Celebrating Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Page 2

  Nick turned his attention back to the enigmatic woman, torn between wanting to keep staring at her beauty and shutting her up with a kiss. Whoa…no kissing strange women you meet at a cheap nightclub…no matter how kissable those lush, ruby lips are.

  “And see the tall, redhead on the dance floor…the one in the itty-bitty dress that is halfway up her ass due to that guy behind her grinding his crotch against her? Well, she’s not into him. You can tell because her ass may be getting down and dirty with the dude behind her, but her eyes are on that blond, beachy-looking guy over to the side.” Taking another sip of her drink, she turned her eyes back toward Nick. “That’s why I knew this wasn’t your typical scene,” she added. “There’s a bit of desperation here, don’t you think?”

  It did not matter that her assessment of the club was exactly the same as his. He kept silent, tossing back the rest of his drink.

  “But, then, there are those here just out to have fun, I suppose. I’ve got friends who go to nightclubs all the time.” Leaning over, she wrinkled her nose as she added, “But I just can’t get into the dancing. I’m not very coordinated but, then again, dancing nowadays just seems to be for girls to shake their ass around a lot and guys to get their crotch rubbed on.” Offering a slight shrug, she said, “I’ve been to some nice ones, but still they’re just not my favorite place to be. I’d rather curl up with a good book.”

  “So why pick this place? Can’t you do your research at a nicer club?” he asked, thinking that one with more security would be preferable.

  “But my story is about a couple that meets under unusual circumstances in a cheap night-club. So, I needed to come here. Of course, I did some research on clubs in the area first. I wouldn’t dare go to one in a bad side of town. I’m all about research, but I’m not stupid. And I didn’t want one that was too close to the university, filled with frat boys looking for a quick fuck up against a wall or ugh, in a bathroom.” Pinning her eyes on him again, she said, “Now, that’s something I just can’t see doing. Do you know how many germs are in the typical public bathroom? And to just drop your panties and have your bare ass on a sink? Nope, not me! I have to pee a lot, but I try to hold it when in a place where dubious activities have been going on.” She flashed her grin at him and added, “You men can just use a urinal, but us girls have to think about what we’re sitting on.” Laughing, she amended, “Or hovering over.”

  Nick was nowhere close to drunk after only having two watered-down drinks, but his brain struggled to keep up with the verbal barrage coming from her mouth. He was a man of few words— carefully thought out words— and he knew it. His friends knew it. Hell, even his co-workers knew it. But, as maddening as she was, there was something endearing about her.

  Before he had a chance to figure her out, she slid from the stool and teetered for a second in her heels. His hand automatically shot out steady her.

  Blushing, she assured, “I’m not drunk, I promise. It’s been a while since I’ve traipsed around in heels this high, but I figured I needed to blend into the environment.” Beaming her white-toothed smile directly at him, she added, “But it’s nice to see chivalry isn’t dead!” Leaning over, she patted his arm, “I had you pegged as a gentleman from the get-go.”

  Turning around, she held up her phone and took several more selfies as she turned in a circle. Placing her phone back in her purse, she smiled. “I’m not really this conceited. I hold up my phone like I’m taking a selfie and then turn it slightly. That way I get lots of pictures all around, but no one gets creeped out.” Seeing his brows draw down, she explained, “For my research, of course. I can go back home and when I need to describe something, I look at my pictures!”

  Straightening, she grabbed her purse, threw some bills onto the bar, and said, “Well, I’m off. It was nice talking to you.”

  “Wait, let me walk you outside,” Nick said, suddenly fearful for her to be outside alone. “Just to be safe.”

  Assessing him, she nodded slowly. “Sure…thank you.”

  Throwing more bills onto the bar, he walked at her side, using his left hand to part the crowd while his right hand lightly rested on the small of her back. Stepping past the bouncer at the door, they were hit with the night air, clean and fresh after the overly-warm club interior.

  “Prissy’s parked around the corner,” she said, smiling up at him.

  “Prissy?”

  “My car—Prissy.”

  “You named your car?” he asked, his brows lowered.

  “Of course! Don’t you name things in your life that are important to you? Think about it. She gets me wherever I want to go. If there’s an emergency she’s there. I’m not so good about remembering to get her oil changed and things like that, so I guess that makes me a poor Prissy owner, but my brother helps out—he makes sure I’m right on schedule taking care of her.”

  Once more uncertain how to respond, Nick stared at the animated woman smiling up at him.

  “Here’s Prissy and, as you can see, I parked right under a street light.”

  Nodding his silent approval while still wrapping his head around car-naming, he noted her blue Prius parked in a well-lit space. His fingers continued to press gently into her back, tingling at the feel of her soft dress. Stopping at her car, his eyes scanned the area as she unlocked and opened the driver’s door.

  Turning, she smiled up at him, saying, “Thank you for walking me to my car. And for talking,” breaking into a chortle, she amended, “or rather listening to me tonight. I hope I didn’t keep you from catching your bad guys.” Seeing him about to protest, she stopped him with her palm on his chest. “Don’t deny it.” Lifting on her toes, she placed a quick kiss on his cheek before quickly sliding into her seat and closing the door.

  Hearing the door locks click, he watched as she wiggled a finger wave toward him before pulling into the street and driving away.

  Left standing underneath a street light outside a gaudy nightclub, Nick wondered what the hell just hit him as the scent of lemons hung in the air.

  Lazlo Gruzinsky stood in the shadows of the alley next to the club, one hand resting on the back door of a white, panel van, his eyes pinned on the blonde woman getting into the car. The one he had been eye-fucking for the last hour when he wasn’t doing his job. The one who had been inside taking a lot of pictures, and may have taken one of him. Or the girl he now had. And now that same blonde stood smiling up at some man who had to be some kind of cop, or worse…a Fed. Nobody goes to Club Neon and just sit drinking watered drinks. The man looked around too much and not at the women in the place. Grimacing, he slapped the back of the van, giving it the high-sign to pull away.

  Moving in the shadows toward his car, he watched as the blonde climbed into her vehicle and drove away.

  2

  The quiet greeted him as an old, comfortable friend. Walking into the neat apartment, he reveled in the clean and organized space. Order and peace. Everything in its place. Just the way he liked it.

  Nick lived on the third floor of his apartment building, the modern construction offering security, a night watchman, and a first-floor gym. While located just outside the city, it was still conveniently located to the Bureau’s local office.

  Locking the door behind him, he pulled off his tie on the way to his bedroom, passing the neat lines of the minimalistic furnishings in his living room and pristine kitchen. In his obviously masculine bedroom with its navy and gray bedspread paired with dark wood furniture, he walked to his closet, hanging his tie on the tie rack as he toed off his shoes. Placing his shoes on the shelf at the bottom of the closet, he hung up his suit jacket. Giving it a sniff, he shook his head. Sliding the coat hanger to the far end, he hung his pants next to it, adding a trip to the dry cleaners to his list of things to take care of tomorrow.

  Moving into the bathroom, he stripped as the water heated, dropping his shirt and boxers into the hamper. Stepping into the pristine, white, tiled shower, he allowed the water to stream over him, washing
away the sweat, cheap nightclub smell, and the thoughts of the case. Instead of his job, the beautiful—albeit talkative—woman who had invaded his space at the bar was now invading his mind as well. And I didn’t even ask her name.

  As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he stepped out of the shower, shaking his head to dislodge the regret, but all he managed to do was sling water droplets over his mirror. Irritated, he grabbed another towel from the linen closet next to the double sink and began wiping the water from the glass before it had a chance to dry, leaving spots. Wrapping the towel around his lean hips, he stood with his hands on the counter and stared into the mirror.

  Dark hair, neatly trimmed. Tall, muscular in shape. The physical training at the FBI academy years earlier had stayed with him and he enjoyed working out every day. Well, almost every day. Lately, his desk job had taken precedent and, while he appreciated the responsibilities, he missed field work. And that was why he had gone with Janice and Tom to stake out the club. But it got us nowhere. Rubbing his hand over his face, he jerked the towel from his hips and finished drying before folding it neatly and hanging it over the bar.

  Stalking into the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of loose-fitting shorts and wandered into his kitchen. Grabbing a water bottle out of the refrigerator, he guzzled the contents, letting the cool liquid slide down his throat. Moving to sit at the table, he pulled up his laptop. Checking his emails, he then typed the notes from this evening so he would not forget anything. They had spotted a few low-level cartel members, but did not see anyone identified as working with the terrorists. Sighing, he saved everything and closed his laptop. Placing the bottle into the recycle bin, he began his nightly checks.

  Front door locked. Security system alarmed. Stove off. Toaster and coffee maker unplugged. Laptop and phone charging. Lights off.

  Turning the covers down, he reclined in his bed, leaning against the pillows on the headboard. Taking the latest book he was reading off the nightstand, he opened up to the bookmark, but before he read one word, his mind shot back to the woman at the bar. A writer…doing research…who works in a bookstore during the day. He wondered if she had lied about her vocation, knowing many people made up stories about what they did when they met someone in a bar. But as the thought ran through his mind, Nick dismissed it. He considered his bullshit meter to be good, so, he was sure she really did what she said.

  Irritated that she was on his mind once more, he slammed the book closed before placing it carefully on the nightstand, precisely where he had left it the night before, and slid down in the bed after rearranging the pillows. Turning off the lamp on the nightstand, he closed his eyes willing sleep to come. But he waited in vain. Her plump, glossy lips came to mind…and how I’d love to see them sliding up and down my cock!

  The semi-erection he had sported since he first laid eyes on her was now rock hard and not going away. Slipping his hand down his boxers, he fisted his aching dick and pumped to the thought of her mouth on him…his mouth on her…and then sliding into her slick sex. Closing his eyes, she was all he could see. Grunting, the muscles in his neck tightened and corded as his balls pulled up. Teeth clenched, he came until he was emptied and lying limp on the bed.

  As the fog of lust lifted and rational thought came back to him, he opened his eyes, looking down at the mess over his stomach and his sheets. What the hell? Hand jobs were relegated to the shower where the results could be easily cleaned. Irritated that this woman had invaded his mind, his thoughts—and my good sense—he jumped up and stalked to the bathroom. After washing himself, he grabbed clean sheets from the linen closet and headed back into the bedroom.

  Fifteen minutes later, with soiled sheets rinsed out and in the laundry room, clean sheets on the bed, and lights back out, he lay down once more.

  Sleep came, but his dreams were restless…filled with blue eyes and ruby-lipped smiles.

  “I didn’t even get his name!”

  Bayley Hanssen walked up the stairs to her apartment, juggling her purse in one hand while fishing for her keys, kicking off her shoes and bending over to pick them up with her other hand while balancing her phone between her shoulder and ear.

  The phone slipped, bouncing onto the floor of the hallway. Dropping her shoes to scramble for her phone, she cursed, “Shit! Sorry, Daphne, dropped my phone. But yeah, I didn’t get his name. We just talked. Well, I talked and he sat…kinda quietly, actually, while I prattled on.”

  Managing to get her door unlocked, she continued, “But damn, I could have just stared at Mr. Tall, Dark, Mysterious, and Beautiful all night.”

  “Shouldn’t he be tall, dark and handsome…or gorgeous? You could call him TDH or TDG!” Daphne enthused.

  “Mmmn, nah,” Bayley disagreed, shutting the door behind her, entering her small apartment. “Beautiful is the word for him. Gorgeous is such a superficial word, usually just referring to appearance or even enjoyability. Handsome is also so much about appearance, or generosity. But beautiful? It’s not just about looks, but about delighting the senses. Having a very high standard.” Leaning back against the door for a moment, the image of him in her mind, she smiled. “Yes…tall, dark, mysterious, and beautiful is just the perfect description of him.”

  “Well, you’re the writer and Mr. TDMB sounds like one of your characters,” Daphne said. “One of your really good characters.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought, too,” Bayley agreed, tossing her shoes by the door and her purse on the knotted pine kitchen table with the mismatched chairs, where her keys skidded off, landing on the floor. Kneeling, she petted the dark grey cat that slinked out to meet her. “I don’t know what he was doing there, but I’m sure he was on some kind of stakeout, so I’ll never see him again. But I’m going to remember him, just so I can write him into my next book!”

  “Oooh, sounds good, but I gotta go. It’s late and I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. My boss is such a stickler for being on time!”

  “Shut up,” Bayley replied lightly. “I’m your boss and when did I care?”

  Daphne laughed, “See you tomorrow!”

  Disconnecting, Bayley walked into her tiny kitchen, glancing at the clean dishes on the dishrack. She was great about washing immediately, but rarely dried or placed them back in the cupboard. Snagging a cup, she filled it with tap water and drank thirstily. Pouring a little cat food into the bowl on the floor, she smiled as Mr. Lickers ran over, crunching the morsels. Lifting her hands over her head, she stretched. Tired and feeling dirty, she stepped around the counter and down the slight hall through her bedroom, stepping over a few piles of clean laundry that had not made it to the closet, entering the bathroom. Turning on the water, she listened as the pipes groaned a few seconds before the water began to pour. Stripping out of her red dress, she dropped it to the floor, and stepped into the bathtub, letting the shower water wash the nightclub odor off her.

  Squirting shampoo into her hand, she washed her long hair, leaning her head back to let the water continue to sluice through the strands. As the warm water relaxed her body, her mind stayed firmly on Mr. TDMB. Easily the most intriguing man in the crowded room, she remembered the instant she first saw him.

  Smiling as the memory assaulted her, she continued to glide the fragrant sponge over her body, wishing they were his hands. A giggle erupted at the thought of how out of place he appeared. Had to be police…or FBI…or someone keeping an eye on something.

  The water began to cool, so she stepped out, grabbed a towel and dried off before tossing it haphazardly on the shower curtain bar. Standing in front of the mirror, she stared at her reflection.

  Her light-blonde hair, now wet and dark, lay slicked back from her heart shaped face. Her cheeks were rosy but the black mascara she wore now streaked trails down her face. Grabbing her makeup remover, she rummaged in a drawer for a cotton pad. Pulling out the plastic bag, she realized she used the last one the previous night and had forgotten to put it on her mental shopping list. Tossing the bag, she pulled som
e toilet paper off the roll and wadded it up before soaking it with makeup remover. The cheap paper shredded as she rubbed her face, leaving little muffs of white over her cheeks.

  Somewhat mascara free, she grabbed a bathcloth and washed her face again. Staring into the mirror, her blue eyes scanned her body, critically assessing each curve. Is my stomach poochier than it was yesterday? After turning side to side several times to see if her extra pounds were an optical illusion or not, she gave up. Fuck it! I bet men don’t stand at the mirror and criticize their bodies! Grinning, she thought of her mystery-man standing in front of his mirror. Shaking her head, she brushed her teeth before grabbing her dress off the floor, then padded back into the bedroom.

  Her bed, still unmade from the previous night, looked inviting as she hung up the dress. Giving it a sniff, she grimaced at the stale odor from the club. Taking her coat hanger over to her window, she hung it over the curtain rod, deciding a little fresh air would be perfect. Opening the window slightly to let the evening breeze flow in, she smiled at the thought of saving a dry-cleaning bill.

  Slipping under the covers after tossing the pillows in a haphazard pile onto the floor, she stretched her body, feeling the last of the kinks from the evening slip away. Jumping up suddenly, she hurried to the front door to throw the deadbolt. Her brother preached home security to her, but she often left the deadbolt unlocked, although she had trained herself to think of it before she went to sleep.