Born Ready (20 page)

“Mmm.” Jackie moaned. “I think that key lime cheesecake is going to bring me to a second orgasm.”

Scott grinned. “Here. Let’s push you over the edge. Have another bite.”

“You’re the devil, you know that?” she said and swallowed another mouthful of cheesecake.

You’re getting in too deep. You gotta put a stop to this while you still can.

She knew it was true. Scott was making her feel things that threatened to upset everything she’d built. She handed him the container of cheesecake. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “That’s enough for me.”

Quickly, her chest tightening with emotions she did not want to examine, Jackie got to her feet and began picking up her clothes. She couldn’t believe how dumb she’d been about him.

“Jackie,” he murmured.

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look at him as she pulled on her cutoff blue jean shorts.

“You’re running scared again.”

“No.” She shook her head. Denying it to both of them. “I just have work to do.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of.”

That is where you are so wrong.

“Just talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.” He came to stand behind her. He was still naked, his clothes strewn over her apartment.

“You shouldn’t have come here today,” she whispered despondently. “I didn’t want you to come here today.”

“And yet, you let me in.”

“It was a mistake.”

He took hold of her shoulders, turned her around and forced her to look into his face. “Was it?”

She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to get rid of him. To protect herself. He had the potential to destroy her completely. “I told you from the beginning this could be nothing but casual sex.”

“I told you I was fine with that.”

Jackie drew in a shaky breath. “But here’s the deal. I’m not.”

“You’re not?” His eyes lit up with the fire of hope and Jackie knew it was true. He did want more than a casual fling and she simply could not risk everything she’d ever worked for on the possibility of some unobtainable dream.

“But it doesn’t matter what I want. You’re not what I need, Scott Everly. You’re a distraction and before this thing grows out of control, I think it’s better if we cut all ties. I wish you a very happy life, but now it’s time for you to leave.”

TWO DAYS AFTER Jackie kicked him out of her apartment for bringing her food, Scott sat on a bar stool at the Conch Café nursing a beer and thinking about Jackie. His ego stung. He thought they’d had fun. He’d had fun.

Face it. She’s too busy for more than a quick roll around the aquarium. No muss. No fuss. Let it go.

Except, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to turn loose the thought of her.

Yes, Scott’s six-month-long dry spell was over. He should have been happy.

He was not.

For one thing, he could not get Jackie out of his senses. His fingertips had absorbed the memory of her skin. Whenever he rubbed them together, they still tingled with the feel of her.

He could smell her, too. Unique, surprising, womanly. The flavor of her lingered on his tongue—slightly tart, yet sweet, crisp and fresh as lemonade. Yes, her taste reminded him of fresh-squeezed lemonade. And there was the sound of her laughter. Soft and low and thoroughly original.

So what? She made it clear she didn’t want anything more from you than sex. And here’s the thing, buddy, is it really anything more than sex? You know how you get. Once you make love to a woman, it’s like popcorn at the movies. You’ve got to have it. What’s wrong with just sex?

Nothing.

There was nothing wrong with just sex, but he was starting to feel a lot more for her than that, and he wasn’t ready to go there.

Good thing she put on the brakes. Excellent job, Jackie.

Scott took a sip of beer, stared brooding at the sun hovering on the horizon. Damn sunset. Why did it have to be so brutally romantic?

He was keeping his distance. Just like Jackie wanted. Although every morning he kayaked past her research site in the mangrove channel hoping to find her there, but no dice. During the day, his mother and Megan kept him busy. Sending him on wedding-related errands. But in the evenings, he had nothing to do but think of Jackie.

Gorgeous Jackie Birchard.

“Want another beer?” Tad asked.

“I’m good.”

“Just let me know when you want a refill.”

“Will do.” Scott nodded.

At the other end of the bar were some rowdy frat boys cutting up. They shoved each other and a beer bottle shattered against the tile floor.

“Your customers call.” Scott inclined his head toward the drunken trio.

“Hey, hey,” Tad yelled and snapped his fingers at the guys. “Support your local Coast Guard. Get lost.”

“Huh?” It took the dense frat boys a few minutes to realize they were being thrown from the bar.

“Whaddya mean?” asked one of the frat boys.

“That’s one broken beer bottle too many.” Tad pointed toward the door.

“Says who?”

Scott tensed with interest. If Tad needed help, he’d be happy to help disperse those bozos. Maybe a good fistfight was exactly what he needed to clear Jackie from his head.

“Never mind,” mumbled the frat boy who’d broken the bottle. “Let’s get out of this dump. Service sucked anyway.”

To Scott’s disappointment, they wandered off. Tad got a broom and dustbin from the back room and went past mumbling, “Tourists.”

As the frat boys staggered out, a familiar face wandered in. Scott took another sip of beer as Carl Dugan in uniform took the empty seat next to him.

“Wanna beer? I’m buying.”

“Let’s get a table on the patio. It’s more private,” Carl suggested.

“Sure.”

They found a table outside. Scott couldn’t help noticing it was right next to the table he’d shared with Jackie. He shrugged off that thought and buttonholed a passing waitress to place an order for Carl’s beer and an appetizer plate of soft-shell crabs.

“How’s the investigation going?” Scott asked.

“Not great.”

Ah, something interesting he could sink his teeth into. Something to do besides mooning over Jackie Birchard. This was exactly what he needed. Scott sat up straight. “What’s up?”

“We arrested a young woman in the mangrove channel with five kilos of coke in her boat.”

“That’s great news!”

“Except that we have no way to tie her to DeCristo. She’s refusing to talk. I’m more certain than ever that he’s got stealth technology on a drone submarine, but I have absolutely no way of proving it.”

Scott ran a hand over his jaw, gone scruffy with beard. He hadn’t bothered shaving since the night Jackie told him to get lost. “There’s gotta be a way to trap DeCristo.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Carl spread his palms. “How do you catch a ghost? He uses mules and pawns and minions. Never gets his own hands dirty.”

Good question.

“What about the tourist you arrested? The one who spilled his guts to cop a plea bargain? Do you think we could use him to set up some kind of sting operation?”

Carl tilted his head. “What do you have in mind?”

“Could you swing it with the D.A. to get the charges reduced if the guy agrees to help us nail DeCristo?”

“I’ll look into it.” Carl took a slug off his beer. “Let’s say the tourist agrees to act in a sting and we get the D.A.’s backing. How would we swing this?”

“That would be the tricky part.”

“You’re telling me. DeCristo is slippery as an eel. I mean, c’mon. How did he get his hands on stealth technology? He’s got friends in very high places and it’s going to take a lot to lure him to the States. He’s not stupid. He’ll send henchmen.”

“What’s his biggest weakness?”

“Money?”

“Yeah, but go beyond that. What drives him?”

Carl gave it some thought. “Pride?”

“He’s got an ego the size of South America.”

“So how do we use that to our advantage?”

“That’s something to ponder.”

“We have to find a way to get our hands on that submarine. He thinks he’s got us outfoxed.”

“He does.” Scott paused. “So far.”

“Any thoughts on how we can get a bead on this invisible submarine?”

“He’s got to have some kind of shipment schedule,” Scott said. “Perhaps we can piece together the timing of his shipments between what your informant tells us and the behavior of the girl you arrested. Even if she won’t talk, her actions speak volumes. We can track her movements over the last few months, see if we can uncover a pattern. I bet we can paint a picture of when and where the deliveries are occurring. Here’s a thought. What if instead of the tourist to spring the trap we convince the D.A. to let the girl go so we can track her.”

“I wish I could,” Carl said. “But I don’t have the manpower for that.”

Scott held his arms wide. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Megan’s wedding is on Saturday.”

“I’ve got Wednesday and Thursday to get started.”

Carl pondered this. “Okay. Speak to the D.A. and see what you can arrange.”

Scott rubbed his palms together. “I can’t wait to get to work.”

And to fill my head with something besides Jackie Birchard.

11

Support your local Coast Guard…get lost.

—Tad Winston, bartender at the Conch Café and Coast Guard wannabe

JACKIE MADE GOOD USE of her Scott-less time. She wrote fifty pages on her dissertation. Spent hours at the library. Checked on her monitoring equipment in the mangrove channel twice a day. Each time making sure to go at noon, in spite of the sultry heat because she knew Scott kayaked the mangrove channel in the morning and she didn’t want to risk running into him.

Things were cruising splendidly. She made up for the time she wasted hanging out with him. Especially because she was having trouble sleeping. When she lay in bed, all she saw was Scott’s face. She tasted his kisses. Felt his body moving inside hers. Her treacherous libido whispered, asking her to phone him for a booty call, but she didn’t want to stir things up again. This would pass. All she had to do was wait it out.

On Wednesday, she padded to the refrigerator to get something to eat for lunch. Scott had rubbed off on her and she realized he was right. If she didn’t eat on a regular schedule she couldn’t stay healthy enough to do her work.

But there was nothing in her fridge except a bottle of ketchup, a pint of milk on the verge of going bad and a stick of butter. The pantry was equally bare. She’d polished off the last of her corn flakes that morning. She was going to have to make a trip to the market.

It’ll do you good to get out of the house. You’ve been holed up for days.

Yes, it would do her good, but she hated shopping. Sighing, she slipped on flip-flops, grabbed her house keys and walked to the convenience store at the end of the block.

Once she was outside, she saw there was some kind of street festival going on. Tourists in Hawaii shirts, fanny packs and sandals thronged the sidewalks. The street had been blocked off with sawhorse barricades. Kiosks had been set up, selling everything from seashells to seascape art to birdhouses, wind chimes and whimsical yard flags.

Food carts sprawled lazily in the mix. The smell of sizzling fajitas mingled with the fragrance of hot dogs and funnel cakes. Kids licked ice-cream cones or frozen limeades. Parents carried beer, wine, iced tea and sodas.

The convenience seemed suddenly miles away. Jackie decided to grab a turkey leg and head back to the apartment. She could go shopping when the street festival was over.

She moved to queue up at a kiosk selling roast turkey legs and chicken satay and steak on a stick when she heard a familiar laugh. A thrill of excitement ran up her back, immediately followed by panic. She’d know that laugh anywhere.