Code name omega, p.5
Code Name: Omega, page 5
I don’t expend any effort scolding Abby when we walk out of the police station. Nothing I could say will make her change her ways. “Please tell me you don’t have other plans that might lead to your arrest in the near future.”
For a moment, she looks chastened and levels an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry your day was ruined. Thank you for bailing me out.”
We walk across the parking lot, the July sun already raising the temps into the mid-eighties. As I open the passenger door for her, I ask, “Was it worth it?”
Her green eyes are free of regret and shimmer with triumph. “It got your attention, didn’t it?”
I raise an eyebrow, liking the direction of her flirtation. “My attention?”
“You were going to spend money in there, and now you haven’t. So, yeah… it was worth it.”
Well, damn. I guess she wasn’t flirting.
But then she reaches out, grabs my T-shirt near the center of my chest, and gives it a playful tug. “And bonus points… I get to have lunch with a handsome guy who just bailed me out of jail.”
Okay, maybe she is flirting. On impulse, I nab her hand, bring her knuckles to my lips. It’s a move I’ve never made with a woman before. “And,” I say mischievously, “I agreed to foster a stolen dog for you.”
Her eyes flash with humor, and I’m not sure if it’s deliberate, but her voice turns husky as she goes up on tiptoes to put her face closer to mine. “That’s a move that would get most men in a girl’s panties.”
Christ, my blood runs hot just at the thought of what type of panties she might wear, and that is absolutely the kind of flirting I am in no way opposed to. I should kiss her right now, just to see how much bluster she is, but instead, I back it down. “Let’s start with lunch first. Then we can talk about your panties.”
Abby’s smile widens, revealing perfect teeth that in turn bite into her lower lip for a second. “Let’s go get supplies for Princess first. I know a good independent pet store downtown. Then we’ll pick up groceries, and I’ll cook lunch for you. I make a great summer pasta salad, and then we can discuss the matter of your heroics and my undergarments.”
“And your crusade to take down the puppy mills.” I release her hand and pull open the door wider for her to slide into the seat. “I need a better understanding of just how much trouble you’re going to be so I know if I really want to get in your panties.”
Abby’s laugh is throaty and delighted by my feigned reticence. “Pasta salad and panty discussions. Sounds like a wonderful afternoon.”
I close the door to my car once she’s settled in and whistle a tune as I walk around the back.
I think it’s going to be a fucking spectacular afternoon, even if I don’t get in her panties.
CHAPTER 5
Abby
“So, what’s your deal?” Kellen asks. He leans against the kitchen counter while I stir bow tie pasta boiling on his stove. I glance over my shoulder at him, and God, is he sexy.
He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts and a navy blue T-shirt that’s faded and soft looking with some military insignia on the left chest, a pair of flip-flops in a nod to the hot Pennsylvania summer day, and two days’ worth of facial scruff. I know it’s two days because he was clean-shaven day before yesterday when he brought Bubba into the clinic.
Long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, he holds a beer as he watches me with intense eyes.
I turn back to the boiling pot. “What more do you need to know about my personal crusade against Levi Hellman? You clearly know I’m willing to go to great lengths to save those dogs.”
My smile softens as I look over to where Bubba and Princess are lying on the cool tile near the fridge, both sound asleep. When we walked in a bit ago, Princess greeted both Kellen and me with more confidence, and I noticed her gait was more natural. I handed the bags to Kellen to put away while I gave her a quick exam. Her eyes are clearing up even after one day of antibiotic treatment.
“Not the dogs’ story,” he says, causing me to look back at him again. “Your story. What led you here from Kentucky?”
“Oh.” I chuckle because I tend to hyperfocus on my zeal to take Hellman down. “Let’s see… born and raised in Shelbyville, Kentucky, where my parents own a horse farm. Pretty much a normal upbringing but wanted to spread my wings, so I came to Pennsylvania for undergrad.”
“Racing horses?” he asks.
I shake my head. “American saddlebreds. At any rate, I went to veterinary school in Ohio—”
“Ohio State?” he guesses.
“The Ohio State,” I correct him to the proper way to refer to the school.
He snickers, and that tells me he knows the Big Ten well, its insistence as being known with the in front of its name. “But you didn’t go back to Kentucky.”
The timer on my phone chimes. Pasta’s done. I tap it quiet and turn off the burner. Kellen pushes off the counter, setting his beer down. Nudging me out of the way, he picks up the pot and takes it to the sink, pouring the hot water into the colander he’d set there earlier.
My heart catches because it’s exactly what my father would do for my mother when she cooked. Didn’t want her to lift a heavy pot or potentially scald herself with boiling water.
I always thought it romantic, and I hadn’t seen Kellen as that type. Brave and valiant, for sure, as witnessed when he stood up to Levi Hellman.
A sexy flirt, which very much appeals to me, because I’m a flirt, too, and I definitely like sexy men.
But this move was sweet and without calculation.
Yes… romantic.
“Kentucky?” he prods when I don’t answer. “How come you didn’t go back there to practice, especially since your family has a horse farm?”
“Lots of reasons.” I pick up the beer he’d opened for me and take a sip. “First, I didn’t want to practice equine care, and my parents already employ a very good veterinarian.”
“Whoa, wait,” Kellen says, setting the empty pot on the counter while steam from the pasta billows out of the sink. Turning to me, he asks, “Your family farm is big enough to employ a full-time vet?”
I smile wistfully as I think of Blackburn Farms. It’s no small operation. “It’s the largest saddlebred farm in Kentucky. Over a hundred acres with breeding and foaling barns, several indoor and outdoor training arenas, five separate housing quarters for staff, and our family’s very own ten-thousand-square-foot colonial house that my great-great-great-grandfather built in 1892.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters and blinks wide-eyed a second before his gaze narrows. “But something in your voice… bitterness? Regret? Relief not to be there?”
I’m stunned he named every emotion I sometimes feel when I think of the farm. “Maybe a little of all,” I admit.
“Overbearing, controlling parents?” he guesses.
“Not really. No.”
“High expectations?”
A pang in my chest—anger and sadness. “Very high.”
Kellen appraises me, holding his bottle loosely by the neck. “Let me guess… the farm is a big business. Generational, a lot of heritage mixed in. It’s probably expected that every generation take their rightful place to help the business prosper. There were a lot of things expected of you, maybe from the time you were born. But you had other dreams. How am I doing so far?”
I sip my beer. “A little too close for comfort.”
Kellen grins. “I’m also going to guess that your family is big. Huge, even, and you felt that there were plenty of others to take on the responsibility, which gave you an opportunity to escape.”
“You make it sound like a prison,” I say softly, glancing down at my bottle.
“Sometimes even a great life with a wonderful family can be a prison if you want to do other things.”
My eyes snap up to his. “Yes. Exactly. How did you get all of that so accurately?”
“I’m a good judge of character,” he explains. “Plus, I’m observant and have a wide and varied history to draw from. Also, there was a picture of you and what looked, I assumed, to be your big family, sitting next to your laptop in the clinic.”
Laughing, I hold up my bottle in a mock toast. “Great job, Sherlock.”
“Just how big is your family?” he asks.
“Mom, Dad, twin sister Katherine, older brothers Ethan, Trey, and Wade. An assortment of uncles, aunts, cousins. What about you?”
“Only child,” he says, taking a swig of beer. “Parents are alive and well in upstate New York. It’s why I moved back to the East Coast… to be closer to them.”
I step over to the sink, nudging him away. I use a jet of cold water to cool the pasta. “Which implies you were on the West Coast.”
“Southern California. But I landed a great job in Pittsburgh with a company called Jameson Force Security. Moved here a little over three months ago and have been loving this area.”
“It’s great, right?” I shake the colander to drain the pasta before dumping it into a large bowl. “I chose Washington because I like the small-town feel, but I can be in downtown Pittsburgh in thirty minutes on a good day. And the rolling hills remind me a little of back home.”
“Same,” Kellen says.
While I cut veggies for the pasta salad, he pops two more beers for us and tells me about the beautiful dairy country where he was raised. His dad is a mechanic, and his mom an operating room nurse.
The dogs snooze while I learn about Kellen’s enlistment in the Marine Corps and how he first became a military policeman and then got accepted into the dog handler program, which is actually run by the Air Force out of Lackland AFB in San Antonio. I’m riveted by the stories of his and Bubba’s time in Iraq, doing incredibly dangerous explosives detection work. Kellen explained that sometimes they’d search checkpoints, other times down random streets. My heart thuds as I consider every single step either of them took could’ve meant death. I wonder how this easygoing, funny man handled all that so well.
Or maybe he didn’t, and I’m just seeing his bright side.
We take the dogs outside and eat on his back deck. I learn more about the company he works for, and I’m shocked at the hazardous missions he goes on. His most recent trip was providing protection to American engineers traveling through some areas of Mexico that are quite often deadly.
“You mentioned you’re planning to buy out Dr. Schoen from the practice. When I met her a few months ago, she didn’t seem like she was considering retirement.”
I laugh. “She’s sixty-eight years old and acts like she’s forty. But she’s been dating a man about ten years younger, and they’ve been traveling a lot. I think retirement is coming sooner rather than later.”
“And how long has this feud been going on with Hellman?” Kellen asks. It catches me by surprise. He hadn’t pushed for details since bailing me out of jail, and I can tell by the abrupt change of subject he had intended to grill me on this all along.
Sighing, I settle back in my chair. “It’s not just Hellman. It’s the entire industry. And it’s not just those who run the puppy mills. It’s the pet stores that buy from them, knowing about the atrocities, and it’s the legislators who won’t pass laws with any real deterrents built in because they don’t want to piss off their business-owning supporters. There are federal laws, but the USDA has failed to revoke a breeder’s license or even fine one under the Animal Welfare Act in over three years. No level of government cares, so it’s up to me and other like-minded people to hit these breeders where it hurts. It’s very much a boots-on-the-ground kind of crusade.”
“And the arrest today?”
I lift my chin. “Pet World is a regional chain store, and I may or may not have staged some protests in front of their properties during my days off. They buy direct from the puppy mills, and Hellman’s is the largest.”
“And they have restraining orders against you,” he points out.
My smile is impish. “Only the one that came on the heels of an arrest when I was protesting.”
Kellen’s tone is paternal. “And now you have another arrest.”
“Does it lessen your attraction to me?” It’s a low blow, changing the subject that way, but his tone, while not quite censuring, has what sounds like slight disappointment.
“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “I’m just trying to understand if I need to start saving for bail and attorney fees.”
“You don’t have to do any of that for me, Kellen,” I admonish. “You just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time today. I would’ve gotten arrested just fine on my own, and I would’ve had Christy come bail me out.”
Kellen sets his bottle on the table and rises. He comes to me, bends at the waist, and puts his hands on the armrests of my chair, effectively caging me in. With his face hovering before me, he says, “The problem is, I’m already complicit by taking Princess. I’m already invested because I find what you’re doing endearing. And I am most definitely attracted to you, which means I’m not going anywhere. So indulge me when I have these concerns.”
The low rumble of his words causes my skin to prickle, and I’m lost to the intensity of his stare. “You hardly know me.”
“I’d like to change that too,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to my mouth before coming back up.
All I can think about is him closing the distance between our faces and kissing me. We’ve flirted, admitted attraction, and I’m not a shrinking violet.
I’m a rebel, for fuck’s sake, and always have been, much to my family’s chagrin.
If he kisses me, I’m going to kiss him back. I’m going to kiss him back in a way that might lead to other things. This, despite the fact that this isn’t really a date, and if we were playing by regular courtship rules, a kiss would come possibly at the end of the first date.
But I’m not sure dating is on his mind, or mine.
I know kissing is.
At least on my mind.
Kellen glances down again to my mouth and then smiles as he straightens. The loss of his presence all up in my space leaves me cold, and a little confused. Why is he playing this so safe?
“Do you have plans next weekend?” he asks casually, picking up our empty plates.
I scramble out of my chair to help him clear the table. I nab our beer bottles and the discarded napkins. “Um… Friday night, I’m free.”
Saturday is a no-go because I do, in fact, have plans that Kellen wouldn’t approve of, and they have everything to do with my next level of attack against Levi Hellman.
Kellen heads for the patio door. Bubba and Princess lift their heads, and upon noticing the exodus from the world of indoor living, get up to follow him.
When he reaches the slider, he pushes it open and lets the dogs precede him. He glances back at me. “Would you be up for me taking you out to dinner?”
Next weekend? That’s like… ten days away. We have a weekend coming up, and I have to wonder what’s wrong with this weekend? Perhaps he already has a date set and is just filling up his calendar.
I’d thought we had a connection… a definite attraction.
Hell, he’s hiding property I stole and has put himself at risk for me.
But he wants to wait until next weekend?
Thoroughly confused and irritated that I’m feeling a tiny bit rejected, I start to disconnect. I push away the breathless excitement this man brings, and I refuse to wonder about what could be between us. This isn’t going anywhere. “Actually… I totally forgot that I’m on call Friday night at the clinic. One vet has to be available for emergency calls and to administer medications or treatments to the boarders.”
Kellen’s expression flickers with disappointment before he heads into the house. “Well, damn. I wish I could take you out this weekend, but my parents are coming to visit.”
I follow behind him, shutting the door. And just like that, I’ve managed to misread the situation entirely and have boxed myself into a corner.
Setting the plates on the counter, Kellen reaches for the bottles. He rinses and puts them in the recycle bin in the pantry. “Maybe we can do something the weekend after that.”
“That would be great,” I chirp, sounding overly enthusiastic, which makes me wince at myself. But I relax my expression, and Kellen turns to face me, wiping his hands on a towel.
He tosses it onto the counter, bringing his gaze to mine. “I like you, Abby.”
I frown at that bold statement. “You confuse me.”
Kellen tips his head. “Is that so?”
“Little bit.”
“Good,” he says with a grin. “That will keep you on your toes.”
Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Why is that a good thing?”
“Because I know damn well I’m going to have to be on my toes around you. It’s only fair, right?”
All my doubts melt away. I can tell there’s going to be nothing normal about what might occur between Kellen and me in the future, but it sounds like it might be quite the ride.
CHAPTER 6
Kellen
Walking into work, I take note of the similarities between Jameson Force Security and the Marine Corps.
Camaraderie is paramount. I move through the maze of desks set out in the open on the second floor. When not on mission, we’re here in this massive, abandoned warehouse Kynan McGrath converted into covert offices, planning out upcoming missions and writing our reports on finished ones.
Several of my new coworkers—teammates, really, depending on who I’m on mission with—call out greetings. Some are nothing more than chin lifts before reengaging in whatever office work they have before them, some are first bumps, and another calls out a crude joke.
Every single one of these guys has not only welcomed me into the fold but several have put their lives on the line right beside me, and I trust them to take a bullet for me if the case warranted. And I’d do the same for every single one of them.
Yet, there are significant differences between Jameson and the military. The first and most obvious is the working conditions, at least while off mission. This warehouse is all faded, crumbling brick covered with graffiti on the outside, but inside it’s a feast for the eyes. Kynan, our esteemed leader, spared absolutely no expense on decorating this place with high-end furniture and décor, as well as state-of-the-art equipment. We have a fully functioning firing range on the third floor, as well as a gym, sauna, commercial kitchen, and even apartments for some of the guys to live in. I stayed in one myself when I first started.
