What The Body Needs: First Chapter

Chapter One

"I do not need a bodyguard."

Jaklyn O'Mara leaned over her brother's desk.  Part of her had been expecting something like this, but that didn't make it any easier.  Her hands clenched.  The invisible vise around her lungs constricted painfully.  "I'm serious, Ben.  You have to talk to him.  How am I supposed to work with some hired goon glued to my ass?"

Benjamin O'Mara, Jr. stopped shuffling papers and looked up.  Sympathy etched his forehead, but his face was resigned.  "Sorry, Jak, but he didn't ask me about it.  It's already done."

Jak cursed and swatted a stubborn red curl out of her face.  "This is ridiculous," she muttered.  She glanced over Ben's shoulder at the closed door behind him.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and stood.  "Now, wait a minute-"

Jak brushed past him.  If Senior thought she would take this latest slight lying down, he was sorely mistaken.  She shoved the office door open.

Benjamin O'Mara, Sr. sat behind his large, heavy wood desk, a stern pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.  A piece of paper was in his hand.  He glanced up at the sound of the door.  Seeing Jak, he looked back down.

Jak paused.  Her resolve wavered.  She felt Ben come in behind her.  His presence was solid and comforting.  He seemed to know she was at a loss for words, because he spoke instead.  "Sir?  Jak wanted to see you."

Warmth spread though Jak's chest.  He always had her back.  She took a deep breath.  "It's about the bodyguard you hired.  For me."

Senior didn't look up.  "Ben, leave us."

Ben tilted his head, chucked Jak under the elbow, and left, shutting the door behind him.

Jak tried not to shift in front of the massive desk.  Why did she always feel small in here?  She drew her shoulders back.  "I don't need a bodyguard.  I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."  The fury she'd felt minutes earlier started simmering again.  "You should have asked me before doing something like this.  Why you would think it's even necessary to..."

Without a word, Senior reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.  Jak trailed off.  She couldn't make out the writing on it, but it didn't matter.  She recognized it immediately.  Her throat closed.  "Where did you get that?"

In response, Senior snapped out the wrinkles and read the words aloud.  Jak closed her eyes.  She'd already memorized them.  "I'm back.  Ready or not, here I come."

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses.  "Ben found this in the trash.  I don't suppose you were planning on telling any of us."  Before Jak could speak, he shook his head.  "No.  Of course not.  Damn it, Jaklyn, I thought you would understand by now, you're not invincible.  Or did you forget what happened five years ago?"

Jak's jaw tightened.  The scars under her button-down shirt burned with memory.  "Of course not."  She couldn't forget, no matter how hard she tried.

Senior shook his head again.  "You want to know why I hired a bodyguard?  Because we can't go through this.  Not again.  It was bad for our family, and bad for business."  He rattled the note.  "This proves your judgment isn't any better now than it was then.  Clearly you can't be trusted to keep yourself safe."

A burning flush crept up Jak's neck.  So that's what this was about.  "I can handle it."

Senior put the note back in his desk and picked up the paper he'd been reading when she came in.  "It's not up to you anymore.  Close the door on your way out."

Jak opened her mouth to speak, shut it again.  The look on his face made it clear he'd already dismissed her.  She spun on her heel and left, making sure the door slammed behind her.

Ben looked up from the report he was reading.  "How'd it go?"

Jak glowered.  "You showed him the note."

He gave a single, sharp nod.  "Yes."

"Why?  God, Ben, how could you?"

Ben met her eyes without flinching.  "You weren't the only person whose life changed five years ago."  He shook his head.  "I'm not going through that again, Jak."

Jak threw up her hands.  "Doesn't anyone believe I can handle this?"  She stalked down the hall out of the office, fought the telltale itch at the edges of her eyes.  She'd changed over the last five years.  She'd gotten stronger, smarter, tougher.

So why was everyone still treating her like a victim?

She was almost to the stairs when the door to the bookkeeping office opened.  Jak stopped dead to keep from ramming into the woman who stepped out.  "Jesus!  Ricki, what the hell?"

Her cousin's impeccable blonde hair shimmered as she bobbed her head.  "Sorry, Jak.  I wanted to catch you before you left."  She lowered her voice.  "I've been looking at the books.  Have you thought over what we talked about?"

Jak's brow furrowed.  "What?"  With a flash, she remembered.  "Oh.  No.  Listen, I've got a lot on my plate right now.  Can we talk later?"

Ricki opened her mouth to protest, but Jak was already halfway down the stairs to the parking lot.

She climbed into her truck and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel, sucked a deep breath through her nose.  It didn't help.  She took another.  That one didn't help, either.  She sighed and started the engine.

She needed to go out.  Drink.  Smoke.  Make some other bad decisions.

Maybe regretting them later would take her mind off the disconcerting knot in the pit of her stomach.

***

"What do you mean, 'you got me a job'?"

Marcus Cutter stared over the chipped rim of his coffee mug at the tall, blond man in front of him.  He wasn't in the mood for Rich Tucker, or his charity assignments.  He slammed the mug down on top of the papers on his desk, cringed as the sound echoed through his head.  "Why the hell didn't you ask me first?"

Rich fished an aspirin out of his pocket, and tossed it to him.  "Because I knew you'd say no."  He glanced around the dingy office.  "You need to work, Marcus.  You need the money.  I don't even want to guess how many of those papers are bills you haven't paid."

Marcus swallowed the aspirin dry and dug a cigarette from his desk drawer.  "Electricity's overrated."  He lit up and took a drag.  A thin blue coil of smoke wavered in front of his face.

Rich snatched it away and stubbed it out in the full ashtray on the desk.  "Wish you wouldn't do that.  Those things'll kill you."

Marcus studied the lettering on his mug.  Tucker Security And Risk Management, LLC.  He took out another cigarette.  "Now you're getting the idea."

Rich shook his head.  "Jesus.  Have you looked at yourself recently?  You smoke instead of eat.  You drink instead of sleep."  He lowered his voice.  "It's been almost six years, Marcus.  She'd want you to move on."

Marcus brought a fist down onto the desk.  The coffee mug jumped.  "Don't tell me what she would want.  She was my sister, not yours."

Rich's face lost all expression.  Marcus sighed and rubbed his fingers over his bleary eyes.  "Fuck.  Sorry.  Don't know what's wrong with me."

Rich tossed a slim folder in front of him.  "I told you: you need to work."  He tapped a finger on it.  "Tomorrow morning.  O'Mara And Sons Construction.  Be there."  He headed for the door, paused.  "Get some sleep.  And stop drinking so much.  You look like shit."

Marcus's harsh, bitter laugh filtered out behind him.

***

San Jose was just like he'd left it.

AC/DC blared from the radio.  Marcus draped an arm out the window of his black GTO and surveyed the surrounding landscape.  The dry Northern California winter had taken its toll.  Hills that were usually lush and green this time of year were a mottled brown.  Even the trees lining the road looked dehydrated.  Only the brilliant yellow wildflowers seemed satisfied with the drought conditions, and spilled out of every ditch and crack in the pavement.

Overpasses and underpasses twisted through the Bay Area like a concrete circulatory system.  Marcus found his exit and pulled off the freeway.  Traffic dragged down the street for blocks.  There was a zen-like quality he'd nearly forgotten about traffic here.  It didn't need a time or an excuse.  It simply was. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and willed the line of cars in front of him to go faster.

The closer he got to his motel, the tighter the muscles in his neck grew.  It had been a long time since he'd been back here.  A long time since-

Marcus shook the thought from his head.  An uncomfortable, itchy feeling prickled the back of his neck.  When everything first happened, he'd been so crazed with rage and grief he hadn't bothered to get the details.  He regretted that now.  It meant any street could be that street, any bar that bar.

Any dumpster, that dumpster.

It was getting dark when he finally pulled up to the Horseshoe Motel.  He eyed it skeptically.  He'd stayed in worse places, but not by much.  The stairs leading to the second floor didn't look capable of supporting a starving child, much less a man.  Cinderblock walls surrounded the tiny, empty pool.  Weeds choked through the cracked pavement in the parking lot.  The entire building was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, preferably in a color besides faded coral.

Either O'Mara And Sons Construction had fallen on hard times, or his new employer was a cheap bastard.

Marcus killed the engine and sat, tried to work up enough motivation to go check in.  He didn't want to be here.  Not at this motel, not in this city.  Too many familiar sights.  Too many memories.

Of course money would bring him back.  His lip curled.  If he'd learned anything about himself over the last six years, it was that money could make him do anything.

He glanced at the closed folder on the passenger's seat next to him.  He should probably read up on "Jack O'Mara".  He was supposed to meet him tomorrow, after all.  Marcus blew out a breath and looked around.

In the adjoining parking lot sat a tiny, run-down building.  A giant, rust-colored cow planted on the roof trumpeted the words, "BBQ, Steak, Ribs" in graying white enamel.  Above it was another sign in the shape of a martini glass: "Sam's Spirits".  The faded red letters were barely legible.

Marcus hopped out of the car, leaving the folder where it was.  It could wait.  Right now, he needed to forget.  And thus far, he'd only found one sure way to do it.

He needed a drink.

***

The parking lot was full when Jak pulled up outside Sam's.

The lights blinked on the huge martini glass perched on the roof.  More light filtered through the open door.  A new banner was plastered on the wall facing the street: "Now Open For Breakfast".  A small group of rough-looking men clustered in front of the nondescript siding out front, smoking.

Jak pulled around to the street in the back, into the spot that was always left open.

Sam had been a fixture in her life for as long as she could remember.  He'd let her play with him and Ben before she was even old enough to walk.  He'd teased her all through grade school, flirted with her in high school until Ben threatened to knock the teeth out of his head.  She'd known he hadn't meant it, but he never said anything, so neither did she.

Jak checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and bit back a grimace.  She could already hear Sam's voice in her head: Couldn't take five to freshen up, huh?  She should have stopped off at home first, put on some makeup, fixed her hair.  Changed clothes.  Her skin looked too pale, and her tight ponytail seemed to highlight the fine lines around her eyes.  She'd certainly never heard of anyone being picked up in a bar looking like Paul Bunyan.

She scowled and snapped the mirror straight again.  Not that she was looking to get picked up, anyway.

She vaulted out, careful to lock her truck, and headed for the unobtrusive back door.  The smell of stale grease and barbeque sauce hung heavy in the air.  The men in the kitchen nodded as she filed past.  Jak threaded through a short, dark hallway and stopped at the closed door to the bar.  Behind it, the steady pulse of music made the thin wood vibrate.  She took a deep breath and pushed it open.

The familiar smell of sweat, alcohol, and fifty different colognes hit her like a wall.  No matter how many times she came here, it always set her back a step.  She paused in the doorway, waited for the effect to dull.

It didn't.

Behind the bar, Sam caught her eye and waved her over.  Jak slapped on a smile and made her way through the crowd of bodies.  She slid onto a stool.  Sam finished the drink he was pouring and came over.  His white shirt was crisp and impeccable, the sleeves rolled casually to the elbows.  With his dark, glossy pompadour and full beard, he looked like a rockabilly lumberjack.

Sure enough, he looked askance at her disheveled hair and wan complexion.  He had to shout above the din of conversation.  "How's Ben?"

Jak nodded in answer and leaned forward.  "Pour me a whiskey, Sam.  It's been a long day."

Sam saluted and pulled a bottle from below the bar.  Seconds later, he slid her a full shot glass.  She caught it and raised it in a quick cheer, then took a heavy swallow.  The tawny liquid burned all the way down her throat.  Jak sighed.  Sweet relief.

She felt the man's eyes on her before she saw him.  The back of her neck tingled.  Even after all this time, the idea of someone watching her made her nervous.  She plastered what she hoped was a dispassionate look on her face and glanced down the bar.

At first, she only saw dark.  Dark hair, dark jacket, dark pants, dark shoes.  Dark eyes glittered from a hard face.  Eyes fixed squarely on her.

Jak stared down into her glass.  Too late.  He'd already caught her.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.  It was visceral.  Devastating.  The kind of smile that could get a woman to make all kinds of bad decisions.  Jak pounded back the last of her drink.

"Not often you see a woman taking straight whiskey."

Jak tried to ignore him.  He slid a barstool closer.  "Bourbon or scotch?"

She gritted her teeth.  "Bourbon."

The man's smile took on a darker note.  "That's my girl."  He lifted a finger to catch Sam's attention.  "A bottle."

Sam slid over a bottle of Jak's bourbon.  He caught her eye, opened his mouth to speak, when something else distracted him.  Brow furrowed, he strode away briskly.  Jak sighed.  She was on her own.  She turned to the stranger.  "I buy my own drinks."

"Sure you do, honey."  He tossed back his shot, refilled his glass, tossed the second shot back too.

Jak's eyebrows went up.  "Most people only drink like that when they're trying to forget something."

The man picked up her glass and filled it to the brim.  Without a word, he slid it back to her.  Jak stared at it for a moment, then tossed it back.

The man smiled again and poured them each another.  Jak's eyes narrowed.  "If you're planning on getting me drunk, it's going to take more than a few shots."

He tipped his glass to her.  "I've got the whiskey if you've got the time."

"And if I don't?"

His eyes were piercing.  "You do."

Jak's heart pounded.  Damn it, what was wrong with her?  It wasn't as though she'd never been hit on before.  That was what he was doing, wasn't it?  She couldn't quite tell.  Maybe his voice, those eyes, that smile, were giving her the wrong idea.

She glanced at him again, more openly this time.  He wasn't just dark.  He was wild.  Hair a little too mussed.  Shirt a little too rumpled.  That leather jacket had seen a few too many hard rides.  His jaw looked capable of taking a punch, and his nose had clearly taken several.

But his lips were fascinating.  A thin scar drew the top one into a perpetual sneer.  They were neatly carved, oddly sensual.  Out of place in his harsh face.  Jak fought the delicious shiver that went down her spine.  Lips like that had experience making women scream.

No, she definitely had the right idea.

She'd never needed a drink so badly in her life.  Jak stretched for the whiskey bottle.  His hand closed over her wrist.  She froze, splayed across the bar in front of him.  It was disconcerting.  Intimate.  She forced herself to meet his eyes.  In the dim light, she couldn't make out their color.

The corners of his lips lifted.  "Buyer pours."

She cleared her throat.  "Oh."  She wracked her brain for something else to say.  "Thanks."  His hand still imprisoned hers.  She looked down at it pointedly.

He ignored her.  His thumb traced a slow circle around the inside of her wrist as he poured them each a shot with his other hand.  His skin was rough, warm.  Jak swallowed hard.  A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth.  Damn.  He must have felt her pulse jump.

She took a deep breath and withdrew her hand.  He let it slide out from under his and raised his glass.  "Your health."

Jak tried to ignore the tingle where he'd touched her.  "What about your health?"

Even his chuckle was dark.  "Trust me, yours is worth more than mine."

Jak snorted.  "I doubt it."  She drank anyway.

The man drank, eyes never leaving her face.  "Interesting."  He refilled her glass.  "Want to talk about it?"  A mocking note edged his voice.

"What?  No."  Not with you.  Jak swirled the whiskey around in her glass.  She looked up to find him watching her again.  "Yes?"

The man shrugged.  "Just wondering what goes on in a head like yours."

Jak stiffened.  "What are you talking about?"

He looked at her a moment longer, then returned to his drink.  "Calm down, honey."  He glanced back at her.  "Your honor is safe with me."  His lips twisted, as if in appreciation of a private joke.

Jak stared at him.  Had he moved closer, or had she?  She glanced back at where she'd been sitting.  Christ.  She had.  From her new seat, she could smell the heady mix of leather and smoke that seemed to emanate from the man's every pore.

She resisted the urge to lean over and breathe it in.  Instead she studied her whiskey, suddenly unsure whether to drink it.  When was the last time she'd been drawn to someone like this?  Was it her?  The alcohol?  Or something else altogether?

She cleared her throat.  "You been in town long?"

The man's eyes sharpened.  "Who said I'm from out of town?"

Jak forced herself not to cringe, sipped her drink instead.  "Never seen you here before.  And there's a motel next door.  Doesn't take a genius."

He inclined his head.  "Score one for the lady."  He focused back on his glass.  Jak waited.  He didn't look up again.

Her eyes narrowed.  "You're a criminal."  If that wasn't just perfect.

The man sipped his drink.  "What makes you say that?"

Jak pushed her glass away.  "You're not from here.  You hardly seem the type to be visiting family."  She shrugged.  "So you're here on business.  If it was good business, you'd be in a better hotel.  Those bags under your eyes-you don't sleep enough.  Probably work at night."  She sat back.  "And you drink too much.  Guilty conscience?"

The man stared at her, expressionless.  Jak's blood iced over.  "I'm right, aren't I?"

He took another drink.  A shadow of pain flickered across his features, so fast she nearly missed it.  "And why would I admit it if you were?"

Now she was curious.  "Like I said, people who drink like you do are trying to forget something."  She peered into his face.  "What are you trying to forget?"

The man didn't answer.  He drained the last of his drink and tossed two twenties on the bar.  "Rest of the bottle's yours."  With that, he slid off the stool and disappeared into the crowd. Between the bodies, Jak saw the side door swing open.  The outside lights glinted off his leather jacket as he slipped out.

She sighed and reached for her glass.  Sam tore himself away from the blond man he was talking to and made his way back to her, a concerned look on his face.  "Was that guy bothering you?"

Jak snorted.  Now he asked her.  She shook her head and tried to ignore the strange heat pooled deep in her belly.  "Nah.  Who was he, anyway?"

Sam shrugged.  "Never seen him before.  Came in and started drinking almost," he checked the clock on the wall behind him, "Christ, almost four hours ago now.  Said his name was Marcus, I think?"

"Marcus."  The syllables rolled off her tongue.  Marcus.  It sounded elegant.  Patrician.  It didn't fit the dark man at all.  "He say what he was doing here?"

"No, don't think so."  Sam started wiping a water ring off the scarred wood.  He glanced back at the blond, focused on Jak again.  "The amount he had to drink, I'm amazed he remembered his own name."

Jak sighed.  She looked back at the door Marcus had disappeared through.  His presence seemed to linger around it, animalistic and magnetizing.  She sighed again.  She was going to regret this.

She hopped off her stool and waved to Sam, then quickened her pace and disappeared into the crowd before he could say anything.  Satisfied there were enough people around the door to block her, she stole out the same way Marcus had gone.

The night air bit her cheeks and cut through her canvas jacket.  Jak rubbed her arms and blinked, eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light.  The pungent aroma of cigarette smoke pricked her nostrils.  She turned in the direction it was coming from.

A heavy, muscular arm swept her back and pinned her to the wall of the building.  Jak's mouth flew open, but no sound came out.  She did the only thing she could think of and drove her knee towards what she hoped was a sensitive target.

Marcus caught it.  His dark eyes flashed.  "That," he said, "was not very ladylike."  His voice was so low it might have been a growl.  Smoke wafted off his breath.  Usually she hated the smell, but now it only intensified that mysterious feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Jak shifted.  "I-"

His eyes bored into hers.  "You shouldn't be here."

I know.  She swallowed and tried again.  "You left so fast."  She felt like she was strangling.  "I was concerned."

He made a disbelieving sound deep in his throat.  "I bet you were."  His eyes skated over her face, lower.  He shifted closer.

Jak fought back a shiver.  She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.  She wasn't sure she remembered how.  Deep in her gut, something primal throbbed in time to her pounding heartbeat.  The sounds of traffic from the street faded to the blood rushing in her ears.  She forced herself to meet his gaze.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers.  "Nice girls like you shouldn't follow men like me into dark alleys."

The world was spinning.  Whether from the whiskey or something else, she wasn't sure anymore.  A warning siren blared in the back of her head.  Bad decision.  BAD decision.  Jak ignored it and squared her jaw.  "I'm not that nice."

Marcus's face was so close she could see the lines weathered into his forehead.  His lips peeled back from his teeth in a predatory smile.  "Good."

Then his mouth closed over hers.

###

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