Without Compromise (3 page)

              “You climb all over buildings and rooftops, crawl in windows, bring food to men who insult you,” he paused for a moment. “Hide from harmless accountants.”

              Josie wrinkled her nose as she left the kitchen, “Do you think he’s gone?”

              He followed her to the front door, carrying his plate of food, “I think he’s harmless, is what I think.”

“You don’t understand,” she spoke in a whisper. “If he sees me in this uniform, he’ll figure out what time I’m going to class.”

              Tag had to think about why that made any difference.

He suddenly remembered Al’s recent fascination with martial arts.

He laughed, “Has he made a nuisance of himself?”

              She glared back at him, clearly not enjoying the joke.

              “Why don’t you just ask him to stop?”

              She wrinkled her nose, “He’s just so. . .”

              She didn’t finish her thought, so he filled in for her, “Persistent?”

              “Pathetic,” she clearly regretted the word as soon as it slipped out.

              He tried to swallow his laugh and nearly choked with the attempt. This woman was full of surprises.

              “May I use your window?” she sighed.

              He shook his head, “No way.”

              She folded her arms across her chest, “Why not?”

              Mostly because he wanted her to stay.

“You could get hurt.”

              “I’m not going to get hurt.”

              “How about I just walk you to your car?”

              “Pfft,” she dismissed that idea.

              “What?”

              “I didn’t drive,” she informed him.

Josie tightened the ponytail in her hair and lifted her hood so it all but hid her face.

Tag thought it was a pity she would cover up such a face and wondered briefly why she chose such an ugly article of clothing. Then it dawned on him what she was trying to accomplish.

              “That’s why you were in such a hurry to get out of here yesterday,” he pointed a finger at her. “You were afraid of Al catching you.”

              “No,” she argued. “I was late to class.”

              Tag smirked, “That is one ugly sweatshirt you’ve got on there, Miss Drake. Care to explain your reasons for that choice?”

              “It’s comfortable.”

              “I’ll bet it’s also very warm.”

              She agreed that it was.

              “Though that can’t possibly be a plus at this time of year,” he prodded.

              “It’s been a cool spring.”

              “This is true,” he leaned against the wall so he could more easily see her face under the brim of the hood, “but you didn’t wear it because you thought you would be chilly without it.”

              He could read the skepticism in her eyes.

              “It’s probably the only sweatshirt you have that is two sizes too large – probably belonged to an old boyfriend or a brother.”

              She folded her arms over her chest, “I don’t have a brother.”

“So we’ll stick to the boyfriend theory.”

She shook her head, “It was a freebie at work, and this was the smallest size they had available.”

Tag was pleased she had shared that with him.

“Wherever you got the horrid thing, he’ll never recognize you in it. So it’s served its purpose.”

              “You’re ridiculous,” she snorted at him.

              Tag liked the sound, but he’d really like to hear a real laugh from her.

              “I gotta go,” she opened the door.

              “Wait,” he didn’t know what made him stop her, but he wasn’t ready for her to leave yet.

              “What?” she was irritated again.

              “It’s getting kind late to ride the bus,” he floundered for something to keep her there a little longer. “I’ll drive you home.”

              “I’m not getting in a car with you; I don’t even know you.”

              “You’re in my apartment.”

              “A fact I intend to remedy right now.”

              “The bus is five blocks from here.”

              “I’m not taking the bus,” she exited the apartment and tried to pull the door shut, but he stopped her.

              “How are you getting home?”

              “The same way I always do – walk.”

              She managed to close the door then and was down the stairs before he could stop her. By the time he got outside, she was half a block away.

              “Josie,” he yelled after her.

              She stopped and turned around. She was standing directly under a streetlight, but, due to the outlandish hood, he couldn’t see her expression. He hoped she wasn’t annoyed that he was tagging along.

              He jogged up to her, “At least you didn’t run this time.”

              “I should have.”

              He was glad to hear that she didn’t sound irritated.

              He started walking in the direction she had been heading, “I would have caught you this time.”

              She followed him slowly, “You think so?”

              “Third time’s a charm.”

              She shook her head, “You can’t catch me.”

              He snaked a hand out and grabbed hold of her arm, “Caught you.”

              Startled, she broke away with a sharp twist before turning to plant her opposite fist in his chest.

              The blow hurt, but Tag was not a novice mugger who had misjudged his target. He responded reflexively – and well – by grabbing her wrist and spinning her around, encasing her in a vice-like grip with her back firmly trapped against his chest and his forearm like a band across her chest.

              The interplay surprised both of them, and each party was breathing raggedly at the end of the exchange.

              “I’m sorry I scared you,” he spoke softly in her ear.

              She didn’t answer him.

              He released her.

              Josie staggered away from him, “Sorry I hit you.”

              He shook his head, “I deserved it.”

              She resumed walking, but he was not sure if she had recovered.

              He tried to open a conversation, “How far do you live from here?”

              “About two miles,” she offered the information willingly, but she did not elaborate on that nor did she seem open to continuing a conversation.

              He thought quickly – mentally charting out the streets to figure out what building she could possibly be in.

              “Listen,” she widened the gap between them, “this has been nice, but I gotta go.”

              He kept walking, “Nobody’s stopping you.”

              She pulled the hood from her head and looked off in the distance.

She pointed, “You see that bridge?”

              He barely had time to look and nod before she took off running for it, scaled the side like Spiderman, leapt the guard rail and disappeared across the street. Tag was torn between being irritated and impressed.

              He walked slowly back to his building, hands shoved in his pockets.

CHAPTER FOUR

Josie felt bad about leaving Tag like that, but she wasn’t going to lead the guy to her door. He didn’t seem like the ladies’ man that Molly claimed he was, but he was likely off his game after chasing her over rooftops. Josie trusted Molly’s assessment of the guy.

She dropped in at her agent’s office over her lunch break the next day.

“You wanted to see me, Ken?”

“Yeah. I got another call from Bert.”

Josie shook her head, “Not interested.”

“Not even if you could work for Grant?”

“I’m not an actress, Ken. I’ve told you this over and over. I would destroy the movie.”

He leaned back in his chair, “How is that even possible? You’re pretty, smart, articulate; you’ve got a great body. It really only takes two of those to make it.”

She laughed, “You’d better not say that too loudly. You’ll be on the hit list of every actress in Hollywood.”

“Why don’t you give it a try, Josie? Just do a screen test.”

She shook her head, “Thanks, but no. I like the stunts – I’d hate the acting.”

This was a conversation they had been having for two years – ever since Bert Randall, a casting director, came and watched her on set. Bert thought she would be perfect for a couple roles he was trying to fill, Ken thought he would like the extra income, and Josie thought taking those jobs would ruin a perfectly good career in stunts.

Ken sighed, “I do have something else for you,” he slid a folder across the desk.

She opened it up, glanced at the contents, and looked wide-eyed up at Ken, “Really?”

“Really. You’re the right height and build.”

Josie’s eyes skimmed the details again. The project before her was a dream job, and, though she still needed to audition and interview, it spoke volumes that they were even considering her.

She looked back at Ken, “But Leah’s done her stunts since season one.”

“Leah’s not doing it now. Rumor has it she’s pregnant. Couldn’t say if that’s true, but they called me last night and asked if you wanted a shot at it.”

Josie didn’t need to think about it, “Absolutely.”

Ken nodded and picked up the phone, “I’ll set it up and give you a call.”

She left, dialing her phone as she hurried out to her car.

“You busy, Mol?” she asked as soon as her sister answered.

“Nope – just waiting on a quiche.”

“I just got asked to audition for the stunts for Jessica Morris.”

Molly squealed, “For
The Force
? You’re going to be working on
The Force
?”

“I am,” Josie drove toward the studios for her next shoot.

“Well,” she backpedaled, “we’ll have to see how the auditions go. Ken is working on setting up a time for that even as we speak.”

“My sister is going to be on the coolest cop show on television,” Molly crowed to nobody in particular. “I am so posting this on Facebook.”

Josie laughed, “Can you just hold off until I actually sign the contract?”

“Fine, “Molly sighed, “but you’d better call me the instant it happens.”

Josie hung up and entered the studio gates.

“Hello, Miss Drake,” the guard opened the door for her. “You ready to go fall off a train today?”

Josie shrugged, “I think I’m just climbing fences today, Hank.”

He waved at her and sent her on her way.

She had plenty of energy for the first dozen times over the fence, but the kid who was supposed to be chasing her was having trouble getting his part right.

Josie was sweating so much Hallie had to reapply her makeup partway through the shoot.

“Rand said you’ve done that sequence at least twenty times,” she dabbed at Josie’s skin with an astringent.

Josie thought she had counted twenty-three.

“Maybe they need to get Pete back in here to finish the stunt,” the makeup artist suggested.

Josie knew Hallie had a little crush on Pete, so she didn’t mention that Pete was about a foot too short for the part they were filming today.

“Andy’ll get it,” Josie remembered her early days in the business. “He hasn’t been at it long.”

Hallie shrugged as she finished up, “I just hope you can hold out long enough for him to get it right.”

Josie did too.

“Back in five,” Grant’s assistant warned them.

Hallie patted Josie on the shoulder, “Go show him how it’s done, lady.”

Josie did show Andy how it was done – four more times. She wasn’t sure if he finally got it right or if Grant just gave up on him.

She was so exhausted by the end of the shoot that she skipped hapkido and went straight home.

She rode the elevator up to the third floor and turned the corner toward her apartment. She stopped suddenly when she saw a man at her door.

Digging through her purse for her keys, “How’d you find me?”

Tag raised his eyebrows, “I always figured you for a stairs girl.”

She pushed him aside and unlocked her door, “I’m tired.”

He leaned against her door frame, watching her go in and set her gear down, “Can I come in?”

She considered it for a moment, “I suppose.”

He did so, closing the door behind himself, “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” she didn’t bother turning on the lights. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course. You always walk around in the dark?”

“It’s only five. It’s not dark yet,” she said as she took off her jacket and sat down, “and my head doesn’t hurt as much when the light is dim.”

Tag took the seat across from her, “Hard day?”

“New guy at work,” she leaned her face into her hand, trying not to think about how many times it took for Andy to get over the fence smoothly.

“You want to talk about it?”

She couldn’t stop the grin, “Is this your M.O?”

“For what?”

“For picking up women? Stalk them and then listen to their problems. What’s the next step?”

He huffed, “I’m not trying to pick you up.”

“Okay,” she yawned.

“You want me to order you a pizza, Chinese?”

She shook her head, “No. I’ve been thawing chicken in the fridge, and I need to use it.”

He stood up, “Can I do something with it for you?”

She rose as well, “Do you even know how to cook?”

“I can make omelets.”

“You’re not making omelets out of my chicken,” she assured him as she pushed past him to get the meat from the fridge.

He stood back while she broiled the chicken, but he willingly cut the vegetables she handed him.

“You never told me how you got past Irwin,” she referred to the doorman.

“I didn’t? Have you lived here long?”

She ignored that, “Do those evasive techniques really work for you?”’

“Yes,” he answered that question directly.

“Irwin?” she prompted.

“He seems nice.”

She threatened him with her spatula.

Tag grinned, “I showed him my badge.”

She frowned, “Isn’t there a law against that – illegal search and seizure or something?”

He popped a pepper into his mouth, “This would probably fit better into unlawful entry.”

She managed to hold back her smile at his casual tone.

“I should call the cops.”

He nodded, “You probably should. Maybe they’ll send the SWAT team out.”

She leaned over and looked in the oven to hide the smile she couldn’t stop.

“I’m going to cut off a finger like this,” Tag complained as he chopped, the knife making more noise than necessary as it hit the cutting board. “And I won’t even know because it will be too dark to see.”

“Poor baby,” she taunted as she flipped on the kitchen light.

“Aarg,” he complained, wincing. “Now you’ve blinded me.”

She rolled her eyes and lifted the plates off the counter to set the table.

She had her back to Tag, but she heard the chopping cease. She turned around with a smile.

“Finally done?”

He wasn’t smiling back.

She raised her eyebrows in question.

His tone and expression were grim – almost angry, “You dating someone your sister doesn’t know about?”

Josie shook her head, “No.”

“She told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”

Josie felt like telling him that was none of his business, but she was curious about what had caused the sudden shift in his demeanor. She tempered her answer.

“Not that it concerns you, but I’m not seeing anyone. Haven’t been since Brent Jenson – senior year of high school.”

He stepped around the counter and came closer to her, grasping her arm, he lifted it up gently, “So you’re going to tell me you’re just clumsy?”

She looked down at the ugly bruises on her shoulder and upper arm.

“Well, genius,” she pulled away from him, “I got those from rolling across a roof last night.”

He didn’t look mollified.

“And these?” he spun her around and traced a shape on the back of her neck, and she could only assume there was a bruise there. She tried not to shiver at his touch.

Josie removed herself from his grip and turned back to meet his gaze. It was stern and unyielding.

“Don’t bother telling me they were from the same incident. They happened days apart. And it isn’t from taekwondo either. Those bruises wouldn’t be on your neck. Probably not on your arms like that either. And you sure didn’t get those bruises on your wrists from kicking at people.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the timer went off on her stove. She pointed to a chair and went to retrieve the chicken from the broiler.

She put the chicken on a serving plate and the vegetables in a bowl. She set them both down on the table before taking the seat across from her guest.

He had taken the indicated chair, but he didn’t bother picking up his fork.

She shrugged and bowed her head to thank the Lord for the food he gave her. Tag was still staring at her when she opened her eyes.

“Did you have a reason for asking Molly about my love life?” she spoke around her bite of chicken.

“I didn’t want to come over here to a jealous boyfriend,” he admitted.

“But you didn’t talk about anything else? How we grew up? My job?”

He looked confused. It was an improvement on the scowl.

She pointed her fork at him, “I’ll tell you what, Tag. We’ll make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

She leaned forward, “I’ll tell you how I got those bruises, and you tell me what your real name is.”

He jerked back, and Josie watched him consider the bargain.

              Finally, he shook his head, “That’s not relevant.”

              “C’mon, Tag,” she cajoled. “How bad can it be?”

              “How bad can your situation be?”

              She shrugged, “It’s not. That’s why I can skip telling you.”

              “I’ll tell your sister what I saw.”

              Josie was unfazed, “Be sure to tell her I did not show you the rope burns on my stomach because she’d be upset if she thought I was exposing myself to you like that.”

              “Rope burns?”

              She picked up her fork again and started eating.

              “It’s Thaddeus,” he admitted.

              Josie was surprised. She had thought she would have to tell him the wrist bruises were from handcuffs.

              “I’m a stunt double, Thaddeus. I don’t usually have this much bruising, but this week we did some things I had never done before, and I ended up a little more beaten up.”

              His eyebrows went up, “A stunt double?”

              “Yep. I jump off buildings, swing from flagpoles, ride on the tops of cars, and occasionally dangle from ropes. ”

              She was sure he didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

              “I was in gymnastics as a kid. My parents thought it would get rid of some of my nervous energy.”

              “Did it?”

              “Not enough. They put me in martial arts when I was eight. I started doing parkour when I was about twelve.”

              “Busy girl.”

              “I was at a parkour event when I was in high school when someone asked if I would be interested in jumping off a bridge for a movie.”

              “And you were?”

              “Yep. I’ve been doing it for seven years.”

              “And you like it?”

              “I do. I have two black belts, and I still do gymnastics. I don’t think I want to do stunts forever, but I’m grateful for the work right now.”