G-Men: The Series (158 page)

Neither Trace nor Lindsey were speaking to me and hadn’t been for three weeks. I was, as they say,
persona non grata
at the Trace Matthews residence.

Kicking me out was totally their prerogative, I got that. But why the fuck had I been forced to endure yet
another
one of Trace’s lectures?

He had even asserted that I had no fucking business being in the bureau, and that I had my head stuck so far up my ass, even he couldn’t pry it out. That was, if he had a mind to, which he said he clearly didn’t.

Oh. What.
Ever

I looked at my reflection. As bad as Trace had made me sound, I didn’t think that I really resembled the type of loser that he’d accused me of being.

Hell, I was in the best shape that I’d ever been in physically.

My arms and legs were toned nicely; my belly firm and flat. I was taller than Lindsey;
that
had to count for something, right?

My light brown hair was long and shiny; and my dark brown eyes resembled pools of liquid chocolate, or so some dude had once told me right after we’d shared sex and a blunt.

I wiped some perspiration from my neck with my towel, placed the free weights back into the slots in the rack, and grabbed the next heavier set of weights.

I planted my legs a bit apart just as Darin, my assigned trainer, had instructed. I started once again with the curls, making sure to inhale and exhale the way that he had recommended. It really did work. I used the oxygen to my benefit, just like he said that I should.

Okay, so things at Easton’s and Darcy’s weren’t as bad as they had been at Trace and Lindsey’s, but shit, I knew that Lindsey had filled Darcy’s head with pre-conceived notions about me.

The good thing was that Darcy didn’t give me pink post-it notes with daily chores scribbled on them. She at least had a housekeeper and gardener at her disposal, so that took me off the hook.

Still, it seemed that Darcy didn’t want to hang out much, or really converse a lot. Easton was always traveling, but hell, at least I wasn’t constantly being lectured.

I was getting an income from my internship, although it was nothing to brag about for sure. Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to be on my own and not accountable to anyone else, but that just wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I had to bide my time and save money along the way.

I glanced up at the clock. It was nearly five-thirty. At six I officially had to clock out, take a shower and dress for my office job at the bureau that was part of my internship training.

Once my training was complete, I would have an opportunity to apply for a permanent position with the bureau, and receive a bump in my salary. But hell, that wouldn’t be for another eight months.

I commenced doing squats with the weights, just as my mentor/trainer Darin came bouncing into the weight room.

“There’s my girl,” he called out, flashing me a smile.

Okay. That’s…different.

I’d spent a good deal of time pissing off Darin Murphy. Now for whatever reason, he acted pleased to see me. This immediately put me on alert.

Darin Murphy had been with the bureau for several years. Most recently, he’d completed an assignment in Alaska, of all places. I got the feeling that he hadn’t much cared for it. Now his assignment was to torture and humiliate interns, although he liked to refer to it as “coaching.” Though whenever he made said referral, I would always make sure to refer to him as “
asscrown”
in my head. And smile.

He was a hottie for sure, complete with an Irish temper that, unfortunately, I had been on the receiving end of more than once. He called me a ‘slacker’ amongst other things, and in all honesty, he was right.

“Cadet Matthews,” he said, coming up closer, eyeballing me to make sure that I was in the correct position and really challenging my muscles. “Glad to see you made it in on time this morning. I think you were mistaken when you told me that you weren’t a morning person.”

He followed that with a sexy wink.

Sweet Jesus - he is flirting . . . kinda . . .

His teasing statement was because I had actually used that
lame
excuse when he had jumped my ass the previous week about clocking in late for my seven a.m. personal workouts. So, like I said, my punishment was being assigned to an earlier time slot for the next few weeks. Not only that, but it was also now on “my time,” meaning I wasn’t on the payroll clock like I had been when I was scheduled at seven.

I had to hang with it or get kicked out of the program, and as much as this part of it, and agents like Darin Murphy who loved to bust the chops of newbies for the pure pleasure of it, was clearly not my cup of tea, I was still determined not to fail.

Why?

Because that’s what everyone expected me to do, my parents included. I sort of had a history of failure.

“Morning, sir,” I addressed him, continuing my repetitions, inhaling and exhaling in timed rhythm.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know that Agent Carpenter said you’re doing a good job in learning the database over in the lab. He said you’re actually fairly knowledgeable with the analytical instrumentation as well. I have to admit, I’m surprised a little.”

I looked over at him, quirking a brow as I finished the last repetition. “I
do
have a B.S. in Physics from Cal State,” I replied, putting the free weights back into their empty slots in the rack.

“So I saw when I reviewed your file,” he commented, giving me a boyish grin. “With a 3.87 G.P.A. to boot. Impressive. So, I gotta ask: why did you apply for the Visiting Scientist Program internship? Why not just apply for a job with the bureau and start making real money?”

I wiped the back of my neck with the towel. “Because I’m not twenty-three yet, Agent Murphy. I’m only twenty-two. But, by the time I finish this internship, I
will be
twenty-three. I guess I figured having the successful completion of the VSP on my resume just might bump me up a notch or three.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, and a devilish grin followed. “The operative words being ‘successful’ and ‘completion,’ Cadet Matthews,” he retorted, turning and heading back. “That’s totally in
your
court, babe.”

And it totally was.

And I knew it.

But why did Darin Murphy care?

^{chapter 3}

Apparently, Memorial Day was some sort of a customary celebration in D.C. I mean, yeah, I can recall growing up and having a long weekend to mark the start of summer. I even remember going to the local Memorial Day parade, but this holiday certainly seemed to be more than that here—at least with my semi-relatives it was.

“Hey Paige,” Darcy greeted as I strolled into the kitchen a little after ten a.m. to get my first cup of java. “Want to help me with some of this food? I could use someone to make the deviled eggs.”

“Sure,” I said, while adding a generous amount of creamer to my coffee.

I’d been up late, not getting in from Darin’s until the wee hours of the morning.

Yeah, that’s correct; I’d been doing my coach, which is probably not smart, but hey, there were no official rules against it at the bureau. It was simply that we had both ramped up the flirtations at work, and finally I could think of no good excuse not take Darin up on his invitation to stop by his apartment for beer and pizza one Friday night.

So far, I’d kept this quasi-relationship my own personal business, and thankfully, Darcy wasn’t one to pry. But, things with Darin looked to be going from ‘quasi’ to ‘possibly,’ so having been apprised of the fact early on that Darin had been in kind of a serious relationship with my host sister-in-law, it was probably smart to clue her in.

My caffeine fix in hand, I made my way to Darcy’s side and watched her torture some tomatoes as she sliced and diced. “So, why are
you
the one making the food for this barbeque, anyway? I mean, isn’t that why you have Martha Stewart working for you?” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

She laughed good-naturedly. “Her last name isn’t
Stewart
,” she replied, “Although, I can understand how you might draw that connection.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, grabbing an onion that was next to the freshly-washed vegetables next to the cutting board, “Those blueberry scones she makes for the ‘Lord of the Manor’ are fucking awesome.”

Darcy started laughing; wiping a tear from her eye that I was fairly sure was a result of the onion I was currently peeling, and not my reference to my oldest brother Easton.

“I swear Paige,” she said, “You freakin’ crack me up at times. I can’t understand why you and Lindsey seem to rub each other the wrong way. My God, Easton is uber uptight and you seem to hold your own with him.”

I was silent for a moment, contemplating what she’d obviously noticed. “It’s because Easton has no expectations of me,” I replied casually, peeling the next layer of skin from the onion.

“I don’t understand,” she said, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “I mean I know the whole deal about him not being a blood relative and all of that, but you still consider him your brother, right?”

“Actually,” I looked over at her and found that I now had her full-blown attention. “To be honest, blood or no, Easton really wasn’t around all that much. And considering the age difference between Trace and me is eleven years, well there you have it. I just don’t share that many memories with Easton, but I mean…it’s more than that, Darcy.”

“Go on,” she said, scraping her diced tomatoes into a bowl of drained pasta.

“Well, they both seem like brothers to me as far as
that
goes, but Trace treats me exactly the same way that my father does—did,” I corrected. “I just never seem to make the mark with either of them. Easton? Well he just says what’s on his mind, good or bad, regardless of who’s in the audience. I mean, I don’t think he’s harder—or softer—on me than anyone else.”

“I get that,” Darcy, replied, tossing the pasta salad. “I’m glad you realize that Easton isn’t a warm and fuzzy person by nature, and not to take it personally.”

“And I hear
that
,” I replied, smiling. I gestured toward the onions, “Sliced or diced?”

“Hmm? Oh, diced please,” she responded with a nod.

I started chopping away at the onions. “Darcy, I need to let you know something and now is probably as good of a time as any…it’s kind of, well—uncomfortable.”

“Go ahead,” she said, watching me.

“Well, the thing is, I’m seeing someone and you actually know this person. I would’ve said something sooner except that I felt it was just, you know, a purely casual thing?”

She nodded, adding several dollops of mayo to her pasta salad.

“Well, the thing is, I’m thinking now that maybe it’s getting to be more than just a casual thing with the two of us, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with—”

“Say no more,” she interrupted, a big grin going. “Lindsey is my best friend, but I’m here to tell you that I’m not nearly as provincial as she is. I appreciate that you haven’t brought guys over—I know she and Trace had issues with it, but what the hell? This place is like a freaking zip code of its own. Easton and I have no issue with you having a steady boyfriend in your life, and having him sleep over here occasionally. So it’s cool, okay?”

I looked over to where she was smiling as she tossed the rest of the seasoning into her pasta salad.

Well,
that
was a piece of cake
.

“Wow, thanks,” I replied. “But you need to know that the guy I’m talking about is…Darin Murphy.”

I turned back to chopping my onions, wincing as I heard the glass bowl that was full of Darcy’s pasta salad, hit the kitchen floor and shatter loudly.

^{chapter 4}

Okay, so the Memorial Day barbeque had been just a tad…
uncomfy
. Once Darcy had regained her ability to speak, she told me in no uncertain terms that it was in Darin Murphy’s best interest to never step foot anywhere near their ‘zip code.’

She explained that, while she no longer had feelings for him, Easton was a whole different story. She even confided to me that she suspected Easton of having had something to do with Darin getting that sudden assignment in Alaska.