Tara Sivec: Worn Me Down

“This is Gwen, Brady Marshall’s sister. Your friend Garrett gave me your number. I need some help finding information for a case we’re working on.”

I knew Brady had a sister; he’d spoken about her once or twice. I assumed she was still in high school. The voice on the other end of the line most definitely belonged to a woman.

“Do you prefer pancakes or eggs?” I replied nonchalantly.

“I don’t, I like…what?”

The confusion in her voice made me laugh.

“Well, I figure since you need a favor from me, the least I could do is make you breakfast the next morning when you pay me back.”

The silence on the other end of the line lasted for so long that I pulled the phone away from my ear to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped.

“You have issues. Can you help me get the information I need or not?” she finally asked sarcastically.

“I can get you anything you need, darlin’.”

I heard her sigh in annoyance and that just made me want to push her even more.

“We need everything you can find on a woman named Eve Carlyle. No one will give us anything.”

I smiled to myself. She wasn’t easily rattled; I liked that in a woman.

“I can always make a woman talk. I have this trick I do with my tongue where I swirl-”

“Okay, I get it. Stop talking,” she interrupted. “Just, send me an email with whatever you find.”

It’s not like I’d ever really sleep with her. She’s my best friend’s sister. There are rules in the Guy’s Handbook that you never fuck with your friend’s sister. Or fuck your friend’s sister. Brady knows I’m not the settling-down type and I’m sure his sister, with the giant stick up her ass, is the type of woman who would want the white picket fence and nine million snot-nosed kids running around while she nagged the poor bastard who married her day in and day out. No, thank you. One night is about all I can stand with any woman.

It would take a pretty strong woman to put up with a guy like me and the kind of job I have, which is why it’s always easy to sneak out the morning after and never call them again – I haven’t met any woman who could fit that bill. I’m a Navy SEAL for life. I can get a call in the middle of the night and be in another country with a gun in my hand and an insurgent in my crosshairs before the little missus even had her first cup of coffee. I live and breathe the job. It’s what I was made to do and even though some of the missions have left me with scars, physically and mentally that I’ll never be able to remove, I still love every second of it. I love the thrill, I love the unknown and I love the danger. I go into each mission knowing full well I might not come home, like so many of my SEAL brothers. There isn’t a woman alive who would understand that dedication and the need I have to take such dangerous chances with my life.

I’ve never had a family so it’s not like I know what I’m missing. To put it nicely, my mother was a whore. She tried to raise me on her own, since she had no idea which one of the many loser men in her life were my father, but after five years she realized that having a child interfered with her partying. She handed me over to the state and I never saw her again. I was passed around from foster home to foster home, each one slightly worse than the last, until I was eighteen years old. Knowing I had no other choice, I immediately enlisted in the Navy and I’ve never looked back. I never had parents with a wonderful marriage to look up to and I never had siblings to connect with. I have my SEAL brothers and that’s all that matters. Even if I were the type of guy to settle down, I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with a wife and kids anyway.

As I drive through downtown Nashville, I wonder if the Ice Queen has melted a little bit since the last time I saw her. When I said I knew Brady had a sister, that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge of her until I met her a month ago. Brady was never the type of guy who opened up about himself or his family life. I knew she existed and I knew she was younger than him. I knew he came from a really well off family and that like me, as soon as he turned eighteen, he got the hell out of there. Since Gwen was younger, she stayed behind and up until recently, he hadn’t spoken to her much. Brady never talked about his reasons for leaving all that wealth behind and I never asked. Every man has a few skeletons in his closet and sometimes, those little bastards need to stay right where they are.

Then, I talked to Gwen on the phone and got to meet her in person while I helped to track down the mad man who took Layla. I’m not used to a chick practically hating me on sight, but that’s how it went down. We spent a few days together before and after Layla was taken and I’m surprised you can’t still see the stab wounds her damn attitude left on my ego. So why the hell am I more excited about this assignment than the one we did two years ago when we shut down a drug smuggling ring in Cuba? Good question. Call me a glutton for punishment.

At the mention of Gwen having some “personal things” going on her life, I immediately wondered what the fuck she could possibly have going on. The only thing I know about her is that she suddenly showed up in Brady’s life again a few months ago, has been living with him at his apartment and working for him at his PI agency. The little time I spent with her tracking down Layla proved she was determined and hard working. It also proved that everything I said or did bugged the shit out of her.

Pulling the rental car up in front of Brady’s office, I smile to myself as I get out and make my way up to the glass door. Gwen is not going to be happy to see me at all, especially knowing her brother called me and thinks she needs a keeper. I can already imagine the smoke coming out of her ears and the curses flying from her mouth.

With a cocky smile firmly in place, I pull open the door and saunter in.

Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.

Hanging up the phone, I make some notes about a new case on the legal pad in front of me. It’s weird being here in the office alone, but it feels good. It’s nice to know my brother trusts me to handle his business while he’s touring the country with Layla. He was hesitant to leave me alone, especially when I told him I had finally bitten the bullet and filed for divorce. After a few weeks with nothing but positive news from my lawyer that William isn’t contesting anything and that he’s being very cooperative, I shoved Brady out the door and assured him I would call if there were any problems.

The bell dings above the front door and I don’t look up from my notes, but I do glance at the clock on the desk phone. One of our regular clients, Allison Kinter, was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago for a follow-up meeting. I can’t stand the woman. Every other week she’s in here complaining that her husband is cheating on her. And every other week, we find absolutely nothing to support that claim, much to her annoyance. She’s pushy, condescending and reminds me too much of my mother.

“You’re late,” I state in annoyance, scribbling one last thing on the page.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. If I would have known you were sitting here anxiously awaiting my arrival I would have got here earlier.”

My head whips up at the sound of the gravely, masculine voice with a tiny hint of southern drawl that under normal circumstances would make my insides melt. Unfortunately, that voice belongs to a man whose ego far outweighs his good looks. Southern gentleman he is not.