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Chapter Six
“Now that’s exactly what I said.” Alia Hawkins entered the room in time to overhear Booker’s snippy comment. “Sorry, boys, we got a call. There’s a hostage situation happening in Waikiki and all agents in the vicinity have been ordered to assist.”
Dullen flew to his feet, shock visible. “Yes, right. We’d better be off. Think about our offer, Mr. Booker.”
Don stood in front of Sloan and didn’t break eye contact even after Dullen’s interruption. “She’s a good agent, bro.”
Sloan swivelled to assess the person they were discussing. The woman had longish, thick, light-brown hair she wore pushed up at the back, off her neck. Probably so the Hawaiian heat didn’t affect her as much. He’d seen other girls mangle their hair in the same way.
This chick could be a model for a top agency, her makeup – and there was a lot of it – had been applied flawlessly. The black outline around the striking blue eyes added depth and made them appear huge, as did the false eyelashes. If he’d been asked, he’d admit that his first impression was of a princess who’d be high maintenance.
Her classy yet simple outfit looked like she’d just slipped into it, no wrinkles or sweat marks, kinda businesslike yet feminine. His eyes were drawn yet again to her legs; an image of them could keep a guy awake at night thinking how soft they’d feel wrapped around him.Shit! Don’t go there, man.There was a small glittery bit of bling on her sandals, the only sign of frippery she’d allowed, and that little detail caught his interest.
Quickly, sensing her need to get moving, he searched her eyes once again and this time he read the dare she didn’t try to hide.
“Okay. I’ll go along with the set-up. But there’s to be no love interest. Agent Hawkins can be my troubled stepsister, needing refuge. Set it up and call me to come in for briefing. Better move now; looks like you people have work to do, and so do I.”
***
Alia heard Booker’s statement about her being his sister and breathed a sigh of relief. She could handle living with a man as his relative, but there was no way in hell she wanted to fight off another agent’s advances while being stuck living with him in his house on a covert assignment.
She’d had her experiences with harassment while doing her training at Quantico, guys thinking because she was a female they could push her around, take advantage, even force their attentions on her and she’d be willing to put up with their pawing bullshit.
In fact, at the beginning of her training, one drunken, overzealous student had tried trapping her in her room to have some fun—whether she’d wanted to or not. Thanks to being fit and fast, he’d ended up with a bruised face and feeling sorry for himself by her form of refusal.
His words the next day – “You could’ve just said no” – made her laugh sarcastically. “Buddy, you weren’t in the mood to listen. Trust me, I tried. I guess all you wanted was to, ahh, feel… therefore I made you feel. So report me.” She’d glared her challenge and watched the hustler back off, disgust plain on his face.
After he’d turned to go, she’d stepped up close and spoke to his back, her warning tone low, fury seeping through every word. “Creeps like you have no place in the FBI. I won’t report you this time but I’ll pass out the word to the other female agents that you need to be watched. That you’re a pig who tries to take advantage of girls, overpower them and then pretend we asked for the treatment. Keep acting like – because you have a prick you’re special – and you won’t last a month.”
He’d stomped away and she’d followed through on her promise, warning the others. She’d been wrong; he’d lasted two months.
Don spoke up from the back seat and interrupted her thoughts. “Alia, Booker’s good people. He’s had a raw deal, what with his father dying unexpectedly and the garage being in such a mess that he had to step in. It’s been a bitch for him not being able to do what he loves.”
She turned to look at Agent Howard, a man she’d respected from the first day she’d arrived in the Honolulu agency’s office. Sure he’d made a pass, like most of the single guys had, but he’d taken her refusal with grace and had offered friendship rather than trying to get her to change her mind. She liked that.
“So why didn’t he sell the garage if he hates it there so much? He was admired at the agency. I still hear people telling Booker stories.” Her question was fair and she waited for Don’s answer.
“You met one of his reasons, Roy Parker. But you didn’t meet the other, Lester Williams. A beach bum and surfer with a gift for incredible designs that would leave you astounded. Only reason he still’s able to do the work God gave him the talent for is because Booker keeps him on the straight and narrow, like his old man used to. As it is, the reprobate falls off the wagon every once in a while and it takes the combined efforts of Booker and Roy to get him back in shape. But without Sloan being there every day to babysit, no telling what trouble those two old orphans would get into. Sure as hell, they’d lose the garage.”
So… that bad boy, Sloan Booker, had more going for him than she’d thought. Not that a muscular body, thick black waves and deeply dangerous brown eyes with the slant of the island’s heritage in their shape wouldn’t be enough for most females.
Her initial judgement had taken a bit of a shit-kicking after listening to Don’s explanation of his hunky friend’s responsibilities. She’d considered Booker a swelled-headed egotist who looked down on women and thought highly of himself.
Maybe she was slightly off.
Maybe…
