Love On The Ropes (Ringside Romance) (23 page)

“Jason,” he said. “My name is
Jason.”

“Also known as Jack the Stripper,”
she corrected. “Look.” She gripped her brother’s arms. “Everything’s okay. I’m
okay. Nothing happened here besides the cat having a psycho moment. You know
how she gets. Decker surely knows.”

All three of them glanced at
Decker, who visibly blushed at the reference.

If that pea brain was remembering
Sandy in nothing but her lace panties and bra, J was going to rip his heart out
through his chest.

“Everyone, calm down.” She was
looking at Jason as if she read his thoughts.

J stood and leaned forward
slightly as if readying for another assault.

“He’s Jack the Stripper?” Curt
confirmed.

“Yes.”

“He didn’t...” Curt shook his
head.

“He didn’t,” she said.

Well, if he didn’t, then what the
hell did she call last night?

Keep a lid on it, McBain. She
was using you, remember
?

“Huh.” Curt visibly relaxed,
leaning against the back of the couch.

“You sure this guy didn’t hurt
you?” Decker took a few steps toward them.

J glared. Decker stopped short.

“Are you kidding?” Sandy tightened
the belt of her robe, picked up the lamp and placed it back on the table. “The
boys would never hurt me—not if they want any healing time with my magic hands.”

Don’t think about her hands, Jason
warned himself.

“I guess she’s right.” Curt eyed
him with suspicion.

If he knew his sister at all, he’d
figure it out. But J sensed she kept her family at a distance, kind of like J
did the McBain clan.

“Most of the boys are wrapped
around her little finger,” Curt added to Decker.

Great, just what J did not want to
hear. She led all the guys around like lost puppies.
Touch me, heal me … make
love to me
.

He needed out of here.

“I’ll take a walk and give you
three some privacy,” he said.

“Oh no, you won’t.” Sandy grabbed
his arm. He stared at her fingers, but she didn’t let go.

“It’s cleanup time, Stripper.” She
smiled.

She knew the name grated on his
nerves. She was torturing him, having fun.

“Right.”

In complete silence, the four of
them picked up books, righted picture frames and put trinkets back where they
belonged. He wondered where she got this stuff: little statues of dolphins,
angels and cats. She would have been safer to keep ceramic cats as her only
pets. She wasn’t kidding about the bipolar Madame.

“Now do you believe me?” she
asked.

They all looked at her, but she
was eyeing Jason. “About the cat?”

“Hell, she’s worse than bipolar.
She’s maniacal,” Jason said.

Sandy, her brother and wanna-be
boyfriend burst out laughing.  

“What?” he said, defensive.

She pointed to the floor where the
crazed cat was weaving between his legs, purring and flirting.

“You!” he said, pointing.

The cat raced into Sandy’s
bedroom.

“Now you blew it,” Decker said.

“Nah,” Jason said. “She’s one of
those females that likes to play the game—flirt, tease, and rip you apart, then
she’s back for more.” He locked eyes with Sandy. Is that what they were going
to do to each other? Rip each other apart? No, he wouldn’t let it happen. He’d
leave first because he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her.

“You know a lot about women, huh?”
Curt tossed a pillow at Jason, who caught it and placed on the couch. “I know
enough.”

“You can never know enough,” Curt
said. “Trust me, I’ve been married eight years.”

“Nine,” Sandy corrected.

“Feels like twenty-nine.”

She threw a magazine at him.

“Hey! We’re supposed to be
cleaning up,” he protested.

“Be nice,” she scolded.

“I am nice. I broke in to protect
your honor, didn’t I?”

“Thanks, big brother.”

“What about me?” Decker asked.

Was that a pout on his face?

“You, too.” She walked over and kissed
Decker on the cheek.

J squeezed a picture frame between
his fingers. The bastard better not enjoy that kiss too much. There was no way
he was having her like J had her last night. No way in hell.

J glanced at the frame in his hand,
the glass splintered from one end to the other.

“Guess the cat ruined this one.”
He placed it on the bookshelf.

“Shoot.” Sandy walked over to it
and stroked the glass with her fingers. “Mom got me this frame from the school
craft fair.”

“You can replace the glass,” Curt
offered.

“I know of a place that does
custom framing. I can get you a deal,” Decker added.

Jason was going to be sick. “I’m
taking a walk.” He nodded at Curt, then Decker. He started for the door.

“You’re coming back, right?” Sandy
said.

The hope in her voice made him
turn around and search her eyes to gage her meaning. She glanced nervously at
Curt, then Decker, then eyed Jason. “I am responsible for you.”

Responsible, right, her job as a
BAM employee. Was last night her job as well? Keep the talent happy? Oh, no,
that had been her little experiment in unleashing the sexual dynamo that lived
beneath the faded jeans and tie-dye shirt.

“I’ll be back.” He snatched his
leather jacket off a chair and left.

Get focused. Remember why
you’re here
. He pulled the cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched
the speed dial.

“Totem.”

“It’s McBain.”

“Hey, man, what the hell? Meek’s
been asking about you.”

“Why?”

“You’d better talk to him.”

A few seconds passed, and his
supervisor came on the line.

“Agent McBain, I heard you were
brought in by the Feds for questioning,” Meek’s nasal voice squawked.

“I was set up.”

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t know Spike Hatskill was
part of the organization,” J said. “Would have been nice to know ahead of time.”

“You think he set you up for the
arrest?”

“Possibly.”

“And the girl you’ve been
targeting?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

No, I didn’t make passionate
love to her all night long. No, I’m not starting to care for her. No, she can’t
be a criminal.

“She didn’t have the opportunity
to set me up, sir.”

“I want you to bring her in.”

J squeezed the phone. “Why?”

“Bring her in. We need movement on
this one. Not only is our perp still supplying, but he’s setting you up for fun
and you haven’t a clue who he, or she, is.”

Sandy, handcuffed and brought in
for questioning? She wouldn’t be able to return to BAM, not while the
investigation was underway. It would kill her to be ripped from her pro
wrestling family, not to mention J still believed, on some level, that she was
innocent.

“Arresting her is a bad idea,
sir,” J said. “It won’t help us catch the leader.”

“So you think she’s simply a
distributor?”

What could he say? “Possibly. Not
definite. She distributes something, but Hicks hasn’t gotten back to me on the
composition.”

“But it’s drugs.”

“I think so. Yes, sir.”

“Bring her in.”

“After I confirm with the lab.”

“I could order you to bring her
in.”

“Which would blow my cover.”

“She wouldn’t be allowed to return
to the wrestling show. No one would know.”

“She’s not only an employee, her
family is part of this business. The entire business is one big family. Unless
you lock her up, they’d all find out.”

Silence. Shit, why give the jerk
ideas?

Lock her up? Isolation.
Loneliness. No mother to set her up on blind dates, no big brothers punching
out her boyfriends.

Is that how J thought of himself?
As her boyfriend? One thing was for damned sure: He was feeling an awful lot
like her protector.

“I’d like to finish this the
proper way, sir. Let’s wait for the lab results,” Jason pressed.

Silence.

Four, five, six seconds. Meek
thrilled at being dramatic.

“And if it’s not steroids?” his
supervisor said.

“What do you recommend, sir?”
Great strategy. Seek advice from The Great One’s miniscule brain. Cater to his
ego.

“Stick with her,” Meek ordered. “You’ve
already got her softened up, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She was soft, warm,
and beautiful.

“Good. Then she’ll remain your
mark. Report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead.

Okay, he’d bought a few more days.
For what? To prove her innocence, because he sensed deep in his gut that she
was an innocent, good-hearted woman who wanted to heal, not hurt. How could he
possibly know this? He just did. End of conversation with self.

But he had to prove it to be sure,
and to keep her safe.

He doubled back to her place and
stood outside, staring at the balcony, the same balcony where she found him
hiding this morning—hiding from himself, bastard that he was. He didn’t want to
leave without saying good-bye, but knew he shouldn’t stay. He thought she’d
wake up with hope in her eyes and love in her heart. Instead, she’d awakened
with a newfound independence and power.

Because of his lies.

“You really are a bastard,” he
muttered, climbing the stairs to her place.

Okay, time to focus on the plan:
be polite to her big brother and wanna-be boyfriend, get them to leave, and
force her hand by asking point-blank for the little white pills she so freely handed
out to wrestlers.

He got to her door as the guys
were trying to fix the lock. “I need my tools,” Curt said, turning to leave. He
came face-to-face with Jason. His jaw hardened and he blocked the doorway.

“Jack the Stripper, huh?” he said.

Jason held his position. Didn’t
answer.

“Well, Stripper, I’m not thrilled
with the arrangements, but I know I can’t change my sister’s mind about
anything so I won’t waste my breath. You should know, however, that if you hurt
her in any way—”

“You’ll kill me,” J finished for
him.

Curt smiled. “That, too.”

He brushed past him with enough
force to make J take a step back. Decker followed, puffing out his chest as if
to add, “What he said.”

J suddenly knew why the Madame
wanted to rip off Decker’s hairpiece.

“She’s taking a shower,” Curt
added over his shoulder. “I told her to lock the door and put her hope chest in
front of it.”

“And the cat’s in there with her,”
Decker warned.

“Got it,” J said.

“We won’t be gone long,” Curt called
from a few steps down. “I hope to get the door fixed in a couple of hours.
Speaking of which, she’s got stuff in the fridge. I’ll have a turkey sandwich
on wheat, hold the mayo.”

Was he kidding?

“I’ll have roast beef,” Decker
added.

In a second J was going to clock
them both. Big brother chuckled as they disappeared out the front door. J hovered
in the hallway. He should stay here, not go into her condo. But there was one
last thing to do.

He crossed the threshold and did
his best to put the door back in place. Curt had done a number on it,
practically ripping the hinges off.

That’s what loving a woman does to
a guy. It makes him into an animal.

J’s love wasn’t honorable like a
brother’s, though. No, it was desperate and intense and dangerous.

Time to get this over with. Either
catch her with the drugs and take her in, or clear her from his list of suspects.
He sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath. If he scratched her off his
list, he could move on, find another lead and rid himself of this constant
guilt.

Meek’s words taunted him:
You’ve
already got her softened up, right?

Sure he had her softened up,
trusting him enough to accidentally slip and give him critical information to
help zero in on the perp, and find the bastard who set him up.

He leaned forward and ran his
fingers through his hair. Man, he still couldn’t believe someone had the balls
to plant steroids in his duffel. They couldn’t have known he was a cop, right?
Or was that the point? Did the guy want to let him know his cover was shot to
hell?

At least the Feds had been
cooperative. They went along with the ruse of releasing him into Sandy’s
custody, giving him the ability to stay close to her for another few days.

He wasn’t sure how many days—and
nights—he could stand. How would he survive?

“It’s not that bad,” she said.

He looked up and his breath
caught. She was wearing a tight green T-shirt that read Nature’s Way, and
snug-fitting jeans.

“You don’t look so good.” She
kneeled beside him. “Can I get you something?”

This is it, the chance he’d been
waiting for.

“Nah. I’m worried about not
getting to the gym.”

“Hmmm.” She nodded, searching his
eyes to check the dilation.

“I could use some of your magic
pills,” he said, hoping she would just sell him some steroids; he could arrest
her and move on.

“Magic pills?” she said.

“The little white ones?”

She smiled. “Yeah, you probably
could use a few of those.”

She went into the bedroom.

His chest tightened with
anticipation. Cuffs, he didn’t have his cuffs. Wait, he couldn’t arrest her for
giving him the pills. He had to know what they were first. Damn, why didn’t
Hicks call with an answer?

Did it matter? Jason knew this
girl couldn’t be a drug dealer.
Listen to your gut, McBain
. Or was that
something south of his gut that was making the argument?

She practically floated back into
the room, holding a glass bottle of pills.

“Here.” She tapped two into his
palm.

“If I take these I can work out
less, right?”

“Nothing takes the place of a good
workout. You know that.”