Wrong Number, Right Guy

  “The one with all the muscles?” She smiles for the first time since I arrived.

  “Yeah, that one. He offered me a job.” I try not to smile, but it’s tough.

  “So he works at a security firm, and he offered you a job to take pictures? Of what?”

  I shrug, trying to think of a way to minimize the danger. Jenny has always been my self-assigned protector. “I don’t know. People. Places. Things.”

  “A job of nouns.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t play, little sister. What aren’t you telling me?”

  I fiddle with a loose thread on my new workout shorts. “Nothing much. Just that it’s basically kind of like—a little bit of this sort of thing that’s kind of hard to explain.”

  She takes a long sip of her wine, almost emptying her glass.

  I jump up to get the bottle, hoping it will distract her from my horrible attempts at downplaying my job’s negative points.

  “You are the worst liar who ever walked planet Earth,” she says, laughing into her glass as she finishes it off.

  “Better than being the best liar, right?” I lean over and fill up her glass, topping off my own while I’m at it, before setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

  “Maybe. So what’s the deal? Straight up. Just tell me. I won’t get mad.”

  “Straight up? Fine. It’s a surveillance gig. I take pictures of bad guys doing bad things.”

  She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and lets out a long, loud growl. “Eeeeeerrrrrhhhhh!” Then she glares at me. “May, how could you?!”

  “How could I what?” I’m playing innocent. “Get a job so I can pay my bills?”

  “How many times have I asked you to move in with me? We could both save so much money.” Her eyes get teary.

  “Aw, babe . . .” I get up and sit next to her on the couch, leaving my wine on the table, “you know I can’t do that. I need my space. You guys need your space to be a family. I don’t want the kids getting mad at me because I’m cranky all the time.”

  “You’re not cranky all the time.” She’s crying now. “You’re always happy.”

  “That’s because I have my own place.”

  “Are you saying being at my place or living with me would make you unhappy?”

  It’s a fair question. I have kind of been saying that for the last year. “No, I’m saying that I’m a young, single girl who likes to walk around her house naked sometimes and take long baths with a glass of wine once in a while.”

  Jenny sighs, leaning her head on mine. “That sounds nice, actually.”

  “Anytime you need that, just call me. Or text me like you did today, and I’ll come running. I’m here for you; you know that.”

  “I do know that.” She pats me on the leg and sips more wine. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Ignore me.”

  “What happened? Was it Miles?” The ex. The arrogant asshole who refuses to step up to the plate and be a real father to these kids.

  “Of course it was Miles—who else would it be? The child-support check he gave me bounced, once again, so several payments I made to other places aren’t going to go through now.”

  I chew my lip, knowing I’m treading on dangerous ground. Moving in with her could save her from a lot of these problems, but I also worry that if I did that, Miles would stop doing the little he does do. He’d see me as his kids’ stand-in dad and disappear forever. Forget the bouncing check problems; we’d be moving into three hundred and sixty-five days of continuous child care on my sister’s part instead of her getting the two weeks of vacation when he takes them for some of the summer and the one weekend a month he still manages to put on his schedule.

  Nope. I can’t move in with Jenny. Much as it would ease some problems, I’m sure it would create worse ones. The last thing I want is something coming between us. I love her and her babies too much for that.

  “I’m getting paid pretty well at this new place. Maybe I can help out with some bills.”

  “That’s not fair to you.” She sniffs and smiles at me. “How will you be able to afford all that bubble bath?”

  I nudge her with my elbow. “I can make my own. I’ll just run the bathwater over a bar of soap.”

  She snorts. “Sure you will.” She moves a little away from me so she can see me. “So tell me about this guy.”

  “What guy?” I’m trying to act like I really have no clue what she’s talking about, but I can tell from her expression she’s not buying it.

  “As if. Come on, you know who I’m talking about. Tall, dark, and built like a tank.”

  “Who, Ozzie?”

  “Don’t make me strangle you. I’m mad enough at Miles to take it out on an innocent bystander.”

  “Fine. Ozzie is the guy who saved my life, basically.” I pick at the thread on my shorts again. “And, as you might recall, he watched Felix that one day and brought him back to me, which was really nice.” I sip my wine as I remember that kiss. “Anyway, there’s nothing going on with us. He’s just my new boss, that’s all.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” Jenny drinks more wine. “And your face getting all red right now and you pulling your shorts apart is all just . . . what? The flu? You coming down with something?”

  I close my eyes and tip my head back on the couch. “We kissed, okay? We kissed.”

  She whacks me on the shoulder. “When?!” She sounds suddenly very happy.

  “Saturday night. At my place. When he brought dinner over.”

  “Oh my god! All this happened, and you didn’t say anything?! Now I understand why you don’t want to move in.”

  “Shut up.” I look at her, keeping my head on the couch. “Nothing else can happen. We work together now. He’s my boss. He apologized.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Ouch. So it’s nothing, okay? Just . . . let it drop.”

  “Is it hard working with him?”

  I sigh, thinking about my day. “Not really. Sure, I’m sweating him the whole time, but I don’t think he can tell.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says in her mocking tone, “you’re always so cool about that kind of thing.”

  I have to smile. She knows me too well. “I’m trying to be cool, okay? And today it got a lot easier when he was in charge of my stupid workout.”

  “Workout? Is that code for something?”

  “No. Like at the gym—a workout. I lifted weights with every muscle in my body for an hour today.”

  She reaches over and squeezes my bicep.

  “Ow.” I flinch with the pain but find I can’t move very well. The longer I sit on her couch, the stiffer I get.

  “You need to stretch.”

  “That’s what Dev said.”

  “Dev?”

  “A coworker. The trainer.”

  “I thought you said Ozzie trained you.”

  “He did. But next time it’ll be Dev.”

  “So you’re getting all sweaty at work with a bunch of guys. Is Dev as hot as Ozzie is?”

  I laugh. “Perv. It’s not like that.”

  “Just let me dream. Is he?”

  “If you like guys who are six and a half feet tall and totally bald, then sure. He’s cute.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, trust me, I’m not.”

  “Hmmm.” She rubs the rim of her glass. “Maybe I’ll get to meet him someday.”

  “Maybe you will.” I sit up and moan as my muscles complain.

  “You okay?” Jenny asks, resting her hand on my back.

  “Sore muscles.” I breathe through the pain.

  “Better get home and take one of those baths you were talking about.”

  I twist a little to look at her. “Will you be okay?” I glance at the kitchen were I can hear the kids whispering. Plotting a takeover or a coup, probably.

  “Yeah, we’ll be fine. The wine helped.”

  “I promised them ice cream.”

  “I heard that. Don’t worry. I’ll cover for you.” She stands and holds out a h
and to help me up.

  I take it and get to my feet with difficulty.

  “Thanks for coming over and saving me from going insane.”

  I hug her close and kiss her cheek. “Any time, any place. I’m there.”

  “Same for you, you know.” She pats me on the back. “If you ever need me, I’m there too.”

  “I know.” I pull away and walk carefully around the furniture. One wrong move and I could trip, and if I end up on the ground, I’m probably going to have to stay there for the night. I have about enough juice left in my body to get me home, and that’s it.

  “Call me tomorrow after work, so you can tell me all the details.” Jenny opens the front door for me.

  “I will.” I lift my chin and talk louder. “See you later, kids!”

  “Bye, Auntie May!” comes a chorus of tiny voices.

  “Thankth for the ithe cweam!” adds Sammy.

  “Thank your mom!” I yell back before walking outside. I pick Felix up and hold him under my arm. The night is balmy, with just enough humidity to make my shirt start sticking to me again.

  “Gotta love this N’ Orleans weather,” Jenny says, gesturing with her glass like she’s saying cheers to the night.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” Blowing her a kiss, I get into my car, putting Felix on the passenger seat before I gently shift into reverse and leave her and her crazy kids behind. I’m exhausted, but happy. Happier than I remember being in a long time. I’ve got a new job, a great family, an adorable dog, and a group of people who call themselves a team, who’ve welcomed me into their fold. Life is good.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  My life completely sucks. My body is broken. It’s Tuesday morning and my alarm has gone off, so I should be getting into the shower. But instead I’m lying in my bed, paralyzed. Felix licks my cheek, and I don’t have the energy to stop him.

  I moan as I try to roll over toward my phone. He follows me, knowing I have no fight in me, licking my ear now.

  “Ooooooohhh my god, what the hellllll.” Every muscle in my body aches. I think I tore them all. This can’t be just regular muscle pain; it’s too severe.

  The only thing that doesn’t hurt is my thumb. After nudging Felix away, I use it to type out a text message, resting the phone on my mattress so I won’t have to use any arm muscles to hold it up.

  Me: Ozzie, I’m dying.

  A few seconds later, my phone rings.

  “Hello?” I groan, putting the phone to my doggie-licked, wet ear.

  “What’s going on? Talk to me.” Ozzie’s all business. Does he know it’s only six in the morning?

  “I’m sore. I think I’m dying.”

  A long hiss of breath hits my ear before he speaks again. “Are you dying because of your workout or because you’ve been shot?”

  I hold the phone out and look at it. I guess 6:00 a.m. is crazy-talk time.

  “No, don’t be silly. Who would shoot me in my own house?”

  “How am I supposed to know where you are?!” He’s yelling as if he’s genuinely mad at me.

  “Excuse me, Mister Angry Pants, but I thought you had a phone-tracker thingy!” Now I’m mad too. I was expecting pity and I’m getting scolded? What’s up with that?

  “Which I don’t turn on unless I think someone’s in trouble, May!”

  I blink a few times, letting that sink in. Makes sense now that I’ve been awake for more than three minutes.

  “Okay, fine. I’m sorry if I caused you any distress by telling you I’m dying.”

  He says nothing for a while.

  “Ozzie? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

  As the seconds tick by, I become more and more convinced that I never should have picked up my phone this morning. He’s not my boyfriend; he’s my boss. He doesn’t want to hear about my sore muscles; he just wants me to walk into work by seven and get going with my assignment. Why do I keep defaulting back to this boyfriend role for him? What is wrong with my brain?

  “Listen, do you want the day off? Are you that sore?”

  I sit up with effort. “No.” The word comes out sounding like it was uttered by an eighty-year-old woman. “No.” The second time is better. I feel stronger. Humiliation is giving me wings. “I don’t want a day off; don’t be ridiculous. It’s only my second day.” Felix climbs into my lap, and I absently play with his ears.

  “But if you’re too sore . . .”

  “I’m not. I’m totally not. I’m fine. I’ll see you in an hour. Sorry I called you. I won’t do it again.”

  He says nothing.

  “Okay, so see you later. Bye.”

  “See you later . . .”—he pauses—“Bo Peep.”

  I press the red button and fling my phone into the covers. “Bo Peep. Bo Peep. I’ll give you Bo Peep.” I lift Felix off me and swing my legs out of the bed, groaning the entire way. I never knew before how many of my abdominal muscles, back muscles, arm muscles, and neck muscles are necessary to complete that small motion. Wow.

  A ten-minute shower and liberal coating of my body in lotion to facilitate a quick self-massage go a long way toward getting me more mobile. I can actually walk with only a small limp now. But every step down my staircase brings a whimper to my lips. By the time I’m at the bottom, I’m basically just falling down the stairs. I grab the railing at the bottom to keep from collapsing on the floor. Felix runs next to me, I think concerned for my welfare. He keeps looking up at me and whining.

  “Don’t worry, Fee. I’m not going to die today.”

  I let him out in my small yard to do his business, fill his bowl with kibble, and leave him there to play doggie takeout.

  Four anti-inflammatories have me singing about walking on sunshine when I drive into the warehouse a half hour later. I lose a little of my good cheer when I see Dev standing in the middle of the floor with a singlestick in his hand. When his eyes lock on me, he grins real evil-like and smacks his palm with the weapon.

  Fine. He wants to play it that way? Fine. Finer than fine. I pull into the corner of the warehouse and park, grab my Taser out of my purse, and climb out of my car. I’m headed in his direction before the door is even shut.

  “You even think about touching me with that stick and I’ll shoot you up with so much electricity, you’ll be able to power this entire block with your finger in a socket.” I hold it out in front of me with two hands, since one arm is too weak to do the job on its own. I could possibly look like an FBI badass.

  Everyone starts laughing, including Dev.

  He puts the stick on the table and opens his arms. “Come to Papa, Bo Peep. I knew you had it in you.”

  I sigh with relief and lower my weapon, limping forward to join my team.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I gotta give you props,” Toni says, turning the wheel of the van slowly so we can park on the side of the street half a block up from our surveillance target. “That was a great approach with Dev this morning.”

  “It’s not like he gave me any choice.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and swivel in my seat to watch her as she moves around in the back of the van. It’s a tiny command center, with two short stools set up in front of a bank of screens and two laptops on a very narrow shelf built into the side of the van. I was relieved to learn that the entire thing is bulletproof.

  “You had plenty of choices. I had money on you turning around and leaving.”

  My smile falls. “Oh.”

  “Buuut you’ll be happy to know everyone else thought you’d stick.” She’s messing with wires under the shelf, frowning when something isn’t doing what she wants it to do.

  I don’t want to dwell on her lack of faith in me, so I change the subject. “What are you doing down there?”

  “Trying”—she grimaces—“to find”—she yanks on some cords really hard—“the power supply”—a cord comes flying out and hits her head—“for the computers.” She sits up and smiles at it. “There we go. You ca
n run, but you can’t hide, you little bastard.” She plugs the laptops in and opens the one in front of her.

  “So what exactly are we doing here today?” I shift in my seat so my leg muscles aren’t quite as cramped. Pretty much any position I pick isn’t going to work, though. My body is in full broke-down mode.

  “First we need to assess which type of surveillance is going to work with what we have here on this street, and then we need to get it set up. Deadline to finish is tooo-day.” She looks out the front windshield. “You should come back here with me and pull that curtain.” She gestures at a spot behind the front seats.

  I move to the back part of the van and unhook the black curtain from its tieback behind the passenger seat. It runs from right to left via a metal track imbedded in the ceiling. Once it’s in place, the back room goes dark except for the laptop’s screen. Toni leans forward and presses a button on the panel in front of her, and a dim overhead light goes on.

  “This is so super spy,” I say in a whisper.

  “If you say so.” She’s too busy tapping on her keyboard to look up at me.

  I turn around and drag the hard plastic case full of equipment closer to me. “I guess I’ll go through this stuff.”

  “Good idea. Try a couple lenses out. See if any of them can get into the house.” She pauses and reaches over me to get to the curtain. “You can pull down this little flap and put the lens up there. Try not to let it down until you’re ready to fill the hole with the lens.”

  The black curtain has a camera spy hole. Cool.

  The first lens I select does the trick, as much as any camera lens can, anyway; when I place it up to the hole in the curtain, I can pick up the small mailbox attached next to the front door. The faded nameplate says “Juarez.” It looks like our targets haven’t done any housekeeping since the house was built in the sixties, though, so seeing into any of the interior probably isn’t going to happen.

  “I’m not sure how much I’m going to see through those brown windows,” I say. “Reminds me of My Cousin Vinny.”

  She surprises me when she jumps right in. “Love that movie. One of my favorites. The two ‘yoots.’” She laughs, shaking her head with a sigh.