Complicated Creatures: Part One Read online

  The car. Of course. She felt oddly relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  Jack sauntered around to the driver’s side, admiring the vintage ’62 Corvette. “And in the original Rally Red. I’m impressed.”

  “A car enthusiast.” She smiled. “Thanks for noticing,” she replied, locking the door.

  “I didn’t properly introduce myself last night. I’m Jack Roman,” he told her in a deep-pitched baritone.

  Sam noticed his eyes were a striking silver as he smiled down at her. One glance at the way he looked at her, and Sam knew exactly what he was. A lethal habit, she thought. The accelerator on a race car. A halo jump on a crystal clear day. The best possible rush with the worst possible consequences.

  She’d have to steer clear of this one. The last thing she needed was a headlong crash into the reality of what men with his looks and his reputation really were. She needed a fling with a charming, seductive, unapologetic tom cat about as much as she needed a hole in the head.

  Sam shook his hand, the study of friendly indifference. “You look a little less startled and a little more dressed,” she teased. “Samantha Wyatt. Most people call me Sam.”

  “Thus the initial confusion,” Jack replied laughingly, his light eyes studying her as he squeezed her hand gently. “Mitch had given me the distinct impression that you were a man, Samantha.”

  “Funny,” she responded quizzically, noting his use of her full name. “Mitch and I met before the sale. Figured he’d share that tidbit with you.”

  “I was traveling. We didn’t get into the specifics.”

  “Hope it’s not a problem.” She shrugged, turning toward the elevator. “Course this means you’ll need to get used to all my cocktail parties and idle, gossiping girlfriends.”

  Jack walked alongside her, shortening his gait. As he reached past her to key in the code to the penthouse floor, she caught a whiff of his subtle cologne. Incredible. Sam struggled not to take a deep breath in as he turned back to her.

  “Cocktail parties, huh? Sounds like you’re going to throw some ragers.” His silver eyes were mesmerizing.

  “I’m jerking your chain,” she replied, stepping into the elevator. “My idea of a rager right now is a glass of wine and a bath before I face plant into bed.” Sam closed her eyes for a minute, leaning her head back against the elevator wall. She felt a slight sway as the hours of feeling dead tired layered up and hit her.

  “Whoa,” Jack murmured, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  “Sorry. More tired than I thought,” Sam muttered. The warmth of his hand seeped right through her jacket. She liked it. Too much. Sam pulled away a fraction of an inch.

  “Don’t sweat it,” he commented, dropping his hand as he leaned against the mahogany elevator wall, giving her space. “I know the feeling. You go for so many days and then it all hits you like a freight train. Where’d you come from?”

  “Moscow.”

  “Yeah, that’ll do it,” he replied, watching her as she straightened, putting a little distance between them.

  The doors opened to the foyer separating their apartments. Sam smiled as she caught sight of the painting hanging in the center. Jack followed her gaze.

  “One of Mitchell’s selections. You a fan?”

  Sam shrugged. “I am now. I think the only reason he got on board with me taking the penthouse was a guarantee that I’d get him the inside track on the next pieces that pop up.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t the only reason,” Jack laughed. “It was good to finally meet you. Have a deep sleep,” he grinned, turning right toward his door while she swung left. They were separated by a long hallway of Italian white marble. Two ornate black doors faced each other like chess pieces. Queen and King.

  “You know…” Jack started.

  She paused, her brow raised in question as she looked at him over her shoulder.

  “You should try to stay awake as long as possible so you don’t wake up in the middle of the night,” he continued. A small smile tugged his lips to the side; his hand rested on his open door. “Perhaps another swim would help?”

  Now Sam had been schooled in the art of non-reaction over the years. She’d considered it a professional necessity. She wasn’t just good at hiding what she was thinking, she was even better at pretending. And she was pretending not to be wildly attracted to this striking man sporting startling silver eyes and a surplus of sex appeal.

  She paused, glancing out at the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the hall. They overlooked the pool, shimmering gently as the sun set over Chicago. The idea of a swim was appealing. Very much so. She looked back at Jack. He was smiling, waiting for an answer, his hand still on his door. One foot in, one foot out.

  “I’d hate for you to have to fish out my drowned body from the pool, Jack,” she replied after a significant moment. Sam opened her door. “Bad form for a new neighbor, don’t you think?” She smiled once more before slipping inside, breathing a sigh of relief as she shut her door.

  She didn’t see Jack’s light eyes shift towards contemplation as he closed the door to his own apartment.

  He’d heard that sigh.

  Chapter 3

  September—Saturday night

  The Whitney, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  Startled awake, Sam blinked, momentarily unsure of where she was. Her phone vibrated again somewhere under her pillows. She fished around, glancing at the screen as she answered.

  “Are you on fire?”

  “Uh… No?”

  “Are you in jail?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Are you in the hospital?”

  “You wish.”

  “Then why are you calling me when you know I’m sleeping? Do you want to get put into the hospital?”

  Carey chuckled. “You’re damn so ungrateful. I’m calling to get your hibernated ass up. You’ve been conked out all day, and we both know how you get when you oversleep. When was the last time you ate?”

  Sam glanced at her watch, trying to recall. Shit, she’d been out for nearly twenty hours. On cue, her stomach rumbled.

  “Whoa, even I heard that. Jump in the shower, and I’ll be there in thirty. I’m cooking.”

  Thirty minutes later, on the dot, Carey was at her door in jeans and a t-shirt, his baby blues warm as he grinned down at her.

  “Bear, you’re a bastard for waking me up but a saint for making me dinner,” she told him, her voice full of affection.

  “Sammy girl,” he answered, shifting a canvas bag of groceries to one arm as picked her up with the other. He gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek as she ruffled his short blonde hair.

  Sam was slapping him back playfully when Jack’s door opened. He stepped out behind a gorgeous redhead, both dressed to the nines, ready for a night on the town. The redhead’s face teased Sam’s memory, but she couldn’t place it. They paused mid-conversation, taking Sam and Carey in. Sam noted the redhead’s appreciative glance at Carey. Jack’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flickered over them.

  Sam dropped down neatly, waving to him. “Hey, Jack.”

  “Samantha,” Jack nodded in acknowledgement. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, shifting his gaze.

  “Carey Nelson,” Carey responded, stepping forward to introduce himself.

  “Jack Roman,” Jack returned smoothly. They met midway down the hall, clasping hands and leaving Sam and the redhead to watch while they engaged in some kind of man handshake/staring contest.

  Sam stepped around Carey, wondering at his sudden protectiveness. She extended her hand to the redhead, introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Sam Wyatt, Jack’s neighbor.”

  “Rebecca Holland.” The redhead smiled in return. “I didn’t know you had a neighbor?” Rebecca said to Jack, her brow cocked.

  “It’s recent,” Jack answered before turning back to Sam. “You two staying in?” He glanced over her again, his light eyes cataloging her cut-offs and bare legs, the faded NAVY t-shirt.

&
nbsp; “I’m making her dinner,” Carey replied, tucking an arm around her and squeezing her gently to his side. “She’s liable to chew someone’s arm off if she doesn’t eat soon,” Carey teased, winking down at her.

  “Uh-oh. Sounds like me on a juice cleanse,” Rebecca laughed. She leaned forward to hit the elevator button. “We’d better get a move on, or I’ll be chewing your arm off, baby,” she told Jack, her tone just a touch lascivious.

  Jack nodded, still watching them.

  “You two have a good time,” Carey called out, drawing Sam back toward her door.

  She waved as she closed the door behind them, then turned and punched his arm hard. “What was that?” she asked.

  Unfazed, Carey kicked off his shoes and padded into her kitchen, setting the groceries on the counter. “That was your neighbor checking you out with his girlfriend, a world-famous actress, right there under his nose,” he replied, pulling out vegetables and a crock pot from the bag.

  Sam’s brow creased. “He was not, you troglodyte.”

  “He was,” Carey rebutted. “Blind, deaf, mute men in Egypt noticed, Sammy girl. And stop calling me a caveman,” he huffed. “I’m your best friend. It’s my job to watch out for you.”

  Sam shook her head though she smiled in spite of herself. “You know better than anyone I can take care of myself, Bear. But thanks for the overprotective-brother act. I already know all about Jack Roman. I’d have to be wearing a crash helmet to get that reckless.”

  “Rebecca Holland’s smoking hot though. Damn,” Carey murmured appreciatively.

  “I knew she looked familiar. You said she’s an actress?”

  “Yeah. Pretty good one. She did that television show about surviving a plane crash on that island? She’s doing movies now. Supposed to be in town filming.”

  Sam chewed on that one while she helped wash the vegetables.

  “What are you making me?” she asked as he moved around, pulling out cooking utensils.

  “Been cooking my world-famous chili since this morning,” he grinned, putting the pot over one of her Viking burners.

  “You mean your mama’s world-famous chili recipe you stole,” she teased.

  Carey looked affronted. “Go turn on some music I can cook to, and let me work my magic.”

  A short time later while they listened to some good Texas blues and chatted about everything and nothing, Carey pulled the lid off the pot of chili and leaned over it, breathing in a sigh of pleasure. He stirred, lifting a spoon out to savor his work.

  “Taste,” he told her, holding the spoon toward her. Sam stopped chopping, leaning forward to take a sip. He pulled back a little. “Careful. It’s hot.”

  She licked her lips, thinking. “More cayenne. Maybe one more garlic.”

  Carey nodded, adding both ingredients. They moved around each other fluidly, used to each other’s shape and presence from growing up together.

  Carey opened her subzero, poking his head inside. “Cold Shiner Bock, thank God,” he muttered, pulling two bottles out and popping the caps off on the marble counter.

  “That’s Italian marble, asshole. Not a can opener,” she chastised, accepting the beer he handed her as he grinned unapologetically.

  “Sammy girl, this slab of rock’s been around for longer than you and me, and it’ll be around a lot longer. It can take being functional,” he teased, clinking his bottleneck against hers before taking a long draw. “So,” he said after a moment. “You gonna tell me what’s been on your mind?”

  Sam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been off the past couple months. Since Jakarta at least. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me why. Now I think you should just spit it out.”

  Sam thought about that, sipping her beer. “Business has doubled in the past two years,” she started, turning around to chop tomatoes. “We’ve come so far, but there’s a lot more I want to accomplish. I just wonder if we’re too close sometimes—too caught up in the day-to-day of being on the ground. The European office is fine with those ex-British SAS guys we put in a year ago. You and I have been all over Asia recently, but I wonder if—”

  Carey leaned back against the counter, following her train of thought. “You want to focus on expanding the business. You think the guys are ready to step up and take over the day-to-day?”

  “They can be.” She turned to look at him. “We can’t sustain this, much less grow it more if you and I are always on the ground. I guess Jakarta just brought it all home. For one thing, we need to steer the ship, and for another, we’re getting too damn old to be dragging people out of hot zones. We can’t be caught up in the wrangling on the front lines all the time. It’s exhausting trying to do both.”

  Carey snorted, flexing his bicep. “Speak for yourself.”

  She laughed, tossing a dish towel at his head. He caught it easily, flinging it onto his shoulder.

  Sam took a drink of her beer before continuing. “We’re not kids anymore, Bear. Our field days are getting limited, and you and I need to be strategizing how to get to the next place with the business. I want to overtake Leviathan. I want to become number one. You know the guys better than anyone. What do you think?”

  Carey tilted his head, considering her for a moment. “Talon is ready to step up and lead the security and strike teams. He did well in Jakarta. I’ve had him running smaller security ops without me, and he’s killing it, but Rush needs a little more time on your side of the table. He’s too tactically focused. He needs help pulling up and seeing the bigger picture.” Carey put a lid over the pot and took another pull of beer. “Chili needs just a little more time. Let’s sit.”

  Carey followed Sam to the sofa, one of the few pieces of furniture she’d already picked for the place. Carey jokingly called it “man-sized,” a huge dove colored sectional that was so wide he could easily lay down on it from nearly any direction. He sprawled across it lazily, taking a moment to glance around.

  “You need a television,” he muttered.

  “Eh,” she shrugged, tucking her feet under her. “There’s too much crap on these days, and it’s not like I have the time.”

  “You stream CNN, BBC, and Al-Jazeera twenty-four seven at the office.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “That’s the office. This is my oasis. No news, no advertising, no BS.”

  “No sports,” Carey grumbled.

  Sam laughed. “You’ve got your own house for that. You want to come over and hang out, you have to actually talk to me. No zoning out on the tube or getting caught up on your phone. You’re right in one sense though.” She glanced around. “I need to hire a decorator.” Sam loved the open space, the massive leaded windows, and the walls she’d had painted in soft colors. It felt warm but empty, like she’d never unpacked, though no boxes were in sight.

  She’d lived sparingly the past few years. She didn’t have a lot of knickknacks and personal effects outside of an old photo of her dad with his arm around her little brother, sitting on the fireplace mantle. Ryland must have been about eight at the time, hanging onto one of the wooden fences at the ranch, hair mussed from the wind or dad’s hand. She glanced away before Carey caught her looking at it.

  “I’m buying you a TV for your housewarming gift,” Carey grumbled.

  “Is that a gift for you or a gift for me?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  Sam chuckled before distracting him with their earlier conversation. “I was thinking of sending Rush to London to shadow McCall,” she said. “Put some polish on that Southern boy charm.”

  Carey chuckled. “I can’t think of a better method to set him in his ways.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He smiled, shaking his head. “Sammy, I think Ian McCall is a brilliant ex-SAS counter-terrorism expert with impeccable breeding and a fancy Oxford degree, but he has a massive stick up his ass. He won’t get a good ole boy like Rush, and he’ll try to change him instead of playing up his strengths. Rush will dig in and get stubborn. O
r worse, he’ll start to doubt whether he can do it.”

  Sam thought about that. “Well, who then?”

  Carey brows shot up. “Isn’t it obvious? You.”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to shoot her brows up. “I don’t know about that.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t like the idea of letting someone besides me that close to you?” Carey asked, hitting the nail on the head.

  Sam sipped her beer, taking a moment to think through her reply. She’d worked in teams for years. But truth be told, she’d always been more of a loner. The only person who worked with her day-in and day-out and knew her well was Carey. But she’d worked with Evan Rush for a while, trusted him, knew him to produce results, follow orders. He had an easy-going, amenable way about him that made people feel instantly at ease.

  “I can feel the cogs in your brain turning,” Carey chuckled. “You’re overthinking. He’s a natural. He’ll be able to leverage anything you teach him quickly. He’s a talker and a charmer. You’re a talker and a charmer. You’re both good at building alliances. People think you want the best for them. Win-win scenarios.”

  Carey was right. She knew he was right.

  “Fair enough, Bear. He’ll be with me, and Talon will shadow you, so he can see how we interact. We assess in a couple months and then send them out solo.”

  Carey’s smile was broad. “We can go on vacation. How’ll that be?”

  Sam laughed. “Jesus, I thought I’d kill someone after Jakarta screwed up my Bali plans. Anything without a phone and involving a beach will be welcome. You?”

  “Texas,” he replied easily. “Waking up early with Dad. Drinking coffee on the porch. Riding out with the boys. Lord, I can smell that tall grass now.”

  “You always want to go home,” she remarked, smiling at the dreamy look on his face.

  “And you never want to come back,” Carey sighed, taking another sip of beer. “You should, you know. Pops misses you. He says he only gets to hear your voice when you talk about the ranch. Come back with me for Thanksgiving.”

  “You just want me to help with the steers—and you know I can’t commit to anything until we see where business is at,” she answered, her tone nonchalant though her heart squeezed a little.