Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3)

  Tracked by Trouble

  By Calinda B

  Published by Sumner McKenzie, Inc.

  Kingston, WA 98346

  Ebook Edition

  Copyright @2016 Calinda B

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Jennifer Munswami

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, but it can be lent according to the retailer’s coding. If you would like to give this book to another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  Endless support comes from all directions. At home, from the Official Sweetie Pie. The cats lend their support, too, as long as I feed them. Out in the world, from many friends, my street team, other authors and my fans – the support you give keeps me going. As always, if you’re reading this, I hope you see that there’s life beyond the struggle once you make a choice to change.

  And here’s to Ron, just because.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  About the Author

  Calinda’s Books

  Chapter 1

  Zed pointed to the shot glass, empty, like his lonely heart. I wonder which one he’ll have…an M16 assault rifle or an M4A1 Carbine? I hope I get a chance to love before I die. His head landed with a dull thud on the glistening cherry wood bar top. He dimly thought things like I wonder if that will leave a bruise? And when was the last time I was this hammered? Followed by the recollection of what he sought to escape. Something about a phone call… Pressing one palm to his eyes, all thoughts disappeared in a swirl of alcohol as he headed toward welcome oblivion, not really wanting to remember.

  “Is this part of your training regime? You know, for that triathlon you mentioned.” A white cloth and a very pretty hand appeared near his face, as the bartender wiped the counter.

  “No,” he said to the hand, squinting. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of whatever cleaning substance she used reached his nostrils. It smelled like it could dissolve the skin from his face.

  “Didn’t think so. Unless there’s a liver abuse segment of the race, I don’t think this qualifies.” She chuckled.

  Her laugh hit him like a swirl of migrating Monarch butterflies circling inside his chest. Or maybe his last glimpse of her hair evoked this sensation—long silky strands of orange and red reminding him of delicate winged creatures ready to flutter away into the sky at the slightest provocation. Either that or a dragon’s flame ready to torch my body into a puff of smoke. He let out an inebriated mumble. Probably the drink in me, he decided.

  Her fingers were long and shapely, adorned with several rings. Her nails were painted some dark blackish or bluish color, probably the color his head would turn where he whacked it on the bar. Zed studied the jewelry from his vantage point of being inches from her white cleaning cloth, inches from her lovely fingers. Two silver rings, one gold ring with red stones…rubies? I wonder if she has a wedding ring on the other hand. “You married?” he mumbled.

  She laughed. “You wondering if you have a chance?”

  “Maybe.” The word came out in a garbled slur.

  “I do love men with hair the color of night and eyes like the afternoon sky on a cloudless day. Day and night in one sexy package. You’re cute, but…”

  It sounded like she smiled when she said that, but Zed’s eyes were now closed. What was her name again? Renee? Rebecca? He’d been trying for the last hour to get her to go out with him. Did I succeed? Do I care?

  She let out another laugh. She had a nice laugh. A happy laugh that made you want to join in—if you weren’t as blitzed as him.

  With heaving effort, he placed his palms in front of him and pushed himself up to sitting. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to sand, smooth, and finish this bar top, he noted. It might be too slick for his hands to hold him upright. He studied her via his right eye, and then his left. Using both eyes at the same time seemed to require a lot of effort. Her eyes reminded him of golden agates, tumbled smooth by tempestuous seas. A touch of mossy-green comfort at the edges.

  “I thought this triathlon meant a lot to you. Isn’t it to raise money for one of your nephews? Nieces?”

  “Nephew. Little Rickie. He’s not dying or anything.”

  “Happy to hear that.”

  “It’s important to me for more reasons than that. It’s a personal cause.”

  “Uh huh. I see. So, what’s the cause, then?”

  “It’s to benefit the Marine Mammal Center. Specific…spefic…” Hard word to say when you’re as drunk as I am. “It’s aimed to help Waldo.”

  “Who’s Waldo?” She lifted one of the hands he used to prop himself up and wiped underneath it, then the other hand. She patted both hands when she finished. Her hands were warm and soft.

  “Stellar sea lion pup. Someone shot him. He’s in intensi…he’s in…the pup isn’t doing well. Rickie’s school is rallying the cause to teach the kids about local marine life. One of the parents works there. He’s eight.”

  “One of the parents is eight?”

  “No, Rickie. Rickie’s eight.” Zed eyed her glistening lips. He’d watched her dab lip gloss on them earlier. Her mouth looks delicious. I’d really like to kiss that mouth.

  “Okay. Rickie’s eight and one of the parents works at the school and is cheerleading the cause for Waldo, the gunshot sea lion.”

  Zed frowned in her direction. Whatever her name was, she was getting the facts all wrong. “No. One of the parents is a triathlon athlete.” There, now she’ll get it. Zed smiled, pleased with himself. He cocked his head to the side. Whatever her name, she was really pretty.

  Besides that stunning, complex face, she had a body worthy of a spread in one of those classy magazines his sister had in her salon—scratch that—this girl had enough sass to be on the cover of Rolling Stone.

  He studied her legs, wondering how she kept them so fit. He’d like to help in that department—keeping them fit. He’d checked them out thoroughly when he was sober, wondering how they’d feel wrapped around his hips with him stroking her velvet…wondering if her legs were as satiny smooth and soft as they looked.

  “Okay, one of the parents is an athlete, Rickie’s eight, and someone else works there, wherever ‘there’ is.”

  Zed’s frown deepened, wondering if she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch. He started to lift a hand to wave it at her, erasing her summary from the airwaves between them, but the
n thought better of it when he started to list to the side. “No, no, no. The parent works at the Marine Mammal Center. He’s the one who organized the triathlon event to raise money on Waldo’s behalf.” Maybe now she’ll get it.

  “Ohhh,” she said knowingly. She patted the top of his head. “That took some effort, didn’t it, champ?”

  “What?” Am I the one not making sense? Could be.

  “You ever done a triathlon?” she asked.

  “No. Why?” He felt defensive all of a sudden, like she’d engaged in verbal sparring with him.

  “No reason. Just making conversation, that’s all.” She picked up his empty glass and put it behind the bar. It clinked against other glassware, like she’d put it in a plastic bin with other dishes.

  “Think I can’t do it? I’m pretty strong.” His body stiffened, like it did when he geared up for a fight.

  “I don’t know you, so I’m not thinking anything one way or the other.”

  He nodded. Good answer. He wondered if he should order another drink. He started to open his mouth to ask for a gin and tonic, but suddenly, his arms couldn’t keep him upright any longer. He slid down to the bar top, closed his eyes and got ready to sleep it off.

  “Okay, Romeo,” the comely bartender said in his direction. “Time to go. Last call’s come and gone. Is there someone I can call to come get you? Can I get you a cab?”

  He lifted from his stupor momentarily to retrieve a business card from his pocket, flipped it on the counter and then blissfully resumed his ride toward unconsciousness. In case the barkeep didn’t understand, he felt for, found, and then tapped the card forcefully with his index finger. He mumbled something even he didn’t understand, let out a sigh, and fell into a dark drift.

  A few minutes, or maybe hours later, rough hands grabbed the back of his shirt, hauled him up to sitting, and a familiar voice said, “Let’s go, Farrell. Up and at ‘em. Rebecca’s trying to close up here and you’re in the way. Not to mention you interrupted the start of a very sexy encounter with my woman. You’re going to pay for this, big time.”

  Strong, rock solid arms hefted him to his feet and propelled him to walk. He let his head fall on the shoulder of the male, to the tune of Rebecca’s—or was it Renee’s—laughter. Wait, my friend said it’s Rebecca. Zed smiled, satisfied in his knowledge of her name, before drifting away in a gin-soaked cloud. He mumbled something into the male’s shoulder.

  “Aw, you two make a good looking couple,” Rebecca said, still hooting with laughter. “So loving.”

  “Can it, Tosetti,” his escort said, with a snort. “Wait, I’ve got a better idea.” He gripped Zed tightly while fiddling around with his pocket and pulling free his cell phone.

  Zed thought, Man, this guy is strong.

  “Snap a picture. I want him to remember this moment.”

  A flash went off, the phone was pocketed and Zed was guided—more like hauled—out to a vehicle, and poured inside where he proceeded to pass out, stone cold, in the passenger seat. At least that’s what he thought happened.

  Much later—or could have been a few moments—he found himself in a strange, yet familiar bedroom, listening to the thump, thump, thump of a bed slamming against the wall, followed by moans, cries, and blissful curses. After that, everything went dark, just the way he hoped it would be when he entered the bar a long, long time ago.

  Chapter 2

  “Zed. Zed. Zed. Zed.” A high-pitched child’s voice assaulted his eardrums, accompanied by small sticky fingers pounding his nose.

  Zed groaned and tried to open his eyes. The stabbing sunlight made it impossible.

  “Zed. Zed. Zed. Unca Zed. Unca Zed.”

  He tried again to pry open his eyelids, only to be faced with two large emerald-green eyes, fringed with dark lashes, inches from his own blue ones. “Shit!” he exclaimed, tugging the covers over his face.

  Squealing laughter followed, along with more slaps through the covers.

  “Marni, leave Zed alone,” a female voice called. “And stop hitting.”

  The child disappeared from the bed, scooped into someone’s arms, and Zed slipped into unconsciousness once more.

  When he awoke again, his bladder screaming for mercy, the sun no longer aimed its shards of sunlight at his eyes. He let out a long string of curses, threw the covers from his fully clad body, and staggered to the en suite bathroom to relieve himself. When he’d finished, he stumbled to the sink to wash his hands and there, plastered against the mirror, hung an eight by ten glossy of him. “Oh, no,” he groaned.

  A dude with hair the color of a crow’s feathers, looking like a soul patch sporting, mouth gaping, bug-eyed goldfish, clinging to the shoulders of his long-time buddy Jace Savage, stared back at him. The words “Where’s Waldo?” had been scrawled along the photo.

  He let out another stream of curses, washed his hands and face with the lemony scented foam soap, and dried himself with the plush yellow hand towel. He stuck out his tongue, scooped a handful of water, rinsed the foul taste from his mouth, spit into the sink, and stumbled uneasily into the bedroom.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sniffed his pits, wrinkled his nose at the smell and wondered if he should take a shower before heading downstairs. Maybe no one’s home and I can simply slip away. “Wait. Shit. I have no vehicle. My truck’s at the bar.” He fell back on the bed as the night came flooding back to him and the reason he got trashed. Mom’s fucking phone call. Guess who’s back in town.

  Another, more gripping thought assaulted his brain as he recalled heading straight for a tree a year ago at sixty-five miles per hour. “Me and a tree and brother makes three,” he muttered. Pounding footsteps abruptly interrupted his grim reverie, followed by the launch of a two-year-old onto his stomach. “Oof.” His breath left him with a whoosh. “Okay, Marni doll, I get the message. Get up and get on with your day, Uncle Zed.” He rolled to his side, pushed himself up to sitting and grabbed the child by her ankles, swinging her upside down.

  She laughed with delight until he gently laid her on her back. “More!” she cried. “More!”

  “Nuh uh, girl, your uncle Zed’s got a massive hangover.” Technically, he wasn’t really her uncle, but she seemed to think he was, so that was that. Matter of fact, he wouldn’t even know her had her uncle Jace—also her legal guardian—and he not patched up their friendship with one hell of a fight several months ago. He stood, picked her up, settled her on his hip and sauntered downstairs, his head throbbing.

  In the bright kitchen, Zoé, Jace’s beautiful wife and his co-worker at the sustainable farm and garden where he worked, looked up from the perfectly shaped scones she’d retrieved from the oven. “Hey, Zed. Rough night?” She rubbed her garden-dirt smudged face with her forearm as she held the scones. Her fawn-brown eyes glinted with mirth as she regarded him.

  “You could say that.” He smiled, started to step toward her to greet her, thought of his stinky armpits and paused.

  “Care for something to sop up any remaining alcohol in your stomach?” She hefted the tray of baked goods and returned his smile.

  He sniffed the sweet strawberry scented air and his stomach lurched. “Maybe in a minute. Got any coffee?”

  “Over there.” She inclined her head toward the coffee maker and set the tray on the stove. “Ibuprofen?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

  She plunked a bottle of the pills on the yellow Formica table in front of him, poured him a glass of water and handed it to him. “Sorry about all of Marni’s interruptions. When she saw who decided to spend the night here I couldn’t keep her away. I tried.”

  “It’s okay. We like each other, don’t we, Marni?” He kissed the child’s cheek, set her on the floor and ruffled her long brown curls just as the family cat sauntered in.

  “Bozo!” Marni squealed.

  A big fluffy brown, gray, and white rescue cat stopped, eyes round as traffic signals, when he saw Marni running for him. He took off in the other direction, th
e toddler in hot pursuit.

  “Poor kitty. At least it beats the pound,” Zoé said, retrieving a large blue porcelain mug from the cupboard. She glanced at her dirt-stained hands. “I swear my hands are clean. I scrubbed them before I started cooking.”

  “Don’t worry, mine get like that too. It seems to seep into your skin when you work with dirt.”

  She placed the glossy oversized mug on the yellow chrome dinette and said, “Sit. You don’t look like you should be standing.”

  “That bad, huh?” He popped open the anti-inflammatories and poured four into his palm, quickly washing them down with the water. He kept his arms pressed by his side when Zoé stepped over to pour the strong brew in his cup.

  “Pretty much. You’ve got quite a bruise on your forehead.”

  He winced. He’d forgotten about the face plant and hadn’t noticed it in the mirror. Instead, he’d focused on the phrase “Where’s Waldo?”

  She filled the mug to the brim. “Sugar’s over there. Want cream?”

  “A little, yeah.” He sipped the hot java, welcoming the bitter liquid.

  She pulled a small carton of half and half from the fridge and set it in front of him. She retrieved a basket from the cupboard, snagged a cloth napkin from a drawer and shook it open, before lining the wicker with the red checked cloth. She plucked the perfectly browned scones from the tray and placed them in the basket. Then she placed the goodies in front of Zed and said, “In case you change your mind, butter’s in the fridge. Marni and I have chores to do. Before you leave, come outside and check out my new starter plants. They’re coming along nicely. That organic mulch you gave me is doing the trick.” She called, “Marni! Who wants to feed the goats?”

  The child skittered into the kitchen yelling, “Goats! Goats!”

  “Where’s your man?” Zed asked, eyeing the pastries.

  “He had to run down to the boat yard.”

  “I thought he didn’t work there anymore.” Zed grabbed a warm scone. The fragrant sugary strawberry smell had overcome his stomach’s protests.