Sweet Revenge

Chapter 6

Matt finished sliding empty glasses toward Smitty as the night droned on. He’d been wondering all day about Laney’s statement that she couldn’t have kids. Was it a medical condition?

Why did he care? He probably couldn’t have kids, either.

And if he could, it wasn’t like he’d have them with her.

What the hell was wrong with his brain this night? The longer he remained in Laney’s world, the harder it would be to leave. He had to get a move on his mission and find the doctor before forcing her to deactivate the deadly chips.

Across the bar, the group of businesswomen tipped back cosmos in a wide booth, several of them checking out his ass at regular intervals once the night had worn on. They all wore bar-worthy tight jeans and low-cut tops. He kept his peripheral gaze on the veterinarian’s assistant, who was weaving back and forth. She’d arrived with a female accountant driving a pristine SUV.

Next to her sat the coroner, a blonde with sharp eyes. She’d been sipping a glass of wine all night. The same glass.

Unfortunately, the family practitioner was a no-show. He’d have to seek her out.

For now, he captured a bottle of silver tequila and shot glasses, approaching the table. He could’ve sworn the vet’s assistant purred as he neared. So he flashed his most charming smile. “How about a shot? On me?”

“Awesome.” The vet’s assistant snorted. “I’m Claire.” She pointed to the accountant. “She’s um, Betty, and this is Tasha.”

Tasha held out a hand. “Dr. Friedan.” Culture sounded in her low voice.

“Doc.” Matt enveloped her hand. Yeah. Snotty tone, smart eyes… definitely a doctor. Was she the one he needed to find? “Shot?” He quickly poured four glasses. “What should we toast?”

Betty weaved back and forth. “Sexy men.” Grasping her drink, she threw the booze back, her eyes watering. “Yum.”

Claire followed suit and immediately launched into a coughing attack. Betty smacked her on the back. Kind of.

Matt nudged a glass toward Tasha and took his own. “What kind of doctor?” he asked.

“Coroner.” She eyed the liquor. “I don’t drink hard alcohol.” Her brown eyes lifted to rake him. “Although I do like it hard.”

He leaned in and forced interest into his eyes. “I like the way you talk.” His gaze dropped to the glass and traveled back up to her smooth face. “How about one tiny drink? It’d make my night.”

She blinked. “Cheers.” Taking the drink, she swallowed, her gaze remaining clear and on his.

“A coroner, huh?” he fetched the empty shot glasses. “That’s interesting.”

“It pays the bills.” Gathering her purse, she scooted from the booth. “Thank you for the drink, but I need to go home. Night, everyone.” Without a backward glance, she headed for the door.

Claire chortled. “She’s funny, right?”

Matt nodded. “Thanks for the drink, ladies.”

They probably would only stay for another round, so he needed to get a move on. He had a plan, and it’d be nice to rule out at least one of the women. Crossing behind the bar, he dumped ice from the glasses and inserted them into the dishwasher. “I owe you four shots, and am now heading to the can,” he murmured to Smitty, who was pouring another round of cosmos.

“Sure thing,” the bartender said absently.

Matt sauntered past the restrooms and out the back door. The accountant’s SUV was parked down the alley, and within seconds, he had the hood popped and the carburetor cap off. The government had taught him more than guns and charm. He opened his senses to make sure nobody lurked near, shut the hood, and sprinted back to the door.

Laney stepped outside and stopped short. The scent of vanilla came with her. “Why are you outside?”

“Garbage.” He eyed her carefully, his fingers itching to touch her again. “You okay?”

“Stop asking me that.” She took a deep breath, outlining her breasts against the worn cotton. “I’m fine.”

The woman was more than fine, yet she was pale. “If something’s going on, I can help.” It surprised him how much he wanted to help her.

She rolled her eyes. “Listen, I appreciate the concern, but we just met. That does bring up the topic of our earlier kiss: I think we should just forget our bonding moments earlier.”

He studied her body language instead of her words. He sensed before she moved that her head would snap up. The pulse fluttered in her neck, and he could hear the quickening of her heart.

Not exactly a fair advantage, but one he’d take anyway. “Is that what you want?” he murmured, wondering if she’d deny the attraction between them.

She met his gaze, hers seeking. “It’s the right move.”

Interesting that she’d said move, like they were pieces on a chessboard. “Is this a game to you?” Irritation filled him that she saw him so narrowly.

“No game.” She swallowed, her fragile throat moving.

Right. Just a huge risk, and one he couldn’t take. Even so, he ran a knuckle down the side of her face, the caress having become one of his favorites. For the first time in his life, he wished he didn’t have a mission about to take him somewhere else.

She closed her eyes, leaning into the touch.

Tension centered low in his belly, and he stepped into her space. Grasping her chin, he leaned in and brushed her lips with his, keeping the moment light when all he wanted to do was strip her bare and feast for hours. “You’re a sweetheart, Laney Jacobs.”

“No, I’m not.” She leaned back and smiled, the sparkle back in her eyes.

He’d done that. One kiss, and he’d made her sparkle. He could get used to this.

Laney made herself lean away from sure comfort. Yeah, she wanted to get lost in the ex-marine. But right now, she had a bar to run. “We need to get back inside and close down.”

“Good point. Then maybe we should talk.” Matt released her chin.

“About what?”

“Us. This. Tonight.” His inscrutable gaze failed to give her an inkling of what he was thinking.

“Okay.” She really wanted to get inside his head.

He turned toward the door and immediately stepped to the side as two women stumbled out.

Laney frowned at women who usually held their liquor better. Well, when Matt wasn’t drinking with them. “How much did you two drink?”

Claire hiccupped. “Not much. Plus, tomorrow is a light day. I only need to monitor a German shepherd that might go into labor.” She squinted up at Matt. “You like dogs?”

“Love ’em.” Matt scratched his head. “I’m not sure you two should be driving.”

“We’re fine,” Betty said, marching down the steps toward her SUV. “I only had a couple.”

“As an accountant, you should probably count better,” Claire snorted, wobbling across the alley to fall into the backseat and lie down.

Betty hopped into her car, slammed the door, and rolled down the window. “Claire, get your butt up front.” She twisted the ignition.

Nothing happened.

She hit the steering wheel, focusing out the window. “My car is broken.”

Matt glanced down at Laney. “We can’t let them drive.”

“No kidding.” Laney rubbed her nose. “Betty? Why don’t you come back in, and I’ll take you home?”

“But my car is broken,” the accountant wailed.

Matt strode toward the car. “Pop the hood.”

Laney followed in his wake. Not only did he have the body of a god, the fighting skills of an ancient warrior, and the face of an angel, but the guy could fix cars? “Who the hell are you?” she muttered.

He either didn’t hear her, or he chose to ignore her comment. Regardless, after two seconds of peering under the hood, he twisted some knob to the left. “Try again.”

The engine roared to life, and he gently shut the hood. “You had a loose cap. No big deal. But you’re not driving home.” Long strides had him opening the driver’s door.

Oh, he was not taking two intoxicated women home. Laney rushed over and clutched his arm. “I’m taking them. Please go finish busing tables. We close in a few minutes.”

Betty scooted over to the passenger seat, a goofy smile on her patrician face. “We want him to drive us.”

“Yeah,” Claire chirped from the backseat. “We want the handsome bartender taking us home. He makes us feel safe.”

Frustration roared through Laney at Matt’s amused grin. “Fine.” She leaned up and put on her most fierce expression. “You come right back. I’m liable for anything you do, Prince Charming.”

He stretched into the seat and shut the door before leaning out the window. “You’re cute when you’re territorial, boss. Very cute.” A quick glance around the quiet alley had him focusing back on her. “Go back inside before I leave.” At her raised eyebrow, he smoothly added, “Please.”

“That was still an order,” she muttered, pivoting on her heel and stomping up the stairs and inside where she took a deep breath and leaned against the door. Worse yet, he’d been correct. She had been feeling territorial.

Irritation flicked like ashes beneath her skin at her own weakness. She had no claim to Matt, no matter how much she liked him. How much she wanted him. Years ago she’d learned that fantasies were just that, and reality was much darker. She lived in the real world.

Sexy, dangerous soldiers didn’t settle down and fix everything for somebody like her. Period.

As a cautious woman, she rarely made mistakes. But when she made them, they were monumental… and instinct whispered giving Matt Dean a second chance and allowing him to stay was going to be a whopper. Not only to her life, but to her heart.

The man called to her on a primal, feminine level. His strength, his loneliness, his over-the-top commanding attitude. She had to figure out a way to maintain space between them.

She’d been hiding from her last mistake for years. Something told her she’d never be able to hide from Matt, and she thanked whatever gods existed he wasn’t after her. The man was a hunter, one who had shown no mercy when taking down the two drunk men in the bar the other night—and if he ever had cause to hunt her… he’d find her.

Betty eyed Matt from the passenger seat, her lips pursed, her eyes bright, and her curly hair a tangled mess. Claire sang an old Bon Jovi song from the backseat, her heels pressed against the roof of the SUV. All of a sudden, Betty gasped and sucked in air.

“I’m going to be sick,” she said.

Matt pressed harder on the gas pedal. “Let’s get you home first.” Excellent. He needed to get the singing woman alone, anyway.

“Good idea.” Betty plastered a hand against her stomach and pointed down the road. “Go into the River Creek subdivision, and I’m the fifth house on the right.”

Within a couple of minutes, he’d maneuvered the vehicle into the driveway of a tidy white ranch-style house. Betty jumped out of the car and made it to a row of hydrangeas before throwing up. Apparently she’d eaten a salad for dinner. Finally, she turned and waved. She scaled three steps up the porch until tripping and landing in what looked like shrubs.

Damn it. He could just leave her there. But his sister-in-law was an accountant, a lightweight drunk, and he’d kill anybody who left her floundering in shrubs. He may not understand women, or people who had no regard for their own safety, but he didn’t want to be a guy who left a woman helpless. So he put the car in park and glanced over his shoulder at the woman now singing “Living on a Prayer.” “I’ll be right back.”

She stomped her feet on the roof in time with her off-key song.

How the hell had he ended up in this mess? He stepped out of the vehicle and shook his head. Give him two drunk farmers who wanted to fight any day. Reaching the struggling accountant, he grabbed her under the armpits and picked her up, walked to the front door, and set her against it. “Keys?”

She handed him a key from her pocket. He opened the door and moved to assist her, but she stumbled against him, her palms spreading along his abs.

Tilting her head back, she gasped. “Are those real? I mean, really real?” She hiccupped and yanked up his shirt, ducking her face to his stomach. “Oh my. Wow.” Her fingers dug into his ribs, and her breath brushed his skin. “Those abs should be on television. Or billboards. Or me.” Her teeth snapped closed on his flesh.

Good God. The woman had bitten him. He jumped back, sending them both sprawling into the shrubs. Stems cracked as his weight landed, plunging him to the ground. Needles dug into his neck. “You’re fucking kidding me,” he muttered, reaching with one hand for the porch railing and one for the giggling woman.

A headache roared front and center. Frustration dried up his mouth.

He was one of the most dangerous men ever created by people who studied danger. If his brothers could see him now, they’d never obey another one of his orders. Ever. He hauled himself up, tossed the accountant over his shoulder, and stalked back up the steps.

She shoved her hands into his back pockets and dug in her nails, her jeans-clad legs happily swinging. “Here’s my card.”

He flipped her over, set her gently inside the front door, and then closed it. “Lock the door.”

Once the bolt slipped into place, he turned and headed back to the SUV, yanking needles and shrubbery out of his hair. Upon reaching the vehicle, he hit reverse to the road as Claire sang “Runaway.”

Once out of the subdivision, he cleared his throat. “Claire? I don’t know where you live.”

Her feet struck the window. Humming, she quickly popped up by his head.

Jesus. Only unnatural reflexes kept him from swerving. “Your home?”

She dove headfirst into the front seat. Her elbow nailed him in the ear, and he did swerve. Hell. Controlling the wheel with one hand, he settled Claire into the passenger seat as gently as possible.

Her boots hit the console as she wiggled into the seat and blew hair off her face. “I live in the same subdivision as Betty.” Frowning, Claire looked around the car. “Where’s Betty?”

Matt drew in a slow breath. “You live in the subdivision we just left?”

Claire rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, I guess. Two streets over from Betty.” She turned toward him. “Did you get attacked by a tree?”

No. A horny, drunk accountant. He flipped a U-turn and drove back into the subdivision. “Which house?”

“Pebble Street, the third house on the left.” A lopsided grin twisted Claire’s lips. “You sure are pretty.”

Whether he liked it or not, that was his cue. He returned the smile. “How long have you been a vet?”

“Assistant. Veterinarian assistant.” She rubbed wiggled her feet on the dash. “About eight years, I guess. I mean, I really like animals, so I’m good at it. But I wouldn’t want to do all the schooling… or have to actually do surgeries. I can hand over implements, but that’s all.”

“You didn’t go to college?”

“Nope.” She eyed him again. “Really pretty. Like on those romance novel covers.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Not that I read those. I mean, okay, I read those… Don’t tell. They can’t know.”

Heat flared down his back, and his instincts roared to life. “I won’t tell,” he lowered his voice to a conspirator’s tone. “But… who can’t I tell?” While he didn’t think the commander would give a shit if his surgeons read books, maybe Claire felt differently. “Are you hiding from them in Charmed?”

“Kind of.” She lifted a shoulder and turned to stare out the window.

If Claire was the woman he hunted, this was probably his only chance to get her to open up. A hiding woman didn’t drink like this often. He pulled into the driveway in front of a two-story brick house. “Tell me more, Claire.”

She swallowed and glanced back at him. “Do you want to come in?”

No. Absolutely not. He wanted to go home, get the shrubbery needles out of his skin, and take a shower. “I’d love to come in.”

She clapped her hands together and scrambled for the door handle. The woman was still fumbling by the time he’d crossed around the SUV to open her door. She fell out, and he caught her before she hit the cement. Broad and bulky, she regained her balance.

“Um, thanks.” She shook her head. “Come inside.” Throwing back her shoulders, she led the way across the driveway, up the steps, until she opened the door.

He stopped cold on the front porch. “Your door isn’t locked?”

“Nope.” She glanced around the quiet neighborhood. “Are you gonna come in or just stand on my porch? I do, ah, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Have a reputation and all of that. You know.”

He had no freakin’ clue. Scratching his head, he crossed the threshold and allowed her to shut the door. “Why don’t you lock your door?” There was no way in hell somebody on the run from the commander and his colleagues would leave their door unlocked. No way.

She sniffed. “Habit. I mean, where I grew up, we didn’t even have locks.” Boots hit the wall as she kicked them off and fell into an overstuffed chair. “Sit.”

He scanned the room. Plush, comfortable furniture, girly knickknacks, and pictures of animals all around. “Where did you grow up?” He slipped around and sat on the sofa, facing her.

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

If she had any clue where he’d grown up, she wouldn’t make such a statement. “Never. Come on, tell me.” He lowered his voice to cajoling.

She blinked. Twice. “The Chipperanti Commune in Western Virginia.”

His shoulders relaxed as a realization hit. That explained why she was so far off the grid. “You grew up in a commune?”

“Yeah. I love my family, I really do, but I wanted television and cars and stuff.” She sank into the deep chair. “You know?”

“Sure.” This was not the cold-blooded doctor he needed to find. But he had to ask. “Are you in danger? I mean, are they hunting you?” Though he doubted it, considering the unlocked door.

She wrinkled her forehead. “Oh no. Never. I could go home in a second. But sometimes, I feel guilty.” Her words slurred at the end, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, he exhaled. Frankly, he was glad it wasn’t Claire. The slightly snoring drunk seemed like a kind soul. He stood, unfolded an afghan to gently place over her, and slipped out the door, after engaging the lock.

He loped back to the car with a sigh. One suspect cleared. Two more to go.