Chapter 3

Jagger

Friday 6.13pm

Even as I find a place to park at the steakhouse Matt recommended, I have no idea why she suggested this. And I have even less idea why I agreed.

All I know is that if she wasn’t so fucking gorgeous, and if I wasn’t supposed to be maintaining an ounce of professionalism, it would make sense to eat dinner together.

Instead of thinking about how we can work together, I’m trying not to think about Stella checking in to the motel while I grab a table.

I’m absolutely not thinking about the weekend we’re going to be spending together alone.

I’m so caught up in not thinking about her, I realize about three seconds after I walk through the door, I picked the wrong night and the wrong place.

The lighting is dimmed, soft music is playing, and every single table has a red rose in a vase and the entire place is filled with couples drinking champagne.

Fuck. How’d I miss that it’s Valentines’ Day?

More importantly, how is Stella going to react to this?

I clear my throat and wait for the manager to wander over. At about six-two, with a good amount of muscle for a man who served in Vietnam, I already know from Matt, that the owner happens to be a keen hunter who also offers Vets discounts.

I bob my head at him as he gives me an uncertain smile. “Jagger Lincoln. I called before and bagged your last table. I’m working for Matt Lowrey over at Mountain View.”

He extends his arm and I accept his handshake. “Ken McDonnell. Glad to see Waylon’s taking this so seriously. I hear you’ve been working with the Endangered Species Protection Agency?”

I nod. “For a few years now. I’m just back to check on things at home then I’ll be on a plane again.”

I release his hand and follow him as he gestures to a table for two. “Best seat in the house. You said on the phone you have a guest?”

I nod and take a seat as he hovers by the chair opposite. “Stella. She’s working at the reserve over the weekend too. This is a business meeting.”

I’m not sure why I even said that, but at the sight of her waltzing through the doors, I’m glad I did.

Hair hanging in loose waves around her shoulders and wearing a snug-fitting dress and boots rather than the t-shirt and jeans she arrived in, my heart damn near stops.

Every single person in the restaurant is watching her walk toward me, including Ken who whistles low. “Sure she isn’t a spy? A woman like that can make a man forget where his loyalties lie,” he mutters.

I cover a smile and have to force myself not to stare as she sits opposite me. Ken seems reluctant to leave, so I gesture to him. “Stella this is Ken. This is his restaurant.”

Stella gives him a sweet smile and rejects the menu he tries to pass her. “I don’t need a menu. I know what I want. T-bone medium rare, baked potato, and whatever vegetables you have.”

Ken nods and looks set to take my order when she pulls out her phone and flips it around to show him. “You see this little thing here on the search bar? Your website isn’t secure. You need to change the SSL to enabled so your data is encrypted.”

He looks equally confused and wary as she puts her phone on the table. “I’m afraid my granddaughter handles all those sorts of things.”

Stella frowns. “That’s the problem with do-it-yourself websites. Do you have a computer here?”

He nods warily and points to a door beside the restrooms. “In the office.”

Before he can say another word, she’s on her feet. “I’ll fix it now.”

She doesn’t even wait for him to reply or grant her permission, just stalks off, leaving him staring at me. “Did you understand any of that or am I going senile?” he asks me.

I laugh and shake my head. “Not a fucking word,” I say.

Looking somewhat relieved, he waits as I scan the menu. Rather than cause him any more grief, I replicate Stella’s order.

Before he’s even gotten through asking me how long I’ll be working with Matt, Stella is back at the table, with a bread roll in her hand I assume she stole from someone.

She grins at Ken and takes a bite of the roll. “Done. But your network wasn’t secure either. You were running on WEP encryption. I’ve updated your router to AES.”

His forehead furrows. “I have no idea what that means, sweetheart, but I think I owe you a thank you?”

She shrugs. “Bringing me food is thanks enough.”

Ken blinks several times then seems to realize she’s hinting, and backs away, looking utterly confused as he ambles away to place our order.

I frown at Stella as she motors her way through the roll. “You always do that?”

She eyes me and brushes the crumbs from her fingers. “Do what?”

I pull a face at her. “Go and fix things.”

She shrugs and takes a gulp of her water. “Sometimes. I seriously hope he’s not paying his Granddaughter. She left him wide open to penetration.”

My eyebrows shoot upwards, and a joke is already formed before she picks up her fork and waves it in front of my face. “Don’t. Or I will stab you.”

I raise my hands in surrender and return to my original question. “So this is a habit?”

She scrunches her face up. “You make it sound like a bad thing. I see something I can fix; I fix it.”

I lean back in my chair and spend too much time thinking of a reply. “So do I,” is all I can say.

***

Stella

As we wait for the food to arrive and Ken arrives with a bottle of wine as a thank you, I take the opportunity to study the man sitting opposite me.

Now dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that clings to the curve of his chest muscles, and reveals the strength in his arms, the hormones I tried to convince myself were under control, surge to life again.

I knew I was kidding myself when I shaved my legs and decided to wear the sexiest set of underwear and the dress that lives in the back of my car for emergency use.

Whether it’s stupid or not, or whether it’ll be worth it, I am thinking about whether I can make this happen, discretely.

He’s only here for the weekend, and so am I. Technically he’s not my boss, and technically he’s not even my co-worker.

While my logical left brain is coming up with reasons sleeping with him would be a bad idea, my right brain is coming up with multiple creative scenarios all of which involve me stripping off his clothes.

I know I’ll be in trouble when both sides reach an agreement as to how to proceed with this attraction.

I’m fairly certain he’s not looking for anything which suits me just fine. And as my creative brain is trying to remind me, along with my logic, I have never had an issue separating sex from emotion.

And I know if I wanted to have a sexy weekend, this would be the perfect opportunity to make it happen.

As he thanks Ken, and our meals arrive, I find myself trying to reason it out, and know I’m probably missing male company more than I realized.

The last time I had sex wasn’t anything to write home about, and the guy wasn’t in the least bit interested in facilitating my need for an orgasm.

On the surface Jagger seems to be an okay sort of a guy, and Lord knows he looks good, but if I’m going to seduce a man, I need to know he’s worth the risk.

I dig into my steak and take a brief reprieve from assessing Jagger while I satisfy the other need I have right now.

He doesn’t say much as we eat, just looks around at the other couples seated around us.

When he does speak, it’s about a subject I’d rather avoid. “You believe in all this stuff?”

I swallow a piece of broccoli and follow his gaze to the Happy Valentines’ Day banner on the wall.

I shake my head. “It’s a con. And it puts a whole lot of pressure on people to prove they love the person they’re with. It’s a weird concept.”

He nods slowly. “What is? Proving you love someone?”

I take a sip of my wine and sigh at the quality. “Having to buy something every year to prove you still love someone is weird and pointless. If I loved someone, I’d spend my time trying to prove it to them. Not to anyone else.”

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “You don’t believe in PDA’s?”

I shake my head. “Nope. For the same reason I don’t like people who pray in public. It’s showy. And insincere.”

He chokes on his wine and has to take another gulp before he recovers. “I’m sorry did you just have a go at people who go to church?”

I cut another piece of my steak off and pop it into my mouth before I reply. “I have nothing against religion, everyone believes in something.”

His eyebrow lifts. “But?”

It’s rare someone humors me this long, so I continue and wait for him to either interrupt me or tell me I’m wrong like people usually do at this point.

“But I don’t like hypocrisy and it’s been my experience that the people who make a big song and dance about how spiritual they are, or how much they love their spouse are usually the shittiest people behind closed doors.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, long enough for me to finish my glass of wine, and to start pouring another one.

When he does speak, his tone isn’t condescending, it’s thoughtful. “And these hypocrites are the people you’re avoiding in airports?”

I release a sigh and push away my dinner plate. “I’m avoiding all kinds of people and not just in airports.”

His eyes linger on mine before he raises the glass to his lips. “So you assume everyone you meet is hiding something?”

I shrug. “Oh, I know they’re hiding something. It’s whether that something is a little bit bad, medium bad, or I need to call the police bad. Everyone has varying degrees of badness inside them.”

He shakes his head. “That’s a pretty cynical way to view the world.”

I roll my eyes. “Given the shit I see daily, and the fact there is another whole world out there designed to shield criminals, it’s a realistic way to view the world.”

“Maybe, but it’s also a safety mechanism. Keeps you insulated and keeps you safe in your own little bubble.”

I glance at the table closest to make sure they aren’t privy to what is turning out to be the most interesting conversation I’ve had in years. “You think I live in a bubble? You have no idea—”

He shakes his head and leans closer. “I’m not talking about the people out there who are using the dark web to look at kiddie porn on their computers or screwing hookers behind their wives' backs. I’m talking about people who try to do the right thing, give a shit about the world around them and try to make a difference. People who probably look a whole lot like you and me.”

I take another sip of my wine, more to stop myself from saying what I really feel like saying, that I’m starting to get drunk, and am thinking about ramming my tongue down his throat.

“What makes you think you’re a good person?” I ask.

“I just know I am.”

I lift a shoulder. “By whose standards?”

He frowns at me and finishes his wine. “By mine. By my family’s. By the morals they raised me with.”

I let him refill my glass even though I shouldn’t. “All very well and good, but unfortunately those people who use the dark web also hold to their ideal of that standard. There has to be a higher standard than the ones we set for ourselves. A standard that means the weak and vulnerable are protected.”

“We have the law for that.”

I shake my head. “Laws can be changed and broken. And the law is only as good as the people upholding it.”

He sits back and stares at me. “So you just assume the worst about people all the time? Have you ever been wrong?”

I raise my glass and smile at him. “Not yet. But I live in hope.”

I think he’s going to keep arguing, but he just laughs. “You’re a complete nutjob aren’t you?”

I drain the last drop of my wine before I push back from the table. “No. But if you think people are good, then I’m the only sane one sitting at this table,” I say.

I don’t wait for him to reply, just get up and walk towards the restrooms.

***

Jagger

I’m not sure who’s crazier, her or me for liking the way she’s making me think about shit I never do anymore.

I’m ready to carry on the argument, but when she comes back to find the plates cleared, it’s like she’s flicked a switch.

“We should probably talk about what we came here for. I’ve been doing some research. There’s been more than one poaching ring active in this area over the last decade haven’t there?”

“I’m not sure. You think that’s relevant?”

She frowns. “I have no idea. But it did make me wonder why the poachers are targeting a privately run establishment. You have better security, and more staff, why target Mountain View when a few hundred miles away is a national park?”

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself ever since I got here. “That’s why I’m here, and why I’ll be sleeping in the old rangers hut. The cameras have been repositioned, we’ve closed access to all other entrances, and from tomorrow onwards, the front gate is the only way in or out that allows for a vehicle.”

“So, you just sit and wait for him to arrive at the front gate? Won’t it be locked?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to leave it unlocked. That’s why I needed you to lock yourself in, and to stay in contact.”

She taps her fingers on the table. “And what happens if I see him and you don’t? You’ll risk losing him.”

“No way around it. You need to be in the office, and I need to be in the hut.”

She picks up her phone. “Not necessarily. I can set up a hotspot using my cell and if the signal is strong enough, I can work from the hut too.”

My jaw damn near hits the table. “That’s not really an option. You aren’t trained to deal with—"

But she just carries on talking as she fiddles with her phone. “We could stake out the entrance together, shut the office down, and make it look like no one is here.”

It’s such a ballsy move, I don’t know whether to laugh or be worried she’s suggesting it.

Spending the weekend in the dark with a woman who’s already making my head spin is quite possibly the stupidest idea I could have come up with.

Except I didn’t come up with it. She did, and if I wasn’t way too pleased about this, I’d be a little more open to discussing it.

“Even if you could work, why the hell would you want to put yourself at risk like that?” I say.

She releases a sigh. “I’m not putting myself at risk. I asked you here to talk strategy and this is what we’re doing. Give me one good reason this isn’t a feasible option.”

I have no idea why she’s so adamant this can work, but when she runs her hands through her hair and looks ready to argue, I know I can’t tell her the real reason this is a bad move.

“It would be easier if you stayed in the motel. Or the office.”

She narrows her eyes. “Right. And this has nothing to do with the fact I’m a woman?”

“It has everything to do with you being a woman.”

Her chin juts upwards. “Because you think I’ll mess this up for you?”

I shake my head and lower my voice. “No, it’s because I won’t be able to do my job. I already have to monitor the tracking devices I placed in the big game, and the cameras, I can’t have you to watch too.”

There’s a challenge in her reply that sends liquid heat blazing through my body. “That’s absurd. If anything, you need an extra set of eyes. Tell me the real reason.”

I stare at her for a few beats then fold my arms over my chest. “You seem to think you know. Why don’t you tell me?”

She stiffens in her chair. “I think you’re no different from any other man I’ve worked with. I think you’re dismissing me because I have a pair of tits.”

I look around the restaurant and wonder if anyone else is having an insane conversation like we are. “I’ve worked with dozens of pairs of tits. And I’ve never had a problem with any of them. Until I met you.”

As her eyes pop, I realize my mistake and don’t even bother to cover it up. “We’ve both had a long day. We should call it a night before I say something we’ll both regret,” I say.

I’m halfway convinced she’s about to tell me to go to hell, call Waylon and quit before she’s even started, but she just slowly shakes her head like she’s disappointed in me.

“You can call it a night. I have plenty I can do from the motel tonight and I plan to do it. If you were smart you’d utilize me while you have me here.”

My eyes search her face, her flushing cheeks, and the way her breathing is rapid, and know she’s not just talking about the job we’re supposed to be doing.

I work my jaw as I shake off the lust growing every second I spend in her presence. “Let’s just cut the bullshit. Whatever game it is you’re playing I’m not interested. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but her voice gets harder. “Your job is my job dumbass but if you’re too stupid to see that, then fucking this up will be on you and not me,” she says.

Without another word, she pushes back from the table, walks out the door, and leaves me wondering who the hell I’ve agreed to work with.