Into the Fire (10 page)

“It’s down this way.” Decker turned to face her, walking backward as he led her past the individual offices. “Can I get you anything? A coffee or…?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “If I get thirsty, I’ll just suck on my shirt.”

Decker laughed—she did, too, but just briefly. Whatever had brought her here was a source of tension. He could relate. These days, working here was a source of tension, too.

“I’m so sorry,” Dave said, from behind her.

“Dave says he’s sorry,” Deck told her, stopping in front of the ladies’ room door. “Take your time. We’ll be in the conference room directly across the hall.” He pointed.

“Thanks,” she said, with another smile that made him realize he was standing there smiling foolishly at her.

As the door closed behind her Dave said, “Tess Bailey.”

Tess? What? Where?

Dave no doubt caught Deck’s massive confusion, because he paused on his way into the men’s. “Hannah reminds me of Tess,” he explained. “It’s more than just the short hair and freckles. It’s something about her manner. Like, she’s bullshit-free. What you see is what you get. A lot like Tess.”

Tess Bailey was TS Inc.’s top com-spesh—computer specialist. She was also Jimmy Nash’s fiancée. She’d gone out to dinner with some of the other women in the office, clearly upset with Nash when he’d insisted on leaving immediately for an assignment in Arizona, without taking any downtime after the AmLux job.

“I don’t really see it,” Decker lied.

“That’s right, you weren’t at the wedding,” Dave said and for one crazy second, Deck thought he’d finally lost his mind.

Tess and Nash hadn’t even set a date for their wedding yet. Had they? Jesus, Deck hadn’t been socializing with anyone at all lately, going from assignment to assignment himself, without so much as a fifteen-minute stop at the local watering hole, just to grab a beer.

Still, Nash was his second in command, and a good friend. No way would Decker miss his wedding.

“Murphy’s wedding,” Dave supplied the missing info.

Murphy’s?

“No,” Deck said. “I wasn’t there.” He’d been in Kazbekistan on a security detail. What the hell did former Troubleshooters operative Vinh Murphy’s wedding have to do with—

“That’s where I met Hannah before,” Dave told him. “I knew she looked familiar. She was a friend of, um, you know, Angelina’s.”

Angelina Murphy. Gunned down in the street during what was supposed to be an easy Troubleshooters assignment, protecting a Hollywood producer.

Deck had been the team leader of that goatfuck. Murphy had been badly injured and in intensive care himself, when Decker had gone to the hospital to break the news to him that his beloved wife hadn’t survived her brain surgery.

Jesus, that look in Murphy’s eyes when he’d realized Angelina was dead—it still haunted Decker’s dreams. Part of Murph had died along with her. And part of Decker had died that day, too. Even now, after all these years, his stomach clenched and his blood ran cold through his veins, just thinking about it. Any thaw that he might’ve imagined from Hannah’s sweet smile was instantly gone.

“I remember thinking then that Hannah reminded me of Tess,” Dave prattled on. “They even wore a similar style dress and—”

“Get cleaned up,” Decker ordered tersely, “and meet me in the conference room.”

Why Hannah Whitfield—friend of Murphy’s murdered wife Angelina—had come here today, Deck couldn’t begin to guess. But one thing he knew for sure? Whatever it was that brought her here, it was going to make his evening truly suck.

It was extremely odd—sitting here in Greene’s Grill, having dinner with Lindsey Jenkins, Tess Bailey, and Tracy Shapiro.

Although, it was hard to say exactly what was most odd. Being back in San Diego after so many months away, or having a meal with someone who wasn’t Dave Malkoff.

Sophia had stayed closely in touch with Lindsey while she was gone. The tiny Asian American woman was, without a doubt, the closest female friend that Sophia had ever had. A former detective with the LAPD, Lindsey’s petite stature was deceptive. She was one of Troubleshooters’ most skilled operators, and she could take a much bigger man to the mat, every time.

She was married to a Navy SEAL named Mark who was, in Sophia’s opinion, Lindsey’s perfect match. Which didn’t mean that Sophia wasn’t envious of her friend’s happiness. She was. But it was a good kind of envy. It was inspirational. It helped Sophia define what she wanted in a relationship, which was a change from her standard, which was knowing what she
didn’t
want.

The two women had talked on the phone nearly every day, even when their time zones were wildly out of sync.

But Sophia’s contact with Tracy, the Troubleshooters’ receptionist, had primarily been when she’d called in to the office. Tracy was usually too busy to say more than a quick hello before connecting her to the boss or his second in command. And Sophia’s contact with Tess Bailey had been even less frequent.

She considered Tess, Troubleshooters’ top computer specialist, to be more of a casual acquaintance. They’d been through hell together, years earlier, but hadn’t quite been able to translate that into an honest friendship when back in the real world.

As a matter of fact, Sophia’s dinner tonight was supposed to be only with Tracy and Lindsey. But Tess’s fiancé, Jim Nash, had insisted that he personally handle a problem with a client in Arizona, and despite having been out on a red cell assignment for the past three days, he was catching an immediate flight to Tucson.

Nash had kissed Tess hello and good-bye, and she grimly prepared to spend the evening in her office, attempting to catch up on paperwork.

Sophia had looked at Lindsey, who’d nodded her agreement. They couldn’t
not
invite Tess to come out with them.

So here Tess was—albeit quiet and moody.

Not that being quiet was a bad thing, with talkative Tracy at the table.

Tracy and Lindsey had obviously been spending time together over the past few months. In fact—miracle of miracles—some of Lindsey’s tomboy was rubbing off.

Clotheshorse Tracy was actually wearing a T-shirt and jeans. And yes, okay, the jeans were from Lucky, and the T-shirt was silk, but still. And the sandals she wore on her feet, showing off her brightly painted toenails, had only the tiniest nub of a heel.

She looked good. Happy and relaxed. And still as completely enamored of her job as Troubleshooters’ Lieutenant Uhura—as she herself referred to her position.
Hailing frequencies open, Captain!

It wasn’t that long ago that nearly all of the operatives and support staff had rolled their eyes at Tracy’s ineptness. Now they weren’t sure exactly what they’d do without her.

She was upbeat and chatty and bright.

And okay, maybe—at times—a little
too
chatty, but there were certainly worse things.

And Sophia could relate. She could do a mean mindless babble herself when she was feeling off-balance or ill at ease.

“So I’m in the coffee room—thank you,” Tracy said, as the waiter brought their salads, “and there’s like, a guy under the table, plugging something in to the outlet down there by the wall. And I look down, and he’s on his hands and knees, you know, backing out, and it’s like, hello! It was, you know, the faded jeans thing…?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lindsey said. “Levi Strauss is my God.”

Sophia laughed her agreement. Most of the men in the Troubleshooters offices—both in San Diego and in Florida—were particularly talented when it came to wearing faded blue jeans.

Tracy continued, “And I’m thinking
That’s not Decker,
who ranks, like, top three greatest butts in the universe—” She cut herself off. “That’s just a fact. I’m not trying to, you know…” She shook her head, her blue eyes earnest as she leaned over and reassured Sophia, “I know you have dibs on him.”

Sophia laughed. “Dibs?” She shot a look at Lindsey, who was shaking her head in a silent
Not me, I didn’t say a word
…“I don’t have dibs on anyone. I don’t…dib.”

Tess, whose fiancé was Decker’s XO and best friend, seemed fascinated by the little dish of dressing that had come on her salad’s side.

“Then maybe he has dibs on you. Whatever.” Tracy was determined to finish up her story. “So it’s not Deck, and I can tell it’s not Sam or Jim—not enough leg length—or even the new guy, Ric—” She interrupted herself to ask Sophia, “Have you met Ric?”

“In Florida,” Sophia said. “Yes.”

“Be still. My heart,” Tracy said, hand on her chest.

“Have you met Ric’s wife?” Tess came alive to ask tartly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tracy brushed the thought away. “Annie. She’s very nice. No one’s doing any shoplifting here. I’m just looking, respectfully, from a distance. Isn’t this girls’ night out? Isn’t that why we didn’t invite any of the guys to dinner? So that we could talk about them?”

“I suck at being a girl,” Lindsey admitted around a mouthful of arugula. “Aside from the blue jean appreciation thing.”

“So it’s not Ric and it’s not even Tom,” Tracy continued with her story. “And I’m taking my sweet time getting my coffee, because there’s no one else there, and Mr. Blue Jeans can’t see me, so I can ogle away without getting caught, only who am I ogling?” She looked from Lindsey to Tess to Sophia, with a huge
eureka
in her eyes. “Dave. Malkoff. Yes, that’s right, ladies. David Malkoff has been quietly getting back into shape and he is now officially eye candy.” She speared a grape-tomato with her fork. “And I have a theory about that. I think he got in shape because he had a crush on Paulette.”

“The new UPS driver,” Tess told Sophia.

“Although he only went out with her twice,” Tracy reported.

“Dave went
out
with the UPS driver?” A UPS driver named
Paulette
? Sophia looked at Lindsey for confirmation. Dave hadn’t mentioned anyone named Paulette to her, not even in passing. And she’d spoken to him on the phone possibly more often than she’d talked to Lindsey.

“Maybe it was three times,” Tracy mused. “I think she might’ve dumped him. It’s hard to imagine it happening the other way around.”

“I don’t know,” Tess said. “You know that old saying: Still waters run deep? Dave’s pretty deep.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Tracy said. “Come to think of it…It wouldn’t surprise me at all if a guy like Dave was totally, mindblowingly great in bed. Ooh, we should give him a makeover. There’s a nice-looking man under that Jerry Garcia hair. With the right cut, and T-shirts that actually fit him instead of—”

“This conversation is making me a little uncomfortable,” Sophia said, her words softened by her inability to keep a straight face. She could just picture Dave, out shopping with Tracy. Dear God, as Dave would say. “He’s my best friend.”

“He needs to lose the dorky reading glasses,” Tracy proclaimed. “He looks like my Great-Uncle Ivan, which is
not
a good thing. He should get regular glasses—progressive lenses. They would actually bring balance to him. He’s got that long face—”

“Has it occurred to you that Dave uses his appearance to blend in?” Sophia asked. “Because he
wants
to be ignored?”

Tracy blinked at her, then smiled. “Then someone needs to tell him not to wear those jeans anymore.”

Sophia put down her fork. Tracy wasn’t kidding—at least not entirely. The receptionist actually found Dave attractive.

“Sophia’ll tell him.” There was laughter dancing in Lindsey’s dark eyes as she turned to Sophia. “You can also ask him for us: Is he great in bed and did he heartlessly dump Paulette the UPS lady after getting into her pants. Inquiring minds need to know.”

Of course, Tracy found most men attractive. She liked men. All men. Genuinely. In all shapes and sizes. It made kind of odd sense that, after noticing the UPS driver noticing Dave, Tracy should notice him, too.

And maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Tracy to take him under her generous wing. Dave could use a good haircut.

What he couldn’t use, however, was a broken heart. And Sophia just couldn’t see a potential relationship with beautiful, vibrant, vaguely superficial Tracy ending any other way.

“At the very least,” Tracy told Sophia, “ask him to do a slow turn for you so you can check out his buns.” She smiled. “From a respectful distance, of course.”

Sophia had to laugh. “If you want to know the truth, I think Dave would appreciate the fact that we’ve spent the entire salad course of our dinner discussing his backside.” She couldn’t quite believe it herself. “So after you discovered those were Dave’s jeans…” she started.

Tracy lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Are you suggesting there could be something between me and Dave Malkoff?” She shook her head. “I’m trying to move beyond
Looks great in jeans
as the sole attribute I look for in a new boyfriend.”

“But Dave has brains,” Tess pointed out.

“Says the woman who’s engaged to a man who looks like a movie star,” Lindsey teased.

“I wouldn’t be marrying Jimmy if he weren’t as smart as he is handsome,” Tess defended herself.

“Have you set a date?” Sophia asked, and Tess’s smile instantly became stiff. Shoot. Stupid question.

Tess shook her head and forced another smile. “Not yet.”

Lindsey saved the day by changing the subject. “Speaking of new boyfriends, Trace,” she said, as the waiter took away their salad plates. “How’d it go with the new guy?”

Tracy had a new guy? “I’ve missed a lot by being away,” Sophia said. Tracy and some new guy, Tess and Nash’s latest failure to yet again set a date for their wedding, Dave and the UPS lady…

Sophia had seen her—Paulette—this morning. She was pretty, with dark hair, and a lushly generous bosom, sparkling eyes, and a musical laugh. She looked kind of like Tracy, as a matter of fact. And she pretty much made Sophia feel like a pale, washed out, silent, and repressed wilting daffodil.

“His name’s Michael,” Tracy announced, “and he’s a first-grade teacher in Spring Valley. I met him at the rock climbing gym. He’s adorable and…We’re incredibly compatible. We love the same movies, the same bands, the same food. It’s like we’re twins separated at birth, except that would be icky, since I kind of, um, invited him back to my place. Last night.”