Wrong Place, Right Time Read online

  “Don’t be mad at your sister. She thought she was doing a good thing.”

  “A good thing? By avoiding me?”

  “No. By sending me over.”

  “Why would you coming over here be better than her coming over?”

  His face goes a little red and he shrugs. “I don’t know . . . maybe she . . .” He stops there and stares at the wine.

  Oh, God. She didn’t! She’s not! She’s not playing matchmaker is she?! Ack!

  I can’t look at him anymore; it’s too embarrassing. “Never mind. Here, have some wine.” I hand him a glass, sloshing a little wine out of it in the process. I grab my drink and mumble under my breath, “I know I’m going to,” before taking a big swig of it.

  Dev takes his glass and holds it up in front of him. “Cheers.”

  I’ve already taken a huge sip, but I hold my drink up too and nod as the two glasses touch. “Cheers.” My voice comes out strained because my wine has shrunk my vocal cords or something.

  He takes a sip and winces. He tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace.

  “What?” I ask. “You don’t like wine?”

  “No, I do. Just not . . . white wine.”

  I snort at his obvious lie. “No, you mean crap wine. I get it. I’m not one for splurging on alcohol, I guess.” I shrug as I stare down into the glass I’m taking another sip from. Sip, gulp . . . who’s counting?

  He takes another very small drink from his glass. “No, don’t worry about it. This is great.” He holds the glass up at me again and grins really hard.

  I shake my head and speak softly, trying not to be charmed by the fact that I can read every last emotion he’s experiencing on his face. “You are such a terrible liar.”

  His grin is sheepish. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  I’m sure he thinks I was insulting him, but I wasn’t. I have this thing against men who are good at lying. It’s refreshing to be standing in front of one who’s only good at telling the truth.

  I lean on the edge of the counter. A glance at the clock tells me it’s almost ten. “Don’t you have to get back home to your son?” Another sip has my glass almost empty, and it’s a big glass, too. Normally, I’d care about coming off as a lush, but not tonight. Tonight I’m kid-free and pissed off . . . a powerful combination. Bring on the alcohol!

  “He’s with my mother right now. She helps me out a lot.”

  Kid talk. I can hang with that, even when I’m buzzing. “Does she come to your house, or do you take your son to her?”

  “She comes to my place. My son is . . . more comfortable there.”

  I nod. “I get it.” I throw my arm out for illustrative purposes, calling his attention to the fact that it looks like my kitchen was vomited on by a unicorn; every color of the rainbow is here, represented by various dolls, action figures, trucks, and games. “My kids have all their toys here. It’s usually easier for May to come and watch them at our place when I need her.”

  “So, May helps you out a lot?”

  I shrug. “She used to.” I hate that my heart feels like someone is pinching it. I massage the rib space over it with my first two fingers and take another sip of my wine.

  “Why did she stop?”

  Guilt hits me when I realize that I’ve led him to believe May has dropped the ball on me and the kids. “I guess I shouldn’t have said it that way. She hasn’t stopped, she’s just . . .”

  Dev nods slowly. “I get it. You think now that she’s working with Ozzie, you won’t be seeing her so much anymore.”

  He’s way too perceptive. My chin goes out a little. “You think I’m wrong about that?”

  “Maybe you’ll be right for a little while, but I think May will come around. This whole thing with the company and with Ozzie is all new stuff, but once she gets the hang of it, she’ll refocus and remember what the more important stuff is.”

  “How do you know?” I hate that I’m holding my breath, waiting for his next words, but I am; there’s no point in denying it. I want to believe that he’s right. I want to believe that he’s as perceptive as he seems and that I haven’t lost my sister to his muscled colleague.

  “It’s pretty much how it happened for all of us.”

  Dev puts his glass on the counter, and I put mine down next to his. I want to be sober for this part, and I can’t trust myself to stay on plan if I have that glass in my hand and the bottle nearby for a refill. I fold my arms across my chest. “Really? To you too?”

  “Yep.” He taps his finger on the counter, seeming distracted as he answers me more fully. “I was the fourth person to join the team. First it was Ozzie, of course; then there was Thibault. Lucky came next, then me. And last there was Toni.”

  “Is there any particular reason why you all came in at different times?”

  “Well, there were reasons, but they’re not important. My point is that when you first join the team, it can be really overwhelming.” He looks up at me, the joy he has for his work shining out from his eyes. “It’s totally different from any other kind of job; we’re like a family more than just work colleagues. I mean Ozzie, Thibault, and Toni grew up together, since they were practically babies, so they know each other inside and out. Lucky met them when they were just in grade school. When a group like that asks you to come be a part of what they’re doing, and they’re doing this thing that’s really different and exciting, and sometimes a little dangerous, it kind of takes up all your head space for a while. But then your duties get mostly evened out, and you all figure out what you’re going to be doing each day, and then it becomes pretty much like a regular job.”

  “Except for the fact that you have to worry about people shooting at you.”

  He smiles. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We’re not police officers out on the streets dealing with criminals. We’re mostly working behind the scenes.”

  “Then why is someone trying to break into your warehouse?”

  He shrugs. “We’re not even sure somebody was trying to do that. It could have been someone trying to break into a random warehouse because they thought something valuable might be inside, and not necessarily something aimed at us. Crime at the port is kind of a given. And like I said before, I was just being extra careful with you because you’re not part of the team; you’re a civilian, and you’re May’s sister. She’d kill me if anything happened to you while I was supposed to be watching out for you.”

  I laugh. “And you’re afraid of my sister?”

  He holds up a hand. “Hey. Don’t laugh. And do me a favor . . . don’t underestimate your sister like I did.”

  He’s serious, and I’m definitely intrigued. “I sense there’s a really good story here.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “You got a couple hours? Because I have some stories for you. Things you won’t believe.”

  I shrug, feeling more awake and less interested in getting tipsy than I was before, but not wanting to seem overeager. He did lock me in a panic room today, after all. “Well . . . I was going to take a bath, but I decided that it was a bad idea and took a nap instead. So now I’m never going to get to sleep on time. I guess you might as well stay for a little while and share some of those stories with me.”

  Dev’s eyes go to my refrigerator. “You got anything to eat in there?”

  I look at the fridge and then at him. “We just ate, like, two giant bowls of jambalaya each a few hours ago. How can you possibly be hungry again?”

  “Have you seen this?” He gestures from his toes to the top of his head. “It takes a lot of calories to keep this machine running in top condition.”

  I laugh, feeling my cheeks go a little pink in embarrassment. I have noticed that his body is in top condition; that’s what’s making it so difficult being in the kitchen with him and feeling comfortable about it. I need to move this party into the family room, where we can have more space between us.

  I nod. “Okay, yeah, I get it. Unfortunately, I cleaned out my fridge last weekend,
so there really isn’t much in there.” I won’t mention that my pay and Miles’s sporadic child support doesn’t leave a lot left over for extra snacks. My mortgage is ridiculously expensive.

  He pulls out a cell phone. “Do you mind if I order a couple pizzas?”

  I’m a little surprised that he seems to think he’s going to camp out here long enough to have a meal, but then I figure, What the hell; it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I wave at his phone. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

  I grab our wineglasses and secure the bottle under my arm. “Come on. Let’s go in the family room, where we’ll be more comfortable.”

  “Good idea. I’m right behind you.”

  Leaving the kitchen, I head out into the hallway. An image flashes out of the corner of my eye, and I hesitate. My head swivels to the right to see what it is, and I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror. Holy shit. I look like Death warmed over.

  “Oh, my freaking god.” I whisper. I’m still sporting the zombie look! Holy crap! My hair! My face! How embarrassing!

  I turn to look at Dev over my shoulder, trying to figure out from his facial expression if he noticed. He gave me no signs at all in the kitchen that he did, which is completely and totally weird. Does he think this is my normal look? That I did this to myself on purpose? He’s still on his cell, probably trying to find the phone number of the pizza place.

  I rush down the hall and into the family room. I slam the bottle down on the coffee table, almost dropping it on the floor in my hurry to release it. The glasses go down next, and then I’m standing straight, but turned away from him as he enters the room. I pretend my curtains need a serious looking-over.

  “I’m just going to run upstairs for a minute,” I say, sidestepping toward the hallway with my back to him. “And put on some clean clothes.”

  “You don’t have to change on my account.”

  I try to laugh, but it comes out too shrill to sound natural. “Ha, ha! No! That’s okay! It’s no big deal. I get smelly when I sleep, and I had that nap . . .” Oh, Jesus Christ, did I just say that out loud? What is wrong with me?

  He laughs. “Did you say ‘smelly’?”

  “Oh, shut up.” I run out of the room and up the stairs, pounding every last one of them on the way. It sounds like a herd of elephants has been let loose in the house.

  “You like pepperoni?” he shouts out behind me.

  “Yeah! Whatever!”

  I rush into my room and go about fixing the horror show that is my face and hair, throwing on a fresh pair of jeans and a newish top too. As I stand in front of my bathroom mirror and use two tablespoons of toothpaste to try and vanquish my horrible jambalaya breath, I make my plan.

  Don’t worry, Jenny, you can do this. You can make him forget what he witnessed before. Just distract him with witty repartee and amazing facts you’ve learned from watching a hundred hours of Animal Planet with the kids, and he’ll forget that you looked like the bride of Frankenstein when he first got here.

  Yeah. Nothing will go wrong with this plan. It’s totally solid.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After taking and releasing a few deep breaths at the top of the stairs, I walk down very calmly. My hair looks decent, I’ve got enough makeup on to cover the worst of my flaws, and I’ve used half a tube of toothpaste. My tooth enamel may be in trouble now, but I’m determined to erase Dev’s most recent memory of me looking and smelling like a zombie who had just finished eating someone’s brain. Now that I’ve had my super-speedy makeover, I’m ready to face the man who makes my heart go pitter-patter, and I will not freak myself out by imagining that this is a date.

  The smell of pepperoni hits me as I reach the last stair. “You already got the pizzas?”

  Dev is sitting on the couch with three pizza boxes stacked up in front of him. He grins at me as I enter the room. “Yep.”

  “You’ll have to give me the name of the place where you ordered from. I can never get anyone here in less than thirty minutes.”

  Dev looks at his watch. “You’ve been gone for forty-five.”

  I look at my wrist and frown. “Nooo . . . All I did was change my clothes.”

  He lifts up the lid on one of the boxes of pizza. “Whatever you say.”

  I stand there in the middle of my family room, trying to decide if I should keep fighting this losing battle, or just admit defeat. He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I put in a little effort. He’s lifting out a slice of pizza, his mouth already partly open in expectation of shoving it in.

  “What would you like to drink?” I ask, giving up on the charade. It’s just common courtesy not to have someone over for pizza looking like a Yoda bat, right?

  He pauses with the tip of his pizza triangle at the edge of his mouth, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “I also bought a couple liters of soda that I put in the other room. Help yourself.”

  “Would you like some?”

  “Sure. I’ll have some wine, too.” He winks at me. “Going to get my drink on.”

  I try not to smile. “Don’t you have to drive?”

  He folds the pizza long-ways, eating half of it in one bite as he shrugs. Now his mouth is too full to respond.

  I shrug as I turn toward the kitchen. He doesn’t seem worried about it, so I’m not going to fret. If I think he’s had too much to drink, I’ll call him a cab. But the fact that he’s seven feet tall and he’s about to eat three pizzas tells me I probably don’t have to be concerned about his blood-alcohol level. He’d probably have to drink that entire bottle of wine for it to affect his ability to drive.

  I make quick work of getting two icy glasses of soda and a second bottle of wine, bringing them out to the family room so that I can sit down and watch him ingest more food than I previously thought humanly possible. Putting the glasses down on the table next to the pizza boxes, I choose a spot two cushions away from my guest. Any closer and I’d be making a move on him.

  He flips up a box top for me. Two other pieces are already missing. The man has eaten three pieces of pizza in less than five minutes. Impressive. I love cooking for people who like to eat. The idea of inviting him for dinner sometime jumps into my head, but I quash it immediately. No need to get ahead of myself. Besides, he’s a Bourbon Street Boob.

  “Help yourself,” he says. “It’s pretty good, actually.”

  I was thinking I was going to say no when he offered, but when the scents of the melted mozzarella and the delicious, greasy pepperoni hit me, I can’t do it. “Okay. But just one.”

  “It’s been hours since we ate last. You should be hungry again. Have two or three.” He pauses and turns to look at me, waiting for my answer.

  I reach into the box and gingerly pull a slice out. “I think I’d better stick with one. I have a bit of a love affair with carbs, but carbs don’t particularly love me, so I try to avoid them when I can.”

  “I think I’d fall into the deepest depression known to man if I couldn’t enjoy my carbs,” Dev says. He folds his crust and puts the entire thing in his mouth. His cheeks bulge out as he chews.

  After seeing that, I’m not nearly as worried about being ladylike as I was two seconds ago. I don’t think he’s one to appreciate or expect someone to eat like they’re at a tea party with the president’s wife. I shrug, feeling more comfortable in his presence. “I’m sure with the workout schedule you have, you could eat as many carbs as you wanted and they’d all just burn off the minute they hit your stomach.”

  He nods. “Probably.”

  “Have you always been in shape?” I take a bite of my pizza to stop myself from saying anything else. What I’ve already said is bad enough. I might as well have just come right out and told him he has a great body.

  “I’ve always played sports. That makes it easier to stay fit. But I didn’t actually start working out with weights and doing other kinds of training until I suffered a really bad injury and had to go through rehab. That kind of got me interested in the whole aspect of buil
ding up my body to make it a more efficient machine for what it needs to do.”

  I chew slowly, trying to figure out if I’ve noticed any signs of a former injury in anything that he’s done. I haven’t seen a limp or any stiffness in his movements that I can recall. “How long ago was your injury?”

  “It happened when I was eighteen. Motorcycle accident.”

  I take another bite of my pizza and a sip of soda, hoping he’ll elaborate and not force me to start another interrogation.

  “Ever since the accident, I’ve focused on keeping myself strong, so if I’m ever in a bad situation again, I can handle myself and have a shorter recovery.”

  “I guess that comes in handy in your line of work.”

  “For me, it doesn’t matter so much. But for the others, sure. It helps a lot.”

  “What do you mean, it doesn’t really matter for you? Why are you different from anyone else?”

  He doesn’t look very happy with his answer. “Well, first of all, I’m not really good for use out in the field, and second of all, I have other things going on that make it difficult for me to participate like everyone else does.”

  “Is it because of your injury? Is that why you can’t participate?”

  He shakes his head as he reaches into a pizza box, separating crusts so that he can grab another piece. This time he pulls out two pieces and flips one on top of the other, making a pizza sandwich. He takes a large bite and chews it for a while before answering.

  “No, actually, that has nothing to do with it. My height is the problem. Once people get a bead on me, their eyes don’t pass over; they just stare. And then they don’t forget me after. Even if they never talk to me or find out what my name is, they always remember that guy who they were absolutely sure must be some sort of famous basketball player who they saw at the store or the mall or the gas station or whatever. I just can’t move through life without being noticed, and that’s not a real asset when it comes to security work.”

  “I would think that would be a real asset with security work. It’s very intimidating. What could make a person feel more secure than having a big giant of a man standing there?”