Billi Jean (32 page)

“Ah, God, baby, you made a mess all over me.”

She laughed, and would have swatted him if he were here. He knew that. “God, Russell, you are so naughty. Look what you make me do!”

He laughed, low and long. “Ah, baby, I love you wicked and wild. For me.”

“For you. Who else? You’re the only wild man I know!” She laughed again, feeling so much better, so much more secure. He’d called her. They’d had phone sex. “Tell me you’re coming home soon.”

“Damn straight.” He was still breathless. She smiled at that. She was, as well. “Two days tops, baby.”

“Oh, Russell! Two days? I can’t wait that long. You’ve got me all hot and bothered!”

Static hit the line again and she feared she’d lost him, then he was back. “Baby, I got to go. Two days. Wait for me?”

“Russell!” Didn’t he know she would? “Can I pick you up?”

Silence, then he shifted or something made noise through the line. “My truck is there, remember?”

“All right, but I have some surprises for you.” Touching her blonde hair, she grinned.

“Ah, Sunshine, I loved the last one. What is it?”

“I can’t tell you!”

A laugh, then he was silent. “I have to go, baby. Two days, right?”

“I want you to come here. I’ll make dinner.”

“Sunshine, that’s a date.” More static, then he was back. “Damn phone. Gotta go, Susan. Two days.”

“Two days. I miss you, Russell.” She wished she could say more, but why? He hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah, baby, me too. Goodbye, Susan.”

“Be safe, Russell.”

The click was loud in her ear, and oddly she felt like he’d shut the door again. Like he’d left all over again. Staring down at herself, she sighed. She was naked, wet and all alone. How odd was that?

Chapter Seventeen

Russell nearly vaulted off the plane, and would have if the yahoo landing the thing hadn’t taxied for what felt like forever. He’d made it back in a day, not two. Grinning, he slung his duffel over his shoulder and shook hands with the two SEALs who had given him a hop to Montana. Nice guys.

His phone ringing made him grin, but it wasn’t Susan calling. Did she have his number? It was Eagle. “Yeah, man, what’s up?”

“Hey, Ace. How’s it going? Heard you ditched Wolf and the team to hitch a ride with a team of Rangers?”

Those guys gossiped more than a bunch of women. Wolf was coming up, staying a while. He’d even convinced Dare to come and meet Susan. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to share her, but he was going to show her off so that the next time he had to go on a mission, she knew and he knew who she belonged to. This had been hell. The phone call hadn’t been any better, not until she’d chewed his ass out. Grinning, he juggled the phone, the bag, and managed to glance at his watch, all without slowing his fast lope off the runway.

“Yeah, well, I was in a hurry. Don’t want to leave my woman alone too long.” His woman, damn that sounded good.

“Ah, yeah, well… Fuck, this sucks, man, and I’m only doing this because, shit, I love you, man. I’d want the same thing, all right?”

That stopped him dead in his tracks. A chill filled him, and there it was. He’d known—he’d known damn good and well—a woman like Susan wouldn’t be sitting on her ass for five, almost six weeks. What had she said?
Five weeks and two days.
Yeah, no phone calls, no letters, nothing.

“Give it to me.”

“Ah, man. This might not be anything.”

Did it always start with that shit? “Say it, Eagle. Give it to me straight.”

“We saw her enter a hotel room with two guys, twenty-three hundred yesterday.”

Right after he’d got off the phone with her?
I can’t wait that long. You’ve got me all hot and bothered.

“Thanks, man. See you in a few.”

“Listen, Russell, Katya wanted me to say she didn’t—”

He hung up. What was the point? He’d been screwed before. Why would Susan be different?

Pacing, Lacey finally gave up and blew out the candles. It’d been too early to light them anyway. He’d said two days at ten p.m. last night. That would be ten p.m. tomorrow night. Not six-thirty.

Thank God they hadn’t been having phone sex when the agent had called. Smiling, she rubbed her face, careful not to mess up what little makeup she was wearing. She’d not slept well at the hotel. The agents had insisted she drive out then and there to meet two men at a Wal-Mart parking lot. It had been spooky and when the two guys had materialised next to her, she’d been proud she’d not screamed. But she had trembled, and nearly lost her lunch.

Then things had got weirder. The agents thought her cover was blown. She’d had to sit for hours poring over picture after picture of people to see if she could tag anyone. She’d not recognised anyone. Instead of that reassuring the agents, they had only frowned and reminded her that they were trying to protect her and asked her to look again.

She’d looked again. Until she’d fallen asleep at the desk at nearly four a.m. and someone had picked her up, put her to bed fully dressed, and then woken her at ten a.m. to start all over again. She’d barely got home today. And she still hadn’t figured anyone, but now she was a nervous wreck.

They’d given her a gun. Asked her about Russell, and she’d tried to hold in her temper about them knowing about him. Why get mad? They’d only have looked at her with cold eyes and reminded her, again, that they were trying to help her. And not to tell Russell anything, because they didn’t want some retired SEAL screwing with this.

This
being that they needed her to testify again. This time against the guys who had attacked her. As if she knew what they looked like.

Her phone rang, jerking her out of her thoughts and making her clutch her throat. Seven-thirty. Geez, she’d been pacing for an hour?

“Hello?”

Loud music, something like a door, then silence.

“Susan.”

“Russell! You’re back! Oh! Are you on your way? I’ll—”

“I’m back. Not feeling well. I’ll call you later, sometime.”

Later, sometime?
The click of Russell’s disconnect hit her ear and she stood there in her high heels, silky hose, thong panties and slip dress, not quite understanding what had just happened.

Russell was home.

He wasn’t feeling well.

He’d call her later.

Later, sometime
.

The room blurred and it took her a few painful heartbeats to understand she was crying. Not even making a sound, letting tears fall down her face, she stood there while around her she felt her world tumble down.

Again.

Huh. Why buy the cow?

A half sob, broken and not like anything she’d ever made before, escaped her control, and then the dam that’d held so many emotions back broke.

Two hours later, Lacey wasn’t crying anymore. She was slightly drunk, but not crying. She was somehow proud of that.

Jumping down from her truck, she managed not to fall, but grabbed the door to steady herself, then headed to the one bar in this one-bar town. Ha, she could still make a joke, and wasn’t that pathetic?

The sounds of country music filtered across the parking lot. The
full
parking lot, she noticed. Man, this was where everyone was in this town, huh? Making it to the door without falling, she straightened her shoulders and jerked the door open. Smoke, too much perfume and cologne hit her along with loud yells and too-loud music. Too many people filled almost every available space, but she dodged a few very spirited dancers, got to the bar, and even managed to draw the bartender’s eye. A small guy with a tattoo on his arm that looked like an octopus, the bartender looked like he belonged in East LA, not Western Montana.

“Twelve pack, please, and a bottle of tequila.”

His pierced eyebrow disappeared into his shaggy black bangs. “Now, that’s an order. Can’t do the tequila, but I got a twelve in Amstel Light.”

“Great.” Setting a twenty on the bar, Lacey kept her eyes on him until he disappeared out a back door. Then, she eyed the wild crowd. They
were
wild, too. The dance floor was crowded with people gyrating in ways that should
so
be illegal because, yeah, most of them looked horrible. She was all for free spirits, but some things should not be done in public. A break in the ugly line dance, and through the crowd she saw Russell. Not sick. Not tired. Not home. Nope, nope, nope. Russell was with a beautiful blonde with the biggest set of hooters Lacey had ever seen. She was stuck to his side like glue.

Her stomach dropped out.

“Here you go, honey.”

Turning back to the man like he was a lifeline, she gave him the twenty and took the beer. Something was breaking. Something was literally breaking inside her. It was odd that she could think about it. Could analyse it, critique it, even. It was somehow different than when she’d woken and found her dad gone. This was raw, like a wound, like they’d cut her open and let her wake up to tell them how bad the pain was. This was like that, times about a thousand.

And then she made it worse. At the door, she turned back and looked. The blonde was beautiful—big breasts, a barely-there tank top, tight mini skirt and high heels. She looked like a prostitute, and the table full of men were whistling and cheering her on as she wiggled her ass for Russell, then sat down on him, shimmying over his hips before arching back and wrapping her arms around his neck. She looked like she was going to have sex with him, right there on the seat.

She left before she could see his face clearly.

Before the pain inside took over and left her falling apart all over the place.

Chapter Eighteen

Russell was a Navy SEAL with the equipment necessary to breach any security system ever invented. Even drunk, he could break and enter better than any thief ever born. Susan’s house was a piece of cake.

He’d parked outside her place last night, broken in when he’d seen she wasn’t there. Her house had looked the same. The bed smelt like her, not another man. His T-shirt was under her pillow. His things were still in the drawers she’d given him. One of his button-down shirts lay over the back of one of her soft living room chairs. His toothbrush still stood proud in the bathroom, right next to hers.

It didn’t add up.

Tonight was different. For one thing, he was a lot drunker. Another, she was home.

Russell’s knuckles cracked from the grip he had on the steering wheel. He breathed deeply and tried to make sense of all the pain and anger filling his gut along with the whisky he’d guzzled.

He was drunk. He shouldn’t be here. He should be back at the bar, letting that blonde bimbo get it on with him. But he didn’t want some faceless fuck, he wanted Susan. The slow pulse of alcohol helped, but didn’t completely take the edge off the slash in his gut.

Shaking his head, he let go of the wheel. He was still going in. Drunk or not, he was going in. She was home, had wanted him to come over, and why let her down? She wanted a fuck? It sounded good to him. He could go a round or two. He could go all day and night, drunk or not. That was all she wanted? He’d give her a good run.

For some reason, his truck wasn’t as agreeable. He couldn’t seem to get the door open, then, when he did, he nearly fell out on his ass into the snow piled up at the side of her drive.

Freezing air helped sober him up slightly. He stumbled forward until he reached her front door. Patting his clothes, he couldn’t remember what he needed until he found the key. Ah, right, key. How many other guys had a key?

The pain and rage were coming back, mixing with lust, and he knew this was not the right move, but he was horny, hot and heavy, and more than ready to give her a ride.

He fumbled the lock, got in and then had to walk back and reset the alarm before it went off. Maybe he was
too
drunk. The interior of her place was toasty, her wood fire heating the place nicely. He’d helped her get that bastard ready, had watched her sitting on the truck bed while he’d got her wood pile ready.

Her bedroom seemed to take a lot longer to get to than he remembered, but he made it, opened the door, but was completely caught off guard by the explosion of pain hitting his head. He staggered back against the door and focused on the slim figure facing him in the darkness of Susan’s room. Before he could wrap his head around the fact that he’d been hit by a lamp, the click of a bullet loading a chamber got his full attention.

“Stop right there, asshole. Arms up where I can see them, or I swear to God I’ll nail your ass full of lead.”

It took several more seconds for him to recognise the blonde she-cat facing him was Susan. “Susan?”

A light clicked on, and there she was. In sweats, a small pink T-shirt, barefoot, holding a SIG Sauer compact with a steady hand, pointed right at his head.

“Damn.”

She frowned at him more steadily than she held the gun. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you missed me.”

She huffed something but kept that pistol out and ready. That was not right.

“Put the gun away, Susan.”

“I’ll put the gun away when you get out.” Motioning with her chin, she repeated, “Get out. Get out, now.”

He didn’t move. Hell, he could play. There was no way she was going to pull that trigger and shoot him. Taking a step, he watched as she slid her thumb along the side, taking the safety off.

He took another step, his temper soaring. He’d come here like she’d wanted, and this was what he got? “You don’t want to point a gun at a man like that—”

“You know what, Russell? My daddy told me to never point a gun unless you’re willing to use it. You broke into my house. You lied to me. You weren’t sick. And now you’re here? Why?”

Well, that was easy enough. Grinning he said, “Thought you might want a fuck, Susan. Just for ol’ times’ sake.”

Her face hardened, turned a dark, angry red, but those hands stayed steady. Her blue eyes, though, they shimmered, and something he thought might be guilt—but he was too drunk to be sure—floated up through his consciousness.