Wrong Place, Right Time Read online

  “Oh, nothing much,” I say, not keeping the hatred out of my voice nearly as much as I should. “He just informed me as he was picking the kids up that he needs to drop them off early on Sunday.”

  She snorts her disgust. “Of course he did. Did you expect anything different?”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. Why do I always do this? I convince myself he’s going to be a good guy and a good father for a change, getting my hopes up. For what? To have them come crashing down, that’s what. It’s like I want to punish myself or something.

  Good guys don’t do what he did and what he continues to do at every opportunity. Leopards don’t change their spots. Our own mother said that enough times that I should have internalized the wisdom, but alas . . . I have repeated her mistakes in my own life, marrying a philandering turdbasket. I think this makes me certifiably stupid. Dumb as a box of rocks, as my father used to say about the woman who gave birth to us. At least that man is gone from my life for good. He caused our family enough pain for two lifetimes with his drinking and aggressive behavior toward women, his lies, and the cheating on our mother. Now if only Miles would take a long walk off a short pier . . .

  I jerk myself back to the present and away from my murderous thoughts. “I have no idea why I expected him to man-up or father-up. I should know better by now.”

  “Well, don’t worry, because I have good news for you. Great news. Because I am such an amazing sister, and because I am pretty much clairvoyant, I already have a solution in place for you.”

  This does not bring me comfort. Normally May is pretty good in the solutions department, but I can’t trust her to be totally responsible anymore, since obviously she thinks quitting a perfectly good job and joining a commando security firm where she gets stalked by killers is a good career move, and when you have three kids to take care of, you need at least one responsible adult around.

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  She continues, ignoring my doubt. “Ozzie and I have made plans to come over one day next week and hang out at your place. And I have already purchased a gift certificate in your name that will allow you to go to the mall after work that day and treat yourself to a little something special while we watch the kids.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I’m not even sure I completely understand.

  “You’re stunned, right? I knew you would be.” May sounds very pleased with herself, and I have to admit, I’m feeling pretty happy with her too.

  “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “It’s not what you’ve done . . . it’s what you will do.”

  I close my eyes and take another deep breath. “I’m not sure I want to hear what you have to say next.”

  “Trust me. You’re gonna love this.”

  “Love what?”

  “Just come to my work. In an hour.”

  “Your work? No, I’m not doing that.” I’ve been there once before, and that one time was enough. I was not impressed with the downtown fight-club vibe it had going on. All those lockers and weightlifting equipment, with cars parked inside? No. It’s definitely no high-class photography studio like she used to have as her workplace. Not by a long shot.

  “Why not? Come on, it’ll just take you like an hour, max. I promise you won’t be sorry. Ozzie is going to pay you.”

  “Pay me? Dammit, May! I knew this was going to piss me off!” He’s trying to buy my approval; I know he is. Bastard.

  She shifts into begging mode. “Pleeeasse, Jenny. Don’t say no! I really need you!”

  “You don’t need me! Do I look like a Bourbon Street Boy to you? You need some kind of commando person.”

  She laughs. “Commando person? What’s that?”

  I can see the men she works with very clearly in my memory. “You know what I mean. People with muscles and tight shirts who punch people in the face for a living.”

  “Don’t be silly. If I needed that, why would I call you?”

  “An excellent question.” It’s silly that her response hurts my feelings. I know I put on some weight with my pregnancies that I haven’t lost yet, but I do plan to join a workout program one of these days . . .

  “Just come. It pays five hundred bucks for less than an hour of consulting. You said you wanted to start doing some freelance stuff, so now’s your chance.”

  I have a hard time breathing over that. “Did you say . . . ?”

  “Yeah, I said that.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Five hundred smackeroos and a gift certificate. Be there by five-thirty. And bring your laptop.” She hangs up before I can argue, smart girl that she is.

  I turn around and catch my reflection in the mirror that hangs in the hallway, getting a very clear view of the blue baggage I’m sporting under my eyes. Nice. I look like one of those Bourbon Street commandos punched me in the face.

  I really, really need that bath and at least a few hours to relax, but five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks; and when child support checks bounce more often than not, having a little padding in the bank account is a good thing. No . . . it’s a great thing. Thank you, May.

  I resist the urge to take another gulp of my wine, and turn to go up to my room so I can slather on some makeup and hide the bags under my eyes. I’ll take my bath later. And hey . . . I might even spring for some champagne to drink while I’m in it, since I’ll soon be flush with some cash I wasn’t expecting.

  I’m finally able to muster a smile as I head up the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t even know what this is. Am I dressed appropriately for freelance computer work at the Bourbon Street Boys security company? As I wait at the stoplight just in front of the port’s entrance, I look down at myself. I’m wearing jeans, sneakers with flowers embroidered on them, a white button-down blouse, and my light brown hair in a ponytail. Except for silver ball stud earrings, I left all my jewelry behind; it didn’t seem right to be getting all fancy when I’d be working at the port. The vehicle of choice out here is a forklift. I don’t want to embarrass myself or my sister by walking into this place looking like a goof who doesn’t know how to dress for the occasion.

  Checking the mirror, I note bangs that should have been trimmed a month ago hanging in my eyes. I swipe them over to the side and make sure my mascara hasn’t smeared. Good to go. My fatigue is not doing a good job of hiding behind that foundation I used. Lucky for me, my blue eyes are picking up the slack, looking pretty dang bright and fresh if I do say so myself. The idea of five hundred extra bucks and a shopping mall gift certificate tend to have that effect on me.

  The light turns green, forcing me out of my self-evaluation and into the port. Working from memory, I drive in and weave around various buildings until I see the one I want. I pull up to the warehouse and stop the car outside, letting it idle for a little while as I examine the exterior of the place.

  There’s no obvious pedestrian entrance, but I’ve been here before, so I know that I have to go over to the keypad and press the call button so that someone will let me in through the rolling door in front of my car.

  I’m tempted to remain out here in the air-conditioning and try to guess what’s going on behind the scenes in there, but that’s just going to delay my bath event that much longer. Might as well just admit I’m nervous and get this over with.

  I hate that I’m such a creature of habit, that working at a place other than my normal job site makes me so uncomfortable. How will I ever leave that hellhole and work as a freelancer if I can’t do something as simple as one hour of work with my own sister? Ugh. I’m hopeless. Fear has me so strapped to my job, I’ll never leave it. I’ll grow old and gray there, and they’ll have to force me out in the end. I’m doomed. Doomed!

  Disgusted with myself, I turn off the ignition, grab my laptop and my purse from the seat next to me, and leave the car, slamming the door behind me. My sneakers squeak with each step as I draw closer to the door. My ponytail swings in rhythm behind m
e, right along with my butt. Yo, can I get some fries wit dat shake? I seriously need to get to the gym.

  At the keypad, I lean in and press the call button as I speak. I’m sweating and my hand is trembling with nerves. “Hello?”

  When all I get is static in response, I start to panic. A forklift flies past behind me, going way too fast, or so it seems. I twist around to watch it zoom away. The guy driving it turns and whistles at me, smiles, and gives me a wave. He has two teeth missing.

  Oh, God. I’m a mother with three children! Ack! What am I doing here?

  I take a deep breath, face the keypad, and slowly breathe out, trying like hell to calm myself. You can do this, Jenny. Woman up. Remember: you are a beast. No, you are a honey badger. No one messes with the honey badger.

  “Come on, answer your door, Bourbon Street Baboons.” I press the button again and raise my voice. “Helloooo!” The sweat is now making my shirt stick to me. Aaaand the hits just keep on coming! Maybe I’ll get lucky and Forklift Driver Guy will swing by again and offer to take me out for drinks at the local strip club.

  Nothing happens for the longest time. I’m tempted to just turn around, leave, and tell May no one was home when I came. But I know better than to think that this technique will work with her. She can be very determined when she puts her mind to something. She’ll harass me and force me to explain myself, and I don’t want to admit to my baby sister, who I need to protect from all things that go bump in the night, that I was scared. Scared of a toothless forklift driver and a little sweat. Dammit. I’m the meat in another rock-and-hard-place sandwich.

  I lean in once more, picturing a video I saw of a honey badger attacking a cobra. The honey badger don’t take no shit from nobody, not even the Bourbon Street Boys. “Hellooo? Is anyone in there or not? I’m leaving if someone doesn’t open up right now.”

  The sound of the giant door suddenly starting to open makes me jump in fright. Honey badger, my ass. I quickly recover and smooth the sides of my hair back so no one will think I’m a big weenie, afraid of every little thing. It’s just a door. Relax, idiot.

  Being out here at the port always makes me a little nervous. I’m completely out of my element right now, I can admit that. I have no idea how my sister could possibly feel so comfortable around here. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s muscles that give her a weird sense of security. Unfortunately, I don’t have that going for me. All I have is my laptop and some pepper spray. I clamp my arm around my purse a little harder, imagining I can feel the canister pressing into my hip.

  “May’s sister, Jenny, I presume?” says a male voice from within. It’s not Ozzie’s. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.

  It takes a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside, but when they do, I have to work really hard to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. There’s a guy more handsome than he has a right to be, standing just inside the warehouse, smiling at me.

  Be cool, Jenny, be cool. “Yes, that’s me,” I say way too brightly, trying to cover up the fact that I’m having a total brain meltdown. He’s not my type, but still . . . handsome is handsome, and there’s no denying he’s a looker. I take a little breath to calm myself down. “That’s my name. I’m Jenny. Jenny Wexler. May’s sister, yep, that’s me. Computer person. With my laptop.”

  Aaaand cue the word-vomit. Excellent! You’re on a roll, Jenny!

  When he stands there looking at me, kind of stunned, I hold my laptop up off my hip a little as my face burns red. “She called me. To come here. With my computer?”

  Handsome Guy holds out a hand that I’m expected to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m lucky.”

  Why is he lucky? Because he gets to meet me? Should I be flattered? I step forward with my hand extended, more confused than anything and hoping he won’t notice how sweaty my palms are. “Lucky . . . ?”

  He shrugs, almost like he’s embarrassed. “It’s a nickname I got when I was ten.”

  Understanding finally dawns, along with the realization that I obviously need more sleep. “Nice to meet you, Lucky.” His hand is warm and soft, which kind of surprises me, since I figured all the guys who work here have calluses from all the head cracking they must do.

  I look around him as our hands fall away from each other, trying to locate my sister. I would’ve thought she’d come out and welcome me herself, but I don’t see her anywhere.

  “May had to step out for a little while, so she asked me to bring you in and get you started.”

  I try really hard not to roll my eyes, but it’s impossible. She acts like she’s so desperate to get me here, and then she disappears? What’s up with that? This had better not be a trick. She will so get a knuckle sandwich if it is.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” He smiles and winks at me.

  “Well, I do, so be careful.” I’m back to being cranky. I could be in a hot bath right now almost done with that bottle of wine, but instead I’m in here with a guy who just winked at me, probably to make me feel better about my sister abandoning me, or because he can see I’m sweating like a pig in heat. She’d better not be out to dinner with her boyfriend, blowing me off.

  His smile drops away just a little. “Well . . . okay, then.”

  An awkward silence ensues. I tap my finger on my laptop, and he rubs his hands together. I wait for him to make the next move, because I have no idea what I’m really doing here, but all he does is shrug his shoulders.

  A noise behind him distracts me from the sweat that’s starting to drip down my lower back and into my bum crack. And I thought this day couldn’t get any crappier.

  “You going to leave that door open all day?” a guy asks.

  Lucky answers by turning his head slightly to the side and raising his voice. “Keep your pants on! We have a visitor!”

  “Who is it?”

  “See for yourself!” Lucky gestures for me to step toward him. “Come on in. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance.”

  “Keep your distance?”

  “I wouldn’t want to get bitten.” He winks again.

  My face goes redder. It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being such a b-word, but I figure that’ll just start another one of those awkward silences again, so I say nothing. Instead, I step into the warehouse and try not to jump as the door starts sliding closed behind me. Damn, that thing is loud.

  As the door booms shut, a movement off to the left catches my eye. A giant of a man is emerging from the darkness, and he’s completely wet, his shirt and shorts sticking to every inch of him. Holy smokes. I didn’t know they grew them that big.

  This must be the guy my sister has talked about several times. If I recall, he has actually attacked her on more than one occasion, apparently as some sort of test. I think he’s the guy in charge of workouts or something. That would explain the copious amounts of sweat I see pouring off every part of his body.

  I narrow my eyes at him as I realize he might be crazy enough to imagine I’m game for those kinds of shenanigans. If he even thinks about attacking me, I’m going to smash him over the head with my laptop and then make him buy me a new one. What’s his name again?

  “Dev,” says the guy, as if he’s read my mind. Giant strides that would take a normal guy twice as much effort put him in front of me in seconds. “You must be Jenny. You look just like your sister.”

  His smile is disarming, especially with that dimple he has on the right side and those sparkling blue eyes to back it up. And that body . . . damn. Now this guy . . . he’s my type. I can feel my face flush all over again as I realize just how cute he actually is. And big. His hands are huge. They look to be about the size of my dinner plates. The lonely single woman part of my brain takes over and wonders if certain other parts of his body are also proportional to his height, and I strain to keep my eyes above hip-level.

  I have to tip my head back to see his face as he stops in front of me, which is way better than staring at his crotch. Holy sexy time. I hold my hand out
automatically to shake his, and he responds by rubbing his palm up and down on his leg.

  “I’m really sweaty.”

  I take my hand back and rest it on my chest. So much for sexy time. “That’s okay. It’s nice to meet you.” Sweaty hands the size of dinner plates? No thank you, not unless I’m also hot and naked.

  Crap, did I just really think that? How embarrassing. He’s introducing himself in his place of business, and I’m undressing him with my eyes. Talk about unprofessional. May will never ask me to freelance for her boyfriend’s company again if I don’t get control of myself. Maybe I should buy a dildo.

  There are droplets of sweat all over his head, slowly dripping down the side of his face. He’s completely bald, so the effect is pretty impressive; it’s both gross and sexy at the same time. He has sweatbands on his wrists, and he uses one of them to wipe the salty water out of his eyes. It’s then that I notice he doesn’t have eyebrows either. Why I find that even sexier is a mystery to me. Dammit. Dildo it is.

  “You here to help us out with the Blue Marine case?” he asks.

  I shrug, glad to have someone here thinking about the business at hand and not sex toys. “I have no idea, actually.”

  Lucky speaks up. “I haven’t had a chance to give her a briefing yet. She just got here.”

  Dev nods. “Gotcha.”

  Lucky turns around to look at a staircase at the far end of the warehouse. “Actually, I need to grab the file from upstairs. Do you mind showing her over to the cubicles and getting her hooked up for me?”

  Dev smiles again, making my heart go pitter-patter. “No problem.” He starts walking across the warehouse. “Follow me, Jenny. Let’s get you plugged in.”

  I hesitate, wondering where I’m going, what I’m doing, and what this is all about. “What’s Blue Marine?” I ask Lucky’s back as he walks away.

  His voice echoes around the warehouse as he answers me while running up the metal stairs, taking two at a time. “It’s a case we’re working on. I’m going to grab a non-disclosure for you to sign and a record of the work I’ve done so far. I’m just stuck in this one spot, and May said you could help.”