Deleted Scenes – Part 3
I’m back with the second half of the deleted, never came to be chapter two!
Seriously. Did I blush? Sugar walked as if Jared still watched her. Shoulders back, hips swaying. An educated guess would say there were more security cameras here per square foot than at the Pentagon. She wouldn’t be caught flustered again. When did a man make her blush? Never, that’s when.
So she had to dress like the Chiquita Banana lady for a few weeks. She had bikinis that were more showy, more va-va-voom.
Jared made her head hurt, or maybe her stomach clench. It didn’t matter. He was in the no zone. No way, no how.
But she knew better. Every time their paths crossed, she was more interested. The flirting, the looking, it was a fun game, until it wasn’t, and that was the problem. A spark fired between them while up against that door. That wasn’t just simple fun.
Her cherry red ’69 Mustang Boss 429 sat where she left it. That thing could roar. She needed it to take her for a ride and rip over stomach-dropping, curlicue roads. Anything to get her equilibrium back and settle her strung out nerves.
Jared said no. Why was she shocked? For the same reason she blushed. He was in her head, and the more they played their game, the more she had panty palpitations.
Deep within her purse, her phone vibrated. She unlocked the door and pulled the cell from the depths of the shoulder bag. The caller ID read her office. Perfect timing. She shook her head, answering the phone. “Yeah, Marco.”
“I need a name. Who’s it going to be?”
“Jared Westin.” If she wasn’t partnering with Jared, she wasn’t partnering at all. It’d take Marco time to figure out Mister Hot-and-Grumpy skipped out on the action.
Marco paused, dead air hanging on the phone line. “The Jared Westin? Isn’t he a little overqualified—”
They all thought Jared was a private military, elite security celebrity. The Bon Jovi of black ops. A little older than her, and a lot of star power, but undeniably unstoppable and untouchable. “You got a problem with him or should I introduce myself to the don’t do drugs crew?”
“No, no problem. Mr. Westin is free to work—”
“Christ. If you’re going to blow him kisses, do it on some else’s time. We’re taking his jet to New York. So forget about booking us on a Southwest cattle call flight.”
“Sugar. Sugar. Don’t…just—He’s a man not to be messed with. The sooner you realize that, the better it is for all of us. Me included.”
“Got it.” Marco only worried about his hide, and she needed to stay off the grid. Otherwise he’d realize she was going solo on this project. That Mister Westin wanted no part in Tassels and Tangos.
Marco cleared his throat. “Also, bad news. Our boys in blue have one of their own in ICU after a Kevlar piercing bullet hit front and center, and another girl’s gone missing from a burlesque show. We need to move fast and end this.”
Sugar’s heart ached. Another girl, gone, put through hell, most likely begging for her death. And black market bullets were trading hands in back alleys, readying for gangbangers to take aim at cops. She couldn’t get to New York fast enough. “We’ll pinch off whoever’s moving those gun and ammo shipments. And God help the fucker hurting those girls.”
“All right. I’ll make arrangements for you and Mister Westin to meet your FBI counterpart and team.”
“Counterpart and team?” That wasn’t part of her brilliant solo plan.
“Yeah. Someone’s got to teach you how to dance, do your hair, all that chick stuff. Perhaps tone down your attitude. We’ll see. I’m not expecting miracles.”
Somehow she thought that they’d have real hair-and-makeup people, real choreographers. Not more people to convince she had a partner. She needed a plan, ASAP. “Gotta go, Marco.”
“I’ll text you the details—”
She didn’t need details. She needed Jared. Damn that stubborn ass, and damn needing anyone to help her. Sugar slammed the gas pedal to the floorboard. Strategizing came to her better skidding around hairpin turns.
(YES, THERE IS A CHAPTER THREE. COMING SOON.)