G-Men: The Series (45 page)

“Oh, Christ,” he said, hitting the button to power the passenger side window down.

It was too late. I projectile vomited champagne along with my food selection from the wedding buffet down the front of me and all over the dashboard of his sparkling clean truck. Several rounds later, I was empty. I continued to dry heave as Taz made haste to get me somewhere. I knew it wasn’t Mom and Slate’s house, because we hadn’t driven far enough.

He pulled the truck over to the curb and got out, circling around to open the passenger side door for me. I was covered in vomit. I’d never felt so humiliated in all of my life. I could never, ever show my face to him again. I knew that he was going to be royally pissed at me for dousing the interior of his pristine truck. It had smelled almost brand new before I heaved. Now it smelled pure funky.

To my surprise, he wasn’t furious; in fact, he wasn’t even pissed.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently, reaching in and trying to find a place on me that wasn’t covered in vomit that he could grip. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, okay?”

“I’m really sorry!” I whined, sniffing the residual vomit back into my nose where it had evidently exited as well. “I’ll clean up your truck if you want.”

“No worries,” he said. “That can wait. We gotta get you cleaned up. I’m not taking you home like this.”

“Where are we?” It had finally dawned on me to ask.

“My place,” he said. “We’re going to get you out of these clothes and into the shower. I’ll find something for you to wear.”

Oh my.

Taz lived in a duplex. His apartment was on the whole bottom floor, which was good because I doubted very much if I could’ve managed to climb any steps.

He helped me up onto the porch and held me up with one arm, while he unlocked his front door. There was already a light on in his living room, which was surprisingly clean and decorated in masculine good taste.

“Wow,” I said. “This is really nice, Taz.”

“Glad you like it, sweetheart. Let’s head down this hallway to the bathroom, okay?”

“Okay, whatever you say,” I said with a giggle.

True to his word, his bathroom was on the right at the end of the wide hallway. It was huge.

He left me standing against the wall while he rolled the sleeves up on the jacket of his tuxedo. He reached into the shower and started the water to get the temperature warm. I felt myself slide down the wall, my legs now propped out in front of me. I was certain I looked like a limp, very puked-on rag doll. I could only imagine.

I felt Taz lift me and start unsnapping and unzipping my bridesmaid gown. I didn’t feel embarrassed about him seeing me. It was probably because I was still loaded. He told me when to raise my arms, when to lower them, and when to turn around.

In a matter of moments, I was stripped naked and underneath the warm, pulsating water of his shower.

Taz had removed his jacket and was lathering up a bath sponge, washing me from top to bottom. God—this felt really, really good. He poured shampoo onto my scalp and instructed me to massage it in. I did the best that I could under the circumstances.

Once I was thoroughly rinsed, he shut the water off and helped me out, wrapping a big, fluffy towel around me.

“Can you stand here for just a minute while I get some clean clothes for you?”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, clutching the towel around me for warmth.

When he returned, he handed me a pair of sweats with a hoodie shirt. The shirt was grey and had black lettering. It read, ‘F B I.’ How totally cool was that? He helped me dress.

Once dressed, I ran my fingers through my damp hair, trying to untangle it.

“Here,” he said, handing me a comb. I took it from him and started running it through my hair.

“Here’s a new toothbrush. Please use it.”

He picked up the heap of puked-on clothes piled on the floor and exited the bathroom with them.

I brushed and gargled. I combed my hair out and finally managed to take a peek at myself in the mirror. Some semblance of soberness was starting to return. Not enough to make me want to be anywhere but here though.

I gargled one more time for good measure.

I opened the large medicine chest over the sink to see if I could locate a bottle of ibuprofen or any other type of pain-killer. I was fairly certain a headache was to follow.

I couldn’t locate any type of pain-killer, but there was a wide assortment of Magnum® condoms. There were heavy-duty, neon glow-in-the dark, large ‘reservoir’ for heavy loads (
Oh my!)
ribbed-for-her-pleasure, sheepskin, flavored (
Really?)
,
lubricated, and non-lubricated. My head was starting to spin reading all of the various descriptions. I quickly slammed the door to the medicine cabinet shut.

Once I left the bathroom, I padded down the long, hardwood floor of the main hallway looking for Taz. He was in a bedroom off of the living room, making up the bed with clean sheets and pillowcases.

“Feeling a little better?” he asked.

“A teeny bit. I’m really sorry, Taz. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Way too much alcohol, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us. Something about having a shitty couple of years, huh?”

“Oh, that,” I said with a shrug. “I guess I was hosting my own little pity party. Sorry, I dragged you down with me.”

“Hey,” he said, “I know what you’ve been through, Lindsey. It’s got to be tough on you. How about you climb into my spare bed here and get a good night’s rest, okay?”

“This isn’t your bed?”

“No,” he said with a grin. “My bed’s much bigger. And it’s in another room.”

“Thanks for cleaning me up,” I remarked, now feeling the blush that was absent while he bathed me.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yep.”

“What’s your real name?”

It had struck me after all of this time that I’d never heard anyone refer to him as anything other than ‘Taz’.”

“Hmm,” he said, giving me an ornery look, “I don’t share that information with a lot of people, you know? I guess I can make an exception for you. It’s Trace,” he said.

“Trace,” I repeated, liking the way it sounded on my tongue. “Thanks, Trace.”

^{chapter 2}

When I awoke the following morning, I stretched trying to work out the kinks of having slept in a strange bed. Immediately, my chest felt as if an elephant had been sitting on it all night. My mind was fuzzy.

The room where sunlight was streaming was unrecognizable. Then the events of the previous evening came quickly flooding over me. My ribs and chest ached because of the retching I’d done.

Oh shit! I remembered there was alcohol, lots of it. I recalled spewing all over Taz’s truck. He’d undressed me and put me in the shower, cleaning me up.

I looked down at the clothes I was wearing. They were huge on me, but clean and comfortable. They were Taz’s. I mean Trace’s.

I smiled, remembering that he’d shared his given name with me: Trace. Trace Matthews. He’d been totally sweet to me, a gentleman to be sure. I blushed under the sheets of the bed in his guest room.

I looked around. A glass of water and a bottle of Advil had been placed on the nightstand next to the bed. Taz was thoughtful, too. My head was fine though.

I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and quickly realized my head was not fine. It felt like a hundred thunderous horses were pounding their hooves inside of it.

Ouch!

I picked up the bottle of Advil, removed a couple of tablets, and quickly washed them down with the full glass of water.

Somewhere, I could hear the sound of dishes clattering together. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee caught my attention.

My stomach had a gnawing ache in it from being totally empty.

I slowly raised myself up off of the bed and poised myself to face the man who had seen me naked and hadn’t yelled at me for leaving my DNA all over the inside of his truck.

I quietly made my way down the hallway to the end where I could now smell bacon cooking. Taz was there at the stove, turning the bacon. He was wearing a black T-shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. It accentuated his muscular chest and shoulders. His jeans were faded and ripped, hanging low on his narrow hips.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound normal, but my voice croaked. Damn! My throat hurt from the retching.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, flashing me a dazzling smile. “I see you survived the night no worse for wear.”

“Barely,” I said, hurriedly taking a seat at his kitchen table, afraid my legs would give out.

Despite the hangover, Taz unnerved me. There was something about him, something I hadn’t noticed before. I’d always thought he was hot, but this was different. He was sexy but soulful; a very heady combination.

What the hell was I doing? He was probably as old as Slate.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” I said, my voice now sounding like a husky whisper.

I watched as he pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard and filled it. I was checking him out beneath my lashes.

Damn, he had a nice ass. His stomach was as flat as a washboard.

“Sugar?”

“What?”

“Would you like sugar in your coffee?”

“Oh-uh, no. Just black.”

“Here you go, drink up.”

I thanked him as I took the mug in both hands, raising it up to my lips. Umm, it tasted good. He liked it strong, same as me.

“Hungry?” he asked, heading back to the stove where he had scrambled eggs going.

“I’m starving,” I admitted, blushing for some unknown reason.

“I’ll bet,” he laughed. He had a nice laugh. It was genuine. “You couldn’t have had anything left in your stomach. It’s all over the inside of my truck.”

“Oh God, Taz. I’ll clean it as soon as I finish eating.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like a plan to me, baby girl,” he said with a wink. “I’ve taken care of it anyway.”

“You have?”

“Yep. Got up early to run to the store for breakfast items. I took it to the car wash. It’s all good.”

He set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me. It looked and smelled great. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he returned to serve a plate up for himself.

His hair was a sandy brown, thick and tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. He had gorgeous green eyes and some stubble going on that made his perfectly chiseled features that much more appealing.

He wore an earring…that was sexy. His right arm was beautifully tattooed from his shoulder to his elbow. He sat across from me and started digging into his eggs.

“How old are you, Taz?”

He looked up, raising his coffee mug to those magnificent lips and taking a drink.

“Twenty-eight. I’ll hit twenty-nine next month,” he said. “Yeah, yeah—I know, I’m an old man.”

“Hardly,” I laughed. “I thought maybe you were the same age as Slate. I mean, you two being good friends and all.”

“Oh, that’s because we went through the academy in Quantico together. Slate did an extra stint in the military first. I only did one tour in the army. Slate did two.”

“Do you like being in the FBI?”

“I wouldn’t do anything else,” he replied.

“Is it always dangerous?”

“No, not really. I like the investigative, undercover part. It’s like being in a different movie with each new case you’re on. I love the different personas. The last stint as a biker lasted for a few years. I’ll always ride. It has become sort of who I am, I guess.”

“You enjoyed playing the biker?”

“Yeah. I guess I did. Slate didn’t care for it, though.”

“They were a dangerous bunch for real,” I said shivering.

I couldn’t imagine what my mother had been put through those several hours she’d been held hostage by the biker named ‘Slash.’

“It had its perks,” he said, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face. He didn’t elaborate.

“I suppose it pays really well, since you’re always at risk of being hurt or killed.”

He shrugged, chewing on a piece of bacon. “I make out alright. It doesn’t pay what you’ll probably be making once you get out of school and work for Banion. It’s not really about the money for me. I live for the job satisfaction.”

I gave what he said some thought. It was difficult for me to consider that something other than money was a major consideration for a career choice. But then, I’d been raised watching my father climb to a high-level position within the company. That wasn’t necessarily a good comparison, I realized.

“So what about you, Lindsey?”

“What about me?” I asked, taking another sip of my coffee.

“What’s your major?”

“Economics,” I said, giving him a slight eye roll.

“Hey, if that’s what you like, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Did you go to college?”

“I did,” he said, nodding his head. “Still do.”

“You do?”

“Yep. I’m working on my Masters of Psychology. I want to get into the Behavioral Analysis Unit eventually.”

“You mean like what those agents do on the television show, ‘Criminal Minds’?”

“Yep,” he said, with a grin. “That’s my dream. Let me guess. You think Dr. Reid’s hot, right?”