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He liked her. She had this bizarre business, but she seemed sincere. Forget liking her. He had to keep personal reactions under control. Constant awareness, attention to detail and neutral detachment were the secrets to successful undercover work. The less personal he got, the better.
Except she wouldn’t trust him if he didn’t connect with her, so he had to engage in some repartee. Within reason. Work it for the case. He’d given her mixed messages, too, which wasn’t fair and hadn’t helped.
God he hated being undercover.
It made him feel out of control. He hated checking the rearview, doubling back over every story for consistency and cracks. Hated pretending to be someone he wasn’t, hated living with his lies. For now, he contented himself with his success.
Telling Sawyer he needed a bite, he headed out to his Jeep to phone his partner, grab a burger, then return so she could go over his duties.
He crossed the lot, liking when the mild October breeze kicked up, promising change, just like the case. Adrenaline rushed his pulse and he felt primed for action. Easier to ignore that lust-pumped charge he’d gotten over the fact he’d be hanging around Sawyer for a while.
Lot of good that did him when he had to avoid dessert at all cost.
He climbed into his Jeep and took off for Jade’s, the squad’s favorite bar and grill just down the street.
“Got the job,” he said when Mark picked up his call. “Tell the lieutenant.”
“You lucky dog.”
“What are you talking about, Trudeau? You’d hate this assignment. Gloria’d hassle you about the overtime and you’d miss your kids.”
“But Sawyer’s hot,” Trudeau said.
“So?”
“I’m just saying, if the case calls for you to get sweaty with her…”
“Are you nuts?” The idea sounded so damned good he had to sit down. He could picture those muscular legs wrapped around his ass, that curly hair falling over his face, that snapdragon mouth against his, that pink tongue doing things…
“I’m trying to live through you,” Mark said. “Except you don’t do jack shit worth hearing about, letting alone tracking with binoculars.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve got a great life. And a wife you don’t deserve.” Mark was deeply devoted to Gloria, despite the studly bullshit he trotted out for the squad. No one bought it, but it made Trudeau feel invincible, when, in fact, he could be felled by a mere blink of his wife’s lashes.
“I’m saying, make an effort, West. Quit hanging with us so much. Or at least bring over a woman when you do.”
“I will, don’t worry.” He’d dated two women since he’d decided to look for a wife. Laura, then Theresa. Both nice enough, but the minute he’d dropped them off after a date, he’d felt the relief of a duty done, and they’d slid from his mind like minnows down a creek.
Lately, he’d spent his free time throwing back brews with squad mates at Jade’s or over at Mark’s. Gloria made the best rib sauce and a terrific pecan pie. Their place was homey and Rick loved their kids. He should get back to the wife search, though. He’d do that. Sure. One of these days soon.
“Alex wanted me to tell you he beat the top boss on Dragon of Doom 3.”
“He didn’t download the cheats, did he?”
“Nope. Worked it out on his own. Couldn’t disappoint Uncle Rick with his rules for every flippin’ thing, including video games.”
“Good for him. I’ll check it out when I’m over next. This weekend, maybe?”
“What are you, thirty? You act like an old married drone. When I was your age, it was a different woman every weekend. If Gloria hadn’t gotten pregnant, I’d have—”
“You’d have begged her to marry you. She’s the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass.”
Maybe that was what was missing in Rick’s search for a wife—a woman who made him feel the way Trudeau felt. The man nearly glowed when Gloria came into a room, even if it was just to rip him a new one, which she had to do from time to time. The man was in sore need of female guidance.
Truth was that Rick wanted what Trudeau had—a settled place in the world, a wife and kids to work for, someone to help him sort out what mattered from what didn’t. Something Brian had never had the chance to have.
“So now that I’m in,” he said, getting back to work, “I’ll be checking out all the shops, verifying IDs, seeing who’s connected. Looks like some of the photography customers came from the wife, not Darien, and are straight photo shoots, nothing crime related.”
“Interesting. It’s good you’re inside. We can figure this out a hell of a lot faster.”
“That’s the idea.”
“And on that other thing, you’ll be surrounded by naked women, West, so drool a little. Pretend you got a pair.”
“The equipment’s intact, not to worry,” he said. His reaction to Sawyer was proof. He grimaced, especially because he got a rush when he thought about getting back to her now.
He hung up with Mark and headed into Jade’s, determined to keep his mind on the job and forget how hot Sawyer was, no matter how many ways she reminded him with her twisty hip-walk and her teasing smile and flirty remarks and her tight backside, and that great set of—
Stop it.
Maybe he’d learn something from her, like he’d said, though he hated how personal portraits got. Samantha Sawyer sure knew what she was doing in the studio. She’d turned the shoot with that lowlife Balistero into a tender moment. And Rick couldn’t see her shooting porn, not from what he’d seen so far.
On the other hand, sociopaths were skilled liars, so he’d stay on guard. Remain clearheaded, neutral and completely controlled. Evaluate all evidence, examine all options, ask and answer all questions.
And stay way clear of dessert.
“IS THE BOOKKEEPER spelled T-A-B-O-R or E-R?”
“O-R,” Samantha said on a sigh. “I promise I won’t quiz you later.” Since Rick had returned from his lunch break, he’d asked a million questions about the center, dragging the twenty-minute orientation into a ninety-minute ordeal. It was as if he thought he’d have to run the place without her. Just now he’d honed in on the fact that Darien loaned Samantha his bookkeeper.
“Let’s get going, Rick,” she said, “so I can introduce you to the other shop owners.” The day was nearly over and she’d promised to help Valerie after work.
On the way out the door, Rick paused to rattle the loose counter. “I’ll bolt this first thing tomorrow.”
“The construction crew should handle it, but thanks.” He was obviously trying to reassure her of his usefulness. His tone had changed over lunch. When he’d left, there had been flirtation in the air, but he’d returned all facts and figures.
Which was best, she realized as the time passed. Rick’s role as her assistant—and a photographer at that—was far more important than any sex they might share. Samantha would find her fantasy lover elsewhere.
She led the way to Healing Touch, Mona’s massage studio, where there was an AC problem. The delicate bell over the door tickled Samantha’s ear as always, pouring calm through her. She associated the sound with her once-a-month gift to herself of a Mona massage.
Mona’s was the smallest shop, consisting of a tiny reception area, two small massage rooms, a restroom and overlarge closets—Darien and his storage space.
Mona emerged from the first massage room. “Hello,” she said, smiling at them. Short and curvy with open brown eyes, she moved in an eddy of palpable warmth that Samantha loved. Her massages melted worries and fears, along with knots and kinks, and it was worth every word of her usual lectures about Samantha accepting herself as she was to experience Mona’s tension-melting skill.
“This is my new assistant, Rick West. Rick, Mona Munro. We’re here to deal with your air problem.”
“An assistant already? How wonderful.” Mona shook Rick’s hand, then slanted Samantha a look. She hadn’t believed Samantha would actually hire anyone. She thought Samantha was clinging to the excuse of being too busy. If you’re going to break out, sweetie, break out.
“I act fast when the time’s right,” Samantha said, returning her look. Now she had an assistant. Soon, she’d find a man. Hit a brunch at the Phoenician or cruise a singles watering hole and reel one in. No problem.
“It’s this way.” Mona led them to the second massage room.
Samantha breathed in the lemon–ylang-ylang of the candle burning on the counter beside the CD player in the cozy, golden-hued room that featured a massage table covered in saffron sheets.
“The air just sinks. No movement,” Mona said to Rick, waving her arms through the air above the table.
Rick looked up, studying the register, arms akimbo. “I’ll see what I can do.” He scooped off his shoes and climbed onto the table, reaching up to twist something on the vent, which made his forearm muscles tighten and glide.
And look at that backside, so tight and round. Why, Handyman Rick, I think my wiring needs tightening, my pipes need, well, what pipes need. Fix me quick with your special tool. Samantha sighed.
Rick banged the vent slats with the heel of his hand.
“So, an assistant and a handyman,” Mona murmured.
Samantha looked at her friend, Rick’s body rising between them. “He’d do whatever I need him to do,” she said.
“Oh, well. That’s wonderful.” Mona grinned.
Samantha blushed and changed the subject. “So how’s Mr. Regular?”
It was Mona’s turn to blush. “Still regular.” Chuck Yardley, aka Mr. Regular, came for a massage five days a week, feigning rugby strains, but really to get to know Mona, who refused to budge on her no-dating-clients rule.
Samantha understood her reluctance. Sleazy massage parlors gave legitimate therapists a bad name. Samantha had a similar problem with callers who asked for vulgar photos, using words she preferred not to think, let alone hear.
But Mona could easily send Chuck to another therapist and go out with the guy. She claimed her people instincts went amok once chemistry kicked in and she had a rat of an ex-husband to prove it. So poor Chuck forked over hundreds a week in unnecessary rubdowns in a vain effort to coax his reluctant sweetheart that he was safe to date.
Rick tested the outflow, then looked down at them. “That should do it.”
Mona tilted up her face. “Mmm, feels better already.”
While Rick climbed down, his back to them, Mona mimed licking her finger and touching it to Rick’s behind, then yanking the digit away as if burned.
Samantha fought a laugh.
Rick reached the floor and turned. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” Mona said, her eyes twinkling. “I just mentioned how nice it is that you’re so handy. I mean besides being an assistant.”
“Whatever Samantha needs,” he said, winking at her, teasing, turning her nerves to hot wires.
“Yes, she mentioned that.” Another look from Mona.
Samantha had to clear her throat to speak. “Rick’s also a photographer. He helped me with a shoot earlier.”
“Even better. Photographer, assistant and handyman. Ideal in every way.” Then Mona quit teasing and honed in on Rick’s back, studying it with a clinical eye.
“I hope to learn a lot,” Rick said, glancing from Mona to Samantha, clearly puzzled by Mona’s change of focus, but when she grabbed one of his shoulders and ran a knuckle down his spine, his eyes went wide. “What are you doing?”
“I’d guess mostly Swedish with a little shiatsu,” Mona pronounced, prodding him with a bent knuckle. “Maybe some trigger-point work. You’ve got a slight curvature…. That sore?”
“A little, yeah. I was in a car wreck in high school.”
“That explains it. Makes the intercostals go into spasm.” Mona grabbed both of his arms, bent at the elbow and pulled them to first one side, then the other. “Get a lot of kinks?”
“Some.”
She manipulated his shoulder and he said, “Ohh…yeah,” his body sagging with relief. Watching Rick’s ramrod-straight frame dissolve into relaxed pleasure made Samantha want to melt.
“Better?” Mona released him.
He turned from side to side, testing his range of motion. “Yeah. Better.”
“I’ll get my book.” Mona glided out of the room.
“She’s getting her book?” Rick asked.
“To schedule you a massage. That felt good, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, but…”
He seemed so flummoxed by the idea she had to smile. “Then imagine a whole, entire hour.”
Mona returned with her dog-eared planner. “How about four tomorrow?”
“We’ll be too busy, I’m sure,” he said, looking at Samantha for a way out.
“There’s always time for a massage, Rick. Consider it an employee benefit, since I don’t offer insurance.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” Rick said, twisting at the waist to prove it.
“Mona won’t settle for fine. By the time she’s done, you won’t know your own name or even where you are.”
When he blanched, she almost laughed, but she hid her reaction and turned to Mona. “Also, Rick will be following up on the wedding-planner mailing. Do you want me to include a coupon?”
“Sure. I’ll put something together.” She turned to Rick. “I’m glad you’re on our team.”
“Yeah. Me, too. And if you have any other problems, let me know. I’ll drop in regularly, see what else needs doing.”
“Sounds great,” Mona said.
Samantha thought it was nice how he was taking charge, accepting responsibility for extra duties already. Maybe a little too conscientious, but, so far, a good hire.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Rick said as soon as they were outside the shop. “I can pay for the massage.”
“Mona gives me a discount. And you’ll need it. I’ll be working you hard.” She put her hand to her mouth and stood stock-still.
Rick chuckled. “I’m going to let that one alone.”
She smiled her gratitude, liking the wicked look on his face all the same.
