A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)

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A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2) Page 7

by Meli Raine


  I slam back one shot. “Liquid courage.”

  “You need courage to talk?” Mark’s eyebrows shoot up. “This must be bad.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and starts tapping on the screen.

  “Who you texting?” The room is a warm cocoon suddenly, and Mark is my best friend.

  “Carrie. Looks like I need to stay here after all.”

  “No. Go back to your woman. She’s waiting in your bed. Go make love and have fun. Smell her neck. Run your hands up her thighs and open them like she’s a honeycomb and -- ”

  Mark grabs my arm with more force than he has any right to use. “Don’t talk about Carrie that way.”

  “Wasn’t talking about Carrie.”

  His grip softens.

  “This is about Lindsay,” he says under his breath.

  “It’s always about Lindsay,” I say, like someone’s ripped my vocal cords in two. “Always. But what I did to Blaine today was as much about me as it was about her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The words are on the tip of my increasingly numb tongue. I want to say them. Need to say them. I’ve only ever spilled my guts to one person, and she has a Ph.D. and an M.D. after her name and can write a prescription to help me with the obliteration.

  My hands shake as I pour a second shot.

  “It means I’m a fucking fool.”

  He puts his hand on mine and carefully removes the shot glass from me with a look that says enough. “That was established long ago.”

  “Then my foolishness expands.” The word foolishness sounds slurred.

  “Man, I’ve watched you get shitfaced before. After we found that bombed-out village with the kids in the school building...” His voice trails off and he gets the thousand-mile stare I know all too well, except right now, I don’t give a fuck about anything.

  I tear off onto my deck, where a giggle greets me.

  “Drew!” It’s Tiffany, my fifty-something cougar neighbor who is wearing a gold bikini at midnight, with a bucket of makeup on her face and a huge pitcher of margaritas on her table. She’s smoking a clove cigarette. A gust of wind blows hard just as Mark stomps after me, coming up short when he realizes she’s here.

  “Oh!” she purrs. “Who’s your friend?” Tiffany stands.

  She’s wearing high heels. Gold ones. They match the string bikini. For a woman my mother’s age, she’s in great shape.

  But definitely not my type.

  Mark does that thing with his voice that guys do when they’re surprised, but are trying to hide it.

  “I’m Tiffany!” she chirps, shuffling over on stilettos and holding out her perfectly manicured hand.

  “Mark. Hi.”

  “Hi there,” she says back, giving me a wide-eyed glance. “Drew! You look like a bear ate you and spat you back out.”

  Mark’s lip twitches as he tries not to laugh.

  I have to say, normally Tiffany is a fun neighbor to kick back with and have a few drinks, but she’s a stereotype of a stereotype.

  Tonight, though, the edges of the world are fuzzy and my body’s full of adrenaline.

  She’s still not my type, but that pitcher of margaritas is looking damn fine.

  “Been a long day,” I say, rubbing my stubbled chin with my hand, then wincing. The knuckles ache from connecting with Blaine’s facial bones.

  I grin at the memory.

  “That’s better!” Tiffany giggles. “You look so fierce when you frown!”

  “So fierce,” Mark mutters.

  I glare at him.

  “Like that!” Tiffany gushes.

  “Smile, Drew,” Mark says with a laugh. His eyes dart from me to Tiffany, asking a pretty big question without saying a word. I shake my head no imperceptibly, except he catches it.

  She doesn’t.

  “Drew and I hang out all the time. You might call us pitcher buddies!” She shuffles into her apartment suddenly.

  “You’re nailing her?” Mark asks under his breath as I grab his beer and finish it off. Suddenly, our serious conversation from before is so boring.

  A door slams shut inside me.

  Good. Let the demons pound on it from the inside. I’m done.

  “No. She wishes.”

  “She’s, um...”

  “Well preserved.”

  “You always were the one with tact.”

  “If I’m tactful, you’re Miss Manners.”

  He guffaws, the sound carrying on the blast of wind that pushes against my t-shirt, making me realize I’m sweating. One more shot and I’m close to snoozing out. I need to hold off.

  I shouldn’t care.

  An image of Lindsay in bed flashes through my blood, hot and coursing through me at a million miles an hour. Naked, wrapped in my arms, her sweet skin against me.

  Hard. I’m hard in seconds. This day feels like emotional ping pong.

  At the Olympics.

  Tiffany re-appears, carrying a third glass, and she pours enormous drinks for the three of us, waving Mark and me over. “Come on! No one wants to drink alone. Especially with such intriguing men just a few feet away. Indulge me?” She gives us a duck face pout.

  Mark shrugs and says, “Why not?”

  I join them. As I sip my drink, I know I’ll regret it in the morning, but I don’t care.

  I stopped caring the minute Lindsay disappeared with Gentian, who was following my orders, and didn’t say another word to me.

  “Tiffany is one of my good friends,” I say, my body warm and the ocean night air some of the sweetest smelling breezes on the planet. Life is good. I have a place on the ocean, more money than I need, and I run a tight ship. A night here and there of relaxing and having fun should be a part of my life, right?

  So why can’t I stop thinking about how Lindsay’s bare thighs felt in my lap earlier today?

  “I am?” Tiffany says, leaning forward. Her top is basically two gold Band-Aids connected by gold string. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Drew.”

  “Sure do, Lindsay,” I reply.

  Her face freezes into a mask.

  “Tiffany,” Mark says softly.

  “Right. That’s what I said.” Didn’t I?

  Mark raises one eyebrow. Tiffany smiles, but it’s a cold look.

  “What do you do for a living, Mark?” she asks, her hand on his forearm, deciding to make him her target.

  “Oh, you know. A little bit of everything.”

  “Are you a personal trainer like Drew?”

  Mark’s drink sprays everywhere. “Like Drew?” he chokes, avoiding my eyes, thumping his chest as he clears his airway.

  I flex my arm and let my biceps bulge. Why not? I may not want to sleep with Tiffany, but at least she has a healthy appreciation for my presence.

  Unlike some other women I know.

  Tiffany squeezes my arm and sighs with delight. “Oooo. So strong.”

  Mark starts gagging.

  “Wow! You really swallowed wrong.”

  He just laugh-chokes.

  “I never swallow wrong,” she says to him with a wink.

  I start laughing so hard I choke.

  We’re a pair.

  “You two are out of control!” she declares with a laugh, reaching up for the fakest stretch I’ve ever seen, showing off the fakest pair of breasts I’ve ever had in my face. They look like two cantaloupes stretched under a skin tarp. “I’m getting so tired,” she says as she pretends to yawn along with the stretch.

  “Me, too,” Mark whispers. “Tired of Drew the personal trainer.”

  “You guys could easily lift me, huh? Being men who work with their bodies for a living.”

  I’m thinking Tiffany works with her body for a living, but in a very different way.

  “What do you do for a living?” Mark asks, making conversation.

  “I do camera work,” she says with a wink. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.

  Smart man.

  My blood pounds like an el
ectromagnetic pulse pointed straight up the coast to Lindsay’s father’s compound. The same wind that brushes my hair forward is the wind that blows on her face right now. Is she outside, staring at the stars? Looking at the ocean? Sleeping? Thinking of me and touching herself?

  I’m already throbbing and have a piece of granite in my pants. Letting my mind wander doesn’t take any effort and it feels loose and fine. All the tightness left me long ago, the world swimming before my eyes. I could stare at the moon forever.

  I could stare at Lindsay for even longer.

  Why’d she lie for me? Creating that fake intruder story was pure genius. No one suspected she was making it up. Plausible deniability was built in. She was quick on her feet and convincing. Blaine could barely argue. In private, I’ll be crucified, but in public, he had to play the part of the poor politician attacked by some stranger.

  By now, some PR person is giving this a positive spin. Hell, by morning Blaine will be hailed as a hero who took a punch or two to save baby kittens from being killed by Godzilla.

  Still does nothing to explain why.

  Why Lindsay covered for me.

  Sure, the satisfaction of watching Blaine bleed was part of it, but not all of it. Lindsay’s acting in erratic ways, though she pulled it together for that stage performance next to the senator and Monica. How can she be that composed, and then fall apart in my lap, followed by such strategic thinking in the moment to cover for my lack of impulse control?

  She’s a paradox.

  She’s my paradox.

  “Hey, you two. I don’t know about you, but I think this could turn out to be the night of my life,” Tiffany says, coming in with a sultry voice and a hand on my ass. I move out of reach. I assume she puts her other one on Mark’s butt, because he jumps and moves away from her.

  “Sorry. My fiancée would kill me.”

  “She doesn’t have to know.”

  Mark cuts me a look that could shatter diamonds.

  “I have a girlfriend too, Tiffany,” I lie.

  She frowns. “You never mentioned her before.” She’s caressing my ass again and moving close, pressing against me as I twist away. She smells so good, and her skin is soft and hairless. I could sleep with her. Just once. It would feel nice to disappear into someone else for a few minutes.

  But I don’t want that.

  The only person I want to do that with is Lindsay.

  “I don’t share much about my personal life,” I grind out. Mark’s face is so serious. He looks like he’d rather shave his own balls with a rusty razor than stand here with Tiffany and me, talking about threesomes.

  Frankly, so would I.

  Tiffany sighs, a long, slow sound designed to give Mark and me a chance to change our minds. Her eyes jump between us, and then she drops her head slightly in defeat.

  “The good ones are always taken. I hope your women appreciate you.”

  I cringe inside, but keep my face neutral.

  “Right.”

  Mark gives me a neutral look and starts to walk back inside my apartment. “Carrie’s waiting for me.” He gives Tiffany a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Tiffany.”

  “You got a brother, Mark? Maybe he and I...”

  Mark laughs. “My brother’s engaged.”

  “Oh.” Tiffany bats her eyelashes at me. “Drew?”

  “Only have a sister. And she’s married,” I add pointedly.

  Tiffany giggles. “I don’t swing that way.”

  She clearly swings every way else, though.

  “Well,” Tiffany says, looking away from us, staring out at the ocean. “My life could be worse than talking to a couple of hot guys and getting rejected. I could have saggy boobs, you know?” She sticks her chest out. “They’re good, right? The surgeon says I’m all healed from my lift surgery six weeks ago.”

  Mark coughs and tries not to look. “They’re fine.”

  Bzzzz.

  My back pocket vibrates and I pull out the phone.

  Gentian. A routine paperwork question.

  I take the opportunity and look at Mark. “Work. We need to go.” I nudge my head toward my place. “Bye, Tiffany.”

  “Bye, Drew. And nice to meet you --”

  I close the door and run my hands through my hair while Mark tries to laugh silently.

  “Girlfriend? Now you’re calling Lindsay your girlfriend? If she’s your girlfriend, I’d hate to see what a woman who really hates you looks like, Foster.”

  I glare. “Fuck off, Paulson.”

  “Threesome,” he gasps. “That’s a first.”

  “Really? Even in the DEA, undercover...?” Mark’s worked deep undercover for years.

  “Been hit on by guys. Loads of women. Never been offered a threesome, though.” He frowns. “Carrie’s going to hate hearing this.”

  I don’t even ask why he’s telling her. I know his philosophy of relationships. You keep a secret when you need to, or when work requires it. Otherwise, you tell everything, because we already have to keep so many secrets.

  Relationships are built on sharing and trust.

  Trust.

  Right.

  Lindsay can’t trust me, and I don’t blame her.

  And I can’t share everything with her because I don’t have a choice.

  “Thanks for the very interesting evening, Foster. I came here to make sure you’re okay, and instead I got to be a judge on Best Plastic Surgery in Malibu.”

  “Don’t ever say my jobs aren’t intellectually stimulating.”

  “I think Tiffany’s over there intellectually stimulating herself right now,” he adds dryly.

  “Gross.”

  But we laugh.

  “Tiffany’s a nice person. She just has boundary issues.”

  “Don’t fuck her for the wrong reasons, Drew.”

  I jolt. “Is there a right reason? I have zero interest in fucking her.”

  “Good.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. But you’re so in love with Lindsay, and she’s so angry with you, that I can see how crazy it’s making you. And when we get crazy, we make bad choices.” He grimaces. “I know I have.”

  “Right.” I’m still buzzing, and shutting down. My body twitches, calves spasming. I need to make love with Lindsay, beat off, or go for a ten-mile run.

  Preferably all three.

  “Look. I came over here to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Fine.” He lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head. “Right. Just like we were all fine in Afghanistan. Fine is the stupidest word when it comes to describing emotional states.”

  “You sound like my psychologist.”

  “How is Dr. Diamante?” The question isn’t casual. I know what he’s telling me. Not asking.

  Telling.

  “Wouldn’t know. Haven’t had to see her in a while.”

  “Might want to give her a call.”

  “Might not.”

  His nostrils flare. It’s posturing. He’s not my commanding officer any longer. In fact, I’m his boss. And my personal life and emotional state are none of Mark’s business. Nice of him to care, but he needs to butt the fuck out.

  He sighs and reaches into his pocket, jangling his car keys. “Do what you want.”

  “I always do.”

  “But -- ”

  I groan.

  “But you almost got yourself fired today. Expect a text from the senator.”

  “Already got one.”

  “He’s pissed. Rightly so. Everyone’s pretending to accept Lindsay’s fake story about an ‘attacker,’ but that’s her one shot. Another mess like this and you’re toast.”

  “You mean she is.”

  “Yeah.” His voice turns sad. “Yeah. She’s in an impossible bind.”

  I flinch. He frowns, puzzled, then pulls back, blinking hard.

  “Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

  A vision of Lindsay bound and tied by those animals
makes my blood race. The twitchiness overcomes all the alcohol in my system and I start to breathe hard. Grabbing a glass, I pour myself water from the pitcher in my fridge and guzzle it down.

  Mark just watches me.

  “You really love her.”

  “Of course.” My voice comes out like ice chips, one piece per syllable. “You knew that.”

  “It’s one thing to be told something. It’s very different to watch it.”

  “That obvious?”

  “You might as well wear her panties on your head.”

  I’m in the middle of a swallow and come out choking, hard. That image is way better than my previous one, so I’ll go with that.

  “Doubt the senator would appreciate it,” I cough out.

  “You’d get fired. Surprised you’re not. And if you keep it up, Drew, you’ll be arrested for assault.”

  “You’re playing the puritan with me? The guy who broke into his own father’s motorcycle club compound so he could rescue his brother’s girlfriend from a drug dealer who planned to take her virginity to cure his HIV/AIDS?”

  He nods slowly. “When you put it that way, I’m a hypocrite.”

  “When I put it ANY way, you’re fucking crazy.”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “We both are. We know that. Always have been, especially since Afghanistan.”

  “And since both of us had parents who died in mysterious car crashes.”

  Mark’s eyes go dark. “And that,” he spits out. The coincidence was too pat to be anything but a careful targeting. Mark was already my commanding officer and delivered the news, followed by his own hollow story that mimicked what happened to my mom and dad, only it was his mother and stepfather.

  Grief has a funny way of going underground when you’re in battle. They sent me home for the funeral. I grieved with my sister in private, handled a few legalities, and requested to be sent back to the front lines.

  Lindsay was still on the Island.

  I had no one to talk to back home.

  Combat was a better place to express my emotions. Sniper training proved cathartic.

  “Between my parents, your parents, and Lindsay’s brake line failure, looks like we’ve got someone in high places targeting all of us.”

  “Us?” Mark grabs a glass and fills it with water, our conversation obviously not over. “You think I’m still some kind of target?” His eyes flicker with worry, then settle back into a blank stare.

 

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