G-Men: The Series (156 page)

^playlist

I’ll Stand By You ~ The Pretenders

Something To Talk About ~ Bonnie Raitt

My Prerogative ~ Bobby Brown

Sexual Thing ~ Poison

Who Says You Can’t Go Home ~ Bon Jovi

Waiting on the World to Change ~ John Mayer

Dreams ~ TheCranberries

We Belong ~ Pat Benatar

Losing My Religion ~ R.E.M.

I Want Your Sex ~ George Michaels

Money for Nothing ~ Dire Straits

^prologue

I’d been on the road for three days and, to be honest, I was tired of seeing green and white signs along the side of the road, charting my progress, or lack thereof, as the case might be, and staying in flea bag motels because of my strained budget. Traveling across the country sounded awesome until around the end of day two. Now, it was simply a matter of my being impatient to reach my destination.

Here I was, Paige Elizabeth Matthews, 22 years-old, leaving my parents’ home in Napa, California to carve out a career and an appropriate life for myself—that was how my father had put it to me. In other words, I was being shoved from the nest for my own good.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been raised or educated properly, because I had. I’d graduated in January from Cal State with a degree that was of little use to me in Napa, but which would serve me well with some government agency such as say, the FBI? Yep, according to my father, that would be a perfect fit for me and my degree.

Yeah, I knew he’d been on the phone several times with my older brother, Trace, who was moving his way up the bureau ladder in D.C. I had relented and filled out the application for an administrative internship at my parents’ urging. I assumed my brother had pulled the appropriate strings to get me selected for the program.

Sweet.

I was okay with it; I mean there was nothing to keep me in Napa. No love connections, no attachments with close friends. I’d never been much of the girly-girl who had a flock of BFFs that I shared everything with while we shopped or had our nails done.

In that respect, I was kind of a loner. Truth be told, I related much better with the male species than the female. It was probably because I’d been raised around vineyards, and the fact that vineyards employed a lot of guys made it just that much more convenient. And, to be honest? I enjoyed the attention of men. Actually,
craved
the attention of men might be more accurate.

Maybe too much.

I knew that was yet another reason my parents were kind of eager to send me off. They weren’t always comfortable with my
“appreciation” of the opposite sex. The fact that I had been dating several different guys simultaneously had seemed to cause them a fair amount of angst over the last several months, especially when they had gotten their names mixed up time and time again.

They would go on and on about how proud they were that my oldest brother, Easton - who I barely knew - had settled down in the U.S. with his new wife, Darcy, and their baby boy, Weston.

From there, the conversation moved onto Trace, and about how he too, had settled down…and how much they loved his wife, Lindsey, and how proud they were of their beautiful grand-babies Harper and Jackson.

They wanted the same for me—that was obvious. I just wasn’t really sure if I wanted that; I couldn’t picture myself living that kind of a life—at least not for a very long time. I hadn’t really had any serious relationships and my instinct told me that was because I hadn’t found my demographic yet—if that makes any sense at all.

I pulled off at the next exit to fill my gas tank and give Trace a quick call on my cell, to let him know that I’d be reaching their place in another few hours.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I fumbled with the gas cap and got the pump going. It was damp and chilly; the remnants of winter were still in the air for the first of March in eastern Pennsylvania.

He answered his cell, recognizing my number. “Where are you?” he asked, as if he were worried.

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania,” I answered, chewing on a nail. “I should be at your place before dark.”

“Okay, Paige, we’ll be here. Drive carefully, you hear?”

“Yes, Trace,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. He could be caring I suppose, but I also knew he was doing this more for Mom and Dad than for me. We just were too far apart in age to be that close.

“We’re looking forward to having you stay with us,” he lied, “Lindsey’s got your room waiting for you. I think you’re really going to like the internship, Paige. I think it just might be what you need.”

I sighed. “Thanks for letting me stay with you guys. I’ll try to stay out of your way, I promise.”

Silence.

“See you soon,” he said.

^{chapter 1}

I fumbled with the lock on the front door, trying to shift the bags of groceries I had in my arms to one side in order to turn the knob. I was kind of worn out and it was just past noon.

My lovely sister-in-law, Lindsey, had left me with a full shopping/errand list this morning, rousing my ass out of bed at seven-thirty. On a
Saturday
no less.

I’d been up fairly late, getting a lecture from big brother Trace, right before he left on some covert FBI mission. His lecture was all about earning my keep around here, acting responsibly, setting a better example for the babies. He felt that I could be a bigger help to Lindsey, when she had clients to visit with the little decorating business she and her mother Samantha had going, yadda, yadda, yadda.

“Paige,” Trace had said, his voice carrying that serious, authoritative and slightly-
tyrannical
tone that he almost never used with Lindsey. “Lindsey and I talked about you doing a little more pitching in around here. It’s not like you pay rent or anything, so how’s about taking on some responsibilities and maybe curtailing some of the partying?”

“I don’t mind helping out,” I shrugged, “but what’s the deal with my partying?” I questioned, eying my older brother warily.

“Hey, what you do and who you do it with is your business—don’t get me wrong. I know you’re only twenty-two and just now getting out from under Mom and Dad’s roof, but we’ve got kids here—babies, and well…”

He was obviously uncomfortable with the subject matter, so I took the opportunity to interrupt. “Look, Trace, if it’s a problem that I brought a couple of guys here for the night, I just won’t do it anymore. But Christ, it’s not like Harper and Jackson are old enough to know what’s going on. I mean,
seriously
?”

“It’s not just the fact that you brought a couple of random dudes home over the past few weeks, it’s that you’ve shown a total disregard for the rest of us, you know?”

“No, I’m not following you, big brother,” I semi-snapped. “It’s not as if I fucked them on the spotless floor of your family room, while you and Lindsey were watching ‘Criminal Minds.’”

His green eyes blazed an ultra shade of pissed.

“You’re loud and disruptive when you…
entertain
, Paige. It makes Lindsey uncomfortable, and uh…me too. Lindsey and I would prefer that you not do that anymore. It’d be better if you stay over at your boyfriend’s places in the future.”

“Boyfriends?” I snorted with a laugh. “They weren’t
boyfriends
, they were hook-ups. And are you seriously gonna sit there and act like you never had casual sex? That every chick you’ve ever laid was a
girlfriend
? Because if you say yes, then I’m calling you out on it.”

I started to get up to leave the room, but Trace wasn’t finished with the lecture just yet.

“Hold up, Paige. Look, I’m not one to lecture you on the moral fine points of ‘hooking up’ or having fuck buddies. And for the record, my sexual history is none of your goddamn business, and it’s not part of this conversation, because I’m not gonna preach like that. What I
am
gonna tell you is that this is
our
home and you
will
respect the ground rules, or you’ll have to move out. Got it?”

Fuck, he’s pissed.

I shrugged, clasping my hands together. “Sure. I apologize, Trace. It won’t happen again.”

Right then and there I knew that my living arrangement wasn’t going to work. Somewhere along the way, Trace had been domesticated.

Huh, who’d have thought?

It wasn’t like I’d seen him a lot over the past say, twelve or thirteen years, but Holy Mother of Christ, I could see that my good ol’ big brother was indeed pussy-whipped. Certainly not the same guy that left Napa all of those years ago with a bevy of blondes mourning his departure.

My other older brother, Easton, was even more of a stranger to me than Trace. Probably because he hadn’t been born to my mother. I had only brief, scattered memories of him growing up. He would stay with us during the summers back then. I had been in pigtails and braces at the time, but I had seen more of him over the past few weeks since I’d been here, than over the twenty-two years that I’d been on this planet.

His wife, Darcy, seemed like a pretty cool chick. She and Lindsey were tight, both being the same age and having been friends before they became sisters-in-law, but for whatever reason, I could relate to Darcy more than I could to Lindsey.

Yeah, they were like a little over a year older than me, but with having kids and all that, I guess it put them in a different maturity category; though, if I were a betting person, I’d say that Darcy had done her share of dudes, more so than Lindsey for sure.

I filed that away for future reference. If Trace and Lindsey were going to be so fucking uptight, maybe Easton and Darcy would open their huge house to little sister. I doubted that my craving for…
male attention
would be as off-putting over there as it apparently was over here.

Pfft!! Was Lindsey up-tight or what?

I was overjoyed that she’d taken the rug rats with her today. I don’t think I could’ve accomplished everything she had put on my ‘to-do’ list while having to drag those two along with me. Harper was at least somewhat manageable at two and a half, but Jackson was another fucking story. I mean, I don’t do diapers.

At all.

I knew that someday I would, because having a little rug rat of my own was in the plan—eventually. But that was a long ways off.

I’d been at Trace and Lindsey’s for about six weeks now. I had started going through my P.T. at Quantico a few weeks ago. (P.T. means Physical Training for those of you not familiar with military lingo.) And let me add that physical training is a bitch under any circumstances, but for someone who hadn’t bothered to condition before starting the program (like me) it was damn near suicide.

I gathered up the groceries, taking them into the kitchen and setting them on the countertop.

Fuck!

Lindsey had added yet
another
one of her pink post-it notes to the fridge.

What now?

She must’ve stopped home while I was out.

(Beotch.)