Hard Justice Read online

  “Behave, Bea.” He pointed a warning finger at the eighty-some-year-old.

  “Oh, honey. I’ve spent most of my life misbehaving. I can’t change now,” she teased, not a speck of remorse anywhere to be seen. Her crew of ladies howled in laughter behind her. “Besides, it was an accident. My hand slipped.”

  Her friends continued their hyena-type laughter. Jesus. Octogenarian misfits, the entire damn lot of them.

  “When your hands start developing a mind of their own, it’s time to water down the drinks,” Vince said dryly.

  “Now, there’s no need to get hasty.” Bea looked appalled at the idea of being cut off. “I’ll tell you what, hon…agree to be the male model for our senior art class, and I bet you’ll find my hands will keep to themselves.”

  He didn’t want to fucking ask, but the words left his lips anyway. “Don’t people pose naked for those kinds of classes?”

  “Your point?” Bea wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  “What’s wrong, Navy? Afraid to shed your skivvies for a roomful of art enthusiasts?” came Charlie’s sultry, English-accented voice. Goddamn, it was the voice of a phone sex operator—not that he knew what one of those sounded like.

  Charlie, taking a break from her girls’ night across the room, whipped up two simultaneous batches of frozen margaritas and slid one pitcher Bea’s way along with a saucy wink. “You’re way too adventurous for Navy, Bea. You’d run circles around him.”

  Vince shot the pink-haired thorn in his side a glare. “Because I don’t want to pose naked in front of a group of women with a fondness for pinching my ass? Like you’d do it?”

  “I did. Last week.”

  The mug in his hands slipped, splashing beer all over his jeans and shoes. Charlie. Naked. No clothes. His dick twitched at the mental image, one he should be familiar with by now considering he’d pictured it at least twice a fucking week. Hell, more.

  “Dropped something there.” Charlie grinned. After lifting his jaw back into position, she hopped over the counter again, taking a full tray of drinks back to the other side of the room.

  Vince forced his eyes off the sway of her ass and turned to a smirking Bea. “She didn’t seriously pose for you all, did she?”

  The older woman sipped her margarita. “She sure did. She even promised to come back for couples’ week. I’d ask if you wanted to volunteer, but when I told him we’d already secured our lovely Charlie, that ridiculously handsome Beau brother, from the construction company in town, immediately offered his services. Maybe you could be his understudy…if he calls in sick.”

  Vince caught himself grinding his back molars at the thought of Charlie posing with the oversexed douche. The guy had so many notches on his post that the damn thing couldn’t stay upright—and he boasted about each and every one of them.

  “Behave.” He gestured to Bea’s group’s replenished margaritas. “Or I really will confiscate your drinks.”

  Vince returned to his orders, walking away from the chorus of chuckles.

  The town of Frederick didn’t have much in the way of a tourist flow, which made spotting the stranger at the end of the bar easy. Somewhere in his mid-thirties and dressed in a suit and tie, the man should’ve been in a boardroom instead of a country dive.

  “What can I get you?” Vince asked.

  The stranger’s attention remained fixed on the other side of the bar. Vince followed the man’s gaze, annoyance stirring his gut when he realized he was watching Charlie and the girls.

  Vince cleared his throat and didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You need to either order a drink or get off the stool. Patrons only.”

  Preppy Boy finally turned around. “I’ll take an ice water.”

  Vince waited for the punch line, but when it didn’t come, he reached for a glass. He’d no sooner turned toward the tap machine when Preppy’s eyes slid back toward Charlie. He plunked the water down, making it splash on the countertop. “What else?”

  “Nothing.” Preppy Boy reached for his drink. “Actually, you could hit me up with a little bartender gossip. The blonde? With the pink hair? Is she here most nights?”

  Vince crossed his arms over his chest and heard his jaw crack.

  At his silence, Preppy spared him a quick glance. “Oh, come on. You know, the hot little number who was over here a few minutes ago? The one with the perfect rack and killer ass?”

  “I know who you’re talking about. I just have no intention of answering you, and if you knew what was good for you, you’d keep your distance.”

  Preppy cocked up a suspiciously well-groomed eyebrow. “Are the two of you an item or something? Or are you playing the part of the big bad protector?”

  “She’s not an item with anyone, and I don’t need to protect that woman from anything when she can do it all on her own. Just saving you the embarrassment of getting shot down—or knocked down. With her, it could go either way.”

  Preppy took a sip of his drink. “Thanks for the advice, friend, but I can handle it—and her.”

  Vince leaned closer to the bar and to the stranger, throwing a little extra menace into his tone. “Let me make myself a little clearer, friend. She’s not the type of woman who’s going to be handled—by you or anyone else. As a matter fact, none of the women in this joint are, so if you’re looking to cause trouble, you best walk away while you still have the use of both your legs.”

  Vince almost wanted the ass-hat to argue because, not having been in the field for more than a week, he could use a little action. Unfortunately, Preppy stayed silent and gave a slight nod. Vince turned back to the waiting customers, barely missing an innocent Bea-grab, when his gaze caught a familiar pair of brown eyes watching him from the other side of the room.

  Fuck. He really should start thinking about taking his own advice.

  * * *

  Charlie ripped her eyes away from the bar before the three women she’d claimed as best friends called her out on her distraction. Again. Despite the fact that they’d all met less than a year ago, they sometimes knew her thoughts better than she did, a side effect of having girlfriends to which she wasn’t yet accustomed. Any childhood friends she’d collected growing up had been kids whose parents had decided to stretch their legs at the same rest spot.

  Learning through life experiences. That’s how her mom had once described their vagabond existence, hopping from country to country, never staying in one place for longer than a week or two. No classrooms. No school dances. No best friends—until now, which was why she tried bloody hard not to chase them away with her snark.

  “Stop staring a hole through me. Please.” Charlie narrowed her eyes, focusing on the bull’s-eye in front of her. The dart flew from her fingers and missed its mark by three damn rings.

  “I’ll stop staring when you tell us the truth,” Penny bartered from her perch on the stool. Fingering her red hair, she studied Charlie before throwing her attention toward Rachel and Elle. “You guys see it, too, right? I mean, I’m not completely off my game?”

  “Definitely hiding something,” Elle agreed with a nod.

  Rachel, at least, gave Charlie an apologetic look. “You have been a little off tonight.”

  Charlie didn’t want to lie—something had been different since she’d stepped into the bar. Normally, meeting up with the girls meant a male-free night of fruity drinks, dirty jokes, and relaxation. Tonight, she simply felt plugged in…like her body was on a constant alert, prepped for something to happen.

  She almost blamed Vince for the source of the itchy, hyperaware tingle on the back of her neck, but his attention warmed her body from the lady bits out; it didn’t make her feel like an entire colony of ants were doing the Irish jig on her spine.

  “Fine.” Penny sighed. “You don’t want to tell us what’s on your mind. At least explain what you did to poor Vince when you went over to get our pitcher. He went from looking annoyed to shell-shocked, and then…I don’t know what that was when you walked away.”
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br />   “I may have mentioned my posing for Bea and the ladies at the rec center,” Charlie admitted.

  Elle’s nose wrinkled up, the blonde deep in thought. “But why would that make him look like he’d walked in on his parents having sex?”

  Rachel burst into laughter, nearly falling off her seat. “You didn’t tell him what kind of posing you were doing, did you?”

  Charlie chuckled. “If his mind chose to go the dirty and naked route, who am I to steer him in the right direction?”

  “Wait,” Penny interjected. “You posed nude?”

  “My hands did. They were studying the bending of joints or something and needed someone who didn’t have arthritis yet. But my point’s that I—”

  “Love seeing Vince squirm.”

  Charlie shrugged, barely hiding her own grin. “A girl’s got to have a hobby, doesn’t she? Besides, I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s pretty damn hard to get a reaction out of the man. I have to take advantage of every opportunity that comes my way.”

  Rachel’s attention shifted across the room. A ghost of a smile hovered over her lips. “I don’t know. He looks pretty reactive to me.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but follow her friend’s gaze, and instantly regretted it. Rachel was right. Locked in their direction, Vince’s hazel eyes not only pierced through the room, but through her.

  “I need the loo.” Charlie handed over the remaining darts to Elle. “Don’t shoot someone in the arse—at least until I get back and can drive the getaway car.”

  “Hey,” the pregnant blonde complained, “my aim’s not that bad.”

  “Love, you couldn’t hit a barn big enough to park a semi…but we love you anyway.”

  Charlie forced herself into a slow, easy stride, but halfway across the room, that damn watched feeling came back. She performed a quick eye-sweep of the room. Sports and hunting seemed to be the focus of more than one discussion. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the norm—until she saw the stranger.

  In a sea of flannels and hunter jackets, his pressed pants and pin-striped shirt stuck out. He leaned casually against the end of the bar, smiling at her from over his drink. Something about him made her hair stand up on end, but she passed quickly and headed down the long hall toward the ladies’ room.

  She took her time using the facilities, washed her hands, and then splashed her face with cold water for good measure. When she came out, Pressed Pants was leaning against the far wall.

  “The gents’ loo is down the way.” Charlie gestured toward the other end of the hallway—after she’d made sure he didn’t have any friends with him.

  “Not here for the bathroom. How about I buy you a drink?”

  Charlie cocked up a single eyebrow. “Do you always follow women to the bathroom so you can ask them that? And before you answer, know that was a rhetorical question. I’m not interested.”

  She turned to walk away, but his hand landed on her elbow. Instinct ripped her arm from his hold, and she spun, using the fifty or more pounds he had on her to pin his arm behind his back and plant his face into the wall.

  “Did I give you permission to touch me?” Charlie growled.

  “Jesus Christ. Intense much?” the stranger’s voice sounded muffled. “I thought you looked stressed. Figured it would unwind you some.”

  “I don’t need unwinding,” Charlie lied. She released her hold and stepped back, forcing her breathing to slow as she turned toward the main room. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, love. I’m sure there’s someone else who would love to take you up on your offer, but I’m not that woman.”

  “And I think you are…Charlotte.”

  Charlie froze at the mouth of the hall before she turned around. Pressed Pants was no longer smiling—and he no longer had the condescending man-on-the-prowl look. Something else glittered from his eyes, and it zapped a fierce—and brief—bolt of panic down her spine.

  “I tried doing this the easy way, Miss Hughes.” He smiled, obviously enjoying the fact he’d caught her off guard. “Oh, I’m sorry. You go by Charlie Sparks now, am I right?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I work for someone who’s been searching for you for a long time. And I have to admit, we almost gave up. Your talent behind the computer hadn’t been fabricated in the least.”

  “Trust me, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  His lips pulled back into another grin. “But there is, which is why we should be sitting for a talk—in private.”

  Twelve years suddenly seemed like yesterday. Charlie’s world started going dark, the walls getting tighter around her. The only thing preventing her from going under was a familiar pair of hazel eyes watching her from the other end of the bar.

  Vince’s attention flicked from her to the stranger and back, not missing a beat despite being half a room away.

  Charlie grabbed the stranger’s arm and tugged him down the hall to the bar’s small corner office. She needed to deal with this—preferably without witnesses. Once she found out exactly what she was dealing with, then she’d decide how high the shite was going to rise.

  Chapter Three

  Thump-thump. Wack. Thump-thump. Wack. Someone wailed on a sparring bag, the sound reverberating through Alpha Security’s corridor as if it was on the overhead communication system. The closer to the gym Vince got, the louder the low grunts became. Logan and Trey, two of his Alpha teammates, hovered outside the door, which left a handful of possibilities as to the owner of the serious aggression.

  “Why are you two girls hiding out here in the hall?” Vince smacked Logan on the back and peeked into the training room.

  The snug fabric hugging the ample curves of her breasts like a fucking glove, Charlie bounced on the balls of her feet in a hypnotic to-and-fro movement. A little blue jewel winked at him from her belly button as she pivoted her hips and turned her torso into a punch.

  Frowning, Vince watched the way she attacked the sparring bag, as if it had insulted her mother, and she showed no signs of slowing despite the dewy glow sliding over her skin. “How long has she been at this?”

  “An hour.” Trey, obviously displeased, nodded toward the left. “And before that it was about thirty minutes of Scooter time—give or take.”

  Vince glanced over to the life-sized dummy they kept on hand for weapons training, and winced at the half dozen throwing knives sticking out of his neck. And his chest. And his groin, exactly where his dick would be fucking shish-kebabed if he’d been human.

  Logan’s gaze tracked the way Charlie drilled fist after fist into the sparring bag and added, “And she was in Stone’s office before that.”

  “Door open or closed?” asked Vince.

  “Closed. For half-a-fucking-hour.”

  Fuck. Nothing good ever came out of being summoned to the boss’s office. And Vince couldn’t help but tally the time clock and realize that the chain of events had started soon after she’d hustled toward the back room with Preppy Boy.

  “Did either of you ask her what happened?” asked Vince.

  The guys looked at him as if he’d sprouted a dick in the middle of his forehead.

  “Does it look like we have a fucking death wish?” Trey questioned. “Jesus. I have a kid on the way, one I’d like to watch grow up, and raise alongside my future wife. No way am I sticking my head anywhere near the lion’s mouth.”

  “She’s five-foot-nothing.”

  Logan shook his head, chuckling low. “Dude. You’ve been on the team for a while now, and it’s like you haven’t learned a damn thing. Charlie makes some four-star generals seem like domesticated pussycats.”

  He was inclined to agree. Though petite Charlie was no wilting flower. He’d been on the receiving end of her sharp wit more times than he cared to count, not to mention her roundhouse. But that wasn’t where her edge stopped.

  The most exquisite ink work he’d seen in a damn long time wrapped around the right side of her torso and slid beneath the band of her yoga pants. The underst
ated beauty of rich brown tree limbs and pink cherry blossoms was as gorgeous as it was fitting. Hard and soft. Stark and gorgeous. All of it fit Charlie to a tee.

  “You’re overextending your arm on the punch.” Vince stepped into the gym, aware that his friends hightailed it in the opposite direction the second he’d opened his mouth.

  Chicken shits.

  “I don’t recall asking for your bloody advice.” Not bothering to look in his direction, she drilled another series of punches into the bag, no doubt envisioning his face floating in front of her.

  “The friendly thing to do would be to say ‘Thank you, Vincent. You saved me from having my arm in a sling for four weeks.’”

  “If you want friendly, go upstairs.” Charlie nodded above them to where the bar was in full midnight swing. “I’m sure there’s a blonde or brunette or redhead looking to be the next member in the Navy Boy fan club.”

  Thwack. Kick.

  Hell, she was right. He could go up to the bar and, within five minutes, have a willing companion for the night. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and the fleeting sexual release would’ve easily smoothed away the constant edge that always hovered beneath the surface. Now it left him cold.

  “You almost sounded a little jealous there, English. Careful, or I may get the impression you care.” Vince took position behind the sparring bag and held it in place, knowing he was living dangerously but not giving a shit.

  As expected, she kicked precariously close to his right hand. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. I could get a bad dye-job and fake boobs if I wanted, but flying around like a deflated balloon if something sharp pokes me in the chest isn’t my idea of fun.”

  At the mention of her chest, his eyes dropped to her cleavage. Hell, he couldn’t help it. He was a man, and the two secured globes looked pretty damn close to perfection. Unfortunately, she noticed his shifted attention too.

  Charlie twisted, winding up for another roundhouse, but this time didn’t pull back. Before he registered her aim, the top of her shoe connected with his ear, making it ring like a church bell.