Breaking the Rules (11 page)

Still, going into that apartment with him, even though her heart
was pounding …? And then, actually
telling
him even the little that she’d told him …?

It was a huge step for her. And a necessary one, ever since she’d determined that she would not be able to get the help she needed on her own.

She’d decided, weeks ago, that she needed to find a friend. Someone she could trust—and would trust—with her very life. She’d been cautiously increasing her contact with one of the ladies who worked at the library before Ben dropped into her life.

But Ben’s sister, who bore the name Eden, was an entirely different matter. She was younger than Neesha had expected, and was far more beautiful than Neesha had expected. And that, plus all of the glittery, exotic costumes Neesha had found in the lower drawers of Eden’s bedroom dresser, convinced her that Ben’s sister worked in the sex trade.

And it was possible that, not only would she have no sympathy for Neesha, but she could well know Mr. Nelson and Todd, and would be more than willing to earn a bonus by turning Neesha in.

So Neesha had run, taking the bag with the clothes that Ben had given her.

She was hungry when she finally got back to the mall—it had been a while since that McFlurry, and she’d refused Ben’s offer of a snack. Still, she went to the bathroom first, to change her shirt in one of the stalls.

There were five different tops in the bag Ben had given her. They were in a variety of colors and prints, each more beautiful than the last. She picked the blue—the plainest one—since her goal was merely to be clean and not draw attention to herself. Besides, she would probably forevermore associate fancy clothes with the vast myriad of clients who’d passed through her tiny room, with its pink-trimmed furniture and collection of dolls and picture books that were locked behind glass.

Right up until the end, she’d refused to dress herself unless it was part of the services rendered—part of the show. This meant that every
time a “visitor” came to call, the stern-faced women with their rough hands and pinching fingers would enter Neesha’s room without knocking, and dress her in whatever outfit was required. Only rarely was it the kind of shiny, flashy, sexy items—thongs and bra tops—that she’d found in Eden’s drawer. Instead she often wore a gymnast’s leotard—that was a big favorite—or a schoolgirl’s uniform, or a pink shapeless baby-doll dress with ankle socks and shiny black shoes.

The women had learned to wait to dress her and do her hair until the client was in the building. And even then, one of them would sit with her until the door opened.

But that was over now.

There were elastic hair fasteners at the bottom of the bag—large enough to hold her heavy mass of hair up in a ponytail or even a bun. Neesha unfastened her braid and combed her long hair out with her fingers, wishing yet one more time that she had a pair of scissors so she could cut it all off.

She’d tried using a plastic knife from the food court.

It hadn’t worked.

She put her old shirt into the bag and exited the stall, giving herself only the briefest glance in the mirror. Yes, her new shirt covered her. Yes, she’d scooped all of her hair up off her neck and twisted it into that severe-looking bun. It made her look only slightly older, and she found herself longing for a hat and sunglasses.

Because Mr. Nelson and Todd were still out there, looking for her.

And Neesha knew that neither would rest until they found her.

M
arkie-Mark Jenkins wanted to visit Dan Gillman one last time before he and Izzy went wheels up and headed back to San Diego.

And because Izzy didn’t want to get into the gnarly details of why he didn’t want to go with, he found himself walking through the halls of the one place where he least wanted to be this morning—the one place he could actually come face-to-face again with Cynthia, since she worked here.

Still, he walked quickly and kept his head down and made it without mishap into the relative safety of Gillman’s room.

Dan was stuck here in the hospital for at least another few days—maybe less if he could convince the doctors that he wasn’t going to overexert himself. The nursing staff was also monitoring the fishboy for signs of infection, still calling him a “medical miracle,” because he’d survived quite a few touch-and-go days in the ICU after having first been brought in

But apparently Dan hadn’t gotten that particular memo, because he was looking remarkably average as he slept with his mouth open, his hair going every which way, and his face smashed against a pillow that bore a dark spot of his allegedly miraculous drool.

He’d kicked off part of his blanket, and sure enough, there was the leg in question—the one that everyone had dourly expected would
need amputation. But Dan’s little piggy toes looked pink and healthy, and Izzy felt a hot rush of gladness that he usually didn’t associate with anything having to do with his arch-nemesis.

As Izzy and Jenk came farther into the room, Jennilyn LeMay, Danny’s first-rate, top-notch, high-class, too-good-for-him girlfriend stood up from where she was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair next to the fishboy’s bed, and put her finger to her lips.

“He’s been sleeping so badly at night,” she told them almost in-audibly. “He didn’t want to nap, but … When he finally does fall asleep, I just don’t have the heart to wake him.”

Danny wasn’t the only one sleeping badly. Jenn looked exhausted, and had clearly given up all attempts at looking professional, which was actually an improvement, in Izzy’s book. She was one of those women whose coif surrendered to a bad hair day with the slightest change in the weather, and who invariably snagged her stockings if she walked or moved. She was the one who’d lose a button on her strait-laced suit jacket thirty seconds before the Big Important Meeting, and she, alone, would get splashed when a car went through a puddle going round a corner. It was her shoulder the baby would throw up on while his diaper leaked on her sleeve, and while riding the subway, she was guaranteed to get jostled and spill her coffee down the front of her blouse.

She also had what Izzy thought of as a milk-maid complexion and physique. She was a tall, strapping, healthy young woman with gorgeous, fresh-looking skin. And she looked far more natural in the jeans, sneakers, and curve-hugging T-shirt she currently had on, with her baby-fine hair pulled back into a ponytail, all makeup scrubbed from her ordinary yet extremely not-unpleasant face.

“You look like you could use a break,” Jenkie told her. “We’ll sit with Danny for a while, if you want.”

Jenn looked uncertain until Izzy added, “We’ll stay until you get back. Go on, I can hear the coffee from the mess hall singing your name in three-part harmony.
Jenny, I’ve got your number, I need to make you mine …”

She smiled when he sang and dimples appeared, and as Izzy gazed through her glasses and into her eyes—a nondescript light brown until combined with that smile—he felt a flash of understanding as to why Dan was so into her. She
was
pretty damn cute.

“I’ve never heard
that
song before,” she said dryly. “Oh, wait, except for every single day in sixth grade.”

As she turned and slipped out from behind the curtained partition, Izzy also made note of the way her generously curvaceous behind filled her jeans. Some people might have thought of her ass as being
too
generous, but the bottom line—pun intended—was that without the business suit and the sensible flat pumps, she
was
a seriously nice-looking woman.

And yet, she was completely against Dan’s usual type for a fly-to-Germany-because-you’re-in-the-hospital girlfriend. She was quite the standard, however, when it came to a meaningless vacation fling—a no-real-strings opportunity for the movie-star-handsome SEAL to get some.

In fact, Dan himself had concisely described his usual MO to Izzy, a mere few months earlier:
Everyone wants to get laid. That’s just a fact of life. But there are ways to do it. Strategies. You don’t just automatically follow your dick. You use your head with the brain. You find the chunky girl with the really pretty friends. She’s low maintenance and low drama, plus she’s wired to believe that you’re too good to be true. She expects to be dumped, so when you do it, she lets go immediately
.

Problem was, Jenn had overheard Dan as he’d spouted that elegant monologue to Izzy. She’d reacted as strongly as one might expect.

And she’d been so intent on putting distance between herself and Dan “Yes, I Really Did Just Call the Woman I’m Sleeping with Chunky” Gillman, she’d fallen into the clutches of a very nasty, crazy-ass son-of-a-bitch who sliced and diced woman as part of a lifelong hobby.

Danny had literally helped their team leaders blast through a wall to find her, at which point she’d fallen into his arms. But Izzy had seen the remains of some of the crazy serial killer’s victims, and
he
would
have fallen, sobbing no less, into Danny’s strong arms, too, had he been the one tied up and at the top of the nasty-ass dude’s “to-do” list.

Still, the arm-falling-into had been temporary. Several hours after Jenn’s release from the hospital, Danny had shown up back at the hotel room the SEALs were sharing, looking a little shell-shocked at the fact that she’d sent him away. She’d apparently also told him that if he truly were serious about her, he should come back to visit her—after his next trip overseas.

She’d wait, she’d told him, but she wouldn’t wait forever.

It was a variation on the
if you love someone, set them free
theme, and good thinking on Jenn’s part.

It had, however, driven Dan completely crazy.

He’d spent most of their time overseas in the computer tent, sending Jenni e-mail. And apparently whatever he’d sent her had worked. Because here Jenn was, playing the role of the dickweed’s girlfriend, sitting patiently by the side of his hospital bed as he snored his days away and kept her up all night in a bad and entirely unromantic way.

Izzy leaned against the bed and shook it.

“What!” Dan said as he jerked awake. Or nearly awake. As SEALs, they’d all learned it was best to snap into high alert before their eyes even opened. But Danny had gotten soft these past few weeks in the hospital. Or maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe he was still heavily medicated.

Either way, the man was in a serious fog. He wiped the drool from the side of his face with his non-IV-attached arm as he looked around for Jenn and didn’t find her.

“She went for coffee,” Izzy reported cheerfully as he sat down in the chair she’d recently vacated.

“How are you doing?” Jenk asked Danny, who shook his head.

“Fucking low-grade infection,” he complained. “I keep telling them I’m fine, but they’re afraid to release me. Guess it’s really broken, huh?”

Jenk shook his head as he looked down at the cast on his arm. “Yeah, what a pain in the ass. But they’re finally shipping me stateside.
I’m going to desk-it in Commander Koehl’s office for a few more weeks.” He smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not
really
complaining. The timing’s actually pretty good. I’ll get to watch Lindsey expand.”

“And puke her guts out every morning, noon, and night,” Izzy said.

“No, so far she’s good,” Jenk said.

“Famous last words,” Dan said.

They were in agreement. “Yeah. Cut to a close-up of Lindsey as she lunges for the porcelain god,” Izzy said, and look at that. He and Dan actually exchanged a
we know something Jenk doesn’t know
glance. He resisted the urge to check his cell phone, see if he’d gotten any tweets about hell finally freezing over.

“Hey, there you are.”

The voice that interrupted them was definitely female and oddly familiar. They all turned to see a woman coming through the curtain—gorgeous and young, with thick blond hair tumbling down around her shoulders. She was wearing a little black hormone-jangling dress that hugged her trim yet completely female body, topping it off with a pair of strappy high heels and red toenail polish at the south end of a pair of truly exceptional legs.

Despite it being 0940, she looked like a million bucks, dressed and made up for an evening out in one of the town’s pricier restaurants.

Izzy was certain that he knew her from
some
where, but he squinted, unable to remember where they’d met, or even when. Damn, she was hot. And, to be honest, if he’d sat down next to
her
at that bar last night, the evening could well have ended with a different outcome.

Of course, she was probably supernice, too. And as long as he was being honest, he needed to admit the fact that, should he have sat down next to her at that bar last night? He would’ve come up with a dozen solid reasons for not sleeping with
her
, too.

1. She was not Eden.
   
2. She had never been Eden.
   
3. She was never going to become Eden …
   

Yeah. He was such a loser. He would have said no to her, too.

Dan and Jenk were also struck dumb and staring—gaping almost—and the woman laughed as she came around to the other side of Dan’s bed.

“You have no idea who I am, out of uniform like this, do you?” She was looking at and speaking to Dan, whose messy hair and need for a morning shave now made him look like he belonged on the cover of
GQ
—now that his eyes were open and his mouth was closed, that is. She held out her hand to him, and the gold bracelet she wore on her slender wrist sparked in the fluorescent light. “Sheila Anderson. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece, sir.”

Ah, of course. It was Marine Private S. Anderson, who’d helped Izzy save Dan’s life. She’d cleaned up pretty damn nice.

But Danny, in his wooziness, still hadn’t put two and two together. He did, however, shake lovely Sheila’s lovely hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, no doubt frantically searching through his vast system of mental files of women he’d banged, and coming up—correctly—empty. “Sheila …?”