CHAPTER 4
“So, how’s it going so far?” Huck asked, evidently assigned to check up on him. Or, Mick supposed, he could be doing it independently, trying to make sure that he didn’t botch his first job. He’d recommended him, after all, ergo his credibility was on the line as well.
Swallowing a sigh and unable to shake the sensation that he was being watched, frowning, Mick closed his bedroom door, locked it and pocketed the key. He’d also smelled a strange sort of aftershave when he’d awoken this morning--and it hadn’t been his. Very weird. “No illegal activity last night,” he told Huck.
Under the pretense of “getting a feel for the town” Mick had done an open tail--meaning he’d allowed her to see him, but had kept his distance enough where she hadn’t been aware that he’d been actually following her. Furthermore, because the town was so small and most everything of interest was centered around the town square or within a couple of blocks, running into her repeatedly thankfully wouldn’t cause any suspicion. In addition, he planned to always keep his camera with him and use it as a prop when necessary.
As for her movement last night, she’d had dinner here with a friend--Tina Martinese, the B&B chef who’d provided him with some of the best lasagna he’d ever eaten in his life--then drove by Chastity’s house, but didn’t stop.
Afterward she’d driven a bit out into the country and turned down a long tree-lined drive. Mick wouldn’t have been able to follow her down that drive without it looking odd, so he’d doubled back and waited for her to make the return to town. Whoever she’d seen, it had been a short visit because she’d been back on the road within twenty minutes. After her mysterious stop--one he fully intended to check out later--she’d dropped by the local video store and then went home.
Where she took a long damned time in the shower--long enough to make him want to howl, actually--put on a tiny cotton camisole-like thingie--no bra, of course, because she evidently wanted to kill him--and a pair of boxer shorts, fixed a bowl of ice cream, then curled up on her couch with her assorted menagerie of pets and watched a movie.
He’d kept her under surveillance until he was certain--or as certain as he could be--that she was in for the night. He’d finally made it back to the B&B around two-thirty, only to set off some sort of alarm that woke the entire house, including Clara--whose hair, interestingly, had gone from red to blonde sometime between supper and his return--and who grudgingly gave him the security code to disarm the system, but only after he’d told her that he suffered from insomnia and would more than likely need to take a walk every night.
His cheeks burned, remembering that humiliation and was only glad that none of his counterparts had seen or heard it. Badass security specialist at your service, he thought with a sarcastic twist of his lips, wondering if he could possibly screw this up anymore.
At any rate, he’d gotten very little sleep and had nothing to show for his efforts but a dull headache, a general sense of unease--he could have sworn he’d felt a hand on his thigh this morning when he’d woken up--and an attack of conscience the likes of which he’d never experienced in his misbegotten life.
Mick paused on the landing before going downstairs to breakfast. “I gotta tell you, Huck. I feel like a first-class bastard.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the cover I’m using.” He leaned against the wall and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Did you know that she’s spent the last week busting her ass to get her inventory accounted for and uploaded onto her Web site to be prepared for the influx of business she’s expecting to pick up because of this article? The one that’s not going to happen?”
Huck paused, then muttered a curse. “No, I didn’t.”
“I know that I don’t work for her and I’m not supposed to care, but evidently I’m not as much of a sonofabitch as I’m supposed to be because I think this is pretty damned shitty.”
Messing with a person’s livelihood was not cool.
Monumental screw-up aside, he’d been more than a spectator for justice. He’d been a contributor. Disarming terrorists, fighting for the greater good, ensuring freedom--those were things he’d always been able to be proud of.
He wasn’t proud of this.
There was no greater good, just greater greed on the part of Chastity Walker. Or at least that’s what he suspected at the moment.
“You’re right,” Huck said. “I’ll see if I can do something about it.”
“What can you do?”
“I’ll see if I can get them to do the article. And if I can’t, I’m certain that Payne can.” He chuckled softly. “He...has a way of getting people to do things us mere mortals can’t.”
Mick laughed. “That way is called money, my friend.” He’d heard rumors of Payne’s wealth for years, but could honestly say that he’d never fully appreciated the depth of Payne’s pockets until he’d walked into the sleek Atlanta high rise which housed Ranger Security, not to mention the additional building next door he’d acquired simply to turn into apartments for future Ranger Security operatives. When he’d stepped into his fully furnished right-down-to-a-stocked-pantry apartment, Mick had been forcibly reminded why Payne’s friends had nicknamed him The Specialist.
The man did nothing in half-measures.
“I know you don’t like the cover, Mick, but we’ll make it right. You just do what you’re supposed to do and keep snapping pictures. You can give them to the magazine when you’re through.”
Feeling marginally better about it, Mick released a small breath. “All right.” Taking pictures of her certainly wouldn’t be a hardship. Sarah Jane wasn’t a classic beauty by any stretch of the imagination. Her nose was a little too small, her cheeks too round, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been drawn to her right from the beginning. It was that fighter’s spirit in the stubborn tilt of her chin, that underlying hint of mischief evident in those melting caramel eyes. In fact, it was those very characteristics which made her all the more compelling. She was sexy and salt-of-the-earth personified, an intriguingly irresistible combination.
“I heard from McPherson last night,” Huck said. “He said he’d tried to call you, but hasn’t had any luck. Is there any particular reason you’re avoiding him?”
Other than the fact that he was a coward who couldn’t bear to talk to a friend who’d witnessed the biggest mistake of his life, no, Mick thought, feeling like a bastard. Rather than answer, Mick evaded the question. “I’ll, uh... I’ll give him a call.” And he would. He just didn’t know when.
“Do, man. He’s worried about you.”
Mick didn’t need the reminder. A fellow adrenaline junkie and prankster, Levi McPherson was a good friend, one who like Huck, had been there to rally around him when he’d screwed up. He hadn’t tried to belittle Mick’s regret with the standard it’s-not-your-fault platitudes, but had been there to drink, to listen and offer sports-related therapy. The guilt was Mick’s cross, not Levi’s and he didn’t deserve the silent treatment he’d been giving him.
Another screw-up, he thought, disgusted with himself.
“And I should warn you,” Huck said, thankfully changing the subject. “Chastity has called here several times asking for your cell number. She wants to meet with you to go over the case.”
Gut check response was a heartfelt hell no, but considering he’d already lost complete perspective--provided he’d ever had it to start with--he didn’t altogether trust his instincts. “I know that I’m new to this whole security thing, but is that a risk we should take?”
“Not in my opinion, but she’s adamant. She’s looking for you.”
Mick grimaced. “Considering this is the only place to stay in town, I’m definitely easy to find.”
Huck’s hesitation echoed over the line. “Are you sure you’re good with this, Mick? If you aren’t, we can pull you out and give it a little more time. None of these guys would blame you. They’ve--“
Shame burned through him. Huck had stuck his neck out for him, had given him a place in the world when his had felt like it was lying in shambles around him. And still did, for that matter. “I can do it, Huck,” he insisted. It was a simple mission. Watch Sarah Jane.
“No one’s saying you can’t, Mick. Hell, man, you’re the best damned solider I know. Freaking fearless. You’re the Hell-raiser,” he said, a reminiscent chuckle in his breath. Huck sighed, seemingly looking for the right way to tell him he was a fuck-up. “But I can tell your heart’s not in it.”
Mick couldn’t deny that, so he didn’t even try. The only thing his heart had ever truly been in was serving his country and that life was gone now, lost to him through nobody’s fault but his own. A single bad decision that had come within a couple of centimeters of costing another man his life. Risk came with the job, he knew, and the higher up the chain of command, the more responsibility. In theory he’d been fine with it--living with the reality of the mistake had been more than he could handle, and if that made him weak, then he could live with that easier than he could the alternative.
Risking his own life was one thing--risking someone else’s another altogether.
Furthermore, though he admittedly saw more shades of gray than black and white, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was fighting on the wrong side on this one. It didn’t matter that Chastity was paying for their services--quite possibly with Sarah Jane’s inheritance--it still felt off. And he had every intention of finding out why. If Chastity was using their services for something besides what she’d claimed when she’d hired them, Mick would find out and adjust his route accordingly.
And she might not like the result.
While it was true that soldiers were taught to follow orders and respect the chain of command, they were also taught to assess situations, think on their feet, and change course should the need arise. Furthermore, things like truth and honor and justice weren’t just pretty words bandied about by politicians--they were a moral code. When in doubt, do what’s right.
Mick assured Huck he would stay on task, thanked him for the head’s up regarding Chastity, then disconnected and finished making his way downstairs.
The heavy scent of bacon and maple syrup flavored the air, making his mouth water in anticipation. When Payne had mentioned that Clara’s was the hot spot for breakfast he hadn’t exaggerated. The dining room--a charming space littered with mismatched tables and chairs, fresh cut flowers and braided rugs--was packed with people. Old farmers sporting overalls and John Deer hats, young professionals, couples and families, a hungry sample of Monarch Grove’s population all gathered at the alter of good food.
Wearing a little tiara on her new platinum locks and bright red lipstick, Clara greeted him herself and showed him to a table. “I hope you were able to sleep after your walk,” she said, a polite unintentional reminder that he’d woken them all up. He smiled and resisted the urge to grind his teeth.
“I was, thank you,” Mick told her. He settled into a chair.
“Nothing strange happened, I hope? No missing toiletries or flickering lights?”
“Er...no,” Mick said, caught off guard by the strange question.
Instead of looking happy, Clara actually seemed disappointed. Her face fell. “Excellent,” she murmured distractedly.
Mick decided a subject change was in order. “If breakfast is as good as it smells, then I’m in for a treat.”
She brightened. “You’re definitely in for a treat. Tina’s a phenomenal cook. She’s my little ace in the hole. The B&B has the best food in town no matter what anyone tells you.” She leaned down as though about to share an important secret. “Steer clear of Mabel’s Diner,” she whispered. “She’s had a bit of a bug problem, if you catch my drift.”
Mick inclined his head, wondering why he found the warning slightly gleeful.
Clara straightened once more. “Coffee?”
“Er...black, please.” She nodded briskly and hurried away.
Clara hadn’t been gone five seconds before a busty blonde who looked like she’d colored her extremely tanned face with a paint-by-numbers kit suddenly slid into the chair across from him.
Chastity, no doubt, Mick decided, inwardly recoiling.
While attractive in the literal sense, she had a hard, cunning look about her and, though she wore black, the tight sleeveless shirt and short skirt hardly said “grieving widow.” More like “street walker,” he thought uncharitably.
She and Sarah Jane couldn’t have been any more different and, if he hadn’t trusted her story to begin with, he sure as hell didn’t believe it now.
“You must be Mick,” she said, smiling. Feminine interest sparkled in eyes surrounded by clumps of mascara’d lashes.
“I am.”
When he didn’t say anything else, a momentary look of confusion stole across her overly made-up face. “So?” she prodded. “How are things going?”
“Fine. When I have something to report, I’ll tell you. Wasn’t that the agreement?” He purposely kept his tone even, knowing that any interest or even superficial friendliness would only encourage her to stay.
“I’m not sure,” she replied slowly. Those shrewd eyes continued to size him up. She hesitated. “Is there a problem, Mr. Chivers?”
Mick swallowed a long-suffering sigh. More than he cared to enumerate.
Thankfully, a petite dark-haired woman--Tina maybe?--came to his rescue by arriving with his plate. “Good morning,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “I’m Tina,” she confirmed. She didn’t so much as glance at Chastity. “You’re the photographer who’s working with Sarah Jane, right?”
From the corner of his eye he saw Chastity’s lips slide into a smug smile and though it went against everything inside of him, he managed to nod, silently affirming the lie.
He was so not cut out for this line of work.
Or maybe it was just this case. Either way, he knew he was screwed. And though he’d only been in the security field for a couple of days, it was long enough for Mick to know that it wasn’t going to satisfy his soul. It was more watching and less movement, and other than actually being with Sarah Jane, a complete bore.
“We didn’t get a chance to meet last night. I’ve got your to-go order ready in the kitchen, so don’t forget to ask for it on your way out.”
“I won’t, thanks.”
Chastity cleared her throat loudly. “Aren’t you going to take my order, Tina?”
Every muscle in Tina’s petite body went rigid and she turned a patently false smile in Chastity’s direction. “I’m not a waitress. I’m the cook.”
“Nevertheless you work here and I’m a paying customer. I’d like what he’s having.”
“Fine,” she said, baring her teeth in a frightening smile. “I’ll make something special for you.”
Only if spit was special, Mick thought, resisting the urge to laugh. Evidently Chastity wasn’t as stupid as she looked because she finally just harrumphed a disgusted breath and told Tina to forget it.
Victorious, Tina grinned. “Are you sure? I’d be happy to personally take care of your plate. Really,” she said between clenched teeth. “I would.”
“I said no,” she repeated. She gestured impatiently between the two of them. “Can’t you see you’re interrupting our conversation?”
Tina’s gaze turned shrewd and speculative. “You know each other?”
Dammit to hell, this was exactly what he’d been afraid of. “We just met,” Mick said, thankful that he hadn’t had to lie again.
Seemingly satisfied, Tina nodded. “Nice meeting you, Mick.” She moved away from the table, giving him a clear view of the door.
He wished she hadn’t.
Because Sarah Jane was standing there. An instantaneous fission of heat stole through his belly and settled in his loins at the mere sight of her.
But it was the sight of him--seated with her enemy--that worried him.
A sardonic it-figured smile rolled over her lips--as though she’d hoped he’d have better taste--and she gave him a little up-nod in acknowledgment, then looked away.
Following his gaze, Chastity glanced over her shoulder, saw Sarah Jane, then, smiling maliciously, stood.
“Mission accomplished,” she said. “Watch her like a hawk and let me know the minute you catch her breaking into my house. I’m looking forward to sending her back to jail.”
* * *
“She didn’t waste much time, did she?” Mason muttered under his breath. “I swear I think that woman has got some sort of sonar for when new men arrive in town. It’s like a Fresh Meat alarm goes off and she swoops in, ready for the kill.”
Seething, reeling and bitterly disappointed, Sarah Jane nodded to a couple of people as she walked through the dining room, paused to listen to Mae Bell Hodges latest update on her husband’s gout, then continued on to the kitchen where she and Mason typically ate their breakfast with Tina.
Though she knew it was irrational and knew it was more than likely a product of her sexually-deprived lust-ridden brain, Sarah Jane’s own internal alarms were ringing so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts.
Something about seeing Mick Chivers with Chastity was...off.
And it was more than the absurd jealousy and illogical anger turning her mind alternate shades of green and black. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d actually applied a little make-up this morning, had taken time with her hair and had agonized over which friggin’ shorts made her ass look smaller. If Chastity was his type--cheap, easy and stupid--then so be it. She shoved open the kitchen door with a little more force than needed, sending Clara reeling back. Then good riddance.
“Sarah Jane,” Clara admonished, adjusting the little crown on her newly tinted hair. “That’s not how a lady enters a room. This is a bed and breakfast, not a road house bar.”
“Sorry, Clara.” She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, snagged a biscuit from the tray and took an intentional bite to keep from screaming.
Tina stilled and sent her a sympathetic smile. “You saw.”
“She did,” Mason said because Sarah Jane’s mouth was still stuffed with food. He shook his head and exhaled a disgusted breath. “You know, I’m a man and even I don’t get it. Yes, the girl has got a nice set of breasts--“
Sarah Jane glared at him.
“She does, SJ. Just stating the facts.” He frowned, his peach fuzz bunching around his lips. “But there’s nothing else there. She’s not ugly, but she’s not beautiful either. She’s spent so many hours in the tanning bed--
“And by the pool she talked my father into putting in,” Sarah Jane interjected.
“--she looks like a damned rotisserie chicken. She’s dumb as a box of rocks.” He shrugged again. “I just don’t get it. And like I said, I’m a man.”
Tina set a steaming plate in front of both of them, grabbed one for herself, and then joined them at the table. “You’re just a man of better taste, Mason,” Tina said. “Unfortunately, a lot of men don’t care whether a woman is smart or not.” She shot a look at Sarah Jane. “No offense to your father, but he couldn’t have been thinking with his brain when he decided to marry that shallow, mean-spirited slut.”
“I know,” Sarah Jane admitted, though she did think that he’d come to regret it in the weeks prior to his death. He’d said a few little things, but nothing that would have really opened an honest dialogue about the situation. In fact, it had been more of an impression than anything else.
Furthermore, she’d be lying if she hadn’t hoped that Mick would have had better taste. Honestly, physical attraction aside, she credited him with more character. He hadn’t seemed like the type who would be interested in Chastity. She’d thought he had more depth. More class. More sense.
Frankly, by yesterday afternoon, she’d thought she’d detected a little interest in her. While he hadn’t blatantly flirted, he’d certainly been quick with those slow melting smiles and there’d been a hint of interest in those shockingly blue eyes. Honestly, she’d never seen eyes that particular shade before. Intense, clear, bold, the color of an old bottle she’d once found buried near the surf in the sand at the beach. And if it was true that the eyes were indeed the window to the soul, then Mick Chiver’s soul was a kaleidoscope of recklessness, irreverence, honor, pain and sorrow. How did she know this?
The same way she knew that there was more to Chastity and Mick than what met the eye--intuition.
True, Chastity had a knack for picking up the scent of a new man, but from the strange look--a combination of irritation and embarrassment--she’d glimpsed on Mick’s face, something else was in play here.
“If it makes you feel any better, I was delivering food in the dining room when she came in. He didn’t invite her to sit down. She invited herself.”
Typical Chastity. Still...
“I’ve got a weird vibe about this,” Sarah Jane said. She speared a fresh strawberry and considered it thoughtfully.
Tina selected a piece of bacon and chuckled. “That feeling is called jealousy, my dear.”
Mason’s gaze widened. “Jealousy? What do you mean jealousy?”
Tina merely rolled her eyes. “Mason you are a sweetheart, but you’re blind.”
“These are new glasses,” he said, offended, straightening a bit in his chair. “It’s just taking me a little while to adjust to them.”
Sarah Jane and Tina shared an unspoken look, then they both started giggling.
Used to their silent communication, her assistant’s lips twisted. “Want to clue me in on the joke?”
“No,” Sarah Jane said. She cleared her throat and looked at Tina. “It’s...more than what you said. It doesn’t feel right.”
“Sarah Jane, it doesn’t feel right because the woman has been the bane of your existence since Kindergarten. She stole your father, stole your house, stole your inheritance, and now she’s put the moves on the first guy who has cranked your tractor in months.”
“It’s been more than a year, thank you,” Sarah Jane corrected glumly.
Mason’s eyes rounded and he gazed at her in wide-eyed astonishment. “Oh,” he said knowingly. His eyes sparkled with humor and he shot her a sheepish smile. “That explains a lot. I thought you were acting a bit funny yesterday. Strange, really. I just thought you were nervous over all those pictures he was taking of you.”
That had been a bit nerve-wrecking. It seemed like every time she’d turned around, Mick had been snapping another photograph. It was also clear that he knew a bit about carpentry and home repair. He’d inspected the house and made a lot of comments regarding the structure and how it could be fixed, and at one point had even put his camera down long enough to help her loosen a particularly stubborn bit of molding. She could tell he’d been itching to do more, but she hadn’t suggested that he pick up a hammer.
In her line of work--a predominantly male field--Sarah Jane battled against what she’d dubbed the “little woman syndrome.” On more than one occasion she’d dealt with a clod-brained big-muscled morons who thought she was too weak and too ignorant to do the job, so she’d become a bit sensitive to help from the opposite sex. She glanced at Mason and felt her lips twitch. Mason didn’t count--she was manlier than Mason. At any rate, if she were perfectly honest, she’d let Mick help her because she’d wanted to be closer to him, to watch those muscles bunch and tighten.
And she hadn’t been disappointed at all.
The man was, in a word, glorious.
And he’d been sharing breakfast with Chastity.
She didn’t care what Tina said, this feeling--this instinct--was more than jealousy. Though she would definitely cop to that. She’d planned on asking Mick to join them for breakfast this morning, so seeing him two feet from her enemy hadn’t been pleasant.
“I asked them if they knew each other,” Tina told her. “And he said they’d just met.”
Rather than put her at ease, Sarah Jane felt her nape prickle. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because your Step-monster accused me of ‘interrupting their conversation.’” She quirked an irritated brow. “Have I mentioned that I loathe her lately? Because I do. I genuinely can’t stand her.” She took a sip of orange juice and sighed.
“Welcome to the club,” Sarah Jane said with a rueful grimace. “Welcome to the club.”
“You know what I think you should do, don’t you?”
Sarah Jane suspected she wasn’t going to like Tina’s opinion. “What?”
“Forget this whole he’s-off-limits-because-he’s-here-on-business crap and flirt with him. Reel him in.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled with evil humor. “It’ll kill her.”
Oh, it would, no doubt, Sarah Jane thought, tempted beyond reason. A little quickening thrill made her insides tingle with purpose and she felt a slow smile slide across her lips, imagining Chastity’s furious face. Sarah Jane paused, remembering all the reasons she shouldn’t make a play for Mick, the most of important of which was her business. She couldn’t discount the fact that pursuing any sort of relationship with him--especially that of the sexual variety--would be risky, potentially disastrous.
But the idea of letting Chastity win--again--was almost more than she could bear.
It was galling.
It was exasperating.
It was...impossible.
“She’s taken everything else from you,” Tina said, echoing her own thoughts. She pulled a light shrug. “You’re a fool if you let her have him, too.”
“Sarah Jane’s no fool,” Mason remarked, outraged on her behalf, coming to her defense as always, even when he didn’t need to.
A beat slid into three, then she looked at Tina and felt a resolute smile drift over her lips. “He’s right. I’m no fool.”
Competitive, maybe. Self-destructive? Possibly.
But not foolish.