of Cute Ass. “Did he look at you when he passed you?” she asked pensively, replaying his hallway stride through her mind, step by sexy step. “Did he give you any sign of interest?”
Georgia’s forehead furrowed and her red brows drew together. She blinked in dawning confusion. “No. He didn’t.”
“He ignored me, too,” Selene said as she strode past Jillian’s cube, head bent over a file. “Danielle, too.”
“He didn’t look at me, either,” Jillian assured Georgia. Hadn’t cast a single glance in her direction, actually, and she had been making plenty of noise as she’d struggled to pick up her jaw and draw in even a molecule of air. It wasn’t that she thought she was entitled to male appreciation or anything like that. But to completely ignore the women of this office as if they were nothing more than asexual beings…maybe he was gay.
“What a waste if he’s gay,” Georgia said, confirming her thoughts.
It was telling, really, that neither one of them thought there was a chance in hell he was so devoted to a wife or girlfriend that he failed to notice other women. It wasn’t even a possibility in their minds.
“But I didn’t get the gay vibe,” Georgia added. “Did you?”
“No.” So if he wasn’t gay, what was he? Jillian didn’t like mysteries (they sucked), hated working puzzles (they blew), and wanted to spit on surprises (they both sucked and blew). Maybe that was one of the reasons she enjoyed working at CAM. Every night, the outcome was the same. The target cheated. End of story.
Okay, so that was a little sad.
“Do you think he’s blind?”
“Come on, Detective Carrington. You can do better than that. He didn’t have a Seeing Eye dog or a cane. Nor did he stumble or need Anne to lead him.” She thought about it for a moment. “My guess is he’s so self-absorbed, he didn’t realize anyone else was in the building.”
“Oh, no doubt you’re right. What an ass!” Discussion over in her mind since that made Cute Ass a jerk and unworthy of their time, Georgia pushed to her feet and twirled. “So…do you like my new outfit?”
“You look like a slut. I love it.” Jillian grinned. “Do you have an assignment tonight?”
Returning her grin, Georgia plopped back onto the desk. “Nope. This outfit is for Wyatt. After last night’s assignment…” Her full, red lips curled in revulsion. “I may not go into the field again. I sat next to my target—at a coffeehouse, of all places—and the slimy bastard immediately tried to talk his way into my pants. Your dad has to be a thief. That’s the only way to explain those stars in your eyes. Gag! He’s married, for God’s sake, and had just celebrated his sixteenth wedding anniversary.”
“Let me guess. He claimed he’d just gotten a divorce, the loneliness was almost more then he could bear and a pretty girl like you could sure ease the pain in his heart.”
“Bingo.”
“Men can’t be trusted,” Jillian muttered with an appalled shake of her head; black curls swished in every direction. “Did you tell him to go fuck himself?”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “I wish. I wanted to tell him who and what I was, but couldn’t bring myself to break the rules.”
Telling a target the truth could lead to panic—and panic from a target could be a dangerous, even life-threatening, thing. “So what did you do?”
“I made sure he won’t be getting in anyone’s pants for a while, maybe not even his own.”
Jillian patted her friend’s knee in approval. They’d both taken self-defense lessons after joining the agency, courtesy of Anne. Anne refused to pay for bodyguards—they were too expensive—so the girls were on their own when in the field. Jillian actually preferred it that way. She didn’t want to rely on a man/lying piece of swine for her safety. Her Mace acted as her hired muscle, bringing down the strongest of opponents.
“Anne showed his wife the video earlier and the woman burst into tears. I know because I stupidly watched on the screen in the conference room.” Georgia expelled a slight puff of air, as dainty as the woman herself. She drummed her perfectly manicured nails against the desk.
Jillian didn’t mention that she’d seen the wife, too, just as the woman was leaving the office. Those tearstained cheeks had almost made Jillian cry. Poor thing. She had a tough road ahead of her.
Victims were always told the day after the evidence was gathered. No reason to put it off and prolong the torture. The criers always caused Jillian’s chest to ache. The punchers—well, they might hate her and the other bait now, but they’d thank them later.
Still. Maybe she and Georgia needed to start coming in late the day after an assignment.
“I despise that part of the job, you know?” Georgia said. “Just once, I’d like to see a happy ending, a man who doesn’t care about a pretty face. A man who’s happy with what he has at home, even if she’s gained weight or acquired a few wrinkles.”
“Me, too, but we both know the odds of that happening. And women are better off learning the truth now instead of later,” Jillian said, her tone firm with conviction. After all, she should know. Years ago, her dad had cheated on her mom and her mom hadn’t known, hadn’t suspected at all. But little Jillian had known—her dad had taken her to the neighbor’s house to “play with the cat.” She’d chased that stupid tabby all the way into the bedroom and gotten an eyeful.
Her dad hadn’t explicitly asked her to keep quiet, but he had to have known she would never speak of it to her mom, too afraid her parents would split.
The guilt of not telling her mother had eaten at her.
A few months later, the knowledge had become too much for her to bear and she’d confided in her older brother and sister. They had begged her not to tell Mom, not wanting to cause their parents’ divorce, either. So she’d kept quiet. Again. Pretending her dad really was going to the grocery store when he sneaked next door.
She’d been the only seven-year-old with an ulcer.
About six months after that, her mom flew off to visit her sister. But then Evelyn decided, for whatever reason, to come home early. That’s when she found Jillian’s dad in bed with the neighbor. Her mom had been shocked and devastated, and the truth had finally spilled from Jillian.
The next morning, her mom tried to kill herself.
A familiar rage kindled inside of Jillian, images of her bleeding and unconscious mother flashing through her mind. She’d been the one to find her. Not her brother, Brent. Not her sister, Brittany. Not her dad. She’d been the one to cry over her mom’s bloody—Jillian quickly shoved those memories away before she punched a wall. She didn’t like thinking about those worry-filled weeks, her mom teetering between life and death.
Needless to say, she hadn’t spoken to her dad since. Her mom had divorced him and he’d taken off. He still called Jillian about once a week, but she never picked up. Brent, the easygoing contractor, and Brittany, the tenderhearted stay-at-home mom, begged her almost daily to forgive him, but she just couldn’t. Maybe one day, she thought…. No. Never, she decided in the next instant. There was simply too much pain there.
“Without
