Calculated Risk

by Marie James

“Is illegal in St. Louis.”

  “But it shouldn’t be!” he hisses, so loudly I have to pull the phone from my ear.

  “I can’t fix a reputation you continue to tarnish.”

  “I hired you assholes to—”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Dickerson. Mr. Black will be in contact soon.”

  I hang up the phone before he can continue to rant.

  Leaning back in my office chair, I stare at the ceiling. The days just continue to drag on and on, and I know it’s because I’m forced to wait from one Thursday to the next to see Hayden.

  “That’s the look of a man who isn’t having the best day,” Deacon says as he steps into my office.

  “We’re going to have to drop Dickerson,” I tell him.

  “Still hiring prostitutes?”

  “He wants us to find him a reputable escort service.”

  Deacon scoffs at the ridiculous request. “Tell the man to move to Nevada. There are several counties there that it’s legal. How bad is it this time?”

  “He made the evening news yesterday.” Deacon frowns. “And before you ask, they have it on video. He’s in breach of contract.”

  “I’ll contact him,” he says as he drops another handful of folders on my desk. “Let’s talk about these real quick.”

  I flip through the first folder as Deacon sits in the chair across from my desk. The case notes indicate a dad going after his daughter’s boyfriend for posting her nudes to a high school chatroom.

  “Child porn? That would be easy to solve, but we have to worry about making things worse by bringing to light that she—”

  “She’s eighteen. A senior in high school, so that doesn’t fit.”

  “Revenge porn? I have no desire to look at the images sent. Does it show her face?”

  “Full frontal in a bathroom mirror,” Deacon confirms. “But I’m not concerned about the case against the boy who shared them. The father hurt him pretty badly. The boy is the preacher’s son from the dad’s church. The congregation is up in arms, defending the boy, while ostracizing the girl for sending the pictures in the first place. Apparently, she’s the temptress, and the boy is just another unwilling victim.”

  “I might believe that shit if the preacher found the images instead of his son spreading them around. Let me guess, the boy was doing God’s work by letting everyone know who to avoid? God, I hate double standards.”

  We continue to talk about this case and the other three he’s shoved my way this morning before he gets up to leave. Despite having a ton of work to get done, the day doesn’t go by any faster. I find myself continuously looking up at the clock on the wall.

  After setting a game plan for three of the cases with the clients and waiting for the fourth to call me back, I make my way to the breakroom.

  Jude is on the sofa, playing with that stupid length of rope. Kit is cleaning a handgun. Wren is nowhere to be seen and probably in his office jacking off and giving filthy commands to his woman over a video call.

  All seems normal around here.

  “Where have you been?” Jude asks when he notices me.

  “Working. You should try it sometime.”

  “The team has been injury free for eighteen days,” Jude responds.

  “Great. You had to say it out loud?” Flynn complains. “Now you’ve jinxed us.”

  “I don’t conform to your superstitions,” Jude tells him before looking back at me. “Did I tell you that I ran into Hayden?”

  He laughs when my body tenses. “You didn’t. When? Today? Is she here?”

  “Interesting,” Kit says. “Is this the girl from the shooting class?”

  It doesn’t surprise me that he’s gotten details on a conversation he wasn’t even present for.

  “It was yesterday at the gun range,” Jude explains.

  “Classes are on Thursday.”

  “And the range is open seven days a week.” Jude’s eyes narrow. “She mentioned you telling her to not worry about aim for now.”

  Flynn chuckles. Kit huffs a laugh.

  It’s clear with both their reactions that they know exactly what I did.

  “She was scared of the gun,” I argue, unwilling to confess the truth.

  “And you’re well aware that starting with all the fundamentals—including aim—is pertinent,” Kit says.

  I frown but keep my eyes on Jude, hoping he’ll tell me how she’s doing without me actually having to ask the damned question.

  “So you sandbagged her, so she’d be more likely to ask for more help.” Flynn explains my intentions out loud, and I can only guess how ridiculous it sounds to these guys. “If I had to guess, I bet you stood behind her and physically positioned her arms, didn’t you?”

  They all laugh when I clamp my mouth closed.

  “Pitiful, man. Just pitiful.”

  Jude’s smile grows at Kit’s reaction. “I know you’re too stubborn to ask, so I’ll tell you that she looked good.”

  She always looks good, I want to say.

  “What was she wearing?” My eyes snap to Flynn. I’m seconds away from knocking the cheesy grin off his face.

  “Very feminine slacks, and—” If he mentions a blouse, I’m likely to punch my best friend in the face. “A flowy top. It looked like silk.”

  “Jude,” I warn. It’s the only one he’ll get.

  Another round of laughter comes from Flynn as he stands. “Just ask the woman out already. Maybe it’ll put an end to that hostility you’re feeling grow in your chest.”

  I think hitting each one of them for having a good time at my expense also sounds like a viable option.

  “She’s getting better,” Jude says. “I helped her establish eye dominance, and by the end of the lane rental she—”

  “Quinten, I have another case to discuss with you,” Deacon says as he walks into the room, interrupting a vital conversation.

  Jude snaps his mouth closed, refusing to continue. I walk away, working through how to get the information out of him later. He’s having fun with this right now, but eventually I’ll get him to spill. I’m barely able to pay attention to Deacon once we’re back in his office going over the file.

  Never in my life has someone been able to make me lose focus so easily. Maybe Flynn is right and asking her out would be the best way to go. More likely than not, I’ll spend a little time with her and realize we aren’t compatible, or she’ll shoot me down, and I’ll know exactly where I stand with her.

  Thursday can’t get here soon enough.

  Chapter 14

  Hayden

  The second to last class is wrapping up, and I don’t know if I’m anxious because Parker didn’t show up at all or if it’s because I don’t want them to end.

  It could also be because I have to once again go home to a house I no longer feel safe in. Exhaustion is weighing down on me, but when I close my eyes at night, I can’t sleep. It’s making me irritable to the point I snapped at someone at work earlier today for something that normally wouldn’t cause my blood pressure to spike in the slightest. I apologized profusely, but felt guilty for the rest of the day.

  “How are you feeling about it now?” Quinten asks.

  The attention I’m getting right now is nothing different from what he’s offered to every other woman in the class, but I bask in it, slowing my response time to make it last just a little longer.

  At first sight, I judged this man as angry and frightening because of his size and the way he holds his mouth in a nearly constant frown, but the more I look at him and watch him, that opinion changes. I find him giving small smiles of approval when someone celebrates their success with shooting. He’s quick to give compliments at a job well done, and he’s a true instructor, explaining and showing when there are issues rather than getting upset and agitated when one of us can’t do what he’s suggesting the first time.

  “Hayden?”

  “Yes, I’m getting the hang of it. Jude’s advice earlier this week helped a lot, too.”

&nb
sp; He nods, that information not coming as a surprise to him. Does that mean they were talking about me?

  I get a small twinge of excitement at imagining them talking about me outside of class. Does it mean he’s interested, or is he just being polite?

  “Let’s see your target.”

  I stand to the side as he recalls the target, and I diligently keep my eyes from noticing the fit of his jeans. If Parker were here, she probably would’ve mentioned them more than once, giving me the ability to look without feeling so weird, but she once again had to work.

  “The clusters are getting tighter. Are you aiming at different areas with each magazine?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “Jude suggested it.”

  He clears his throat before turning back around to face me. “That’s good advice. Are you coming often to practice outside of class?”

  “Just on Monday.”

  “You’re coming every Monday?”

  It feels as if he’s asking while mentally making plans to clear his schedule in a couple of days.

  “I plan to. After work. I’ll get here about six thirty.” My face flames at giving him too much information, but he nods as if he’s filing it away.

  “The more you’re able to practice, the better you’ll get. In the beginning, going longer between shooting may set you back to the beginning. Good job.”

  He hands me the target and moves on to the next lane.

  Disappointed the interaction is over, I gather my things and head out to the front, but after checking my rental back in, I find myself reluctant to walk out of here.

  Each day, the fear of going home alone and of being watched grows instead of getting better. Time has done nothing but make my anxiety ramp up. Maybe coming every day to shoot after work is better than just once a week because at least I can postpone the racing heart I get each night as I pull up to my house.

  I spend twenty minutes looking at the products the shop has to offer, stupidly reading the backs of the items without really understanding the purpose of them.

  “Are you waiting on someone?”

  Like a fool, I nearly drop the bottle of gun oil I’ve been holding as I look up at Quinten.

  “Just, ah, shopping.”

  “Most people use oil, not grease.”

  “What?” My brow draws together in confusion until he points to the product in my hand. “Oh. Good to know.”

  I know I don’t like being around lots of people, but when did I become unable to carry on a normal one-on-one conversation with a man?

  I shake my head at how ridiculous I’m acting.

  “It’s not included in the class, but I can teach you how to take a gun apart and clean it.”

  I shake my head.

  “Or the guys here can do it for you.”

  “I haven’t decided what I want.” Honestly, I don’t know that I’ll ever actually buy a gun. Learning to shoot hasn’t built up much confidence, and I don’t imagine carrying a gun around on my person would help that either.

  “The offer stands when you do.”

  Even if the class is over? Am I confident enough to call this man up and hold him to it? Probably not.

  “Okay. Well, thanks.”

  Those three words should be enough for me to walk away, but I find myself lingering. He patiently waits, and if I was better at interacting with men I find attractive, I might think he wanted to stick around, too, but I’m not.

  “You seem hesitant to leave. Is there something wrong?”

  What a loaded question, and I pause for a minute wondering if spilling my fears and anxiety at this man’s feet is the best thing to do.

  He did ask after all.

  “My house was broken into,” I say, my eyes dropping to my shoes.

  “That’s rough.”

  I huff. “You have no clue. I changed the locks, but I still…”

  “Having trouble feeling safe?”

  Did he just close some of the distance between us, or am I swaying on my feet?

  “It’s worse than I thought it was going to be. I’m having trouble sleeping.”

  “What about an alarm system?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve called, but the companies I contacted are busy. I’m on a few waitlists, but then I also worry about the company having access to my codes, and I’m probably just being paranoid, but—”

  “No. It’s a legitimate concern.”

  And that little piece of information doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “Maybe you could—”

  “Do you want to go for coffee?” I blurt.

  His upper lip twitches. “No.”

  “Okay,” I say and start to turn around. His quick refusal hurts a little more than it probably should for only having known him a few weeks. “So, see you next—”

  His hand on my wrist stops me, but I can’t look him in the eye. Embarrassment has my face flaming.

  “I just don’t think coffee is going to help with your inability to sleep. Maybe water instead?”

  “Water?” I finally manage to look up at him, and a little grin plays on my lips at the teasing sparkle in his pretty blue eyes.

  “I’d love a glass of water.”

  Maybe his mouth has suddenly become just as dry as mine.

  Chapter 15

  Quinten

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before,” Hayden says, indicating the slice of orange floating in my glass.

  We decided on a small diner down the road from the gun range, and I kept my eyes on her headlights the entire drive over, smiling every inch of the way because she asked me out before I could do the same to her.

  I hated hearing that she was sticking around the shop because she was scared to go home rather than because she was waiting for me to finish up with the ladies straggling behind after class ended.

  “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. I have no idea when exactly I started though.”

  She smiles at me, and man, do I love the look of happiness on her face. It beats the irritation and annoyance I’ve seen too many times to be comfortable with.

  “You make it sound like you’re old or something.”

  “Thirty-five isn’t old?” She shakes her head. “But older than you?”

  She gasps in mock shock with her hand to her chest. It draws my eyes, but I find her eyes quick enough that I pray she didn’t see me look.

  “Do I look thirty-five?”

  “You don’t look a day over—”

  “Let me save you the embarrassment. I’m twenty-nine.”

  “I was going to say thirty-two.”

  “Jerk,” she snaps with humor as she tosses her balled-up straw paper at me.

  I chuckle when it flies over my shoulder.

  “Well, at least your shooting is better than your throwing aim.” Her smile grows. “Tell me about work.”

  “Work? I’m an accountant. It’s pretty boring, but I’m good at it.”

  “It’s not tax season.”

  Her grin grows wider. “You assuming that accountants don’t do anything but taxes is like me thinking you sit around and clean guns all day.”

  “Who says I don’t?” I wrap my hand around my glass of cold water in an effort to prevent myself from reaching across the table and tangling my fingers around hers.

  “Do you?”

  “Not even close. I’ll share some about what I do, but ladies first.”

  “I work for a firm that subcontracts jobs overseas. I mostly just make sure the amounts are correct for billing and that what’s coming in and what’s going out are what they should be. See? Boring.”

  “Overseas jobs? Like local businesses that contract labor for manufacturing.”

  “Not exactly,” she says, and her eyes drop back down to her glass of water. “I can’t-I’m under contract—”

  “Oh,” I say, thinking I understand correctly. “It’s government stuff, which means there’s a security clearance required.”

  She gives me a weak smile th
at confirms what I ask but doesn’t verbally verify, which is all the verification that I need.

  “A lot of my job is confidential, too.”

  “Anything you can tell me about?”

  “Nothing specific, but I can say I work with some of the best men I’ve ever met. We each have our own niche of expertise, and sometimes the jobs we’re hired for requires several of us to work together. Those jobs are the most thrilling. We travel some, mostly dealing with domestic issues.”

  “Like cheating spouses?”

  I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of my throat. “We’ve done that in the past, but I mean domestic as in the USA.”

  “But you do travel some outside of the country?”

  “On occasion. Some of the other guys more than me. My skills are usually spent on the phone or through written documentation.”

  “So you teach different classes?”

  “This is my first class to teach. Kit Riggs is our weapons guy, but he had a conflict.”

  “You didn’t want to do it,” she says.

  “I don’t mind it now that it’s started.” I don’t mention that I look forward to Thursday because it’s when I’ve been able to see her. I hate that we only have one class left together, and she didn’t seem too thrilled about the idea of me helping her learn how to clean a gun.

  “You were very assertive that first class, and then again when you called me.” Her back straightens as if thinking back to those first interactions have her getting angry all over again.

  “I’ll admit that I wasn’t exactly thrilled about teaching a class to fourteen women. Fourteen,” I repeat for clarification. “Not fifteen. I was given specifics, and if there’s anything you’ll learn about me is that I tend to be very rigid where rules are concerned.”

  “Even to the point of throwing two women out of class?”

  “I didn’t throw you out.”

  “But you had to know I wouldn’t stay if Parker had to leave.”

  “Because you drove together? She could’ve easily waited around for you or come back to pick you up. I would’ve offered to drive you home even.” I clamp my mouth closed, feeling like I’ve said too much, but then her smile changes from one of forced pleasantness to one that’s a little slyer, and I can’t help but find the pull of her lips a little flirty.