After Love (12 page)

“Hmm…” She was lost in the sensation. Her hips slowly moved from side to side, rubbing against the hard swell of his erection.

Which, of course, only made it worse. He knew he had to step away or pick her up, carry her to the barn, and rip all her clothes off.

“Daddy, look at me,” Brad called out. “My pony can jump that log.”

Shit! So much for option two. Nick took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back, still keeping Jamie between him and the boys…to hide the growing bulge in his pants. “I'm watching,” he called back to Brad.

Jamie leaned on the fence in front of her.

Brad's pony trotted past and headed for a small tree that had fallen near the stream. The pony didn't really jump. It was more of a high step, but once on the other side, Brad was jubilant. “Did you see me, Dad? I made it!”

By then, Nick was much more in control of his body and his mind. “Great job, bubba.”

“Watch me, Daddy,” Brent demanded.

Nick watched his other son repeat the less-than-Olympic jump. “Way to go, Brent.”

“I've got sangria,” Grammy called from the porch.

That was enough motivation for Nick. “You guys be careful,” he shouted out to his boys. It wasn't the first time they had ridden without parental supervision. As long as they stayed in the small pasture, there was little danger.

Nick and Jamie joined the other adults on the front porch. He chose a rocker that had a view of the pasture, just in case. Grammy had a tall pitcher of sangria, loaded with fresh fruit. Harley found a spot on the cool Saint Augustine grass in the shade of a large oak tree just off the porch. He too had picked a spot where he could keep an eye on both the adults and the kids.

“I remember sitting here with my friends, watching you boys out there riding and riding for hours,” Grammy commented. A half-smoked joint was pinched between her fingers. “I would have to go out and drag you boys in for dinner.” She drew in another inhale from her joint before exhaling slowly.

Nick and Justin exchanged exasperated looks and shook their heads. It was contrary to the laws they had pledged to uphold. And yet…she was an old lady…and their grandmother.

“What have you been working on?” Nick asked his brother. It was easier to ignore Grammy's naughty little habit than to make an issue of it.

“They've got me tracking down some gang leaders. They're slippery, but sooner or later, they'll make a mistake. How's the drug business?”

“New customers born…and die…every day. I'm trying to find and shut down the killer loosie lab.”

“I've heard about those. It's kind of becoming an epidemic on campus, isn't it?”

“Ironic, since a lot of the students won't even eat gluten. They think loosie-gooseys are a healthy alternative to some of the other recreational options out there.” Nick put down his sangria. “Hey, Grammy, do you have anything stronger?”

“There's beer in the fridge.” Grammy leaned toward Jamie. “It's even worse when Luke is here. All they talk about is shop. Before they all signed up to go get the bad guys, I could entertain them with stories about Woodstock, Monterey, Newport….Hell, I was at all of them.”

“As a musician?” Jamie asked, genuinely interested in Grammy's fascinating stories.

“Not at those concerts. But when I wasn't singing, I was a groupie. Big time. Spent a week on the road with the Dead, Van Morrison, and Joni Mitchell….Those were the days.” Her wrinkled face relaxed into a gentle smile as she reminisced. It washed years away until it was easy to imagine what she must have looked like back then.

“Is life on a dog farm stressful?” Justin asked.

“At times,” Jamie answered. “Between the dogs and my brother, I have a lot of mouths to feed. I can handle most of the veterinary care, but there's the cost of medicines and shots. Since my husband died, the placements seem to run in spurts. I've been trying to get more ongoing contracts, but you know how it is when the government is involved…slow decisions and slower pay.”

“Well, this party sucks,” Nick said as he bounced to his feet. Jamie's dead husband popped into more conversations than if he had been sitting across from them. Feeling unreasonably grumpy, Nick suggested, “Let's go throw some horseshoes.”

“Twenty bucks says I score more than you,” Justin challenged.

“Only twenty? You must not be feeling very confident today,” Nick snapped back.

The two men jostled and punched each other as they walked to the horseshoe pit in the backyard.

Grammy nudged Jamie. “Boys never really grow up, do they?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Nick heard them, but he didn't turn around to defend himself. The two women had their own preconceived notions about men, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

Jamie tossed and turned for about an hour after she went to bed. Even though she knew she had to be up early the next day, she just couldn't get to sleep. She hadn't expected to have such a good time today. Grammy was a hoot, full of stories and words of wisdom, and Nick's brother Justin had been six-plus feet of eye candy. But it was Nick whose ruggedly handsome face was stuck in her mind.

The visit to the farm had shown her a whole new side of him. All signs of bravado and cockiness were gone when he interacted with his kids. His love for them glowed in his eyes, and the way he treated his grandmother, with respect and just a touch of exasperation, had been endearing.

Jamie would have never used the word
vulnerable
to describe the Nick she'd first met. Now she could see that nothing about that first impression was accurate.

Except that he was the most exasperatingly attractive man she had ever met. That was even more true with every minute she was with him. She knew it was only temporary, and soon enough he would be out of her life forever. She
had
to put him out of her life forever.

She flopped over to her other side and squeezed her eyes closed. He bothered her in ways she didn't want to be bothered. He reminded her how it felt to be truly live again…which made her feel guilty. What right did she have to feel alive when her beloved husband was dead? Was it okay for her to have a good time with another man when she had vowed to love Mike forever? Which reminded her about her friends-with-benefits plan. But that had nothing to do with love and would be temporary. Surely Mike would understand as long as her heart didn't get involved…which it wouldn't.

Jamie was looking forward to never seeing Nick again…just not yet.

Nick pulled into his assigned parking place at the DEA building. He unloaded Harley out of the backseat. This was the dog's first visit here, so his nose was busy checking out the smells as they went through the employee entrance. It was just after seven a.m., and the office was still quiet. The dog tag jingling on Harley's collar was the only sound as they walked down the hallway to Nick's office. They stopped at the restroom, where Nick filled up a large stainless-steel bowl and carried it to his office. He set it down next to his credenza. “Harley, down.” Nick pointed to the floor next to his desk.

Harley took a quick drink, then circled and lay where Nick had indicated, but facing the door. Nick smiled, gave Harley a pat on the head, and collapsed onto his chair. So far he and Harley were doing great together. Nick was still getting used to taking walks and cleaning up poop. That was definitely a downside. But he was kind of enjoying having Harley around. The unexpected bonus was that the dog was a babe magnet. Women who would normally have walked right past would stop and chat about Harley or their own dog.

Another of life's ironies. Women were crawling out of the woodwork, and he was hung up on the only one who wouldn't have him.

Nick shuffled through the papers on his desk and listened to his voicemail messages. Most he immediately deleted. Only a few he saved so he could call them later.

“So this is Harry?” Bobbi paused in the doorway. Today she was wearing a royal blue pantsuit with a bluebird pin on the lapel.

Harley stood and took a watchful stance, his head lowered and tail perfectly still. He didn't growl, but the hair down the ridge of his back bristled.

“Harley,” Nick corrected, then looked concerned. “Wish I could remember how to call him off. Should have asked that question, I guess. But we had only two days' training, so we had to skip something.”

Bobbi smiled. “Ha-ha, very funny.” She took a step into the room, then stopped as Harley's upper lip quivered, revealing a flash of large white teeth. “We're in the conference room….Come join us. Welcome aboard, Harley.” She looked at Nick. “Keep him on a leash.” Bobbi stepped backward until she was safely in the hallway, then turned and walked slowly away.

Nick laughed and petted Harley. “Good job, boy. You recognize trouble when you see it.”

He typed a text to Jamie.
Forgot to ask. How do I tell Harley to attack or stop attacking someone?
Nick stood, picked up the leash, which was still attached to Harley's collar, and walked toward the door. No words were needed as Harley walked against his left leg all the way to the conference room. Inside, Bobbi sat on one side of the table and a man sat across from her.

“Nick, this is Dean Turner. Dean is the dean of students at UT.”

Nick reached out and shook hands. “Dean…Dean.”

“Hard to resist, isn't it?” Dean smiled. “Call me Dean….We'll just keep this on a first-name basis.”

Nick sat in a chair in the corner facing the door and pointed to where Harley was to lie down. “Harley, down,” he said in a soft voice, and Harley complied.

“Good-looking dog. How old?” Dean asked.

Nick smiled and sat up straighter in his chair. “Three years.”

Bobbi spoke to Dean, but her gaze remained focused on Harley. “Nick will be leading the team to find and arrest the source of the loosie-gooseys being distributed at UT. Nick's our top agent, and now he's got a fully trained dog to help him.”

“Yesterday I was in San Antonio at the funeral of Manny Diaz. He died an awful death after smoking just one loosie. But as horrible as his death was, it paled in comparison to the grief on the faces of the crowd of mourners who packed the church.” Dean looked down at the table, shook his head, and fought back tears before regaining eye contact. “His parents told me how much Manny loved being a student at the university and how much they appreciated me coming to the funeral. No parents, no kids, and no university should ever go through that.”

Bobbi glanced at Nick.

Nick pulled a baggie of the specialty cigarettes out and slid it across the conference table toward Dean. “This is what the kids are smoking. Instead of tobacco, it has herbs and synthetic pot and tastes liked it's been soaked in cherry, apple, grape, and other juices. The darker rings in the cigarette's paper are laced with a synthetic drug that imitates THC.”

“The darker rings are the drug?” Dean asked.

“No…normal cigarette paper has those same concentric-circle striations….They're called
burn rings
. Regular cigarette makers put them every place there are different thicknesses in the paper. It controls the speed at which the cigarette burns, slowing it automatically when the smoker is not inhaling. The soaking of the paper in the liquid drug just darkens them.”

“They really stand out.”

“Yeah…We don't know if the drugs themselves are the killers because they're badly made, or if the concentration is inconsistent and sometimes so high that it's fatal, or if they're mixing some other shit in with the herbs. If we could get our hands on one of the tainted loosies, we could analyze it, but until then it's all speculation.”

“Why the flavored papers, Nick?” Bobbi asked.

“It confuses the dogs, unless they've been specially trained for this. Plus, it gives the impression that loosies are safe and healthy and fun.”

“Harley can find them?” Bobbi asked.

“Jamie worked on it a little, but he'll need more training.” Nick knew that guaranteed more trips to the barn…and that was all right with him.

“I guess I need to ask, what are your plans to get this stuff off the campus?” Dean asked.

“Well, we need to sit down internally and get it planned out,” Bobbi answered vaguely. “Let me assure you we will…”

Nick became distracted by the vibration of his cellphone. He pulled it out of his pocket but kept it below the table and away from Dean and Bobbi. The text message was from Jamie. He bit back a smile at the sight of her name on his screen. He hoped there would be more than just the answer to his question.
Re: Harley's attack commands…better if I demonstrate. When?
He thumbed the message back up and read it again and again, growing more excited by the moment at the prospect of all the things she could demonstrate. With his thumb, he typed back,
ASAP. Don't want him to kill someone accidentally.

“Nick? Do you agree with Dean?” Bobbi asked directly.

Wow. Now what? She sounded pissed.
What did I miss?
he thought frantically. Time for some Archer bullshit. “Of course…plans rarely go exactly as originally laid out. Dean is absolutely right, and we may have to adjust, but we have time to do that.”

Dean smiled. If he knew Nick had fudged his answer, it wasn't obvious. “I'm impressed, Bobbi. I have total confidence that Nick can handle this.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back. I'll let myself out.”

“Regulations, Dean…I'll walk you out.” Bobbi turned to Nick. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“So long, Dean.” Nick shook his hand.

“Keep me up-to-date, Nick. Don't make me go to any more funerals.”

“I'll do my best,” Nick promised, knowing that would be only in the most general terms. Some of his methods might not be college approved, and Nick's policy was that it was better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.

Nick checked the baggie of loosies to make sure it was tightly sealed, then returned it to his pocket. Harley noticed and stood up, his ears alert and his tail wagging. “Not today, boy. But soon. You and me, buddy, are going to kill this thing.” Nick bent over and rubbed Harley's ears. He pulled out his phone and checked to see if Jamie had replied.

“How's Harley dealing with the office?”

Nick looked up abruptly and saw that Bobbi had returned to the conference room. “Fine, I guess.”

“Look, Nick…don't ruin him by teaching him to want to go out every time you're in a meeting. Okay?”

Nick tried to look insulted. “Reading my mind now, Bobbi?”

“Are you two ready to get on this right away?”

“I need to go back and work on those attack commands. Plus, he could use a little more loosie-goosey training.”

“Good idea. What's your thought about this campus thing? Were you even listening?”

“Come on, Bobbi…I'm insulted. I'm your best agent and—”

“Were you?”

Nick had tried to stall, but Bobbi was a skilled interrogator. Nick gave up. “No. What did he say?”

“He said whatever you do, you can't come in with guns blazing….You need to blend in. Can you do that for a change?”

“I can do that. These guys are amateurs. That bar buy was nothing. I'll just go in as ex-military with some PTSD issues and Harley will be my service dog. Jamie was telling me they're excellent for that, so it'll be a great cover.”

“So you're okay with pretending to be a student?”

Holy shit, how much had he missed? “Uh…no. I was a crappy student when I still had all my brain cells. And I'm older than dirt now.”

“You've gone undercover with cartels and drug rings,” Bobbi snorted. “Surely taking a bullshit class and trying to buddy up to the kids isn't as dangerous as living in a box in Cartagena.”

“I'm not so sure,” Nick muttered. “Have you been on a college campus lately?”

“No,” Bobbi admitted, “but you can make it work. Dean said there are a lot of unconventional students at UT now. I think your best bet would be in the Creative Arts Department. It seems to attract the more…free-spirited kids.”

Oh boy, I'm going back to college,
Nick thought to himself without enthusiasm. He hadn't been all that crazy about it when he was eighteen. He doubted it had gotten better in the last eighteen years. But if this was the plan, then…“Sure, I'm in.”

“Okay, sign out some cash and have Terri issue you a burner phone. You're going to have to find a way to get people to trust you so you can make more buys and follow it to the source.”

“No problem…I've got a guy. We're going to make our own,” he told her.

“I don't want to know.” She shook her head and covered her ears. “I don't want to know.”

“He can make any strength…all safe.”

Bobbi put her hands on the table and leaned toward Nick. “Enough. Just get the bad lab shut down. And don't arrest any more congressmen's kids for caffeine possession. Oh, and don't let Harley bite anyone.” She looked down at Harley, who was giving her the evil eye. “Fuck, Nick…What did you tell him about me?”

Nick exited the registrar's office at UT with his backpack stuffed full of paperwork and a water bottle hanging from a chain. He was carrying a one-class load, which should be enough to provide an excuse to mingle with the students. Dean Dean had greased the wheels, so Nick's entry had been quick and smooth. With a student ID, he could do his real job unencumbered and without suspicion.

Nick hadn't actually been a student on a campus for many years, and the first thing he noticed was that the scenery had improved significantly. None of these girls looked or dressed like the ones he'd gone to school with. Not that any of them were giving him a second look. Nick was beginning to regret leaving Harley at home today, penned up in the kitchen of his townhouse. And it wasn't just because the dog attracted women. He and Harley had been companions 24-7 for the past few days, and Nick had gotten used to having the dog around. He even kind of missed having him by his side, which was weird because Nick never missed anyone or anything.

Except when it came to Jamie. He had kind of gotten used to having her around too. He wasn't sure when he would have time to get back out there, but he was hoping it would be soon. They'd exchanged a few texts, mostly about Harley, though none about what was predominantly on both of their minds.

For now, he had to focus on his integration into college. His first job was to locate Professor Hutchens in UT's Moody College of Communications and get formally admitted to his class in radio, television, and film studies. After all, who was more likely into drugs than liberal arts students hoping to be part of the entertainment world? Professor Hutchens taught a survey course for students that focused on “the intersections of class, gender, sexuality, and citizenship in the film industry,” as the catalog described it. No real tests, just watching movies and bullshitting about them…Seemed like a safe class.

Nick ran up the steps of the media center on West Dean Keeton Street in the heart of the UT campus. He was looking around for the room number when a beautiful blond coed, wearing barely-there shorts and a midriff-baring crop top, came up to him.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Sir! Jeez…how old does she think I am?
“Sure can…I'm looking for Professor Hutchens.”

“Cool…I'm heading to his class now. It's right down the hall.”

“Great.”

“I'm Sam.” She reached out to shake his hand.

“Hey, Sam…Nick.” Nick wasn't much for using a different name when he went undercover. Less to remember.

They went up another set of stairs to the second floor. “If you need someone to show you around, I'm available.” She flashed him a perky smile. In fact, everything about her was perky…perky little nose…perky, firm breasts, whose shapes were clearly visible beneath the clingy fabric. Even her hair was perky in a young–Meg Ryan kind of way.

“Oh…okay…sure. This is my first day, and I'm starting a week late. I could use a little guidance.”

“Here's Professor Hutchens's office.” They paused in front of an open door.

“Thanks.”

“See you in class,” she said with a flirty smile as she continued down the hallway.

After Nick got the all-clear from Professor Hutchens, including permission to bring his service dog with him on occasion, he found his classroom and took a seat near the back of the room so he could observe the students. Sam was sitting several rows ahead of him, between two beefy young men who were probably football players looking for easy credits. She turned and gave him a fluttery-finger wave and another smile. He nodded and returned the smile.