Hidden Heat: Hauberk Protection, Book 4 (3 page)

“Oh.” From her mother’s hopeful tone, she hadn’t completely accepted that a date with what’s-his-face was out of the question. “So we’ll see you home for Jennifer’s party?”

“No, Mom, I think you should plan that I’m not going to be there.” If she had to get herself arrested to keep herself in D.C., she’d do it. Not giving her mother a chance to launch on another topic, she said good-bye and hung up the phone. She glanced up to find Jazz shrugging on her coat while Xander attacked the pizza she’d abandoned.

“Go get changed. I’ll wait.”

She flipped through her various outfits, carefully choosing a top and skirt that matched her mood. Pity it was winter or she’d wear something baring her belly. Her mother would be horrified with her choice of skirt, her father scandalized that she’d had her belly button pierced. Whatever.

Maybe it was time to get her nipples pierced.

Chapter Three

The hubbub of the other patrons blended with the mellow jazz playing in the background. Troy sipped his Guinness as Scott’s current partner, Andy Walters, thanked the waitress for the Coke he’d ordered.

Once the waitress left them, Andy lowered his voice so any other Hauberk operatives who frequented the bar couldn’t listen in on their conversation. “So are you putting Scott back in the field as a bodyguard?”

“Not yet.”

Andy swirled the ice cubes in his glass. The halogen over the table spotlighted the edge of his tattoo peeking out beneath his sleeve but left his face in shadows. “Look, I know I don’t get to read those reports from his shrink but I’ve worked with him a couple times now and I’d let him cover my back in a high-pressure situation any day. You keep him out of the field much longer and he’s gonna walk. He’ll find some other way to get back into the action. Even if it means quitting Hauberk and going to work for the competition.”

The doc had felt it possible that if Scott were partnered with the right person or given the right assignments he might be fine. Andy might be the right person, but assignments were tricky. Too many times an assignment an agent thought was routine blew up into a major showdown. He trusted Andy’s judgment a lot more than he did a shrink who sat in an office all day, never seeing what it was like in the field. But he also trusted the sick feeling in his gut that Scott was still hiding something. Besides, putting him back in the field meant sending him overseas. Somewhere Troy couldn’t see for himself how Scott was coping.

Before Troy could answer, the agent’s gaze fastened on the bar door, his eyes widening. He blew a low whistle, drowned out by a wolf whistle by some drunk at the bar. “Whoa, momma, if she came into the office dressed like that, every agent near or far would find a reason to come in and you’d never get any work done.”

It took Troy the stereotypical double look to verify that
she
was Sandy. Instead of her hair being tucked neatly into the French braid she’d worn earlier, it hung loose, brushing her shoulders in a tousled just-got-fucked look that had every man in the place eyeing her speculatively. If they weren’t, they were either gay or blind.

Her winter coat hung open, revealing a silky fire-engine red number that was unbuttoned damned near to her navel, displaying cleavage that a man would pay good money to bury his face—or his cock—in. And her skirt? If he’d seen it in a drawer or hanging in a store, he’d have sworn it was a wide belt, nothing more. Her well-toned legs stretched a mile, ending in a set of sparkly stilettos that matched her blouse. Why the bloody hell hadn’t he ever noticed she had such a fantastic set of legs?

His position allowed him a long, unhindered look as she walked by. The view from behind was just as spectacular as from the front. Bloody fucking hell, she strutted the length of the room with the grace and ease of a New York runway model. She followed her companion to the far end of the bar where they hitched themselves up onto barstools. Sandy draped her faux fur jacket over one leg, leaving a long expanse of bare thigh exposed to the drunken masses.

“Huh,” Andy grunted. “I swear I know her.”

“Of course you do. It’s Sandy.”

Andy shook his head in disgust. “Not Sandy. Her friend. What do you think I am, an idjit?”

Troy glanced at Sandy’s companion. She had her back to him, giving him a sneak peek of a tramp stamp—a set of bat wings?—above her leather skirt. Her flame-colored hair with its half-dozen black streaks didn’t match her skin tone, leading him to make a mental bet that the collar wouldn’t match the cuffs.
 

The friend glanced over the bar, her gaze passing over them, lingering for a second, assessing them as if they were salmon in the fish market. She didn’t look older than Sandy, but she had a harder look about her. The word “jaded” popped into his mind, though perhaps that described him better.

“Have at her, mate.”

Andy grimaced when his cell phone warbled. He answered the phone without checking the caller ID. Troy didn’t need to hear the other side of the conversation to learn that Andy’s chance at getting to know Sandy’s friend had been ruled out.

“I gotta go. Husband of one of the women from the Safe and Sound program just showed up at her door.”

“Watch your back,” he warned as Andy slid from the booth, his expression grim.

“I always do.”

As Andy went out the door, Scott walked in.
Shit.
Hiding out at the bar hadn’t worked. Scott stayed in the doorway, scanning the bar until he saw Troy. He beelined straight for the booth and sat on the bench Andy had vacated.

“I haven’t changed my mind, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

Andy’s warning replayed. Had he pushed Scott too far by keeping him on restricted duty?

“I didn’t think you would. So I’ve decided it’s time for me to look for a new job.”

Shit. Walters was right. “Where will you go? Have anywhere in mind?”

“I haven’t a clue. But I can’t work with people who will continue to think I’m
unbalanced
. That I can’t be trusted to keep my shit together.”

“That’s not what we think.” Or maybe it was. Every time he’d come home from work the first few months after Scott had moved in, he’d had to steel himself against the fear he’d open the door to find Scott had hung himself or eaten his gun.

“Yeah, you do. Otherwise you’d have given me a non-bullshit assignment after reading the doc’s report.”

Troy tugged at his collar, then, remembering Sandy’s earlier comment, forced his hand back to the table. “So I’m concerned about you. I’m concerned about all my agents. Shoot me for being cautious and keeping you out of the field until I’m sure she’s right.”

They both leaned back when the waitress appeared to take Scott’s order. Once she’d left, Scott resumed his attack.

“So you’re saying if it wasn’t me, if it was someone like Russell or Snider or Goffin, you’d keep them out of the field because your gut holds more sway than a psychiatric report?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Bull. Shit.” Scott leaned over the table. “I’m ready to get back to work, Troy. Sitting around in the office doing background checks on the Internet or on my ass in the car teaching a rookie how to stakeout some douchebag cheating on his wife is driving me to a whole new level of batshit crazy. If you won’t give me an active assignment, then I walk. I’ll find some other company who will put me back out in the field. I’ll fucking move back to fucking Alaska if that’s what it takes.”

Christ. Scott hated Alaska and all it represented. Troy pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. How about I ask Chad if he can use you? You can plead your case with him.”

Scott narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “And you wouldn’t try to interfere if he wants to put me out in the field?”

“No.” Fuck it all. “You’re my friend, and yeah, maybe I’ve let our friendship influence my decision.” He broke off, glad for the interruption when the waitress placed Scott’s ale in front of him. “You’re the only friend I’ve got, damn it. I thought I’d lost you in Colombia. But that’s not why I’m keeping you out of the field.”

“Yeah, it is.” Scott raised his mug and then carefully placed it back upon the coaster. “Look, I haven’t had a chance to say thanks for letting me bunk with you and putting up with my shit all these months.” He shrugged. “Thanks.”

“Least I could do, mate,” Troy said quietly. “You’ve been there for me when I needed help.”

“But I knew when to walk away and let you stand on your own two feet. I’m okay, Troy. I’m ready for this.”

The sound of Sandy’s laughter wound its way through the rest of the babble, catching Troy’s attention.

Scott glanced over his shoulder at her. “You like her, don’t you?”

Troy gave a half-hearted shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“It doesn’t matter because she’s not my type.”

“Because she’s got that whole wholesome Midwest thing going on? Come on, I know you. I’ll bet you’ve got a hard-on for all that soft blonde hair and blue-eyed sweetness.” Instead of the sorrow and pain that had filled his expression most of this year, Troy saw interest in Scott’s eyes. Maybe he was getting better.

“The keyword there is wholesome. She’s too damned innocent for my tastes, and you know it.”
 

Scott laughed, a sound Troy hadn't heard from his friend in far too long. Probably because he finally got to turn the spotlight off him and on to Troy. “You know what they say about the quiet ones. They’re usually the kinkiest. I’ll bet she’d surprise you.”

“I’ll bet she’s looking for Mr. Right who will hand her a wedding ring and follow it up with a white picket fence and two point five babies instead of getting involved with a fucked-up bastard like me.”

Scott ran his fingers through his hair. “To be honest? Settling down doesn’t sound so bad.”

To be honest, it didn’t sound so bad to him either. Feck it all, if his life wasn’t fucked up.

“You’re not from around here, are you, sexy lady?”

Was it her Midwest accent that told him she wasn’t a native to D.C.? Or did she have an I’m-a-small-town-hick sign plastered to her back? “I’m from Minnesota.”

He must have come straight from work, one that involved heavy labor, because when he lifted his arm to grab the beer he’d ordered, his body odor had Sandy holding her breath. “That’s one of the states up north, right?”

Wow, forget trying to be a Jeopardy contestant, this guy would never qualify for
Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader
? “Yeah. It’s west of Wisconsin.”

“Guess we’ll have to go back to my place tonight then.” His mouth split into what he probably thought was a smile but only thinned his already-too-thin lips. And did the man not know what a toothbrush was for? Or floss? What was that stuck between his teeth? Pepperoni from the smell of it.

Dear God, if this was the type of man this outfit attracted, she’d willingly don a wimple and nun’s habit. And she was Lutheran for Pete’s sake! All right, so she hadn’t been to church since she’d left Minnesota, and her pastor and most of the rest of the congregation would be horrified to know what she’d done since she left, but she still had standards.

“Get lost, Ray.” Jazz muscled between her and pepperoni breath. “Hell will freeze over before I let her go home with a loser like you.”

To Sandy’s surprise, Ray shuffled off without an argument. “You know him?”

“Oh, honey, everyone around knows he hits on anything without a dick between its legs.” Jazz glanced at Ray’s rapidly retreating figure. “In fact, I think that may not even be part of his criteria.”

Sandy took a sip of her virgin daiquiri then turned her attention to the rest of the bar. The two of them discussed, and discarded, half a dozen men who might be boyfriend material. More than once she let her attention return to the booth where Troy sat talking with Scott.

Jazz followed her gaze. “I know him, don’t I? The guy on the right? He seems familiar.”

“That’s Scott Phillips. He’s the guy who got kidnapped in Colombia last year.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about him. Pity. I don’t do damaged guys. I’ve got enough baggage of my own. What about the other guy? He’s cute.”

“That’s Troy McPherson, the head of the International group. I’ve told you about him before.” About a gazillion times.

“Oh, so that’s Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious. Shoot, girl, why haven’t you made a move on him yet? With shoulders like his, and those smoky eyes, I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

Jazz’s overt ogling rankled. “As I’ve told you about a hundred times before, he’s one of my bosses.”

“So? It didn’t stop your boss from dating one of his agents, did it?”

True. And considering the thumps, moans and groans she’d heard coming from Sam’s office when she’d locked her desk earlier, he and Rosie were doing very well. Often. And a little too loud for her comfort.

“I don’t think I’m his type. At least he’s never given me any indication he might be interested in me. I think he may have a girlfriend over in England or something.”

“Pity.” Jazz swung her stool to assess the rest of the crowd. “What about that blond guy? Do you know him?”

“That’s Kris Campbell. Sorry, but yeah, he’s a CPO too. No baggage that I know of so he’s fair game for you.”

“I’m not asking for me, dodo. Why aren’t you hitting on him?”