A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2) (7 page)

“Tiffany is one of my good friends,” I say, my body warm and the ocean night air some of the sweetest smelling breezes on the planet. Life is good. I have a place on the ocean, more money than I need, and I run a tight ship. A night here and there of relaxing and having fun should be a part of my life, right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about how Lindsay’s bare thighs felt in my lap earlier today?

“I am?” Tiffany says, leaning forward. Her top is basically two gold Band-Aids connected by gold string. “I didn’t know you felt that way, Drew.”

“Sure do, Lindsay,” I reply.

Her face freezes into a mask.

“Tiffany,” Mark says softly.

“Right. That’s what I said.” Didn’t I?

Mark raises one eyebrow. Tiffany smiles, but it’s a cold look.

“What do you do for a living, Mark?” she asks, her hand on his forearm, deciding to make him her target.

“Oh, you know. A little bit of everything.”

“Are you a personal trainer like Drew?”

Mark’s drink sprays everywhere. “Like Drew?” he chokes, avoiding my eyes, thumping his chest as he clears his airway.

I flex my arm and let my biceps bulge. Why not? I may not want to sleep with Tiffany, but at least she has a healthy appreciation for my presence.

Unlike some other women I know.

Tiffany squeezes my arm and sighs with delight. “Oooo. So strong.”

Mark starts gagging.

“Wow! You really swallowed wrong.”

He just laugh-chokes.

“I
never
swallow wrong,” she says to him with a wink.

I start laughing so hard
I
choke.

We’re a pair.

“You two are out of control!” she declares with a laugh, reaching up for the fakest stretch I’ve ever seen, showing off the fakest pair of breasts I’ve ever had in my face. They look like two cantaloupes stretched under a skin tarp. “I’m getting so tired,” she says as she pretends to yawn along with the stretch.

“Me, too,” Mark whispers. “Tired of Drew the personal trainer.”

“You guys could easily lift me, huh? Being men who work with their bodies for a living.”

I’m thinking Tiffany works with her body for a living, but in a very different way.

“What do you do for a living?” Mark asks, making conversation.

“I do camera work,” she says with a wink. He doesn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Smart man.

My blood pounds like an electromagnetic pulse pointed straight up the coast to Lindsay’s father’s compound. The same wind that brushes my hair forward is the wind that blows on her face right now. Is she outside, staring at the stars? Looking at the ocean? Sleeping? Thinking of me and touching herself?

I’m already throbbing and have a piece of granite in my pants. Letting my mind wander doesn’t take any effort and it feels loose and fine. All the tightness left me long ago, the world swimming before my eyes. I could stare at the moon forever.

I could stare at Lindsay for even longer.

Why’d she lie for me? Creating that fake intruder story was pure genius. No one suspected she was making it up. Plausible deniability was built in. She was quick on her feet and convincing. Blaine could barely argue. In private, I’ll be crucified, but in public, he had to play the part of the poor politician attacked by some stranger.

By now, some PR person is giving this a positive spin. Hell, by morning Blaine will be hailed as a hero who took a punch or two to save baby kittens from being killed by Godzilla.

Still does nothing to explain
why
.

Why Lindsay covered for me.

Sure, the satisfaction of watching Blaine bleed was part of it, but not all of it. Lindsay’s acting in erratic ways, though she pulled it together for that stage performance next to the senator and Monica. How can she be that composed, and then fall apart in my lap, followed by such strategic thinking in the moment to cover for my lack of impulse control?

She’s a paradox.

She’s
my
paradox.

“Hey, you two. I don’t know about you, but I think this could turn out to be the night of my life,” Tiffany says, coming in with a sultry voice and a hand on my ass. I move out of reach. I assume she puts her other one on Mark’s butt, because he jumps and moves away from her.

“Sorry. My fiancée would kill me.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

Mark cuts me a look that could shatter diamonds.

“I have a girlfriend too, Tiffany,” I lie.

She frowns. “You never mentioned her before.” She’s caressing my ass again and moving close, pressing against me as I twist away. She smells so good, and her skin is soft and hairless. I
could
sleep with her. Just once. It would feel nice to disappear into someone else for a few minutes.

But I don’t want that.

The only person I want to do that with is Lindsay.

“I don’t share much about my personal life,” I grind out. Mark’s face is so serious. He looks like he’d rather shave his own balls with a rusty razor than stand here with Tiffany and me, talking about threesomes.

Frankly, so would I.

Tiffany sighs, a long, slow sound designed to give Mark and me a chance to change our minds. Her eyes jump between us, and then she drops her head slightly in defeat.

“The good ones are always taken. I hope your women appreciate you.”

I cringe inside, but keep my face neutral.

“Right.”

Mark gives me a neutral look and starts to walk back inside my apartment. “Carrie’s waiting for me.” He gives Tiffany a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Tiffany.”

“You got a brother, Mark? Maybe he and I...”

Mark laughs. “My brother’s engaged.”

“Oh.” Tiffany bats her eyelashes at me. “Drew?”

“Only have a sister. And she’s married,” I add pointedly.

Tiffany giggles. “I don’t swing that way.”

She clearly swings every way else, though.

“Well,” Tiffany says, looking away from us, staring out at the ocean. “My life could be worse than talking to a couple of hot guys and getting rejected. I could have saggy boobs, you know?” She sticks her chest out. “They’re good, right? The surgeon says I’m all healed from my lift surgery six weeks ago.”

Mark coughs and tries not to look. “They’re fine.”

Bzzzz.

My back pocket vibrates and I pull out the phone.

Gentian. A routine paperwork question.

I take the opportunity and look at Mark. “Work. We need to go.” I nudge my head toward my place. “Bye, Tiffany.”

“Bye, Drew. And nice to meet you --”

I close the door and run my hands through my hair while Mark tries to laugh silently.

“Girlfriend? Now you’re calling Lindsay your girlfriend? If she’s your girlfriend, I’d hate to see what a woman who really hates you looks like, Foster.”

I glare. “Fuck off, Paulson.”

“Threesome,” he gasps. “That’s a first.”

“Really? Even in the DEA, undercover...?” Mark’s worked deep undercover for years.

“Been hit on by guys. Loads of women. Never been offered a threesome, though.” He frowns. “Carrie’s going to hate hearing this.”

I don’t even ask why he’s telling her. I know his philosophy of relationships. You keep a secret when you need to, or when work requires it. Otherwise, you tell everything, because we already have to keep so many secrets.

Relationships are built on sharing and trust.

Trust.

Right.

Lindsay can’t trust me, and I don’t blame her.

And I can’t share everything with her because I don’t have a choice.

“Thanks for the very interesting evening, Foster. I came here to make sure you’re okay, and instead I got to be a judge on Best Plastic Surgery in Malibu.”

“Don’t ever say my jobs aren’t intellectually stimulating.”

“I think Tiffany’s over there intellectually stimulating herself right now,” he adds dryly.

“Gross.”

But we laugh.

“Tiffany’s a nice person. She just has boundary issues.”

“Don’t fuck her for the wrong reasons, Drew.”

I jolt. “Is there a
right
reason? I have zero interest in fucking her.”

“Good.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. But you’re so in love with Lindsay, and she’s so angry with you, that I can see how crazy it’s making you. And when we get crazy, we make bad choices.” He grimaces. “I know I have.”

“Right.” I’m still buzzing, and shutting down. My body twitches, calves spasming. I need to make love with Lindsay, beat off, or go for a ten-mile run.

Preferably all three.

“Look. I came over here to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine.” He lets out a bark of laughter and shakes his head. “Right. Just like we were all
fine
in Afghanistan.
Fine
is the stupidest word when it comes to describing emotional states.”

“You sound like my psychologist.”

“How
is
Dr. Diamante?” The question isn’t casual. I know what he’s telling me. Not asking.

Telling.

“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t had to see her in a while.”

“Might want to give her a call.”

“Might not.”

His nostrils flare. It’s posturing. He’s not my commanding officer any longer. In fact, I’m his boss. And my personal life and emotional state are none of Mark’s business. Nice of him to care, but he needs to butt the fuck out.

He sighs and reaches into his pocket, jangling his car keys. “Do what you want.”

“I always do.”

“But -- ”

I groan.

“But you almost got yourself fired today. Expect a text from the senator.”

“Already got one.”

“He’s pissed. Rightly so. Everyone’s pretending to accept Lindsay’s fake story about an ‘attacker,’ but that’s her one shot. Another mess like this and you’re toast.”

“You mean
she
is.”

“Yeah.” His voice turns sad. “Yeah. She’s in an impossible bind.”

I flinch. He frowns, puzzled, then pulls back, blinking hard.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

A vision of Lindsay bound and tied by those animals makes my blood race. The twitchiness overcomes all the alcohol in my system and I start to breathe hard. Grabbing a glass, I pour myself water from the pitcher in my fridge and guzzle it down.

Mark just watches me.

“You really love her.”

“Of course.” My voice comes out like ice chips, one piece per syllable. “You knew that.”

“It’s one thing to be told something. It’s very different to watch it.”

“That obvious?”

“You might as well wear her panties on your head.”

I’m in the middle of a swallow and come out choking, hard. That image is way better than my previous one, so I’ll go with that.

“Doubt the senator would appreciate it,” I cough out.

“You’d get fired. Surprised you’re not. And if you keep it up, Drew, you’ll be arrested for assault.”

“You’re playing the puritan with me? The guy who broke into his own father’s motorcycle club compound so he could rescue his brother’s girlfriend from a drug dealer who planned to take her virginity to cure his HIV/AIDS?”

He nods slowly. “When you put it that way, I’m a hypocrite.”

“When I put it ANY way, you’re fucking crazy.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “We both are. We know that. Always have been, especially since Afghanistan.”

“And since both of us had parents who died in mysterious car crashes.”

Mark’s eyes go dark. “And that,” he spits out. The coincidence was too pat to be anything but a careful targeting. Mark was already my commanding officer and delivered the news, followed by his own hollow story that mimicked what happened to my mom and dad, only it was his mother and stepfather.

Grief has a funny way of going underground when you’re in battle. They sent me home for the funeral. I grieved with my sister in private, handled a few legalities, and requested to be sent back to the front lines.

Lindsay was still on the Island.

I had no one to talk to back home.

Combat was a better place to express my emotions. Sniper training proved cathartic.

“Between my parents, your parents, and Lindsay’s brake line failure, looks like we’ve got someone in high places targeting all of us.”

“Us?” Mark grabs a glass and fills it with water, our conversation obviously not over. “You think I’m still some kind of target?” His eyes flicker with worry, then settle back into a blank stare.

“Not sure.”

“You think Carrie -- ”

“You live next door to your brother now, right?”

“Right.”

“He’s good?” Mark knows what I am really asking.

“He’d shred anyone who tried to touch Carrie or Allie. No training, but solid instincts.”

“He looking for a job?”

Mark laughs, tipping his head back, setting the glass down. “No. Chase has his life planned. No need to draw him into this.”

“And your dad?” Mark’s biological father was one of the deepest undercover CIA agents in agency history. He’d become a motorcycle club president in Southern California and had been instrumental in the assassination of the biggest international drug lord in U.S. history.

El Brujo.

Chase’s girlfriend had actually killed El Brujo, but credit went to Galt, to protect her.

“Galt’s gone. Well hidden, far from here.”

“Good. That’s where he should be.”

“Don’t want to talk about Galt.”

“Don’t want to talk about Lindsay,” I say, mimicking him.

He shrugs. “We need to figure out who’s behind all this, and if that means getting close to her to get info, you might have to do it.”

“Like you did with Carrie when you were trying to get her father convicted?”

He winces.

“I take that back.”

“You damn well better. I’m not jeopardizing my relationship with her for the sake of a mission.”

Cold eyes meet mine.

“Then you’re not the soldier I once knew.”

“Maybe that soldier wasn’t as good as you thought.”

I grunt.

“Drew.” He says my name like it’s a threat.

I turn away, going into my bedroom, ignoring him. He doesn’t follow, and by the time I’m in running shorts, a t-shirt, and have my hydropack water system on, Mark’s gone. I look out my front window just in time to see him climb into a giant black SUV, one I recognize from Harry’s security detail.