Jack, and she knew he hadn’t said anything.
He laughed. “You know nothing is a secret around here.” He glanced across the aisle at Andrea, the stained-glass artist who had the booth next to hers. “You told Andrea when you got the commission, then she overheard you and Trevor the last time he was here begging you to save his ass.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for getting rid of him.”
“It was my pleasure. No one really liked him in the first place, then pulling this stunt showed his true colors. He’ll get the cold shoulder from now on in the artist community.”
If she wasn’t so furious with Trevor, she might feel sorry for him. Getting blackballed by his fellow artists meant he wouldn’t get any support for his art shows or referrals to anyone looking for commissioned pottery. But he’d brought it down on him
self, so not her problem.
Back at her booth, Rambo headed for his water bowl. It didn’t look like Jack was going to show up bearing lunch, so she decided to get a salad from the little café located in the warehouse. Now would be a good time to go since there weren’t any customers nearby.
“Let’s take another walk,” she said to Rambo. He was learning what the word walk meant, and his ears perked up. She’d only taken a few steps when she saw Lane headed toward her.
“Crap!” What was this? Asshole Man Day? Unfortunately, her restraining order hadn’t taken effect yet or she’d be on her phone, calling the police.
“Hey, Nichole.” Lane walked around the table, stopping a few feet from her.
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Universe, what did I ever do to piss you off today?”
“Huh?” Lane said.
“Go away, Lane. Like far, far away.” Rambo put himself in front of her and growled. She wasn’t sure why the friendliest puppy in the world had suddenly decided to play guard dog, but he was definitely getting extra treats tonight.
“I miss you, Nic.”
“No, you don’t. You just want what you can’t have.” She sighed. “We’re over, and there’s no going back. I just want you to leave me alone.” There was the cold glint in his eyes that she was used to seeing lately. Lane didn’t like to be told no, always wanted his toys and everyone else’s, too. Even ones he could care less about.
“Go out with me tonight. By the time I take you home, if you don’t ever want to see me again, I’ll disappear.”
Lane was also a liar. She’d caught him lying many times during their time together, and sometimes it was about things that didn’t matter. He had no intention of disappearing before he got what he wanted.
She had a feeling that Jack was a part of Lane’s reason for his insistence that he wanted her back. The minute he became aware that another man was sniffing around in what he considered “his territory,” he was back to protect what was his.
“No, I’m not going out with you.”
His eyes went from cold to mean, and this was the Lane that scared her.
There was a mall cop always on duty in the warehouse, and she scanned the aisle, looking for him. She didn’t see him, but she did see Jack, and her heart sputtered, both from relief and...well, just the sight of the beautiful man coming her way. He carried the same hard-plastic cooler as he had yesterday when he’d brought her lunch.
The easygoing man she’d kissed goodbye this morning was gone, though. In his place was a warrior moving with purpose, raw power radiating from him so strongly it was almost visible. Not a sound warned of his approach, not even footsteps. Stealth mode, she thought. He stopped a few feet behind Lane, who was still stupidly unaware that he was in the crosshairs of a deadly predator.
“It would probably be a good idea to leave,” she said to Lane, feeling like she should at least warn him.
“Not until you agree to go out with me. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“You should take the lady’s advice and go,” Jack said in a voice that dripped menace.
Lane spun to face Jack. “You!”
Jack didn’t respond, only speared Lane with an ice-cold hard stare. Like a junkyard dog spoiling for a fight, Lane charged, his fists swinging, aiming for Jack’s face.
“Idiot,” she murmured. Her incredibly stupid ex didn’t have a clue who he was messing with. She expected Jack to do some kind of impressive ninja warrior moves. What he actually did was swing the cooler at Lane’s head, who stilled as if stunned, and then crumpled. Jack caught Lane’s shirt, slowly lowering him, preventing him from hitting the concrete floor face-first.
Once Lane was flat on the floor, Jack lifted his gaze to her and cocked a brow.
“My hero,” she said.
A crowd had gathered around them, and the mall’s security cop pushed through. “What’s going on here?”
“They were fighting,” someone said.
The cop glanced from Lane, out cold, then to Jack, and then pulled out what looked like a taser. “On your knees, hands behind your head.”
Jack dropped to his knees, set the cooler next to him, and linked his fingers behind his neck.
Nichole pointed at Lane. “He started it, Mel. Jack was only protecting himself.”
“What she said.” Forest Ellers stepped up to them. “It was self-defense. The man went for him, and all Jack did was bonk him on the head with the cooler.”
Nichole choked on a giggle.
Mel glared at her. “You think this is funny, missy?”
She sort of did, but she decided it was best not to admit it. Of all the security people, Mel Secur was the one she liked the least. It was not a secret that he wanted to be a “real” cop, and he’d applied for the job numerous times but always failed the physical test. She also wasn’t sure he’d pass whatever mental test the Asheville Police Department required. Mel liked power, was judgmental, and she was pretty sure he lacked a heart.
He walked behind Jack, whipping out handcuffs. “Don’t move if you know what’s good for you, douchebag. Put your arms behind you.”
Nichole rolled her eyes.
Jack barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Just his luck that a rent-a-cop with a make-my-day-attitude was on duty. Two people had already said that Lane Gregory had come at him. This situation didn’t require attitude and handcuffs.
Secured by cold metal around his wrists, Jack looked up at Nichole. “Your lunch is in the cooler.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she said.
“Only for you.” Damn, he loved that smile of hers.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Rent-A-Cop said.
“Fuck happened?” Gregory said, then groaned.
Nichole leaned down. “You got bonked. Deservedly so.”
“Let us through!”
Jack glanced over to see EMTs pushing through the growing crowd. Half of the people surrounding them had their phones up, recording the ridiculous proceedings. If his commander saw him now—handcuffed and on his knees—Jack would have a lot of explaining to do. He didn’t doubt that he’d be all over Facebook in minutes. Praise Jesus that his commander thought Facebook was the devil incarnate and never ventured on to the site.
The two EMTs kneeled on each side of Gregory, slapped a neck brace on him, loaded him on a board, then whisked him away. Jack took inventory of the places he was starting to notice. His knees didn’t like the concrete floor, the handcuffs on his wrists were too tight, cutting off blood flow to his fingers, and his shoulder was throbbing. He was getting too old for this shit.
Nichole put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“For dragging you into my mess.”
“Babe, you can drag me anywhere you want to.”
She smiled at him. He smiled back at her. His heart did that funny bounce thing that he blamed totally on her. He hadn’t wanted to find the girl of his dreams before his time in the military was over, but as his Grammie would say, “Life bites you in the butt when you least expect it.” He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it seemed to fit. He sure hadn’t expected Nichole, or for her to ramrod her way through all his relationship rules. But she had, and he wasn’t sorry.
“No touching the prisoner,” Rent-A-Cop said.
Now he was a prisoner?
“What do we have here?”
The smirk on his new friend’s face told Jack that he wouldn’t live this down, not even after offering to buy Heather’s husband a lifetime of beers. But at least it was a friendly face. “Deke, my man, fancy meeting you here. How’s Heather?”
“As beautiful as ever. What trouble have you gotten yourself into?”
“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him.” He pointedly glared at Rent-A-Cop. A thought occurred
to him. He’d only planned to drop off lunch for Nichole before heading to his doctor’s appointment, the one Heather had made for him without asking first. An appointment he wouldn’t make now.
“Whatcha got here, Mel?” Deke said.
“A ten-forty-four, Officer Matthews.”
Deke shot Jack an amused glance. “A riot, huh?”
“Ah, no, I mean a ten-forty.”
“Hmm, a fight in progress. Looks like you got it all handled. I’ll just be on my way then.”
“Hey,” Jack said. Was Deke really going to leave him here on his knees with a squirrelly pretend cop pointing a taser at him?
“Aren’t you going to arrest him?” Rent-A-Cop said.
Deke glanced at Jack with entirely too much amusement in his eyes, then shifted his gaze to the security guard. “Sure, why not?” He leaned down and put his hand under Jack’s elbow. “Up with you, troublemaker.”
“But he didn’t start it,” Nichole said as Jack struggled to his feet.
“Good seeing you again, Nichole. I’ll let him have one phone call.” Deke grinned at her and winked.
“Ah,” she said, grinning back at him. “Don’t forget to frisk him,” she called as Deke led him away.
Jack glanced back at her. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“Thanks, and don’t worry. I’ll come bail you out of the slammer.”
“Y’all are having way too much fun with this,” Jack muttered.
Deke snorted. “Highlight of my day. Can’t wait to tell Heather.”
“Asshole.” He’d gathered from the exchange between Deke and Nichole that he wasn’t actually going to be hauled off to jail. But his shoulder was hurting like the dickens with his arms bound behind him.
“I’ve been called worse.” They stepped out of the building. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”
Jack turned his back to Deke. “First get these off me.” When he was freed, he flexed his fingers, and then rubbed his upper arm.
“You okay?”
“Damn shoulder.”
“Hope you didn’t do more damage. He had those handcuffs too tight.”