Never Happened (14 page)

She'd saved what would likely be the worst for last. The kitchen.

Taking the short hall back to the living room, she wove through the dining room and its boxes upon boxes of cheap china and into the kitchen.

She froze.

Walter Brimmer still sat at the kitchen table.

After squeezing her eyes shut just to make sure she wasn't seeing things, she looked again. Yep, he was still there, slumped over a nearly empty bowl of what appeared to be cereal.

Poor bastard.

She dug out her phone and called the landlord. “Hey, the body's still in the house. I can't touch this place with him still here.” The landlord had
assured her that the funeral home had been here and gone already.

She listened impatiently as the landlord explained that there had been a mixup and the funeral home was on the way.

Alex shoved her phone back into her pocket and let go a breath of frustration. This was happening altogether too often lately.

Mr. Brimmer dressed well, khaki slacks and a navy polo. His hair had gone gray and thin, leaving his pate bare. He was a little pudgy around the middle. His skin was wrinkled from too many years in the Miami sun. Though he looked a little pale just now since the blood had settled in the lower portion of his body after he'd ceased to breathe.

He'd lived alone. Wife had died years ago. No kids. No close relatives that the landlord knew of. He'd been dead only one night. The UPS guy couldn't get him to the door to sign for a delivery this morning. He and the UPS guy were on a first name basis since Mr. Brimmer ordered so many items from the home shopping network. There was a delivery practically every day.

Alex pulled out a chair and sat down on the opposite end of the table. Rigor mortis had settled in
all his muscles, but the worst of what was to come hadn't started yet. She wondered as she studied him, was this how she would end up?

She kicked herself for letting the thought pop into her head. She did this far too often lately. What the hell was wrong with her? Maybe she
was
like her mother and she just needed to get laid. With someone who didn't require Viagra, preferably.

Her mother's words about her not being able to take a chance kept haunting her, making Alex angry all over again. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being strong and independent. Why didn't her mother get that?

Maybe Alex was guilty of not taking chances, but so what? At least she hadn't gotten hurt. She didn't walk around all vulnerable and fragile. She took care of herself.

The memory of Henson's silly laugh and crooked grin poked into her rant, making her second-guess herself. He'd wanted to take that chance with her and she'd walked away. Maybe her mother was right…maybe she would end up all alone if she just kept walking away.

Was that what she wanted? Did she want to never know how it felt to spend years with one man? Did
she want to never experience having a child of her own? Just because she wasn't committed to a long-term relationship and didn't have any kids didn't mean she didn't have a life.

Did it?

Was all her bluster really just a way to hide…to run away when she felt threatened emotionally?

Again her mind played a trick on her and an image of Austin Blake filled her head.

What the hell did he have to do with anything?

She was letting
them
get to her. Marg, Shannon, all of them. And all those people who'd died alone…

Disgusted with herself she got up and went over to the fridge. Might as well see what kind of mess needed to be cleaned up in there. Sitting around here having a debate about whether or not she was a coward was getting boring. She opened the door and peeked inside. Not that bad. Milk, cheese, eggs, the usual. Her gaze snagged on the six-pack of Michelob. She looked over at Mr. Brimmer. Hell, he wouldn't mind and it was practically noon.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed a bottle and went back over to the table. She twisted off the cap and saluted poor old Mr. Brimmer. “Cheers,” she muttered, before taking a long, soothing drink.

As if she hadn't berated herself enough, Shannon's thoughts on the matter bobbed to the surface in her head. This was how it ended when you weren't in a committed relationship or when your spouse bought the farm before you. All by yourself. Lonely.

But she wasn't lonely, dammit. Alex cradled the beer in her hands. No way. She was happy. Busy. Even had her own action-adventure subplot going on this week.

Somehow that didn't assuage the sick feeling she got every time she worked a case like this one. Or every time she thought of how her mother really felt about her…did her whole crew think she was a coward? Afraid of life?

She settled her gaze on Mr. Brimmer. Hell, maybe she was. Maybe she'd been running her whole life.

Maybe they were right. Dying was bad enough. But dying alone, that really sucked.

The question was, could she—did she even want to—do anything about it?

 

Late that evening, after dark, Alex made it home. Her tail was dragging.

The cleanup at the Brimmer location had taken
forever. So much stuff. So many trips to the recycling center.

Despite how exhausted she was, she trudged up to her mother's door and knocked.

When the door opened, Marg looked about as tired as Alex felt.

“You okay?”

Her mother nodded. “A couple of friends from my support group came over and stayed awhile.”

Alex nodded. “Good. I'm headed for a shower and a long, long hot bath. Let me know if you need anything.”

When she would have turned away, Marg stopped her. “Alex, there's something I need to say.”

She faced her mother, had to do a double take to make sure she wasn't seeing things. Marg looked…humble.

“I want you to know that I appreciate the way you're always here for me. You're a good daughter and that means more to me than you can ever know. I shouldn't have said those things to you this morning.”

As if that hadn't stunned Alex speechless, then Marg hugged her.

Incredible.

Alex somehow managed to hug her back. “It's okay. Maybe there was some truth to what you said.”

Her mother didn't pursue the subject, just kept holding her the way a mother should hold her daughter. Maybe they both had a lot of catching up to do.

A little while later, after her shower, with a Michelob and a brimming hot bubble bath, Alex analyzed the moment. Was her mother finally growing up?

Okay, she couldn't go counting her chickens before they hatched. This was Marg. She could relapse.

But she could also finally move on with her life.

A real life. Maybe a committed relationship.

Something squeezed deep inside Alex. Why did that bother her? She wanted her mother to be happy.

Maybe because that meant she really would be all alone?

Oh hell. Alex set the empty bottle on the floor next to the tub. She had to stop this. This whole poor-me-I'm-going-to-grow-old-alone pity party had gone far enough.

Maybe she would give some thought to this whole “risk” thing. She might even try to stick with the right guy for a while and see what happened.

But that was as far as she was willing to go right now.

She evicted all thought of age and dying and loneliness from her head and closed her eyes to relax. That second beer had her feeling a bit of a buzz. Might as well enjoy it.

A creak split the silence.

She sat up straight. Drew in a lungful of thick, steamy air.

Another creak.

Wood.

Porch.

Hers.

She was out of the tub and dripping all over the bath mat in three seconds flat. She thrust her arms into her robe and lashed the tie en route to the front door. The house was dark but she knew the way by heart.

Peering through the peephole, she repeated several of the vile curses in her extensive vocabulary.

Blake.

What the hell did he want now?

He'd been tailing her all day. She'd spotted him at every turn, ensuring that he never completely left her thoughts. Then again, that was what he was supposed to do. After all she was his bait.

She jerked the door open. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He looked past her into the dark house. “Were you in bed already?”

She couldn't answer right away, she was too busy taking in the guy's appearance with the aid of the streetlamp and what little moonlight reached under the canopy of her porch. Suit, tie, the works, just like always. This guy was as uptight as they came. She could just imagine what kind of animal he would be if he let himself go.

What was she thinking?

She gave herself another of those mental kicks. Clearly seeing Robert naked, his penis frozen in erection, had damaged her somehow.

“Are you sleeping outside my house?”

He made no excuses. “Yes.”

Well, hell. She stepped back, opened the door wider. “Come on in. I suppose the least I can do is offer you my couch.” He was CIA after all, she owed her cooperation to her country, right?

She almost bit off her tongue when her sluggish brain caught up with her runaway mouth. Was she out of her mind?

Yes.

“That's not necessary, Miss Jackson.”

She wasn't about to argue with him. “Just lock up when you crash.” She'd already opened her mouth once too often today. She pivoted on her bare, damp heel and strode toward the bathroom, only slipping once—from the water sliding down her skin, of course.

Eventually she heard the door close and lock.

By her estimate it had taken Blake a full five minutes to decide to come inside. She'd had time to drain the tub, brush her teeth and climb into bed.

At least there was someone in this world more screwed up than her. He obviously didn't know how to let his hair down. He internalized far too much. All that control had to be costly. It didn't take a shrink to recognize he was unnaturally uptight.

She just wished he wasn't so damned good-looking…and so deliciously sexy….

Alex
woke the next morning to the immediate realization that something was wrong.

There was an unfamiliar odor in the air.

There was sound, which she slowly recognized as a television news channel.

She threw back the covers and sat up. The change in position either woke her more fully or prompted her blood to move from her lower anatomy to her brain.

Not only had she awakened to odd goings-on in her home. She'd dreamed about sex. With him.

Hot, wild sex.

She shivered and climbed out of bed.

He
was in there. Beyond that door, cooking or something. She wasn't ready for that side of Austin Blake. She wasn't sure she would ever be ready for anything other than the tense control freak she'd come to know him as.

She couldn't exactly hide in her bedroom forever. Glancing back at the tousled sheets, she was pretty sure she needed to get out of this room and clear her head anyway. She dragged herself into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. A gasp escaped her when she saw her reflection. She'd gone to bed with wet hair. Big mistake. But one that could be rectified with a flatiron and some time.

Thirty minutes later she was presentable in jeans, a tank and one of her trademark belts. She had a thing for belts. All kinds.

She made her bed, just so she wouldn't be reminded when she came home alone tonight of how she'd dreamed of making love with her shadow the night before.

Bad, bad idea.

When she entered the kitchen he was propped against the counter drinking a cup of coffee.

She stopped short of her destination, the coffeemaker. Where was the jacket? The tie? The top three buttons of his shirt were even open.

Blinking furiously, she growled a good-morning and darted around him to get herself a cup of coffee.

“I borrowed bacon and eggs from your mother.”

Alex almost spilled the coffee she was pouring.
“You went up to my mother's?” Damn. Now Marg would grill her about him. Letting Blake stay over had been a huge mistake. She hadn't shared their arrangement with any of the crew. She'd known better. They were already trying to set her up on a blind date. Thank God, Robert's abrupt demise had canceled whatever plans they'd made.

“There's fresh orange juice, too. She squeezed it herself.”

Her mother? Squeezing orange juice? She didn't even like orange juice.

Okay, clearly Marg had skipped right past the booze and gone for the hard drugs. She was not the squeezing-the-OJ type. And since when did she stock bacon and eggs?

Once Alex got over the initial shock, she had to admit that she was starved. After admitting as much, she couldn't pretend disinterest.

Silently, they prepared their plates and sat. The silence continued, other than the crunching of bacon and scrape of silverware across stoneware.

Alex ate, refusing to consider how this CIA man, this uptight hard-ass could cook like this. She didn't want to know that he could cook. She didn't want
to see him without the trappings of his day job. She wanted to button his shirt.

But his lips wouldn't let her.

Her gaze kept drifting down to those nice lips. Whenever he licked them, she had to restrain the need to lick her own hungrily! He was so proper, so controlled, that watching his tongue glide over his bottom lip was incredibly intimate.

She liked his fingers, too. Long, blunt-tipped. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms were well muscled. He would be really strong. Broad shoulders. Tall.

Her throat felt dry and breathing was difficult. She hadn't had a reaction this strong to a stranger in a very long time.

She stood, unable to bear another second. “I have to get to work.” She moved to the sink with her dishes.

Unfortunately he did the same.

Her heart executed a strange little maneuver when she got a whiff of him. How could a guy who'd slept on her couch and cooked a greasy meal smell that good? It just wasn't right.

“You know I'll be right behind you every minute, right?”

She couldn't help herself, she had to look up at
him. He was standing so close…the scent of him…the pull of his proximity. And those eyes. Intense, watchful.

“Yeah, I know.”

He nodded and for one fleeting instant his gaze dropped to her lips. Her breath locked in her lungs and she had to refrain from pressing her palms against his chest, just to see if his heart was pounding as hard as hers was.

How could he cast such a spell so quickly…so seemingly effortlessly?

“Thanks for breakfast.” Her voice sounded breathless.

“Thank you,” he countered, that watchful gaze studying every feature of her face. “Sleeping on your sofa was far more comfortable than in my car.”

That usually tightly controlled tone was missing as he spoke…his voice was soft, too deep.

She nodded. “Fine. I should go.”

As she made her way to her 4Runner, he tugged his tie into place and shouldered into his jacket, all with efficiency and while en route to his supersexy red Mercedes convertible.

The scene was way too domestic-looking and entirely sexy.

Not real. Not real. Couldn't be. Couldn't be.

He followed her to work, but lucky for her didn't come inside. Whatever he did with his day didn't matter to her. She just needed him far away. He was the last man on earth she needed to get involved with and she knew it.

“You look grumpy this morning,” Shannon said with her usual aplomb.

“I am.” Alex didn't pause to say hello to anyone. She went straight to her office, but before she closed the door, she said, “Don't anyone even think about arranging my night for me.”

Five minutes later Shannon ventured in to join her. “Okay,” she began tentatively, “what's wrong?”

She didn't get too close. Probably because Alex gave her a look that would have made a wartime general wary.

“Nothing.” Alex forced her attention back to yesterday's reports. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been working on reports barely a day old.

“Out with it, Alex.”

Shannon settled into the chair in front of Alex's desk.

There was no getting rid of her now. Alex could
either tell her the truth or the woman would sit there and harass her all morning.

“Everyone in the whole world besides me is having sex.” There. She'd said it. Blake made her want to have sex. With him. Dammit.

Shannon looked a little taken aback. “I know you haven't had a date in—”

“Three weeks and four days.” Alex gave her the evil eye. Was she losing it? Had middle age finally caught up with her? Or was she only just realizing that her mother was right and she was a coward afraid to live her life. She was a forty-year-old woman whose life had
never happened.
She shuddered at the thoughts.

How could she feel that way? She'd made a great life for herself. Her business was thriving. Life was good.

Why did who she was have to be measured against the fact that she wasn't part of a pair? And why the hell was it suddenly so important to her?

Maybe her mother was right. The idea scared the hell out of her, but it was possible…wasn't it?

Marriage…kids…talk about terrifying.

But if not those things, then what?

“This is exactly why we tried to set you up yesterday.”

Alex snapped from her disturbing thoughts and sent another glower in her direction. “Thanks a lot.” Feeling like the fat girl at the prom, Alex tried her best to focus on her work, but her friend just wouldn't go away.

Shannon cleared her throat. “Sorry about your mother's boyfriend.”

Alex pointed that death stare at her again, but it didn't stop Shannon from bursting into giggles.

Alex had to laugh. It wasn't funny. Poor Robert was dead. It wasn't funny at all. But still, she laughed harder. Until tears gathered in her eyes. What made these dirty old men think they could load up on Viagra and not suffer the consequences?

“Okay,” Shannon said, gathering her composure once more. “How about you let us arrange that nice night out for you—”

Alex sent another lethal glare in her direction.

“You can go by yourself and just relax and enjoy.”

Now there was an idea.

She didn't need a man right now.

She just needed to relax.

 

Dinner went reasonably well. The restaurant was lovely. The food was amazing. And Alex knew she
looked great. She'd worn her favorite red dress and matching stilettos. She felt like a million bucks. There were a couple of other tables in the restaurant with only one occupant, so she wasn't the only single diner.

Not a problem. She'd gone out by herself before and managed just fine. The dinner was both relaxing and elegant.

The real problem began when she drove home. Her 4Runner started to jerk as if the engine wanted to die on her. She patted the gas pedal, but that didn't help. The engine ended up stalling just as she managed to ease it over to the curb.

Cursing under her breath, she called for a tow and got out, glancing in both directions. Not so far from home. She could walk it. It wasn't as if she'd be alone. The sidewalk was teeming with Miami's nightlife. Some bad, some good, some outstanding.

She could wait for the tow truck and get a ride home, but she needed to walk. She needed to think.

She strode along the sidewalk toward her side of town. Wolf calls cut through the night air as one car passed. Alex smiled and strutted with all the fervor she could marshal. Might as well enjoy herself. She had a longer walk ahead of her than she'd first thought. The shoes would likely end up swinging
from her fingers before it was over, but that was okay. She could use the attention tonight.

The sound of a motor purring smoothly signaled that a car had rolled up behind her. She had wondered when he would show up. She'd known he would be around. Her own personal bodyguard. The question was, who would guard his body from her?

“How about a lift?”

Blake.

Alex pivoted on her precariously high heel. “No thanks. I'm fine.”

“I can't let you out of my sight, Miss Jackson.”

Damn. He'd most likely witnessed tonight's whole dining alone experience. God, he probably thought she was pathetic.

“Just so you know—” she decided to set him straight “—I don't usually dine alone.”

He grinned, the first one she'd seen on those sexy lips. “Don't worry. I get paid to keep secrets. I won't tell anyone you didn't have a date.”

She almost slammed the door he'd reached over and opened for her.

“I'm only kidding, Miss Jackson.” He looked up at her with those hooded eyes. “Get in. I don't bite.”

A ride was a ride, right? She wasn't worried about
him being dangerous anymore. And he had said he was kidding.

Alex climbed into the passenger seat of the swanky Mercedes. “Some car.” She sank into the leather interior. It seemed to draw her into an embrace. Very nice.

“My work is dangerous. The way I see it—” he glanced at her as he moved back into traffic “—why not enjoy life? It could end tomorrow.” He shrugged. “I live for today.”

That was pretty much her motto. Life was short.

Live it like you mean it.

“Too bad about your mother's boyfriend.”

Did everyone know about her mother's latest tragic relationship? Jesus. Alex was really tired. Too tired. Between the week she'd had and all these emotional revelations, she was beginning to wish she hadn't left the house this week.

“At least he died happy,” she murmured. What man didn't want to go with a rock-hard erection?

Despite her best intentions not to, Alex used the ride to her house to study this CIA guy.

He really was handsome.

But he was not the type she got involved with.

She knew better. Letting herself even think along those lines was dumb, dumb, dumb.

“What you see is what you get, Miss Jackson. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her breath caught, but she didn't let his awareness that she was staring keep her from continuing to study that rigid profile. She wondered if he'd meant the statement as a warning or an invitation.

Considering it had been about a month since she'd had sex, dwelling on the idea for any length of time could be a costly mistake.

She decided to find a reason not to be interested.

“You married, Blake?”

“No.”

“Ever been married?”

“No.”

“Kids?”

“No.”

Well, damn. She was beginning to feel as if she'd just walked onto the set of a Capitol One commercial. No, no, no.

“Brothers?”

“No.”

Alex pushed a handful of hair behind her ear. “Sisters?”

“No.”

If he said no to her next question—

“My parents live in Iowa. I'm an only child and I've never had time to give a long-term relationship the attention it needed.”

“So you steer away from commitment?” Interesting. They had something in common.

“Relationships are complicated. I don't need complications in my life.”

She faced forward and relaxed farther into the luxurious seat. “I have to agree.”

She hadn't really planned to make that confession out loud, but there it was.

Blake pulled into her driveway. He turned to her, the low-slung moon drenching the interior of the car in a soft glow. She wanted to yell at Fate for throwing in one more romantic element.

He leaned in her direction. Only a little. She might not have even noticed if she hadn't been staring at him. In spite of herself her pulse reacted to his nearness.

“The motto I live by is not getting involved with a player. Too much risk.”

Alex laughed softly. “Don't flatter yourself, Blake. I invited you to sleep inside my house last night
because I felt sorry for you. You're the last man on the planet I'd be interested in being with.”