For the First Time

But something about what he said rubbed her the wrong way. The way he stood in front of her thinking he knew everything, when all he had was facts from his internet search. Trying, but failing, to be apologetic for invading her privacy. It made her want to punch him in his smug face.

It made her want to cry, just to watch him squirm.

“You don’t know shit about it. All you know is what you read. You don’t know what happened to me. To my family. Nobody does.”

“Then tell me.”

“Why would I do that? I don’t know you.”

“But I want to know you.”

Her eyes widened.

“I meant for professional reasons,” he said quickly. “I need you. I need someone to watch my daughter because she won’t let me. You have to be someone I can trust and that trust has to be built instantly. I agree that sometimes facts aren’t enough. So tell me what really happened.”

“Telling you about my family tragedy will build trust?”

“Telling me about what happened between you and your father might.” Mark’s expression was dour. “Okay, fine, it also might help give me some insight into Sophie. Figure out how I can change us. Fix us.”

JoJo smiled sadly. “Trust me when I tell you there is nothing about what happened between me and my father that will help you to fix anything. You might say my dad and I are...permanently broken.”

“It was that bad?”

“It was worse.”

“I don’t want to break things with Sophie. I really don’t.”

“Then you won’t. The problem my dad and I had—and eventually my mom and I—wasn’t the result of what I did. It was because of them. A kid can try to let go and parents can refuse to allow it. But if parents let go, there is nothing for the kid to do but walk away. As long as you refuse to let her go, it doesn’t matter how angry Sophie gets or how snarky or how combative. That bond will still be there.”

She could see him absorbing her words. Understanding what it said about her own family. What it meant.

“They had already lost one daughter. How could they let you go?”

“I spent a lot of time taking psychology courses to figure out that very thing. The truth is, murder is destructive and it has many victims. And I was not...easy.”

“I really am sorry.”

JoJo didn’t reply. It was such a useless phrase. One that people felt obligated to offer. It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change anything. It only made a person say, “Thank you.” Thank you for what?

“I’ll need a list of everyone you suspect might have written this note. I’ll also want a list of anyone involved in any case you’ve solved since your return to the States. I imagine you can’t put together a list of potential threats from your days in the government—security clearance and all—so you’ll have to do your own work there.”

“Right. And you’ll—”

“I’ll need to get familiar with Sophie’s schedule. Her friends, teachers, et cetera. Do you want my surveillance to be covert or open?”

Mark hesitated and JoJo imagined he was weighing the pros and cons.

“Do you want to take the risk of me doing this without her knowledge, knowing at some point she might learn the truth or—”

“You can’t handle covert surveillance on a teenager?”

JoJo nearly growled. “Of course I can. But should danger threaten her in some way I may need to expose myself. The girl’s pretty bright. I’m thinking she wouldn’t buy the story that my presence was a coincidence. Or do you want to spare the righteous teen outrage that would follow such a revelation and simply explain what’s happening? A threat was made, we’re checking it out, but in the meantime I’m going to be hanging around to make sure nothing happens.”

Still, he hesitated.

“What did you say about wanting to fix the relationship between you and your daughter?”

“I don’t want to scare the crap out of her with this. She’s got enough on her plate.”

“Then you need to ask yourself who Sophie is. Is she the type of kid who is going to be freaked out by this and will shut down out of fear? Or is she the type of kid who can deal with the situation and take reasonable steps to secure her own safety by accepting a necessary precaution?”

“Are you seriously trying to out-reason me?”

“I’m saying you’re not a spy anymore. Getting away with a covert operation isn’t the goal. Establishing trust between you and your daughter is. You know? That silly thing called trust—that thing you want to have with me. Well, I’m no expert but I’m fairly sure it’s a critical component in any relationship, especially one between a father and daughter who are only starting to know one another.”

“You did out-reason me,” he whispered, sounding disgusted. “Okay. Come over tonight. We’ll talk to her together. I’ll let her know what the deal is and you can explain your role. She’ll probably take it better coming from you.”

“Deal.”

“Did you find an apartment yet?”

“Not yet. I have some appointments tomorrow.”

“To rent or buy?”

This time she was the one to hesitate, pondering how much he needed to know about her personal life. In her mind, the more space the better, especially since she realized she sort of liked him.

Not the dangerous red-zone level of like. More bordering on orange. He was funny and could trade barbs with anyone. But there was something else that made him different from other men she’d known. She’d worked for detectives, she’d trained with law enforcers. The term swinging dick was a staple in her descriptive vocabulary.

The difference between Mark and the other types she’d known in this profession was that he didn’t have to swing his dick to prove anything to anyone.

He was a badass, and his dick was just there. Impressive without having to announce its presence.

And that is enough time thinking about the Penis. Move on.

She considered what he had said earlier. If he was going to trust her with his daughter’s safety, then she could at least be honest with him about the basic facts of her life.

“Rent.”

“Because you can’t buy or won’t buy?”

“If you’re offering me a raise already...”

He sneered at her. That was the only description she could come up with for the way his lips thinned while half his mouth curled up. “I’m trying to find out if you’re renting for a reason.”

“Like, duh,” she said, with what she hoped was enough teenage speak so he would understand.

It only made him sneer harder.

“Yes, I’m renting for a reason. Until you and I figure out if we can mesh together, I don’t want to make any long-term commitments.”

“Why do we have to...mesh? Why can’t we simply be two people working together?”

“Dude, small office. You need to accept the fact that I’m the type who will go into your office and take the case folders if I need them. I probably need to accept the fact that, deep at heart, you’re still a paranoid spy guy. If we can’t do that, no meshing.”

“Well, then I want to mesh.” He shook his head slightly. “What I meant to say is, I want this to work out. With us.”

“Ditto.”

“Good. Okay, well, if you don’t have a place of your own, you’re probably sick of eating out. Come over for dinner.”

“You cook?”

“Why did your voice go up an octave? You don’t think I can cook? Is it because I’m a man? That’s so stereotypical and, I have to say, a little cliché.”

JoJo bit her lip because who knew? Maybe his secret passion was cooking. But she had a feeling she was being played. In fact, that was always how she felt around him. Like she was being tested or there was some hidden agenda behind everything he did and said. It constantly kept her on her toes.

The man—the real man—behind the intimidating spy or the sarcastic jokester or the seriously lost new dad, was a mystery.

Which was not a good thing because there was nothing she loved better than solving a mystery.

He’s your boss. He’s not a mystery. He’s your boss. A boss without a Penis.

Still, a home-cooked meal—if he could deliver it—was not something a woman who ate most of her meals at restaurants ever passed up. Cooking was a luxury her job rarely afforded.

“You’re on, chef.”

* * *

MARK CLUTCHED THE take-out bags in one hand while he fiddled with his key. He opened the door and found Sophie where he’d left her after he had picked her up from rehearsal. Nancy was with her and the two of them had their heads down over a big book.

“Hey, I’m home.”

Nancy lifted her head and smiled. “Hi.”

Again, Mark was struck by the sweet nature of her smile. So open and friendly and welcoming. So unlike the woman who was coming for dinner tonight.

I want to mesh....

Where in the hell had that come from? It had been her word, but to him it conjured all sorts of lurid images. Mostly involving naked bodies and what happened to them when they meshed.

He wasn’t even sure why the images arose. It wasn’t like he was attracted to her. She was so far from what he wanted in a woman she might as well be a man. Any thoughts of meshing should be irrelevant.

That was what he needed to do. He needed to think of her as a man. A man, a fellow detective, a coworker. A hey-buddy-let’s-get-a-beer-after-work dude. Or a go-watch-the-game-and-burp kind of man.

Did JoJo burp?

“What’s that?” Sophie asked him.

Shifting his thoughts away from his she-man coworker, Mark set the bags in the kitchen. “This is lasagna. Homemade. Well, at least homemade by someone else. But we’re going to pretend tonight. What are the odds I have a dish remotely this size?”

He started foraging through his cabinets, where he knew he’d stashed the pots and pans and serving dishes he’d bought. When he first realized that it only made sense for Sophie to live with him, he’d gone out and bought everything he thought a home should have. Things like kitchen implements. He was a man who owned a grater, a juicer and a whisk.

Not one of those tools had ever been used in this kitchen.

“Ah-ha!” Mark pulled out a square white ceramic dish and a saucepan and held them up to show off his discovery to the two ladies seated at the island.

“Yeah, so you have pots? I don’t get it.”

Mark opened the bags and pulled out a container of red sauce. He dumped the contents into the pot and put it on the stove, setting the heat level to warm.

Next action item: the delicate surgery of removing the lasagna from the aluminum container and placing it into the serving dish. What might a man need for that? Spatula. Yes! That was a kitchen tool he was familiar with. A man had to have eggs and pancakes after all.

Sophie followed his activities with a bemused expression. “What are you doing? What is the point?”

“I think he’s trying to impress someone.”

Mark glanced at Nancy and saw a sad smile on her face. It was crazy, but he had the feeling he’d disappointed her by being interested in somebody else. The crazy thought occurred to him that his daughter’s tutor might have a crush on him.

If so, it was flattering. She was a woman in her early thirties and attractive in a no-nonsense way. Long, ash-blond hair, pretty green eyes. Soft in all the right places. She was a woman any man would find it easy to be around. Hell, if she wasn’t his daughter’s tutor, he might consider asking her out.

Because wasn’t that what he wanted? A nice woman. A steady woman. A woman with a lovely smile.

But she was his daughter’s tutor and Sophie liked her. That was something he wasn’t going to mess up. There were boundaries that couldn’t be crossed if he didn’t want to see Nancy storm off, leaving him hanging over something as silly as her broken heart. After all, what were the odds he could actually make a relationship work long-term?

Given his track record, his odds were on par with being able to cook lasagna on his own from scratch. And since he had no clue about what went into lasagna, those odds were basically none to none.

“Not impressing anyone,” he clarified. “Just proving her wrong.”

“Her.” Nancy nodded. “I sort of figured.”

“Who is it?”

Mark looked at Sophie. “JoJo is coming over.”

He watched her face instantly change from suspicious to excited. “Awesome. Why, though? I thought you guys were working together. Mark, you do know you can’t date someone you employ, don’t you? It’s totally not cool.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a work thing. But she made a crack about me cooking and well...”

“You would rather set up an elaborate scene with pots and dishes than tell her the truth. Which is that you don’t cook.”

“Exactly.” Mark smiled. “You know, Soph, I really feel like we’re getting to know each other.”

“Well, I’ll be going,” Nancy said as she closed the book. “Let you do your...work thing. Sophie, I’ll expect that report next week. See you around, Mark.”

Mark ignored her doubt about the intentions behind tonight’s activities. While he might appreciate her attraction, he certainly wouldn’t feel obligated to explain any part of his life to her. If that put her nose out of joint, then it was her issue. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to pursue him or not. Because when it came to him and women, it only ever went two ways. Either they chased him until he was ready to be caught, or Ben, his former rival and now friend, showed interest in a woman who Mark would then actively seduce.

It had worked every time, until Mark met Anna. Because Ben and Anna had been in love.

Love. Mark had never truly been in love. He used to worry what kind of person that made him. After years of dissecting his relationship with Helen, he’d concluded that if he’d loved her, really loved her, then staying with her and Sophie would have been more important than pursuing any life dream.

But she had betrayed him. In the worst way. She lied to him about taking birth control while actually trying to get pregnant. Trying to find a way to cage him. To keep him from doing the thing he told her he’d always dreamed of doing. They had been together for what, eight or nine months? Two young kids enjoying college and steady sex.

They hadn’t even lived together. Their entire relationship consisted of bars, beers, late-night calls and finding secretive places at parties to have sex.

From that she had wanted forever. Had tried to make it happen by tricking him. A fact he would never share with Sophie.

He didn’t regret the course of events. He couldn’t. He had Sophie now. How could he possibly be sorry when she was so spectacularly amazing? But had Helen lived, when he returned to the States to build a relationship with Sophie, there would have been nothing but a cordial friendship between him and his ex-girlfriend.

After Helen, Mark’s ideas about love and relationships changed. He was totally up front about what he wanted from a woman. Harshly, that meant sex and only sex. He liked the game. He liked the chase. Whether he was doing the chasing or someone was chasing him. And he liked sex.

There was no love involved in any of that. But lately he’d been rethinking his position. Maybe finding someone he could actually try to develop...what? After so many years of playing, he couldn’t actually say he understood what a real relationship was. He couldn’t fathom a scenario that he would be willing to subject not only himself to, but Sophie, as well.

“What’s the matter?”

Mark shook himself out of his reverie. What the hell was his problem anyway? There was no reason to be thinking about love and sex now.

It was only JoJo who was coming over.

He transferred the lasagna to the dish then splashed the sides of the ceramic with sauce. He turned on the oven and put aluminum foil over the dish, hoping ten minutes of heat might permeate the apartment with the smell of home cooking. He didn’t have to pretend with the bread. Who came home and made fresh bread? As soon as he had the garlic and butter coating ready he could throw the loaf under the broiler. Surely that would give off enough smell to convince anyone that major work had transpired in the kitchen.

“Are you serious about this?” Sophie asked as she watched him methodically set the stage.

“Like a heart attack. Here.” Mark handed his daughter the garbage bag containing all evidence from the restaurant—the receipt, the trays the food came in, even the menu that had been included. “Take this to the trash shoot. Be careful on your return. If she’s already at the door, double back, walk the long way around the hallway and then pretend you’d forgotten to pick up the mail.”

Mark walked to the dish where Sophie had already placed the day’s mail and handed it to her.

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