Shooting Dirty (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Janelle woke to the sound of bacon frying.

She rolled over on the stiff, uncomfortable cot and tried to ignore the delicious smell. Was she more tired than hungry? It was a toss-up.

Fifteen minutes later, she threw back the blanket and picked up her cell phone to check the clock. It was past ten. Time to rise and shine. She padded into the kitchen, expecting to find her mother at the stove. Instead it was Jamie. Her mom was sitting at the table, drinking coffee while he made breakfast.

“We went to buy some more eggs at the grocery store,” Renata said. “Jamie paid for them himself.”

He should, since he’d stolen the last carton and smashed them. Janelle filled a mug with coffee and sat down. Jamie presented her with scrambled eggs, lukewarm bacon and slightly burnt toast. It was pretty good, and he was making an effort, so she didn’t complain. He flung his too-long bangs away from his forehead, waiting for her praise.

Janelle ate more eggs in silence.

He looked to Renata for support. She was a typical grandmother, soft on discipline. When she didn’t say anything, he loaded two more plates. Giving one to her mother, he took a seat and dug in, attacking his breakfast with gusto.

Janelle helped him with the dishes when they were finished.

“Sorry for sneaking out,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

“Can I go to the soccer game?”

She’d never intended to take that away, so she nodded. “Two more weeks without devices though.”

Jamie accepted this punishment.

After they were finished with the dishes, she searched through her bags of clothes for a decent outfit. She settled on a flirty summer dress that would look cute with her cowboy boots. Then she showered and got ready. She rarely wore makeup when she wasn’t at Vixen, but she applied some today.

Jamie gave her a strange look before they left. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like what, a normal mom?”

“A fancy mom.”

She didn’t tell him Ace was coming to the game. Most men were unreliable, in her experience. Jamie loved it when Owen showed up to watch him play. He might feel let down if Ace flaked out.

Today’s game was in Mecca, about forty minutes north of Niland. When they arrived, Jamie warmed up with his team while she stood on the sidelines. Some parents brought chairs and umbrellas, even large shade canopies for their extended families. Janelle was lucky if she remembered her hat and sunglasses. She glanced around the field, her palms sweating in anticipation. Ace wasn’t here.

Damn it
.

She tried not to think about last night’s adventures. What had felt scary in the moment struck her as unbearably hot in retrospect. She imagined his rough hand trapping her wrists. His callused finger sliding into her pussy.

A man’s voice startled her out of her reverie. “Hey.”

She almost jumped out of her boots. It was Ace. He’d come from the baseball area, which was in the opposite direction. “Hey yourself.”

He brushed his lips over hers like he owned them. “I went to the wrong field.”

Her cheeks warmed at his touch, and she was glad for the dark lenses of her sunglasses as she studied him. He was wearing a plaid, western-style shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and worn jeans covered his long legs. He was smiling. His coarse black hair shone like a raven’s wing in the sunlight.

God. He was sexy.

“I like your shirt,” she blurted.

“I thought you might,” he said, rubbing his knuckles on the front pocket.

Her stomach did a funny little flip. He looked almost
nice
, cleaned up. Underneath those jailhouse tattoos and hard edges was a charming man. A charming man who wanted to tie her up and do all sorts of dirty things to her.

She didn’t stand a chance.

“You look fucking gorgeous,” he said in a low voice, moistening his lips as if he wanted to eat her up. Then he moved his gaze to the field and actually watched the game. Jamie was playing goalie, which wasn’t his usual position. The team’s regular goalie had a broken arm and the boys were taking turns filling in.

The home team stole the ball early and moved in for the score. When one of the players took a shot, Jamie jumped as high as he could, but the ball sailed over his head, into the goal. The opposite sideline exploded in cheers.

One of the parents from Jamie’s team was a real blowhard, always grumbling if the boys made mistakes. He was sitting in a lawn chair on Janelle’s left. He shouted something to Jamie about staying alert.

Ace frowned at the comment.

Janelle clapped her hands and whistled her encouragement. “That’s okay, Strikers!”

The Strikers scored the next goal, and Jamie blocked several more attempts. It was tied 1-1 for most of the hour. Just before the end, the opposite team drove the ball down the field again. Jamie was in the ready stance, crouched low. He dove for the ball and lost his footing, giving up a second goal.

The loudmouth next to Janelle jumped out of his chair. “What the hell was that, goalie?”

Ace stepped around Janelle and eyeballed the other parent pointedly. The guy had never paid any attention when Janelle gave him dirty looks, but he noticed Ace and went pale. Janelle bit her tongue to smother a giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and sat down.

Janelle caught sight of Tyler’s mom, Stephanie, standing about ten feet away. She made an okay sign indicating that she approved of Ace. Janelle felt a surge of female pride. She hooked her arm through Ace’s and turned her attention back to the game. It was over in three minutes. The Strikers didn’t even the score, but they ran hard, and none of the boys blamed Jamie for the loss. He was one of their best players.

When Jamie joined them at the sidelines, he frowned at Ace. “What’s he doing here?”

“Watching you play.”

Jamie made a skeptical sound and gulped his sports drink. He knew that Ace was interested in her, not him. Ace said nothing to change that impression. He didn’t seem to care what Jamie thought of him.

Janelle crossed her arms over her chest, unsure how to handle the situation. She’d never invited a boyfriend to one of her son’s soccer games before. The fact that Ace had killed Jamie’s father added another uncomfortable layer.

A moment later, Stephanie approached with her son, Tyler. “We were hoping Jamie could join us for pizza.”

Jamie’s face lit up with excitement. He obviously wanted to go, but he didn’t beg. He was on restriction, after all.

“I can drop him off at home afterward,” Stephanie said. “It’s no problem.”

Stephanie was one of the few soccer parents Janelle got along with. She was a pretty blonde, happily married to a firefighter. Janelle suspected that Stephanie was making the offer so Janelle could be alone with Ace.

“Okay,” Janelle said. “That’s really nice of you.”

Stephanie gave Ace a dazzling white smile.

“Ace, this is Stephanie,” Janelle said.

Ace shook her hand politely.

They made the arrangements for Stephanie to take Jamie to his grandmother’s house later in the afternoon. Then Jamie and Tyler ran off, whooping, and Stephanie waved goodbye. She was a “fancy mom,” slim and well dressed. Ace checked out her backside as she walked away. Janelle wondered what it would be like to lead such a charmed life.

Ace returned his attention to Janelle. “Now I’ve got you all to myself,” he said, putting his arm around her.

“What should we do?”

“I can think of a few things.”

She wasn’t hungry for lunch yet, but he was, so they walked to the deli across the street. It was another warm January day, sunny and bright. The weather was always mild in the winter, brutal in the summer. He devoured a cold pastrami sandwich and pasta salad. She ordered peach frozen yogurt and only finished half the cup.

“Are you one of those women who doesn’t eat?” he asked.

“I had a big breakfast.”

He perused her petite figure and made a skeptical sound.

“Jamie cooked eggs and bacon.”

“Eggs, huh? The boy likes eggs.”

“What did you say to him last night?”

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “His attitude has been better today. He did the dishes and apologized for sneaking out.”

Ace picked up her yogurt cup and polished it off. “I told him about my mother.”

“What was she like?”

He described a young woman who struggled to take care of him and disappeared. Although he was a man of few words, the ones he used painted a clear picture. He didn’t need embellishments.

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” Janelle said.

“So am I,” he said, but his eyes were cold and flat, reflecting nothing. Maybe he disconnected from his emotions the same way she disconnected from her body—as an act of self-preservation.

“Tell me about your daughter.”

His gaze changed then, like water rippling on the surface of a lake. “She’s almost four. She’s...happy. Affectionate. Not like me at all.”

“You’re not happy?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Lots of reasons I can’t talk about,” he said. “Are
you
happy?”

She moistened her lips, considering. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I should tell you, when you didn’t tell me?”

“I’d tell you if I could.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. “I want to get out of dancing.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I like being on stage, but it’s...well, it’s similar to drugs. The time goes by in a blur and you get older and at the end, you’re all used up.”

“You’re not all used up,” he said.

“I will be, if I stay much longer.”

“Aren’t you in college?”

She told him about her disastrous interview, and plans to save money for another physical therapy program.

“You’ll get there,” he said, with complete faith. “You’re that kind of person.”

“What kind?”

“A cycle-breaker.”

She’d never heard the term before. “What’s that?”

“There are two main types of people, according to the rehab counselor I met in prison. Cycle-breakers change their lives for the better. The majority of addicts are cycle-followers. They don’t have the ability or the resources to overcome their mistakes, so they keep repeating the same ones. I think it’s about personal strength, too, but that’s just me.”

“Are you a cycle-breaker?”

“Yes and no. I got clean, but I’m still not on the right track.”

They threw away their trash and left the deli, strolling back to the park. Janelle sat down with him on a bench in the shade. When she removed her cigarettes and lighter from her purse, Ace arched a brow. “Soft pack?”

“You know it.”

“How do you pack them?” he asked, making the slapping motion against his palm.

“I don’t. They smoke better unpacked.”

“Let’s see.”

She shook out two cigarettes and passed him one. After lighting hers, she did the honors for him.

“This is the worst cigarette I’ve ever smoked,” he said. “It’s like a limp dick.”

She laughed at his description. “Smoking is supposed to be relaxing. I don’t need a stiff cigarette to suck hard on.”

“Nothing wrong with sucking hard.”

“You keep your hard pack, tough guy. I’ll do it my way.”

He shut up and smoked, resting his arm on the back of the bench. Janelle thought about what he’d said about breaking the cycle. Her mother had gone from one abusive man to another. Janelle didn’t want to follow in those footsteps.

“Why physical therapy?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“There must be some reason behind it.”

“My mom was a nurse,” she said, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray by the bench. “She has rheumatoid arthritis, and PT helps her. It’s also very hands-on, which I like, and it pays well enough.” She went quiet for a moment, considering the similarities between physical therapy and dancing. Both professions were kinetic, relating to the body and movement. “Why are you in demolition?”

“I like to destroy things.”

“Really?”

He smiled, tossing his cigarette butt next to hers. “Yeah, but the most satisfying part is clearing away the debris.”

“How did you get into...your other job?”

His mouth twisted at the question, but he didn’t pretend not to understand. “I learned to hunt as a kid. I was a good shot. I killed a shitload of rabbits on the gunnery range near Slab City. I also tracked some wild turkey and sage grouse.”

“You hunted for fun?”

“I hunted to eat.”

Her throat tightened at the thought of Ace as a teenaged boy, living off the desert, without any parents. She couldn’t imagine Jamie being able to take care of himself in the same situation. Who hunted for food in this day and age—and what kind of man transitioned into hunting
people
?

Janelle knew he was dangerous. Although every instinct should be telling her to run, she didn’t think he’d hurt her. He was brusque and plainspoken and rough around the edges. She appreciated his raw honesty. In her experience, the smooth talkers were the ones you had to watch out for.

“What did you go to prison for?” she asked.

“Drug possession and grand theft.”

“Why can’t you get on the right track now that you’re sober?”

“I guess you could say I made a deal with the devil.”

“There’s no way out?”

“No easy way. But I’m trying.”

She wondered if his daughter had something to do with it. He was a stealthy man, clearly capable of evading police and surviving in difficult situations. She searched his face for answers, but his eyes showed no hint of emotion. He was so close that she could see the coarse grains of stubble on his jaw and the weathered condition of his skin. He looked kind of like a cowboy in his snap-button shirt. Rode hard and put away wet.

She’d always had a soft spot for cowboys.

“When do you get off work tonight?” he asked.

“Around two.”

“Can you meet me after?”

“For what?”

He shrugged. “Anything.”

Janelle understood what he wanted. He hadn’t exactly been coy about voicing his desires. But he also didn’t seem to care if he got lucky or not. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had been willing to wait for sex, and interested in getting to know her first. The customers at Vixen enjoyed being listened
to
. They liked being agreed with.