The Enforcer Read online

  “Anyway, I reacted to your odd mood. These smart women you claim to like so much also tend to be careful. I’m one of those.”

  No matter what really happened with her years ago, careful was a wise move. “I get it.”

  A man at one of the tables signaled for her and she nodded in return before facing him again. “So, are we done here?”

  “Sure.” He waited until she stood up. “Now we can start the actual date.”

  Chapter 9

  The guy had staying power. She had to give him that.

  That was fine because she had a knife strapped to her thigh. He had his priorities, she had hers.

  She’d hung the closed sign on the door and needed to finish up in the kitchen. That meant unloading the under-the-counter commercial dishwasher. As the unofficial manager, she also had some bookkeeping to do, but that could wait until she didn’t have a super tall hottie hovering over her.

  She opened the drawer and started taking the glasses out. She planned to run through this and usher him out. For safety reasons, she made an effort to say hello to the guys on the pier stacking the contents from their most recent fishing run. She even sent a text to Lauren, along with a sneakily taken photo of Matthias, as a sort of proof-of-life thing.

  Instead of coming up with an excuse or sitting down and watching her work, Matthias rolled up his sleeves and joined her in unloading. “Do I put them on the counter or somewhere else?”

  She was too stunned to spit out more than a grumble.

  He froze. “Is there a third option that I’m not aware of? I could sit them on the floor, but I guarantee I’ll step on at least one.”

  She didn’t have any trouble imagining him stomping around as glass shattered. Not that he was the stumbling type. Quite the opposite, actually. He had perfect posture and seemed fully in control of . . . well, everything, all the time.

  The long leg, long torso thing kept drawing her attention. Flat stomach or not, he wasn’t a little man. Watching him handle the glasses, holding them with two fingers and setting them on the counter with a gentle clink, made her smile. She guessed he farmed out this kind of work at home.

  “The option I expected was for you to make me do everything while you explain how I could do it better if I did it your way.” That’s kind of how it worked around here with Cecelia gone. The cook, Gerald, believed his role started and stopped with food. She and the part-time cleaning staff handled everything else, except when he wanted to offer advice, which was always.

  “Huh.” He returned to unloading. “Maybe we should talk about the men you know. They sound like they suck.”

  Not her favorite subject. Being on the run meant no real dating, which meant either hooking up with a guy who meant nothing or using her hand. She’d tried both and after the short-term thrill wore off, the emptiness settled back in. “That would be a short conversation.”

  His head shot up and his gaze met hers. “I find it hard to believe you don’t date.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you own a fucking mirror?”

  The frustration building in her gut melted away and the harsh memories faded. “Are you back to flirting?”

  She reached across the counter and turned down Gerald’s radio. If they were going to talk, she preferred if they didn’t scream at each other.

  “I’m relieved to hear you noticed the first time.”

  Noticed. Liked it. Panicked about it. Yeah, she’d hit the whole spectrum of emotions on that one. “These eyes see everything.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Including the lack of a wedding ring.” The words spilled out before she could hold them back. She was about to say something sarcastic to cover up the moment when a very sexy, very confident smile spread across his mouth.

  “Definitely single.”

  She noticed he didn’t ask about her status. That meant he didn’t know or didn’t care. Could also suggest he wasn’t interested. But then why did he sneak a peek at her bare legs every time he reached into the drawer?

  Either he was complex and she couldn’t read him, or he had very simple tastes and she was trying to make this whole situation too hard. Every time she let her mind wander and thought about how hot and dirty they might be together, she remembered his scowl and menacing voice after the unexplained anger set in during their first meeting. He’d made her want to bolt then, and she was not ready to discount her initial instincts when it came to him now.

  They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes as they unloaded the remaining contents onto the counter. When they finished, she closed the door and stood facing him, not sure what to do next. The rumbling panic had left her gut. She almost missed it compared to her current state of confusion. She wanted to know more about him, didn’t want him to leave. Both of those ticked her off.

  “This is a strange date,” he said in a deep voice that bounced around the small room.

  She wondered how long it would take for him to say something else. He made it almost four minutes, which she had to admit impressed her. Nothing about him so far suggested he appreciated silence.

  Still, she saw no reason to make this date easy on him. “You’re not that bad.”

  That would teach him to basically demand one and linger until her choices were to kick him out again or concede. She guessed she could have ignored him, but he wasn’t exactly an easy guy to overlook.

  He shot her an unreadable expression. “What are you talking about?”

  Well, he certainly wasn’t lying to impress her. On some level that probably was a good thing. “It was a joke.”

  He rested a hand against the counter and focused on her. “Are you sure?”

  Turning around, she leaned her butt right next to his and looked at him. Really studied every inch, which was not exactly a hardship. Even all ruffled from sitting around waiting for her, he looked pretty delicious. The whole dark hair and pale skin combination appealed to her. The air of grumpiness should turn her off, but it didn’t. She had no idea why.

  Her college years—the first time, before everything collapsed—had been filled with sunny, blond outdoorsy types. He was the exact opposite. So serious. Sometimes bearing an expression of boredom, sometimes blank. Always smoldering, and that’s what kept her insides jumping.

  She shouldn’t be attracted. He shouldn’t be here. And she got the distinct impression he wasn’t telling the truth. She didn’t know how this would play out with both of them lying about who they really were.

  “You’re sort of a literal guy.” She crossed her arms over her chest and continued staring.

  “You mean humorless.”

  And a bit touchy. “Did I say that?”

  He exhaled. From anyone else it might have risen to the level of a dramatic sigh. From him it had a touch of are you kidding woven into it. “No matter what word you use, it’s not the first time I’ve heard the complaint.”

  With that, he looked away. Started stacking the glasses in their place on the open shelf.

  But she wasn’t quite ready to let it go. Not that she really knew what they were talking about, but she liked the sound of his voice and the way he moved. If he left now she’d be a little disappointed. That was a big self-realization, since she spent most of her time convincing Lauren and Cecelia—and herself—that she preferred being alone. But that wasn’t true. It had never been true.

  “I wasn’t complaining.”

  Some of the tension left his face. “Now, that is unusual. A great many people spend a lot of time telling me how difficult I am.”

  “Do you care?”

  “Not even a little.”

  She would have bet that would be his answer. And, unlike her, he actually meant it when he said it.

  “I’m sure Garrett is careful about telling you.” He didn’t strike her as a guy who held back. The few times she’d gotten near their table he’d come off as amused. He lacked Matthias’s streak of darkness. “Being his boss and all.”

  “Not.”
/>
  She’d been about to race onto another topic but that stopped her. “Excuse me?”

  “He doesn’t work for me. He’s on loan.” Matthias actually rolled his eyes. “Whether I want him or not.”

  So many questions popped into her head. “Businesses loan employees out?”

  “Not smart ones.”

  He hadn’t moved closer. Not really. He stood there, at least two feet away, with a palm balanced against the counter. But as he watched her, his gaze bouncing down to her mouth now and then, the air closed in on her. She could have sworn the walls were farther away two seconds ago.

  Inside she felt all panty and short of breath. She refused to let that show on the outside. “Anyone ever tell you how you talk in circles?”

  “I’m actually known for being pretty direct.”

  That time he inched closer. They didn’t touch, but one shift—if she moved her arm even a little—and she could brush against him. She should hate that. She hated that she didn’t hate it.

  Without warning, the fan above her head whirled to life. A rush of cool air blew over her. Talk about perfect timing. “I’m going to find another topic.”

  “That sounds like a good call.”

  She nodded toward the empty sink. “Do you regularly do dishes?”

  He shrugged. “I have skills.”

  That sounded like a warning bell that another conversational dead end lay ahead. She couldn’t tell. Pity for him she wasn’t in the mood to be ignored or brushed away. “Right now your skills seem to consist of standing.”

  “I can take a hint.” He glanced around but hesitated on the shelves to his left. One by one he set the glasses on top of each other and lined the clean ones up in perfectly aligned stacks with the ones already sitting there.

  “You’re good at this.” When he turned to look at her, she shook her head. “No, don’t stop. Keep stacking.”

  “Is there any reason I’m doing this alone?”

  “I’m supervising.” Except for a moment’s regret at both using him and engaging in some serious objectification while she mentally stripped him, she had no intention of pitching in. This setup worked for her.

  “I see.”

  She did move that time. Inched closer. Leaned in close enough to his side to smell him. She couldn’t place the scent. Like wood and orange . . . very distinctive, just like him. “You don’t look like the cleanup type.”

  “I’ve taken care of myself for a long time.”

  Well, that sort of qualified as an answer. “So, no fleet of assistants or household staff?”

  He set down the glass with a clink that registered louder than the others. “Are you kidding?”

  Once again she seemed to be wading into touchy territory. “You don’t exactly look poor.” She waved a hand in front of him, taking in everything from his shirt to his shoes. “Of course, I can’t tell if you’re wealthy either. You’re a bit hard to read. If you know what I mean.” When he continued to stare, she launched into more babbling. “Like, you look nice in the suit, and I’m thinking that impressive sedan outside is yours, but who knows.”

  The amusement was right there in his eyes and around his mouth. “Let me know if you want me to jump into this conversation at any point.”

  Okay, that was her clue to stop. But . . . “You really do all your own cooking and cleaning and that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t like people in my house.”

  He’d elevated the nonanswer to an art form. Every time she ventured in and tried to pick away at his rough exterior, that shield, he threw up another. Not with nasty words, but he verbally blocked anytime she got close to anything personal.

  She understood the tendency, since she employed the diversionary tactic as often as possible. But he was on her turf. He kept coming back, which meant she’d keep banging on the door. “Is that an answer?”

  “Of course.”

  Sure, of course. “I guess I should have figured you’d kind of duck.”

  “Meaning?”

  Only inches separated them now. When the hell had that happened? “You just seem so . . .”

  “Yes?” He put a finger behind his ear. “Please finish that thought.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

  “I’m not moving until you do.”

  “You’re, well, formidable.” When his head shot back she mentally rewound the conversation to make sure she’d used the right word. But, yeah. That’s what she meant. “Why did your mouth drop open?”

  “Your word choice.”

  “It’s perfectly sound.” She could think of rougher descriptions. To her that one seemed pretty benign.

  “I’m not sure that’s what you want a woman to call you while on a date. Or at all, really. A business associate, maybe.”

  She got stuck on the first comment. “This isn’t a date.”

  It was a knee-jerk response but the right one. This could not be a date. She could not do this when she was ready to take off with nothing more than her packed go-bag and a preplanned strategy to get to a new location.

  “Clue me in.” He leaned forward “What is it then? We can call it whatever you want.”

  Good grief. His breath brushed right over her cheek.

  “Fair question.” And once she could breathe again she might answer it. “But since I don’t know your last name or where you grew up, I’m thinking this is more of a case of you trying to prove you’re not really creepy.”

  He groaned. “I’m growing to hate that word.”

  The deep sound vibrated through her. Actually spun right from her head to her toes. No matter what else was true, this guy was dangerous in a shake-up-your-world way. “Which is why I plan to keep using it.”

  “Interesting answer.”

  “If you’re looking for a pushover, you have the wrong woman.” Silence screamed through the room as soon as the words left her mouth. Lord, why had she said that? Before she could fix it, he opened his mouth.

  “Clarke.”

  The word rattled around in her head but didn’t connect to anything. “I’m going to need an explanation on that response.”

  “Matthias Clarke.” He stood up straight. Right there, right in front of her with only a thin layer of air separating them. “I grew up in a bunch of places, mostly in Delaware, then moved to the DC area for college. Now I run Quint Enterprises.”

  She wanted to climb all over him. She, serious careful she, wanted that more than anything. “Okay.”

  “I’m in town for business but you make me want to make time for pleasure.”

  She tried to ignore the way her stomach tumbled at that last part. He wasn’t the first smooth-talker she’d met. The most interesting, yes, because he didn’t seem to even try. Just every once in a while he came out with a phrase that made her want to wrap her legs around his waist and hold on.

  Go figure.

  She swallowed a few times. Waited to make sure her voice would be steady before she talked again. “That’s a lot of information.”

  “You asked.”

  “I’m not sure I did, but I’m happy to know.” With her brain scrambled and her control sputtering, she grabbed on to the one part of the explanation she could remember. “What’s Quint?”

  His gaze swept over her face. “I thought I already told you.”

  Now she feared she’d somehow blanked out for part of this little talk. “Indulge me.”

  “Private security.”

  The words crashed into her. The heat left her body and a cool wariness set in. “You’re coughing up more details but you know those words still don’t really mean anything, right?”

  “I have sixty-three employees who would suggest differently.” A bit of gruffness edged into his voice.

  There it was. He didn’t look angry, didn’t even move, but his defenses definitely rose. She could almost see them click into place. “Ah, I hit a nerve.”

  “No.”

  “You’re angry.”

  “You would know if I
were, and I’m not.”

  Like that, the mood changed. Gone was the easy banter. She tried to call up her memory of the room. Where everything was. What she could use as a weapon, if needed. Though she didn’t feel danger. Something else had eased between them.

  This guy’s dating skills might be rustier than hers. “Is that supposed to be comforting? Because you got all clenched.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, he shifted his weight around. He moved with a minimum of effort. He didn’t waste energy. But something had him visibly on edge. “The business is a huge part of who I am.”

  That wasn’t really the answer she expected. She’d heard responses like that before. This close to power-hungry Washington, DC, she expected that. But up until now nothing about him had struck her as ordinary.

  But she could handle this conversation. It was safer anyway. “So, your job defines you.”

  He touched his palm to the counter. Next removed the towel from the bar next to the stove. It snapped but he didn’t seem to notice. “Are you taking psychology classes or something?”

  Well, actually . . . “Why?”

  “The way you phrased the job question. I had a flashback.”

  He’d gotten really close to providing personal insight right there. She tried to draw it out. “To what?”

  “You act like being devoted to my business is a weird thing.”

  She hated the pivot. She’d knocked right up against something interesting and he’d moved away. It was hard to imagine him in therapy. But then it was hard for her to imagine how she would have survived those rough years after the murders without it.

  “Yeah. I mean, I hear that sort of thing about ‘business being my life’ all the time. I just don’t get it.” The comment wasn’t a poke. She didn’t want to start a fight. She honestly thought work-as-life didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was because she’d come so close to losing hers. All she knew was that being that singularly focused on something that brought stress was beyond her. She had enough stress.

  He looked around the room. Touched the frying pan sitting on the stove. “You’re not tied to this job?”