Dirty (22 page)

Now he was the one searching for the right words.
 
But he let me know up front with his eyes that I’d made my point.
 
“I do understand.
 
I know a little something about betrayal.”

There it was.
 
We were both carrying around more baggage than the luggage carousel at Southwest Airlines.
 
We were perfect for each other.

There was only one thing left to do.

Have sex.

Just kidding.

Hobbs appeared at my door, shattering the palpable tension.
 
“Hank’s ship put in at Grand Cayman this morning.
 
It’ll be tonight before he’s back on board.”

“Thanks.
 
I’ll try again later.”

Hobbs looked from me to Dawson and apparently decided he didn’t want to know what was going on.

As far as I was concerned there was nothing else to say.
 
I stood, hoping Dawson would take that cue and go.
 
“I’ll let you know if I remember some relevant detail I failed to mention.”

He didn’t budge.

Oh well.
 
I was done anyway.
 
“I’m out of here.”

I snagged my purse and walked out of my office.
 
I nodded to Hobbs but didn’t bother with an explanation.
 
I had no doubt that he’d already figured out there was considerable
personal
tension brewing between me and our new investigator.

If we didn’t find neutral ground soon one of us was definitely going to pop.
 
And I was way tired of feeling the need to escape my own office.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.
 
As soon as I left the office I hit the closest McDonald’s drive-thru.
 
And I didn’t order a salad with low fat dressing.
 
Hey, what can I say?
 
I didn’t climb to the top of the food chain to eat lettuce and carrots like a rabbit.
 
The only thing I wanted to do like a rabbit was...

Never mind.

Since eating while driving and my favorite white jacket were mutually exclusive, I didn’t even try.
 
But the moment I parked in my driveway I tore off a chunk of Big Mac and swallowed, then shoved a handful of rapidly cooling, undeniably greasy fries into my mouth.

I groaned with pleasure.

Nobody made fries like Micky D’s.

With my Birkin on one shoulder, a sized-up super large Coke (non-diet) in my left hand and a bag containing a Big Mac and the fries in the other, I emerged from the Jeep and pushed the door shut with my butt (the one I felt expanding already just from the smell that had permeated my vehicle).

As my kind of luck would have it, my former lover, Ken Willis, witnessed the entire episode of watch-Jackie-gorge-on-junk-food from his position on my front steps.

I swallowed hard, sending a wad of potatoes the size of a golf ball down my throat.
 
I glanced up the block, only then noticing his Jag.

“I knew if you saw my car you wouldn’t stop,” he said by way of explanation for parking a considerable distance away.
 
He rose and sauntered toward me, one slow, sexy step at a time, the same way the guys in the movies do when they know they own the scene—the chick is theirs for the taking.

Though I couldn’t see myself, I felt relatively certain a pallor so scary one might need to put a mirror under my nose to make sure I was still breathing had descended over my face.
 
This was not happening.
 
Especially now that he’d seen what a real hog I could be.

“What do you want?”
 
The question came out more or less a croak.
 
If he’d had any doubt as to whether or not his deception had affected me, he now knew for certain that I was a woman scorned, permanently scarred.
 
No self-proclaimed health and beauty conscious woman consumed this many carbs in a week much less in one meal.

When he stopped no more than two feet stood between us.
 
Close enough for him to smell the animal fat on my breath.
 
My fingers fisted more tightly in the damning bag.

“Look, Jackie, I know I didn’t tell you the whole truth about myself, but you have to understand—”

“I understand,” I cut in, anger roaring inside me, instantly obliterating the humiliation.
 
“I understand that you’re a wanted felon no matter that you’re currently playing fetch with Mr. Fed. You lied to me. That’s all I need to know.”

“I didn’t lie, baby.”
 
He inclined his head and looked at me like a lost puppy who just wanted to cuddle.
 
“I admit I left a few things out but...”

“Omission is a betrayal,” I snapped.
 
He withheld...why was it men didn’t get that?

“But we had something special.”
 
He took me by the arms, closed that too narrow distance between us.
 
Probably would have pulled me completely against him had it not been for the contraband I was still clutching.

“I know you felt it too,” he urged softly.
 
That smile that still had the power to rattle my cage slid across his sexy lips.
 
“We’re a perfect fit.
 
Made for each other.”

And just like that every ounce of anger drained away...a distant glimmer of remembered heat took its place.
 
God he was so damned good-looking.
 
I blinked.
 
Gave myself a mental kick.
 
How could I let that thought slip into my head?
 
Idiot!

“The sex was great,” I agreed, rapidly coming to my senses.
 
“But that’s all it was.”

He shook that handsome head, undeterred by my blunt words.
 
“It was more than that.
 
Give me another chance, Jackie.
 
I’m paying my dues.”

I didn’t care if he performed enough government and/or community service to earn a get out of jail free card for the rest of his life, he still lied to me.
 
I couldn’t handle that.
 
I’d had my fill with my ex.
 
It was the truth or nothing.
 
I’d been burned too badly to take the risk of even the most justifiable deception.
 
I was a hypocrite, I would confess.
 
I used deception all the time in my business, but that was different...that wasn’t personal.

“The connection we shared doesn’t come along everyday,” he urged softly.
 
With that profound statement, he traced the line of my cheek, making me shiver as much in response to his words as to his touch.

How could I feel any damned thing for him?
 
I should be stronger than this.

“Back off, asshole.”

I swiveled at the harshly uttered command.
 
Dawson was striding up my driveway...headed straight for Willis with murder in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”
 
Damn, I sounded like a squeaky toy that had been squeaked one time too many.
 
The rage currently lined in every feature of Dawson’s face abruptly took me aback.

“Who is this guy, Jackie?” Willis demanded.

I swung my gaze from one man to the other.
 
“This is Dawson,” I answered for reasons that escaped me just then.
 
I didn’t have to explain a thing to Willis.
 
“My new partner.”
 
It was only the second time I’d said this out loud.
 
It still sounded alien.
 
I mean, it wasn’t like Dawson was actually my business partner, just my investigative partner.
 
Still, I’d said it...in front of him.
 
Dawson noticed.

While Dawson stared at me dumbfounded, Willis turned stupid, as men will often do.

“Why don’t you run along home now,” he said with all the condescension a guy driving a hundred-twenty thousand dollar Jag and living in a million dollar condo could.
 
But he didn’t leave it at the smartass remark, which was bad enough.
 
He had to shove Dawson too.

Big mistake.

I didn’t know quite who to be the angriest at as I watched Willis go down like a fallen oak beneath the impact of Dawson’s right hook.
 
I glowered from one to the other and decided I didn’t need either of them in my life.

“When I get back both of you had better be gone.”

I didn’t wait around for questions or comments.
 
I stormed over to my Jeep, climbed in, tossed my Birkin and the McDonald’s bag into the passenger seat, and proceeded to suck down half the Coke before I reached my destination.

SafeWay.

A Big Mac just wasn’t going to do the trick tonight.

I strode into the supermarket and straight to the freezer section.
 
When I’d located my favorite orgasmic chocolate I reached for a half gallon.

“Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?”

I pulled my upper body out of the freezer compartment and let the door slam shut.
 
I glanced at the stock boy’s name badge, Randy, and then at him.
 
I don’t know what happened in that next moment.
 
But there was just something about the way he leered at me that set me off.
 
Maybe it was a freak neuron misfire or plain old hormones, after all I was late for my period.
 
PMS could be a lethal thing, should be listed as a psychotic disorder.

“I’ve got it, Randy,” I said with enough sugar you could have sweetened freshly brewed tea with a simple swipe of my tongue.

“Just let me know if there’s anything else at all
I
can do to help
you
, ma’am.”

And that was it...not so much the friendly little statement he’d been trained to make, but the way he looked at my chest, then at my eyes as he said it.

“Fuck off, Randy,” I snarled.
 
“I said I’ve got it under control.”

Men, I huffed as I drove home, ice cream defrosting in my passenger seat.
 
They were all the same.
 
Every damned one of them.
 
The only thing on their puny, emotionally compromised minds was sex, sex, and more sex.
 
Beer and sports entered the picture occasionally, but only if sex wasn’t readily available.

By the time I slunk to bed I’d devoured somewhere in the neighborhood of half the container of ice cream.
 
I’d probably gained five pounds but I felt way better.

I picked up the phone on my bedside table and called my son as I peeled off my clothes and wiggled into a nightshirt.
 
I hadn’t spoken to him all week and I missed him.
 
Apparently I wasn’t going to speak to him now.
 
His machine picked up.
 
It was late, past midnight.
 
He should be in bed.
 
He had class tomorrow.

And he’s a grown man, I reminded the part of me who still liked to play mother hen.
 
Steven was twenty-three.
 
He hadn’t been a kid in a long time, but he was still my child.

I dropped the receiver back into its cradle and sighed wistfully.
 
Too damn much time had passed.
 
I dragged the decorative pillows from the bed and considered that Hank hadn’t called me back either.

Men and boys, they were all alike.
 
I puffed out a frustrated breath.
 
Maybe my mother was right.
 
Maybe I did need a dog.

I drew back the comforter and slid between the cool sheets.
 
It felt good to be in bed.
 
Even if I was alone.
 
Now, why did I have to add that part?
 
I was exhausted and stuffed with a million calories that would take up residence on my hips by morning.
 
The only thing I needed right now was to sink into carb oblivion and rest my weary mind.

I felt the subtle shift in the sheet a fraction of a second before the cool, slick feel of something unidentifiable against my thigh assimilated in my brain.

Acrobatics had never been my forte but I swear I flipped out of that bed so fast I could have gotten tens across the board at the Olympics.

I shuddered violently and hugged myself as I stared at my bed and the thing still moving beneath the peony scented linens.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist or a zoologist to guess what it was.
 
I yanked back the sheet and sure enough, Mr. No-Shoulders slithered toward me.

Thank God I didn’t have a weak heart or an undependable bladder.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN