by White, Pat
She cocked her head to one side, studying him.
Shields up, protective armor in place. No one gets in.
He’d become a master at hiding his thoughts and feelings, yet somehow over the course of the last few hours this spitfire-turned-suspect had seeped through the impenetrable armor.
“You don’t look good,” she said.
Of course not. Manipulating people was exhausting. Plus, there was the whole stripping in public thing, physically exposing himself, and performing in this chaos called pro wrestling.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked. “Or is anything happening? If you have a concussion you shouldn’t go out there.”
“There’s my boy!” Cosmo marched over to him.
It was everything Jason could do not to punch the guy in the face for calling him my boy.
“I’m ready,” J said.
“He’s not,” Sandy argued.
“What are you, my mother?”
She took a step back as if he’d slapped her.
He ripped his gaze from her pained expression and looked at Cosmo. “Let’s do it.”
Cosmo nodded to the security guard who escorted J to the stage curtain. Good, get him away from her and keep him safe from those green eyes and that warm smile. Keep him from being a total sap and falling into some fantasy world where a sweet little thing like Sandy takes care of him, nurtures him. A world where she isn’t a dealer peddling drugs and selling hope. That’s what it was all about, right? Drugs equaled hope? Hope for relief from whatever pain a guy was feeling? Hope for the guys to make them feel manly and powerful?
False hope.
“Two minutes,” the guard said, peeking around the stage curtain.
No problem. Jason had pretended to be any number of bastards in his life, from drug dealers to strung-out buyers. He’d pretended to be dead in order to survive an ambush in Colombia; he’d pretended to be A-OK to make Mom happy when his heart was breaking. Hell, he’d pretended to be tough when stepping into the role of lead male in his family after Dad walked out.
Yeah, he’d been pretending his whole life, and was damn good at it. It didn’t matter if he fell apart at three in the morning, or drank himself numb on June 12 every year. No one knew that stuff. They only knew what he let them see. For his second performance of the night, he’d let them see arrogance and skin. Lots of it.
***
“Bad, really, really bad,” Sandy whispered to herself as she watched the match from the stands.
“Who are you talking to?” Floyd walked up and put his arm around her.
“Ick.” She plucked it off and dropped it like it was road kill. “After you insulted me the other day you think I’m going to let you touch me?”
“About that…”
“Yes, Floyd?” She waited, hands on hips.
“I was rude.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I was feeling backed into a corner so I lashed out.”
“Whatever.” She glanced back at the ring. The Stripper was performing his gyrations with more confidence than before. He finished and was led to the turnbuckle by Sally and Suzy who proceeded to tie him to a ring post and fight for him. He didn’t seem to mind.
Who was this guy? Earlier he’d been petrified about stripping, seemed repulsed by the thought. But now? Now he winked at the ladies in the front row, and it was everything security could do to keep them from jumping the guardrails and ripping off what little clothes he had on. The last time she’d seen him he was a completely different person.
A thought struck her. She looked up at Floyd. “What did you do to him?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“When I left him earlier he wasn’t like this.” She waved her hand toward the ring.
“What are you talking about?”
“The three of you were going into the locker room when I was called away to help Oscar. Tell me what you said to The Stripper that got him all jazzed up.”
“I told him you were a wild woman in bed.” He winked.
Part of Sandy wished it were true.
“Shut up,” she said. “Tell me what happened in the locker room.”
“Nothing happened. We told him he did a good job.”
“And?”
“Okay, fine, maybe Rodger shared a few pills with him.”
Her chest tightened. “What kind of pills?”
“You know, the white ones you gave us.”
She must have looked confused.
He leaned forward and whispered, “For confidence?”
She bit back a smile. The boys hadn’t a clue she’d been giving them an herbal supplement to boost their immune system, not some form of steroids to build muscle. If the supplement psychologically made them feel more confident then she’d done her job: kept them safe and in the ring.
“Must have kicked in for The Stripper.” Floyd nodded toward the ring.
Jason wiggled his hips and puckered his lips. She burst out laughing.
“What?” Floyd asked. “Come on, spill it.”
“I’m nuts, that’s all.”
“And a lesbian.” Missy sauntered up to Floyd and looped her arm through his. “Stay away from my man. He’s not gay.”
Sandy blinked. “Even if I were a lesbian, I wouldn’t be after ... oh, never mind,” she said. Missy had the brains of an ant.
Floyd led his Missy away, probably hoping to avoid further conflict.
“Good job with The Stripper down there,” he called over his shoulder. “You might have saved his career.”
Sandy glanced at The Stripper, who probably would have taken off all his clothes by now if his wrists weren’t bound to the ring post.
What a joke. She told the boys she had access to a new drug, what she called a “confidence enhancer” and they’d jumped at the chance to use it. Too bad they didn’t realize confidence came from the inside. The power of the human spirit was amazing when tapped.
She leaned against the wall and watched the match. Johnny told her to take a break from the constant flow of injuries needing to be tended. She was glad she’d been able to help Oscar, a special man who deserved better than what he got. He was a good family man, the type of man she’d consider marrying ... if he weren’t a professional wrestler.
Hmm. Maybe she should make a list of “perfect guy” qualities. That could be fun. Or depressing.
The crowd cheered, drawing her attention to the ring. Atomic Bomb slid a metal folding chair under the ropes. Sally grabbed it, wound up and—
Suzy nailed her from behind. Sandy stood straight and watched the chair sail across the ring at Jason’s head, but the idiot was too absorbed in preening to see it coming.
CRACK!
“Damn it!” She took off down the steps and up the aisle, hurdling the guardrails. Security didn’t even try to stop her.
“Son of a bitch!” She dove under the bottom rope into the ring and kneeled beside him. He was out cold, sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I need a backboard, a neck brace and ice,” she ordered the ref.
He stared at her, probably because racing into the ring was not something she did. Ever.
“Now!” she cried.
Ref Hooper snapped to it and started waving his arms, sending signals to security.
It was the real thing this time, not a phony ambulance call for a fake injury. And she’d left her pack in the first aid room. Crap!
“Stripper, can you hear me?”
“Is he okay?” Sally asked.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sandy shouted at her over the crowd noise. “You threw it right at his head.”
“I didn’t mean to. It slipped.”
“Where’s that backboard?” she cried.
Johnny came running down the ramp with a backboard and two assistants. “How is he?”
“Unconscious. I told him, didn’t I? I told Cosmo, I told Stripper, I told anyone who would listen that he sho
uldn’t be out here again. I had a gut feeling but no one listened to me!”
Just like before with Duke, the metal door, and the pile driver that condemned him to a wheelchair...
“It’s okay, kid. We’ll fix him.” Johnny slid the backboard into the ring and they carefully strapped Jason down. “Has he said anything?”
“No,” Sandy said.
“Keep trying. I’ll take his vitals.”
“Should we get him out of here first?” She hated real injuries being a part of the show. It felt sleazy.
“I need his vitals,” Johnny insisted.
“Give me ice.” One of the security guys gave Sandy an ice pack and she placed it on his head. He turned away. “Stripper, can you hear me?”
He moaned.
“Jason?” she said.
He opened his eyes slightly. “Hi.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll come back,” he mumbled.
Who was he talking about? He hadn’t been in the ring with a man. “Jason, who am I?”
“What? Who are you?”
“My name, Jason. What’s my name?”
“Green eyes.” He reached out to touch her face. She placed his hand gently on his chest.
“Do you know where you are?” she urged.
He blinked and looked at the ceiling.
“Pills. Too many pills,” he said.
“What’s he talking about?” Johnny said.
She put up her hand to silence him.
“What pills? What did you take?” she demanded.
“They gave me ... your pills.”
Johnny quirked an eyebrow.
“The boys gave him some of my magic pills,” she explained.
“I hope that’s all he took.”
She glanced at Jason. His eyes glazed over, changing color to a warm blue-green. She’d never seen that color before. Damn it, if he was open to taking placebos from the boys, what else would he risk taking just so he could strip? Talk about risking your life to overcome your inhibitions.
“Let’s get him out of here,” she said.
Johnny nodded. They slipped the patient under the ropes and carried him up the ramp into the back.
She refused to believe she’d been wrong about this guy, that Jason abused drugs and was so utterly careless about his own well-being. Would he take anything offered? She knew there were a variety of painkillers and other meds passed around on a regular basis. She disapproved of it—all of it. If your body needed heavy-duty painkillers to feel okay then you were not listening to it, and definitely not respecting it. The body was a miraculous creation, but it was fragile, which is why she’d found the herbal supplement. The boys felt more confident when they took it, but it wouldn’t affect their body in a negative way. It was a win-win situation for everyone.
She glanced at Jason, wishing she knew what else he’d pumped into his body before stepping into the ring. She’d seen it in his eyes earlier: a dazed expression that seemed out of character.
What made her an expert on this man? He was a stranger. She knew nothing about him or what went on in his head.
“What happened?” Cosmo caught up to them as they placed Jason onto a table in first aid.
Sandy grabbed a penlight from her backpack. “Concussion.”
“We think,” Johnny said.
She looked at him. “He was hit in the head with the steel folding chair. I’m putting my money on a concussion.”
“Do we need an ambulance?” Cosmo asked.
“Maybe,” she replied.
“No,” Johnny said.
“When you two figure out what’s going on, let me know.” Cosmo left the room.
Sandy didn’t break eye contact with Johnny.
Gargoyle came into the room. “I think I pulled a—”
“Wait outside,” Johnny said. Gargoyle did as ordered.
“Look,” Johnny said, leaning over the unconscious Stripper. “I know you feel you need to protect the boys, but I see that look in your eyes. You’re starting your ‘savior’ thing with The Stripper. Don’t. You don’t need the heartache, kid.”
“He’s a patient. He’s hurt. It’s my job.” She sounded like a robot.
“Your job is to patch him up, not to save his soul.”
But God, how she wanted to. She wanted to save someone, damn it. She couldn’t help Duke or Dad when they’d needed her the most. She sensed that The Stripper could be saved. Maybe it was the ache in his eyes or the rumble of pain in his voice.
Snap out of it! Your job is to protect all the boys in BAM.
Yet Cosmo wanted her to stick to The Stripper like sweat after a workout, and that’s exactly what she’d do. So what if Johnny thought romantic feelings were motivating her to save the guy?
“It’s a job,” Johnny said in that fatherly tone. “That’s all.”
She glanced away, wondering if Johnny knew her better than she knew herself. It had never been “just a job” to her.
“Cosmo’s been in the hot seat lately about the drug abuse at BAM,” Johnny spoke up. “We need to report this to him.”
Her gaze shot to his eyes. “Report what? That the boys gave Stripper some herbal supplements? We don’t know he took anything else.”
“We suspect it. Cosmo needs to know.”
“He’ll fire him.”
“Not our problem.”
The image of Jason and his sister sleeping in a cardboard box on Lower Wacker Drive tangled her stomach in knots. She was so tired of not being able to help people when they needed it the most. So very tired.
“He needs this job,” she argued. “Desperately.”
Johnny leaned back. “How do you know that? You just met the guy.”
“He told me.”
“And Cody told you you’d be married by the end of the year.”
She clenched her jaw.
“I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” Johnny sighed and looked into her eyes. “Kid, I just can’t stand seeing you get hurt.”
“I won’t. I know what I’m doing this time. It’s not personal.”
“The hell it isn’t.” Johnny stepped back, as if giving her full control of the situation. “Okay, what do you want to do with this guy?”
“I’ll take him to the hospital.”
“His first night out and he’s going to the hospital? Cosmo’s not going to be happy about his new boy being so fragile.”
Then she got an idea, a way to solve everyone’s problems.
“I’ll take him back to the hotel with me.”
“Even better. People won’t think you’re a lesbian, they’ll think you’re a pervert.” He tossed supplies into a duffle bag and mumbled, “I can hear it now: she takes an unconscious man to her hotel room for a little recreation. She’s got total control over him. Kinky, perverted sex games!”
“I need to protect him.” And the rest of the boys.
Johnny shook his head. “For once would you think about protecting yourself?”
***
It was the fourth time she woke him that he finally lost it.
“Damn it, woman, go home!” he shouted.
She didn’t jump back, pout or cry. She simply started up with more questions.
“Where did Cosmo find you?” she asked.
“I’ve already told you that.”
“Tell me again.”
Now he felt like the suspect and she, the cop. Is that what this was about? Unraveling the mystery of Jason McBain, failed son, DEA agent and struggling stripper?
“Cosmo found me in a strip club.” He laid his head back down and started to drift off.
“No sleeping till I’m done,” she said. She pulled on his arm and sat him up. “Come on, time for a walk.”
“What? Are you nuts? It’s four in the morning.” He pulled free of her.
“We’re only walking to the balcony. Fresh air. It’ll clear your head.”
“My head needs sleep.”
“Why? What does
it feel like?” Her eyebrows knitted together with concern and she sat beside him on the bed. “Look at me,” she said, studying his eyes, yet not really looking at him.
“Stop, I’m fine.” He whipped off the sheets and grunted. Damn, he’d stripped down to his boxers. Or had she stripped him down? This was getting worse by the minute.
“Need help?” she offered.
He turned to her a little too fast, and gritted his teeth against the pain. “Stay there. Right there. Don’t follow me, don’t hold my hand, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted, an odd gesture from a woman like Sandy.
Ambling into the bathroom, he struggled to remember what the hell happened tonight that landed him on his back with Sandy in his hotel room, waking him, asking him questions. He shut the door and splashed water on his face. Had someone figured out he wasn’t what he seemed to be? That he was a cop out to bust them?
That deep down he was soulless, like his father?
He splashed more cold water on his face. Very cold. Splash, grumble, splash.
She tapped on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Don’t even think about coming in.”
“Just checking.”
Why was she so concerned? Why did she come to his hotel room, sit with him, feed him toast at midnight and make him drink water at two a.m.? It was torture being awakened, kept off balance, having to look into those sweet green eyes … the eyes of a drug dealer.
“Shit!” He pounded his fist against the sink. Okay, maybe it was time to reevaluate his line of work. Maybe it was getting to him.
No, he was meant to outsmart criminals, arrest them, and protect innocent kids who deserved better.
So how was he going to outsmart the girl on the other side of the bathroom door? Exhaustion pulsed through his body, weakening his guard. What secrets would she uncover with her constant questions? What inconsistencies?
“Damn.” He stared at his reflection in the mirror. She was in his hotel room. His Komodo, small pistol and badge were tucked in a secret pocket of his duffel. If she went poking around ...
He whipped open the door, but instead of finding her digging through his bag, he spotted her curled up in a chair. Her long, blond hair draped across her cheek, which was resting against bent knees.