by M. S. Parker
Chapter Seven
Olivia
“So he beat up a couple of drunken lowlifes a few hours after his mother died.” The boss put the tablet down and focused on me. “I’m not concerned about this, Olivia.”
He was one of the few – the very few – who called me Olivia.
“Sir, the problem is the fallout when you go public.” I gave him a smile, leaning forward. “The public eye is about to be on you in a very big way.”
My throat tightened at just how much the public eye would be focused on him – and me. And Adam Dedman. Well, there was always the possibility he wouldn’t be interested. But that idea was laughable. Really.
“The public eye will look at him and see a grieving man.” He jabbed a finger at the tablet. “Especially after they find out his background. A Navy SEAL. I still don’t believe it.”
Knowing I’d lost the argument, I leaned back and folded my hands in my lap. “I assume you still want me to contact him? Are you certain it’s wise so soon after his mother’s death?”
“Yes, and you and I are both going.” His eyes took on a far off look. “You’ll handle him. I just want to attend the funeral. Keep me in the loop, Olivia.”
“Of course.” Like I’d do anything else. Keeping the stylus poised over my phone, I asked, “I imagine you’ll want to make some sort of gift in acknowledgment of her passing.”
He turned away then, moving to stare out over the skyline of the city, the winding ribbon of the Ohio River catching the line of the sun and turning to silver. It was a beautiful view. Up until I’d started working in this position, I’d never seen Cincinnati from this particular angle, but then again, the boss had introduced me to a number of things that were new to me. Stability. A decent, steady job. Friendship. A life.
The boss rarely came into his headquarters these days. The ninety-minute drive was longer than he liked. It was understandable. He was young still, only in his sixties, but he had responsibilities at home that took up more and more of his time.
I lived halfway between his home and the offices on a piece of land he’d given me as a bonus five years ago. I told him it was too much, and he’d brushed it aside. For him, it was a pittance. The man was as rich as Croesus and beyond generous with those he considered most loyal to him.
And he still hadn’t answered me.
But I knew he’d heard. Finally, after another moment of silence, he nodded. “Yes, we’ll make a donation to the hospital – anonymously. Any ideas on how we should frame the gift?”
Tapping my pen to my lips, I pondered it a moment. The idea, when it came, was simple and perfect. “Make it a scholarship for nurses furthering their education. I imagine the hospital offers some help to those who continue their education like she did. But they often come with strings – agreeing to work for so many years, work so many hours a week. A scholarship would be a nice memorial gift.”
“Yes.” He nodded, still staring outside. “Make it happen.”
A few more moments passed before he came back to the desk. “I understand that my wife’s sister is pushing for money again.”
“Shocking nobody,” I said dryly. There had been a rift between the boss’s wife and the sister, one that spanned decades, but the past few months, the sister had become more and more demanding. Cherise Whitney also seemed to think it was time to take certain…actions.
“Should I just make it clear that she’s not in the will so there’s no point in her pursuing this?”
“That will end with her attempting to rip your hair out by the roots, my girl.”
“I bet I’m faster.” With a slow smile, I cocked a brow at him, knowing the expression would amuse him.
It did, as evidenced by the laugh. “I bet you are. So we’d end up with a bout of her throwing every possible thing she can find your way. You’re my damage control, Olivia. How can you control the damage if you’re in the middle of it?”
“I’d just spin a story that your sister-in-law was overcome with grief, and I was willing to be the target of her misplaced anger.” I checked my watch. “I imagine you want to attend the viewing. And I have a date with a jailbird.”
* * *
I spent the drive researching the most current information I could find on one Adam “Reaper” Dedman. The boss spent it in silence, and our driver didn’t attempt to break it. Charlie knew better. Like me, he was another stray the boss had collected over the years, and he understood our employer’s moods almost as well as I did.
The silence was welcome. I doubted I’d have much of it once things got rolling.
I had no idea how this was going to be taken or if Adam Dedman would be at all receptive. The information I had offered no insight into his personality.
I knew his vital statistics – age, weight, height – things anybody could get if they knew how to do a decent search, along with his address. He’d been in the Navy since the summer after high school, and that was where it started to get harder to find much. He was stationed in Coronado, and there wasn’t a lot of information available on him. Up until this morning, there had been no arrests and no trouble with the law, save for speeding tickets that were always paid.
I ended up shutting down the search engine with time left to kill and just studied his most recent picture. He was hot. There was no other word to describe him. Wide-set eyes that looked like they could cut right through you. High, sharp cheekbones and a jaw that might break a fist if somebody was stupid enough to hit him and unlucky enough to land the punch.
He had broad, heavy-looking shoulders, the kind that made me think he could carry the weight of the world and then some. His short, dark hair left his features unframed, softening him not at all. But there wasn’t much of anything about him that was soft.
Except his mouth. I couldn’t help but notice that mouth. It was the mouth of a sinner, the kind that would make a saint want all sorts of wicked things.
I was no saint.
I also wasn’t in this guy’s league.
There was one other detail that I knew about him. I hadn’t found it in my research. It had been relayed to me by the boss some years earlier. Reaper was a Navy SEAL. Those guys were all but worshiped by some, and he probably had women coming out of the shadows to kneel at his feet and give him…whatever he wanted. I was a plain Jane through and through, my best features including my brain, my loyalty, and a good pair of legs. I wasn’t ugly. I knew what I saw in the mirror though, and nothing could change the fact that I had a square jaw and harsh cheekbones. My mouth was pretty enough, and I had unusual eyes – a gift from either my mother or my father. One of them had given me something nice, at least. But no man would fall in love with me because I had pretty eyes.
The boss had told me once that if I’d dress to complement my strong points, I might surprise myself. But I wasn’t looking to surprise myself or impress anybody. I dressed to fit the life I had, the job I had. The simple black suits were easy and professional.
They were also dull and about as likely to catch the eye of the sexy Navy SEAL as the woman wearing them.
Brooding, I tapped my pen against his image.
This wasn’t the way I’d envisioned us meeting.
My gut clenched, and I closed my eyes as nerves started to hum, coming to life with a vengeance I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Think about it as a job. Just a job.
Chapter Eight
Reaper
Head against the back of the cell, I stared at the wall.
I had blood on my hands. Literally.
They’d thrown me into a holding cell, which was the third biggest fuck-up of the night – morning. It had been morning, nearly five a.m. by the time the door slammed shut behind me.
Four other guys had been in there, and one of them had decided he didn’t like the look of me. I hadn’t much liked the look of him either, although by the time I finished rearranging his face, I knew there wasn’t much to improve on. Two others had joined in to help him, but they’d
regretted it quick enough.
One had gone down like a felled tree when I slammed a fist into his larynx. The other had gotten his head slammed into the concrete floor for his trouble.
When the cops came rushing through, they eyed me, then the one man who had sat out through all of it.
He’d recognized me for military, he told the cops who led me out of the room. He’d served himself, and he didn’t see the point in picking a fight for the hell of it. He also stated – loudly – that I’d just finished what they’d started.
I was still in a cell by myself.
“The man you slammed into the concrete has a brain bleed.”
I looked up into the impassive face of the cop standing outside the cell.
Cocking a brow, I said, “Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to rush me.”
“True enough.” He nodded, folding his arms across his chest. “You got a visitor.”
Grimacing, I shoved myself upright and moved toward the door.
“You going to behave yourself there, big guy?”
“Yes, sir.”
He pondered that a moment then nodded at me. “Turn around. Procedure dictates that we cuff you. Hope you understand, Chief Dedman.”
“I know all about following procedures.” Staring at the opposite wall as he cuffed my wrists through the bars, I brooded over the barrel of the fucking mess I’d thrown myself into. I’d been feeling mean and looking for a fight. I’d found one and then some. And my mother was lying dead in a funeral home. I was supposed to be making arrangements, getting ready to bury her.
My gut twisted and burned. Not just with shame, but with rage directed at myself. I’d dishonored my mother, my rank. What were the chances it was my superior out there, looking to peel some skin off my hide? The guy with the brain bleed…shit, I couldn’t feel bad about that. He’d come at my back, and I’d done what I was trained to do. But I wouldn’t have been in jail for him to come after if I hadn’t been stupid enough – angry enough – to goad a couple of assholes into a fight at some no-name dive.
The cop behind me nudged me aside and opened a door, stepping out of the way so I could enter. Taking one breath to brace myself, I stepped inside.
That bracing breath escaped in a soft sigh as I found myself staring at a complete and total stranger.
A sexy one too, clad in a neat black suit that had probably been selected because it was prim and proper, with a short, fitted jacket and trousers that were equally fitted, making me aware that her ass was top-rate.
Short black hair fell to the middle of her neck. She stood with her back to me, staring out a window not much bigger than a couple of shoeboxes. Strong stubborn shoulders and a long, elegant back tapered down to a narrow waist before flaring out to the kind of hips a man could fill his hands with. Idly, I wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked.
When the door closed, she turned to me.
I almost had to take another breath, because her eyes were…shocking.
Purple-blue. Kind of like some of the flowers my mom liked. Had liked…she was gone now. A wave of grief tried to slam into me, but I shoved it down.
Taking a few steps into the room, still holding her gaze, I waited for her to speak.
She didn’t.
“I don’t recall retaining a lawyer,” I said finally.
“Getting a lawyer would be wise.” She strode to the desk, moving with an efficiency I found way too appealing. As she sat down, I walked over to the desk and kicked out a chair.
“Shall I ask them to undo your cuffs?”
Cocking a brow, I said, “In the past six hours, I’ve sent five guys to the hospital. That might not be a wise move on your part.”
“Well, I don’t plan on picking a fight with you, Chief Dedman.” She leaned back in the chair, her lips curving in a quick smile. “Maybe it’s me, but I think it’s kind of stupid to pick a fight with a Navy SEAL.”
Heaving out a sigh, I let my head fall back. “Did Lieutenant Commander Hawkins send you?”
“No.” There was a pause, very brief, and in that silence, I heard her take a deep breath. “It wasn’t your commander, sir.”
That had me straightening, once more staring at her. She met my gaze levelly, but in my periphery, I saw that she was gripping a pen tightly, so tightly that her knuckles pressed sharp against her skin. Those amazing, purple-blue eyes briefly flicked away, and I let my gaze drift down to her mouth. It was soft, almost too soft for her face. The kind of soft that made a man think about kissing her, but that stubborn, strong jaw was almost enough to make a man think twice.
Almost.
Her eyes swung back to mine just as I forced myself to push those thoughts aside. Her lips parted, and she took a deep breath, once more bracing herself.
“Chief Dedman…” She paused, then a faint smile appeared on her lips. “I imagine you’ve heard this before, but that’s an intimidating last name.”
“Yeah.” I lifted a shoulder. “Mom says it came from her family, way back before they moved over here from England. They were gravediggers. Dead man. One of those trade names like Baker or Farmer.”
“Baker or Farmer would be much less intimidating.” She was still smiling, and it got me to thinking about kissing her again.
“Yeah, well. You ought to hear what my friends call me.”
“Do tell.” She arched a brow, a look of expectancy making her eyes even more attractive.
“Reaper.” Cocking my head, I waited for her to connect the dots.
“Deadman. The Grim Reaper. Hmm.” She nodded and blew out a slow breath. “I guess your friends think it’s funny.”
“Nah. It just fits. One of them…” I stopped and shook my head, not wanting to think about Dog just then. “Never mind. You aren’t here to listen to me ramble. Just what can I do for you, ma’am?”
“Actually, Chief Dedman…or should I call you Reaper? Adam?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m easy.” I couldn’t stop myself. I glanced at her mouth as I said it, wondering what in the hell was wrong with me. Although for her, all she had to do was say the word, and I’d be damn easy in a heartbeat.
Heat flared in her eyes. She felt it too.
Her voice was cool as she responded. “I think I’ll go with Adam. Now, this is going to come as a surprise, but I’m here because…” Under the black jacket of her sensible suit, her strong shoulders tightened. “Your father sent me.”
I blinked, waiting for the punchline.
She didn’t offer one.
She didn’t even blink, not for a good thirty seconds.
“My…father,” I said slowly, my hands curling into fists, the short chain between the cuffs rattling as I rose. I moved away from the table and stared at the dull gray stone of the wall in front of me. “You got a name, ma’am?”
“It’s Olivia. People usually call me O.”
“O, then. You’ve made a trip to see me for nothing. I don’t have a father.” Forcing myself to relax, I turned back to her and offered the most relaxed smile I could manage under the circumstances. “It was just my mother and me. Now it’s just me.”
“You do have a father, Adam.” A faint smile flirted with her lips, drawing my attention back to that mouth. The softness of it seemed that much sexier contrasted against the stern lines of her face, like finding out that your straight-laced next door neighbor never bothered wearing panties. “I was a foster child and never knew either parent, but I knew they were out there somewhere.”
The insipid I’m sorry rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back. I doubted she wanted to hear the words, and they didn’t mean anything anyway. It was just something people said to assuage…something. Guilt, maybe. Guilt that some kids had shitty childhoods while others didn’t. Empty words always irritated me, and I had the feeling they wouldn’t mean much to her either.
“Let me rephrase, O. My father wasn’t much more than a sperm donor. He knocked my mother up and then just took off, leaving her alone to handle me by herself.
Assuming you have the right Adam Dedman, then I have no desire to hear anything about him, no desire to talk to him or anything else.”
“He didn’t take off. Your mother asked him to leave.” She held up a hand when I opened my mouth to call bullshit on that. “Please…” I snapped my mouth closed, “with your mother’s recent passing and your circumstances, other things should take priority. Like getting you out of here.”
The door swung open in the middle of that last sentence, and a man I guess you’d call distinguished came inside. Steel-gray, neatly combed hair, a suit a few shades darker, a pleasant smile and bland blue eyes were set in a face that I’d forget within an hour. He came forward, his hand outstretched. He paused, then lowered it once he realized my hands were still cuffed. “Chief Dedman. Gerald Barrett, your lawyer. We’ll be leaving shortly for the hearing. I expect they’ll ask for a rather high bail, considering the events that took place overnight. I’ll push for leniency and should have some luck there, this being your first offense and with your record of service–”
“Hold up.” I wanted to tell both of them to back up the train about…oh, hell, two hundred miles. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Don’t worry, Chief Dedman. My fees have already been taken care of, and I assure you, I’m the best in the area. Now–”
“I didn’t hire you,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Your father hired him.”
At the sound of O’s voice, I slanted a look at her. “My father.” I scoffed the words.
I’d gone thirty years without one of those. I’d just as soon keep the status quo.
“Yes.” She remained in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, a pen poised in her hand as though she was about to start taking notes. “If you insist on not making use of Mr. Barrett, well, nobody can force you to use his services. But I’m hoping you’ll realize that might be…foolish.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I waited.
“How many men have you put in the hospital in the past twenty-four hours?” she asked, her dark head cocked to the side.