Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (5 page)

M
ario’s was a cute little Italian joint, dimly lit and full of romantic circular booths. This was my neighborhood. I wondered if Luke lived nearby too. We both slid into the booth and put our backs to the wall, ensuring that if anything went down we’d be certain to see it. Clearly, we were both in law enforcement. Or I was in law enforcement and he was a criminal . . . Our ingrained habit also ensured that our bodies were wedged together like we were conjoined twins.

“Hi,” he said, looking down the front of my dress. “You wearing a bra under that?”

“No, and don’t you think that question is a little forward?”

“Not really,” he said with a grin, and ran his finger along my bottom lip. God, I was tempted to suck on it. Plus, he was right—he’d seen me naked more than anyone had in years.

“Luke what?” I asked, pulling back. I was slightly angled away from my perfect vantage point to scan the restaurant, but I was dangerously close to straddling him if he kept touching me.

“What do you mean Luke what?”

“I mean”—I rolled my eyes—“what’s Luke’s last name?”

“Oh, Luke’s last name is Blakely,” he announced grandly, clearly enjoying speaking of himself in the third person.

I giggled. Under the threat of death, I would never admit to him how much his cocky ego turned me on . . . or his hair or his teeth or his chest or his ass . . . He really was a ridiculous work of art. He had to be about six foot two. I was five foot ten and he had a good few inches on me. His eyes were a deep green and his sandy blond hair was just a little too long for him to be a regular cop. But his body? His body was to die for, and I’d seen it au natural.

“Hi there,” a busty waitress purred to Luke, ignoring me as if I were invisible. “What can I get you, big boy?”

“I’ll have a scotch, and my wife, who happens to be a rock star in the sack, will have a . . . ?”

I was speechless.
My wife? Rock star in the sack?
I mean, I appreciated his putting Boobs McGee in her place, but this was a little much.

I realized a very depressed Boobs McGee was now acknowledging my presence along with my
husband’s,
but my voice was still MIA.

“Sugar lips will have a margarita,” Luke volunteered. “Is that good?”

I nodded mutely and scoped the restaurant for alternate exits. He was a better player than me, and I was in over my head. Boobs McGee pouted, adjusted her namesakes, wrote down the order, and left.

“There are two exits. The door we came in and one in the kitchen. The kitchen is to your left through the swinging doors.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” I gasped. Was he a freakin’ mind reader? I slid farther away and tried to think of nothing.

“I can read you like a book.”

“No, you can’t. I have a poker face,” I insisted, desperately trying to regain my composure.

His intense stare made me feel naked and uncomfortable. “Maybe at work you do, but not in real life.”

“My work is my life,” I huffed. What a jerk. He was starting to sound like my boss, Steve.

“Now that’s a sad state of affairs.” He shook his head and moved closer.

I considered scooting farther away, but I didn’t want to and I’d land on my ass on the floor if I moved another inch.

“You’re making me nervous,” I said, and then slapped my hand over my mouth. Where was my filter? Oh right, I didn’t have one . . . Could I be less cool? This was a disaster. I wasn’t cut out to flirt and date and be normal. I was cut out to shoot people. Standing up, I opened my mouth to make a lame excuse before I made my escape.

“Sit,” Luke ordered.

I slowly eased my butt down on the edge of the seat as far away from him as possible.

“I have waited a year for you to make a move that didn’t include a hotel room. You are going to sit here and get to know me and I’m going to get to know you in more than just a biblical sense. If I hadn’t lost my cuffs to the fat bastard outside, I’d cuff you to me so you couldn’t run.”

“Um . . . okay.” Shit, the thought of him cuffing me made my panties go damp.

There was a silence. A stupid, damn silence . . . so I filled it.

“You must get hit on all the time by humongous boobs, shit, I mean humongous women. Goddammit, I mean women. Women must hit on you a lot.” My mortifying observation ended in a whisper.

Luke threw his head back and laughed. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me.

“How in the hell can someone who looks like you be insecure about anything?” he asked, still chuckling.

“I’m not,” I snapped.
I am,
I wanted to scream. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. And yes,” he conceded, “I get hit on, but no more, I’d imagine, than you do.”

“I don’t get hit on much.”

“That’s good because I’d probably beat the hell out of anyone who looked at you.”

“Possessive much?” I asked, wondering if he was serious.

“Occasionally,” he said quietly.

Oh. My. God. He was serious. Uncertain whether to be pissed off or ecstatic, I decided pissed off was a safer emotion. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”

Luke blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s what I’m trying to do here, but you’re making it rather difficult.”

He was right. I was so tangled up inside at having stepped so far out of my element, I was being bitchy. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” He grinned and took my fidgety hands in his. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“I’ve been . . . um.”
In the hospital recovering from a knife wound after I fucked up a drug bust. I almost lost my job because I’m too tightly wound up in my work and I haven’t been able to find anyone to have sex with because I’m too caught up in you
. . . “I’ve been fine. You?”

“Fine. I wanted to call you, but I’ve been away,” he said.

Staring at the grooves in the worn oak table, I contemplated my next move. I could stay and talk or I could excuse myself to go to the bathroom and crawl out the window. That would be kind of a pussy move, and I’d destroyed a lot of clothes crawling out of windows. I really liked my dress, and heels were a bitch to climb in. Furthermore, I realized I did want to know him . . . or at least enough to feel less ho-like when I banged his brains out in about an hour. Fine, I could do this.

“Are you married?”

“Not even a little bit. You?” He was laughing at me, but that was a crucial question in my book.

“Nope and never gonna go there,” I replied with confidence.

“It’d be a damn shame not to make some babies and pass on your genes.” His lazy grin made my girlie parts jump to attention. Why did everything he said make me think of tackling him and making him see Jesus? Questions. Ask him questions. Guys loved to talk about themselves.

“Do you live in Minneapolis?” I retrieved my hands and sat on them. I didn’t trust them. He was too pretty, and he smelled really good.

“I do, but I travel a lot.”

“For work?” I asked.

He grimaced and looked up at the ceiling for a long moment. “Here’s the deal, I can talk about every aspect of my life except work. Anything you want to know is fair game except that.”

This was an interesting twist, but I couldn’t talk about my work either. I didn’t love that restriction, but I got it. There was just one potential problem . . .

“That’s fine, but you have to tell me one thing.” I leaned in close and he sucked in a quick breath.

“Baby, if you get any closer, we’re going to get arrested for public indecency.”

“That could be awkward if you answer my question incorrectly.”

“If I answer it right, can we go back to my place? I’m in a little pain here.” The evidence of his problem was obvious and delighted me to no end, but . . . Wait, how was I supposed to handle this? Shit, it had been so much easier when I knew nothing about him. Although, I still didn’t know all that much . . . It was clear he was funny, sexy, and he had put Boobs McGee in her place. He had an ass to die for and he wasn’t married. He was honest about his work—kind of. He was amazing in the sack and he liked the fact that I could basically castrate someone with my knee . . . What in the hell was I worried about? He was perfect.

“Yep.” I grinned and ran my tongue over my bottom lip.

“You’re killing me here, Candy. Ask the goddamned question,” he hissed.

“Fine. Are you on the right side of the law with your cryptic business or the wrong side?”

He blew a huge sigh of relief and grinned. “I’m on the right side. Can we go?”

“Do we know enough about each other?” I teased, getting hornier by the second.

He shoved me out of the booth and kept his hands on my hips as he quickly moved us through the restaurant. “We can talk the entire time,” he said tersely. “Shit, the drinks.”

“Just hand Boobs McGee some money and let’s get the hell out of here.” I was dangerously close to jumping him. His hands were burning themselves into my hips, and my knees were in danger of giving out.

“Hand who what?” He laughed, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and ransacking it for cash.

“The waitress with the knockers,” I snapped. “The one who you falsely informed I was your wife.”

“I thought that was a smooth move.” Luke copped a feel of my ass and steered me toward the bar. He slapped fifty bucks down on the counter. “Hey, John.”

“Luke, my man,” the bartender shouted over the noise. “What can I get you and your lovely date?”

“She’s my wife.” John’s eyes grew huge. “Just give this to the gal with the large chest and tell her we had to go.”

“You got it, buddy. And congrats.”

“Thanks,” Luke said, rerouting us toward the door.

He was going to have to stop it with the wife stuff or I was out of here. Although a tiny part of me loved it. Could I really marry someone? Hell, could I really maintain a relationship more than a month? Before now I hadn’t wanted to, but this crazy fool had me all confused.

Yes, I could do this.

I wanted to do this.

“Wait,” I shouted, skidding to a stop in the parking lot, which was now empty of the fat bastard who’d attacked me. “What did you call me?”

“My wife?” he replied sheepishly.

“No. Before that.” The feeling I’d had earlier that something was wrong returned with a vengeance. “Um . . . Sugar lips?”

“No, Luke. You called me Candy,” I said, backing away.

“Of course I did. That’s your name.” He shook his head in confusion and ran his hands through his hair.

“You’re right, that’s my name, but I never told you my name.” I waited for the explanation.

“You must have told me,” he said with a lot less confidence.

“Nope.” My eyes narrowed and my brain raced.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I know your name. What’s the big deal? You know mine.”

“You told me your name. I did not tell you mine, which leads me to believe something is really fucked up here.”

The suspicion bothered me and made me feel wary. My reaction would be considered extreme in normal situations, but my life was full of abnormal situations and trusting my gut,
as scarred as it was at the moment,
was how I survived.

“What else do you know besides my name?” I asked, hating everything at the moment.

“Confidential,” he said quietly.

WTF? Confidential?
All sorts of horrific scenarios blasted through my mind. Was he connected to someone I’d put in jail or, God forbid, killed? No, he would have taken me out long ago. Was I being monitored by the government? What the hell could I be monitored for? Was it because I’d fucked up a couple of times this year? “How long have you known about me?”

“A while,” he admitted, and began to pace the parking lot. I tried to block out the way his jeans hugged his butt and how stupidly gorgeous he was. I needed to erase the fact that he made me laugh and that I’d just mentally prepared myself to try to have a real relationship with him. The joke was on me. Again.

“Is any of this real?” I demanded, willing myself not to cry. I’d thought he liked me. Was I a job? Was I an easy lay?

“It’s real, Candy. Very real.” He took two steps toward me and I took two steps back.

“You said you were on the right side of the law. I’m willing to believe that, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m so out of here.”

“I can’t.” He sighed in frustration and shoved his hands in his back pockets.

“Clusterfuck doesn’t even begin to describe this.” I shook my head and pulled my keys out of my purse. “This was beyond a mistake and you have me completely freaked out. I’m going to walk to my car and you are not going to follow me. If I see you again, I will introduce your crotch to my knee.” Son of a bitch, I was going to have to call Steve tonight and find out who Luke Blakely was and what he wanted from me. This absolutely sucked.

“Candy . . .”

“Nope. You can’t call me that. You didn’t earn it fair and square. Have a good life, and if I’m a job for you, good luck. I will make your life a living hell,” I snapped.

“Jesus Christ.” Luke threw his hands in the air. “Aside from the fact I can’t tell you why or how I know your name, I don’t really see a problem here. I’m crazy about you and I know you’re crazy about me, or at least my oral skills.”

“Oh my God,” I shouted. “You are the most conceited ass-hat I’ve ever met. Turn the situation around. Would
you
be okay with this?”

He was silent. He couldn’t answer the question because he wouldn’t be fine with it either. I threw him one last withering glance and walked to my car. I turned my back on him, which could have been my last move ever, but for some reason I knew he wouldn’t harm me—at least physically. Emotionally he’d just leveled me, and I didn’t even know why.

I’d get to the bottom of this, and then I’d become a lesbian or a nun.

I
t was obscenely early in the morning and the gun range was deserted. My Glock felt like a welcome extension of my hand. Ten rounds of target shooting had only minimally helped calm the tsunami in my stomach. After a sleepless night and no satisfactory answers from my boss, I needed to shoot stuff. I understood secrecy and covert necessities, but being told to drop it was grinding on my very last nerve. Not to mention my Go-Phone rang all night. Luke clearly wanted to flaunt his oral skills. I knew he wouldn’t come clean, so I ignored his calls. I considered flushing the phone, but I knew my boss would not find that amusing.

Yes, my boss knew of Luke Blakely. Yes, he was an agent. No, I wasn’t a high enough clearance level to know any more than that. Was he assigned to me? Not to Steve’s knowledge. Was I in trouble? Again, not to Steve’s knowledge. I was directly ordered to drop the matter, ask no more questions, and be satisfied that Steve would look into the matter. Would he share the results? Nope. I was on a need-to-know basis, and apparently I didn’t need to know.

I needed to shoot some more shit. Where the hell were the lesbians when I needed them? The plain old body targets were unacceptable. I needed a refrigerator or at the very least a toaster. However, I’d shot the testicles clean off my target—twenty-three times.

My tummy growled with hunger, but the thought of food was nauseating. My hands began to tremble and I put my gun away. Confusion didn’t begin to cover my feelings. I was driving blind, and that was a dangerous place to be.

Focus and precision. Deadly focus and precision. Forget Luke. If I were in real danger or trouble, Steve would brief me. Luke was possibly watching me because I had fucked up. Maybe someone over Steve’s head had assigned him to me. Maybe he was just an asshole. I scoured my brain to remember if I’d ever left evidence of my identity when we had met up. My real ID was hidden in a false casing on my gun. There was no way he could have found that. There was clearly another reason he knew my name and stats, and I wasn’t going to find out. Fuck.

Thank God I had an assignment and I was leaving town. This was good. Forgetting Luke and his duplicity would be difficult, but doable. I suppose what sucked the worst was the pathetic fact that I’d thought he actually liked me . . . because I actually liked him, but no more. I might be gullible, but I wasn’t desperate.

Interviewing Evangeline O’Hara would take my mind off trying to find unattainable answers about the sham my life had become. During my bout with insomnia, I’d reviewed all of her files. She was a piece of work. I actually looked forward to the interview, if only to get a look at her in person. There was simply no way she could look like her photos. Agreeing to let Rena tag along was a fortunate lapse in judgment, because she had been up close and personal with both Evangeline and Shoshanna and was privy to information I was sure the files lacked.

Shower. I needed to shower and eat and block the jerk from my brain. Never again would I be swayed by an ass, no matter how fine or muscled or perfect it was.

Time to step into my new life. Again.

“I think this is a waste of time—a dead end,” Rena said, offering me a french fry. I declined.

We’d been driving for an hour and had stopped three times. Once for Rena to go to the bathroom, once for her to go through a drive-through for french fries, and once to go through another drive-through because she couldn’t eat said fries without catsup. We were not stopping again.

“If you spill catsup in my car, you’re walking home.”

“Kristy said you were a hard ass, but I can see she was being kind.” Rena burst out laughing. “Your phone is ringing.”

“Your deductive skills amaze me.”

“You gonna answer it?” she inquired, still chuckling.

“Does it look like it?” I ignored the phone. I knew who it was. Tomorrow I would get a new Go-Phone with a different number.

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” She giggled and continued to shove fries in her mouth.

I glanced over and gave her the evil eye, which only made her laugh harder. “I am a hard ass, I had no sleep, and you made me do something stupid,” I snapped, and then regretted my words immediately.

“You think it’s a mistake to take me with you?” she asked, and squeezed another packet of catsup on her fries.

“No,” I answered. “You’re probably an asset. What did you mean by this being a waste of time?”

“In a minute.” She changed the subject. “What did I make you do?”

I drove in silence and refused to speak.

“Ahhhhh.” She grinned and turned to face me. “What’s his name?”

I heaved a huge sigh. Rena was like a gnat, she wasn’t going to give up. She expected an answer and would keep bugging me till she got one. “His name is Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole.”

“Damn, he must have had a hellish time in elementary school.”

We drove in silence for approximately two and a half minutes before my dreaded need to fill it reared its ugly head.

“His name is Luke and he doesn’t really like me. I think he was assigned to me, but I can’t figure out why. The sex was just because I was there,” I volunteered lamely.

“Did he say that?” she asked.

“Not exactly, but he didn’t have to.”

“Interesting. Do you read minds?” she inquired, dangling a catsup packet over my dash.

“Your point?” I asked. She was an idiot to bait me with tomato sauce.

“My point, little Miss Hardass, is that you are so terrified of getting close to people, any little slip up will send you running.” She was quite satisfied with herself and I wanted to throw her out of the car. Why? Because she was hitting way too close to home . . .

“It wasn’t a little thing,” I huffed.

“Did he say he didn’t like you? That you were a job? Or an easy lay?” she pressed.

“No, he didn’t say that.”

“Well, what the hell did he say?” Rena demanded, and pulled a candy bar out of her purse. “I’m getting ready to bleed like a stuck pig so I need chocolate,” she muttered.

“Give me some of that,” I said, hoping the chocolate would calm my nerves and divert her to another topic.

“Certainly.” She chuckled and handed me half. “Answer my question.”

“Fine,” I shouted. My words bounced off the tight interior of the car, making Rena wince. “He said he was crazy about me. He invited me to a bar and introduced me as his wife to Boobs McGee, the overly amorous waitress, and he knew my name even though I never told him what it was.”

“I’m a little confused,” she said with a mouthful of candy bar. “Either I missed something important here or Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole has it bad for you.”

“My name.” I rolled my eyes. How could she not get the importance of his knowing my name? “He knew my name.”

“Yeah. And?”

“In my world, that’s fucked up. It means our meeting wasn’t what it seemed.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, foraging in her purse for what I assumed was more candy.

“No.”

“Good.” She laughed. “Then I’ll tell you. I think if you were a job or an easy lay, he would have met you at a hotel and played hide the salami and left.”

I hadn’t considered that angle. Maybe she was . . .
WTF?
No. I wasn’t going to let her or Kristy or anyone make me think I could be a normal girl ever again.

“He knew my name,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “That’s significant.”

“Oh my God,” she barked. “All you freakin’ cops are so uptight—Jack, you, your brother. Quit looking for everyone to have an ulterior motive.” She tore into another candy bar and kept on going. “So the fuck what if he was assigned to you, whatever the hell that could mean. Haven’t you ever heard of falling in love on the job?”

“Only in fairy tales,” I shot back, snapped off half of her candy bar, and shoved it in my mouth.

“If you weren’t driving right now, I would take your hand off for stealing my premenstrual food,” she hissed, and began digging through her purse again. “I have no clue if there’s some kind of covert FBI CIA voodoo going on, but this sounds like a guy who likes you. Goddammit, these have been in here for a year,” Rena muttered as she unwrapped some scary-looking peanut butter crackers. She sniffed them and stuck one under my nose. “Does that smell weird?”

“Kind of,” I gasped, jerking away.

“Crap, I’m still hungry,” she whined.

“Fine.” I swerved off the highway and pulled into a convenience store. “What do you want?”

“Are you going in?” she asked.

“I am. I need to be away from you for three minutes. I need to adjust my attitude and I feel bad about stealing your period candy. I’m going to make up for my bad behavior by buying you some disgusting shit that’s not rancid.”

Rena’s smile was contagious. I liked her. She was driving me nuts, but she was fun and smart and I didn’t really have many girl friends. I didn’t have many friends period.

“I want chips and some chocolate.”

“Then you shall have it.” I laughed and went in and bought it. God, I was entirely too uptight. Maybe Rena was right about my suspecting the worst of everyone, but she was wrong about Luke. It didn’t add up and whether she understood it or not, I had to go on my gut with this one and stay away from Mr. Sexy Pants.

Walking back to my car, I felt lighter and happier. I had a friend. A friend who was in my car waiting for the disgusting gift I’d bought her. A friend who was talking on the phone. My phone. My Go-Phone. Fuck.

Yanking open the door, I lunged for the phone, but Rena was quick and evil. She blocked me with her foot and put Ass-hat Son of a Bitch Douchehole on speakerphone. I swallowed the scream lodged in my throat and flipped my ex–new friend off. She grinned and returned the favor.

“So who did you say this was?” Luke’s voice came through loud and clear. This was beyond my worst nightmare. Rena was more of a loose cannon than I was.

“I’m Candy’s mom. Who’s this?”

“You sound a little young to be her mom.” His voice was laced with amusement and I could picture his sexy lopsided grin. A thrash punk band started performing in my stomach. They were drunk and getting ready to dive off the stage and crowd surf. I was going to hurl. I angled myself so I would nail Rena when I let loose.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now answer my question, young man. Who is this?”

“Luke.”

“Well, Luke, how do you know my daughter?” She gave me the thumbs up and I almost slapped her. What in the hell did she think she was doing?

“If you’re her
mom,
I’d have one answer. If you weren’t her
mom,
I’d have another,” he said with a chuckle, and my insides clenched. I went from nausea to arousal in a matter of seconds. Shit.

“Let’s just say, for shits and giggles, that I’m not her mom for a moment,” Rena said, getting down to business. “What are your intentions, Luke?”

“Assuming she’s not sitting with you . . .”

“Never assume. That makes an ass out of you and me,” Rena informed him with glee.

Oh my God, she was insane.

“Then I suppose I shouldn’t assume I’m on speakerphone.”

“That would make you an ass,” she replied, and grabbed for the chips I was holding. No fucking way. She’d lost her chip privileges forever. Tearing open the bag, I shoved half the contents in my mouth and ate them. “Um, Luke?”

“Yes, Mom?”

“If you want her to hear your plea, you’d better start talking because I’m getting ready to be on the rag and she just ate my bag of chips. So this means I have to kill her and it would be a shame if she died thinking you were a total douchehole.”

“Point taken.” He laughed and I groaned. “Candy, I’m not following you. Well, I am following you, but not for work. I’m following you because I can’t get you out of my head. Yes, I cheated and found out who you were. There was no way in hell I could let you totally disappear.”

“That’s hot,” Rena chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. She glanced over and I gave her the double birdie. “She’s still pissed. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

I banged my head on the steering wheel and begged God for Armageddon.

“Candy, you are the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever had in my life. When you took that fat bastard’s nuts out with your knee, I wanted to tackle you and make you see Jesus. You’re funny and screwed up and sexier than anyone should be allowed to be. My plan, and I always complete my missions, is to get you into my life and back into my bed . . . Better,
Mom
?”

“Damn.” Rena whistled. “This is making me horny.” She tossed me the phone. “Talk to him. I’m going to call Jack and have phone sex.”

With that little TMI nugget, she got out of the car and left me alone with the douchehole.

“Candy? Talk to me.”

“No.”

He waited and of course my ungodly urge to fill silences betrayed me. Again.

“It doesn’t add up, Luke.”

“Which part?”

“It wouldn’t be that easy to find out who I am. There’s more to the story, isn’t there?”

I heard a frustrated sigh blast through the phone. “Yes, there’s more, but . . .”

“No buts. You tell me or I hang up,” I snapped. This yo-yoing was painful. He either really liked me or I was an assignment he couldn’t fuck up. God, I so wanted him to like me.

“Candy, if I could, I would. I can’t blow cover. If anyone ought to understand this, it should be you.” He sounded defeated and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Goddammit, I did understand, but rational thought wasn’t part of my repertoire at the moment. This was personal and I wasn’t very good at personal. “If you’ll blow cover by telling me how you know about me, then I have to assume I’m a job. If I’m an assignment, you’ll do anything to keep me in your sights. I’d do the same. So again, good luck with tracking me. I’ll make it very difficult for you. You might be good, but I’m better.”

My heart painfully lurched as I snapped the Go-Phone shut, dropped it out of my car window, got out, and crunched it under my boot. What should have been a satisfying move made me feel like I’d just ruined my life. I barely knew this guy, except in a biblical sense; why in the hell was I so devastated?