Mattie’s eyes fluttered open. For a second she didn’t know where she was. The gentle swell against the hull of the sailboat wanted to lure her back to sleep. Last night had been a dream. It had to be a dream, with the best-looking man her mind could ever conjure. She rolled onto her right side, and her cheeks puckered in a grin with the tweak of soreness between her thighs.
Greg leaned against the doorway, watching her. A cup of coffee in his hand, fully dressed. Last night could have been her imagination, but seeing the way his eyes creased at the edges and the very machismo look of satisfaction on his face told her otherwise.
“Coffee or tea?”
She stretched her arms above her head and wiggled her bum under the sheets. “Not sure I feel like moving yet.”
He chuckled and his brows rose with an innocent but knowing pop. “No hurry. We’ve got all day.”
Somewhere around two a.m. she’d sent an email to the office saying she was under the weather. The truth was she was under, over, back to front, front to front and sideways with the mind-numbingly handsome man standing in the doorway.
Mattie managed to rustle up to rest on her elbows. “Is this what all women experience with you?”
He scratched his forehead and his shoulders jumped with a quick laugh. “If I were to say yes, you’d be mad at me.”
“Doubt it.” The walk of shame was going to be a sail of shame. A first for her. She’d never spent all night with a man, and this made three with Greg.
He nibbled on his cheek before answering. “You’re not like other women. You are…” He grinned. “Mademoiselle Bidault, vous êtes la femme qui menace de s'emparer de mon cœur.”
She shook her head. “What does that mean?”
With a small push off the wall, he stood to his full height. “You tell me.”
“And how am I going to do that?”
“Only one way, isn’t there?”
“You’re trying to taunt me into learning French. Not going to work.”
He winked at her. “You are a stubborn woman.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Let the water run for a bit before you step in the shower, or you’ll wake up quicker than you want.”
He disappeared down the narrow hallway, and she slowly draped her legs over the edge of the bed. She sighed and, energy expended, fell back on the bed. Naked, lying on the sheets, she closed her eyes and only opened them when she sensed his presence hovering over her.
“You didn’t get very far, my dear.” His gaze flashed across her face, then he lowered his head and kissed each nipple.
“Looks like you’re in a hurry to get back.”
“Mais, non. This morning I woke and watched you sleep curled by my side. I can’t remember a morning that I’ve felt this alive.”
He pulled on her hands until she sat up. “What? You can’t tell me you haven’t woken up with a smile on your face before.” She gaped at him, but could see his discomfort. Forking her fingers through his, she drew his large hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “What about all the missions you’ve been on. Survived. All your successes. You’re a true Canadian hero. Not to mention women tumble at your feet. That’s something to smile about.” She grinned, but it soon faltered as he pulled away from her. “Greg?”
“Coffees ready when you are.” The smile slipped from his handsome features as he walked out of the room.
Slathering herself with soap and rinsing with warm water, she thought about Greg LaPierre the man, and then wondered about the lieutenant commander. Were they the same, or was one empty and unfeeling while the other recuperated when he came home, only to face war again when he left.
She quickly dried off and tugged her jeans over slightly wet skin and wiggled into her shirt. As she pulled on her shoes, she remembered that they’d never got to talk. She didn’t know what made him tick. What he liked or hated.
When she entered the small galley, Greg was nowhere in sight. A cup of coffee sat on the narrow counter. She sucked it back then headed up the ladder.
Greg stood at the bow, the sound of a small motor whirring and the anchor line winding around a drum. The sky was a heavenly, clean blue, but the wind chilled her instantly sweeping past her wet locks.
She marched up to him. “What did I say that bothered you?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Nothing bothered me. Did you have your coffee?”
She flapped her arms in exasperation. “Don’t bullshit me, Lieutenant Commander. I ruined something for you, but I don’t know what I said. Help me out here.”
Greg checked that the anchor was in place and gave her a peck as he passed by. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I’m getting mad,” she said, stomping after him. She hated the thought she’d somehow hurt him or took away his moment of happiness.
“Why are you mad?” he said, starting the engine.
“What’re you doing? Are you heading back to the dock? You said we were going sailing. You said we had all day.” Why was she sounding like a crazed harpy?
He blinked at her. “Don’t you want to head back in?”
She crossed her arms. Her anger warmed her but not enough to stop a shiver. The brisk wind cut right through her thin leather jacket.
Greg shrugged. “Where do you want to go?”
“That way.” Mattie pointed south. “Toward Juan de Fuca Strait. Or that way.” She pointed north. “Take us to Vancouver,” she said, excited to throw up the sails and let the wind take them in whatever direction it wanted.
Greg didn’t look at her when he said, “What about your job? Tracking down the Ripper?”
The sails hadn’t been hoisted so they couldn’t catch wind, and the wind that filled her sails this morning blew away without taking her with it. A heavy ache caught in her chest. She realized that today she’d woken up happier than she’d been in a long time too.
Her waking thoughts weren’t weighed down with responsibility or death. She’d been carried into unconsciousness by bliss. The police scanner wasn’t her alarm clock.
Gazing toward the south, the tips of the waves twinkled under the sun. It had been easy to throw her passion into the air and let Mother Nature decide the direction. Too easy to let Greg sweep her off her feet, but he had grounded her just as easily.
Last night had been about sex. A one night stand. Nothing more.
He waited for her answer, gripping the wheel. She didn’t have one.
Her eyes teared up from the brisk breeze. Of course it was the wind, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see them. The stern had a small bench seat, and she aimed for it. Kneeling on the padded cover, she listened to the sea. The gulls. Anything but her heart telling her she knew better. Idiot.
Greg didn’t mince words when he walked up and put a hand on her shoulder. Besides baguettes and good coffee, the French exceled in not belaboring a point. “You needed last night to regenerate. Be able to forget and see things in a new light this morning.”
“Thank you. I think I do.”
“Mattie—”
She brushed his hand from her arm. “Dock is that way.”
Mattie stared straight into his eyes to make sure he knew she wasn’t in a please chase me and I’ll fall into your arms mood. The Irish in her blood forbid it. If she were willing to put money down on a fight of wills between a Frenchman and an Irish woman, she’d put it on the Irish.
His gaze flitted away and he sighed, then took a position behind the maple wheel.
As the sailing yacht began to crawl over the low swell, she clamped her carefree thoughts in a box and tossed them overboard. The sea churned behind them as the vessel crossed the short distance toward Sidney Harbour.
When Greg brought her alongside the slip and busied himself with the lines, she stepped off and quickly ran up the dock. She didn’t stop running until she reached one of the waterfront restaurants then called a cab on her cell phone. It picked her up within five minutes. Driving down the Pat Bay Highway, the gas stations, garden nursery, Elk Lake, each landmark passed in a numbing blur.
The cabbie let Mattie off in front of her condo, and she took the elevator to the third floor without checking the mailbox. Mary would be at work. The grisly message on the patio door had been cleaned.
Mattie wandered into her bedroom. It seemed so long since she’d been here. She needed her laptop and her toiletries from Greg’s, but that could all wait. She began to change her clothes but before stepping into fresh ones, instead she found solace in her bed. Pulling the blankets up around shoulders, she leaned against the cushioned headboard.
Time ticked by slowly. Interrupting her blur of thoughts, her apartment phone announced someone calling from downstairs with two short rings. She didn’t bother answering.
A text beeped on her phone.
Let me up.
Please have the admiral drop off my things.
She plopped the phone on the night table and ignored the following calls and the texts he sent. An hour passed before she finally decided to take on the life she’d briefly escaped and got dressed. Thirty minutes later, she pushed through the front door of the Colonist and sat at her computer. The familiar hum of the office yanked her back to reality. And she needed a good yank. Spinning past all of Greg’s texts on her phone, she almost missed Marlene’s, and quickly backed up to read it.
Found you a lead. Call me.
Mattie stood and looked behind her. Marlene worked at the newspaper, her cubicle situated a couple spaces closer to the elevator. Gazing across the Colonist’s office, she couldn’t see her friend’s signature blonde locks.
Unlike most of the journalists who were married and busy with their families, she and Marlene hung-out a few times a month. They usually bitched about the lack of available men. Her co-worker’s column focused on events and the hopping nightlife in Victoria. While Mattie rarely came up for air from her job, Marlene loved to keep in shape by running marathons and giving her hair stylist a healthy portion of her paycheck, but she was a good friend.
She dialed Marlene’s cell, but the call went to voicemail. While texting her, Greg swirled in her mind. He’d ruined an amazing night by being an asshat, and she’d been stupid enough to let her heart loose to chase dreams she had no business chasing.
“Thought you were sick?” Dominique said, appearing at her cubicle.
“Felt good enough to come in,” Mattie answered. “Any fresh coffee on?”
“Help yourself. Just made a pot.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Ripper’s been quiet for a while. Think we’re going to see another few months of silence?”
Dumping two creamers into her Disney cup, she filled it to the brim with dark java. The one thing the Colonist didn’t chintz on was good coffee.
“Who knows?” She took a sip and dwelled on the fact she was no closer to finding the Ripper now than she had been in February, after the first victim was found. At least with Sergeant Montgomery’s admission, she could strike one person off the list of 760,000 people who lived on Vancouver Island.
“Sure you’re okay?” Dominque asked, sitting down at the battered kitchen table with leftover copies of today’s newspaper and a box of Kleenex cluttering the surface.
Plopping down in the chair across from him, she nodded. “Yeah, just at a dead end.” She rotated her wrist to glance at her watch. Two in the afternoon. “Did I miss anything last night or this morning?” She hadn’t checked her messages yet on the Colonist reporting line, which she noticed was flashing on her desk phone when she arrived. She needed another cup of coffee before listening to them.
“The city seems to be holding its breath right now. I don’t know how you keep those articles coming in between the kills and always make is sound like something new.”
She lifted her mug as if in a salute. “Me either some days.”
Dominque’s brows rose. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Hey, did you see Marlene today? She sent me a text saying she had a lead for me.”
Her photographer bobbed his head. “Sure. She was in earlier. Told me she needed to find you, but I said you’d called in sick.”
“Hmm.” Mattie checked her phone, but Marlene hadn’t answered her text yet.
“Mattie?” The Colonist’s admin assistant leaned in the door. “There you are. There’s a man waiting for you in reception. Said he needs to talk to you.”
“What’s his name?” She didn’t feel like talking to some crackpot.
“Says he has something important to tell you, but he wouldn’t leave his name.”
“’Kay.” She dumped her coffee and rinsed the cup, shoving it back in the cupboard. She’d come back for a refill later. Whoever was waiting for her, would probably spend at least fifteen minutes divulging their theories of who the Ripper was which meant her coffee would go cold. And there was nothing more disgusting than cold coffee.
She walked toward reception, but stopped when she saw him sitting in her cubicle. He adjusted his shoulders and his green eyes searched hers.
“I’m not a hero,” Greg stated softly, gazing straight at her. He slowly wove a pencil between his fingers. “I live each day with no expectations.”
Mattie stepped into her workspace and leaned her bottom against the desktop. Greg’s eyes seemed haunted and cold.
“When I look at my life, I see a survivor. I see someone who keeps stepping into situations where I either do or die. I’ve screwed up many times. I’ve lost men. I let a woman I deeply cared for be beaten by my own brother. I don’t want to put anyone in the passenger seat of my life.” A sheen covered his beautiful gaze as it turned inward as if assessing his next words.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Last night was one of those ‘do’ moments, I suppose.”
He jerked his gaze from her and stared at the carpet. “No, it was the moment when I realized I wanted you to forget. To have one night of peace. I did too, but I’ve got so much damn baggage, I don’t think I’ll ever find enough space in my mind to pack it away. I want to. I try, but…”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?” he repeated slowly.
“I’m not an expert on this one-night stand stuff, but I hear the excuses can get pretty imaginative.” She reached out her hand, and he took it. “Now, get out of my chair. I have to write an article and I’ve got a bad case of writer’s block.”
He rose with her urging. “It’s not an excuse, Mattie.”
“Fine. I’ll walk you out. Come on.”
He followed, but he didn’t have much choice because she headed straight for the elevator. They rode down in silence, and she aimed for the front door then held it open for him. “I’ll drop by later to get my laptop and bag.”
Greg gripped her around the waist and muscled her outside. “Mattie, you’re still not safe—don’t put yourself in danger because I screwed up.”
“Just say goodbye. Have a nice life and go away.”
No matter how far apart they were, his handsome face would swirl in her mind fifty years from now.
She opened the door and turned a look over her shoulder. “By the way, just so you know, since no one ever bothered to tell you, nobody lives their life with expectations. They hope. Dream. Work hard, but the future is never written in stone for anyone. You know that phrase people throw around about if you love something set it free, if it’s meant to be, it’ll come back to you?”
He nodded warily.
“It’s a load of shit. And off the record, I think you’re full of it too.”
She turned her back on him and marched across the marble foyer. Every step she took was a jarring click of her heel as it crunched her brittle heart into broken bits and pieces.
* * * *
The Dark Angel was relatively empty at three in the afternoon. Greg motioned for his fourth drink, taking roost at the main bar. The club’s bartender didn’t attempt idle chat while he poured.
Greg tilted the heavy glass and the whiskey washed down his throat with a slow burn. Most customers of the Dark Angel didn’t start rolling in until eight or nine p.m. A few guests approached him, but he didn’t give the women a second glance.
Someone sat in the high stool next to him, and he prepared for another Sub to ask if he’d like to partake in a scene.
“My wife is not happy with either of us.” Austen’s familiar timbre growled out the statement.
“Drink?”
Austen ordered a scotch and palmed it between both hands. “To expedite matters, I’ll just come out and ask instead of downing a few of these, waiting for you to spill your guts.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Process of elimination once Kayla spoke with Mattie.”
He tipped the glass and poured the rest of the whiskey down his throat. “You two flying home?” Greg signalled for the bartender to fill him up.
“No.”
He turned a look across his shoulder. “You’re long past two weeks.”
Austen nodded and shot the same look back at him. “I can count, JTF.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “Why are you still here?”
Austen downed a healthy gulp of scotch. Greg used to think it would be a cold day in hell when he wanted to drink with Kayla’s husband. Guess hell just froze over.
“Problem is, my wife doesn’t work anymore. I convinced her to retire. And since she’s retired, she doesn’t have to leave. She then pointed out that the world will not fall apart if I’m not taking care of the whole fucking west coast special forces operation, but instead waiting for you to get your shit in order.”
He shrugged. “Don’t stay on my account.”
“If I leave, Kayla will end up neck deep in trouble. That’s who she is. I can’t expect to live with her for the next fifty years without her talking to me, so I do what she wants.” He took another deep swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. “Since I can’t be mad at her, I’m going to take it out on you. What the fuck happened?”
Greg shook his head. “Don’t know. I pulled away.”
“Why?” he asked harshly.
“She didn’t even try to talk me out of it. Didn’t ask me to spill my guts. Explain my past. Nothing.”
Austen blew out a frustrated breath. “Kayla is trying to convince her to stay at your place, but it should be you.”
“Mattie’s at work.” He sniffed and had another shot, still waiting for the numbing effect to take control. “She shoved me out the door of the Colonist and told me to have a nice life.”
“Gentlemen.”
They both turned a look over their shoulder to see a beautiful woman in black leather with her breasts exposed offering them an innocent smile.
“No, thank you,” Austen said. “And the answer’s the same for him.”
She nodded and backed away.
“Listen, Greg. I get it. At least part of it. Kayla had me tearing my hair out, she drove me crazy. But when I look back, fifty percent of the blame sat with me. I never had any intention of settling down. I accepted I’d never have a family. I’d lost every ounce of compassion I had. I was all in and there was nothing left but fight and fuck.”
He turned in his seat to face the man he respected and maybe hated just a little. “That’s not a life.”
“I know that now. My biggest fear was that I’d let her down, or die and leave Kayla with nothing but a memory. We’ve seen it too many times.” He turned his glass one full revolution. “You have even more on your plate, but if you’re going to take a leap of faith when it comes to love, you can’t plan the outcome or hedge the bet like a mission. You have to go all in and be damned with the past.”
He heard everything Austen said. Although he understood, it wasn’t the reason he’d backed away from Mattie.
Austen’s cell vibrated on the bar. He accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Before you pepper me with questions, I’m with Greg and he’s fine.”
“Am I on speaker?” Kayla asked.
Greg ran his fingers through his hair and prepared for what was coming. “Hey, Angel Face.”
“How are you?” she asked sweetly.
“Sitting at a bar having a drink with your husband. All’s well.”
“That’s nice.” Her voice curled tighter with each word. “Mattie’s here picking up her stuff.”
“Okay.”
“Okay! Okay? Get your fucking ass back here and fix this,” she shouted.
Both he and Austen flinched. What could he say, or do for that matter? He couldn’t explain himself. Couldn’t explain the curtain of cold uncertainty that descended over him when Mattie had called him a hero this morning. Of all people, she knew his story. His past. He was the farthest thing from being a hero. Somewhere in his muddled brain, he’d hoped she’d see his flaws. Accept him for his mistakes, not try to hang the title of hero around his neck like the girls who hung out at bars and hooked up for a jaunt in the sheets with a Special Operator.
Kayla waited for his response, but he knew her blood pressure was rising by the second. “It’s her choice.”
“She’s not thinking straight. I wonder why that is? Could it be that you’re being the world’s biggest jerk again? Anything to do with wooing her with syrup-covered words and sex? And then running away?” Kayla shouted.
Greg squinted and tossed a look at Austen.
“Hey, man. Women are the most mysterious creatures on the planet, but when it comes to guys, they’ll band together and rip us a good one when it suits them. No win mission.”
“Stay out of this, Thane,” Kayla growled. “Mattie is planning on meeting Stuart.”
Greg sickened at the thought. “I don’t want her to see him alone.”
“Then…get…your…ass…back here!”
Cells didn’t have the dramatic clank of landline phones when they hung up, but he knew Kayla had every intention of throwing her phone at his head when he saw her again.