Stella, Get Your Man

“He means no sex for a couple of days, honey,” Jake said, leering at me from the exam table. “He doesn’t want you wearing your old husband out and possibly busting something open.” Jake chuckled. “Like I told you, Doc, she’s a feisty one, that wife of mine!”

The young doctor had the decency to blush, but Jake merely looked pleased with himself.

“I was only looking out for your best interests, Jake!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Jake said. “I won’t let you get too frustrated.”

I crossed the room to the stretcher, bent down close to Jake’s ear and whispered. “You just wait until I get you out of here, then we’ll see who gets frustrated. You’re lucky I don’t rip those stitches out here and now, sport.”

Jake moaned and the doctor worked to conceal a smirk. I turned around just as he reached to hand me Jake’s discharge instructions.

“It’s really not at all like it seems,” I said. “He’s been like this since high school. See, I turned him down and he just hasn’t gotten over the shock. And by the way, we’re not really married. I just said that so the guard dogs out there would let me in. We work together.”

The doctor smirked harder. “Sure,” he said. “Happens all the time.” He stepped closer and peered into my eyes. “Were you injured at all? I mean, like a blow on the head maybe?”

I spun around just in time to see Jake behind me, making circular motions around his ear and then motioning to me, trying to indicate that I was the crazy one and the doc should humor me.

“Listen here, you,” I told Jake. “Don’t try me, buddy. It’s never too late to be seriously wounded.”

Jake laughed.

The doctor turned back to me. “I want you to close your eyes, then stand on one foot and touch your nose with the tip of your left index finger.”

“Oh, bite me!” I said. “Are you coming, Jake?”

“Not yet,” he said, grinning. “I’m running a little slow. Maybe if you talk dirty…”

“It’s probably the pain-medication talking,” the doctor said, still peering intently into my eyes. “Now, I really would like to check you out.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Jake leered.

The doctor handed me a bottle of pills. “Give these to him every four hours, as needed.”

I gripped the bottle and looked back at my new victim. “Hear that, big boy? I’m to give these to you for pain, so I’d suggest you behave.”

I turned and glowered at the doctor who was approaching me with a blood-pressure cuff. “Back off, Shorty. I told you, I’m fine!”

The doctor blanched and practically ran from the room. I watched the door swing shut behind him and turned my attention back to Jake Carpenter. I was about to take him to task for everything, from leaving me at the altar my senior year of high school to making my life a living hell, but we were interrupted before I could launch my lecture.

“How you talk, Stella! I could hear every word you said to that nice doctor. What a disgrace. And then, to turn on this one when he is wounded and half out of his mind with the pain.”

Aunt Lucy stood in the doorway, glaring at me then smiling at Jake.

“He’s hurt! This is how you treat someone who saves you from God knows what kind of madman? I thought you said it was just going to be a routine side job?”

Aunt Lucy was taking no prisoners, but she had the facts all wrong.

“First off, he didn’t save me. I saved him! Secondly, it was supposed to be routine, but repos can go down easy or they can turn into your worst nightmare. This was just one of those times.”

Aunt Lucy ignored me, walking instead to the gurney where Jake sat, attempting to put on his shirt.

“Don’t move!” she groused. “Here.” With a deft hand, Aunt Lucy began buttoning Jake’s work shirt, all the while issuing orders. “You need rest and someone to look after you.” She shot a menacing look in my direction. “You are coming home with us.”

“Oh, Mrs. Valocchi, you don’t need to do that,” Jake protested.

It was as obvious he didn’t mean a bit of what he was saying. He let the words slip out slowly, as if he was feeling uncertain and weak. When Aunt Lucy patted his arm, Jake, man of stone, actually faked a wince. I could’ve thrown up. What a con!

“Yeah, Aunt Lucy,” I said. “Jake’s gonna be fine. Besides, where would you put him anyhow? All the bedrooms are taken with me and Nina and Spike there. I’ll look in on him at his apartment. It’s just a flesh wound. He’ll be fine.”

Wrong. I would’ve been better off taking a two-by-four and hitting myself in the head. Now I had incurred the wrath of Aunt Lucy.

“Stella Luna Valocchi!” she cried. Then she lapsed into Italian, which was unusual considering she was born and raised in the United States and learned Italian in college while also completing her Ph.D. in chemistry. But whatever the source of her rich vocabulary of Italian curses, the results were going to be the same. Jake was coming home with us, whether Jake liked it or not.

To add insult to further injury, the police, in the form of one very pissed-off and familiar female detective, materialized just as Aunt Lucy had Jake leaning on her arm and hobbling toward the exit.

Detective Poltrone, a bleached blonde with a brain deficiency, stood blocking our exit, notepad in hand and smug satisfaction written all over her face.

“Not so fast, kids,” she said. “I’ve got a report of a gunshot wound here and I’m thinking that somehow it has something to do with a burned-out sedan smoldering out off Route 322. How’s about we talk awhile?”

Aunt Lucy was incensed. “Can’t you see this man’s in pain?” she sputtered. “He can’t talk to you now. They gave him medicine. He won’t know what he’s saying!”

Jake’s eyes were a bit glassy, I thought, looking at him, and he had a goofy smirk on his face. Was it the pain medicine, or was he just enjoying himself too much?

Aunt Lucy didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she offered me up like a sacrificial lamb.

“Stella was there. She’ll be glad to answer all your questions, won’t you?” Before I could open my mouth, Aunt Lucy went on. “I’m taking Mr. Carpenter home to my house. You can call tomorrow and I’ll let you know if he’s up to speaking. In the meantime, good night!”

The two of them left me at the mercy of the dragon lady, without so much as a backward glance.

I turned back to her with a resigned sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

Detective Poltrone smiled. “This could take quite some time,” she said.

“Dead bodies usually do,” I muttered.

“Dead bodies?” Poltrone blurted. “What dead bodies?”

I stared at her. Surely the two men in the car had died, hadn’t they?

“Nothing. I thought you were talking about a burned-out car. I just figured…”

Poltrone was waiting for me to stick my foot all the way down my throat, and I had been about to oblige her.

“Nothing. Now about this shooting. You see, it was a simple repossession gone wrong…”

I started talking and Detective Poltrone began writing in her slow, laborious scrawl. I knew without a doubt we’d be stuck like this for another hour, and then what did I have to look forward to? Jake Carpenter would be asleep, most certainly given my bed in the guest room, and I’d be the one sleeping on Uncle Benny’s old couch in the basement.

In reality, it was worse. Not only did I return home at dawn to catch a few hours of shut-eye in the dank basement, but I was also the one who got elected to carry trays up to the wounded warrior all day and wait on him hand and foot while my aunt glowered at me for being “unappreciative.”

“There’s plenty of room, Stella,” Jake whispered, patting the vacant side of the bed. “You don’t have to sleep in that cold, drafty basement. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He patted his bandaged side gently and smiled up at me. “After all, you heard what the doc said, no strenuous physical activity.”

“Oh, yeah, like you would listen to someone else’s instructions,” I said. “I know you, Jake Carpenter. I wouldn’t be in this bed two seconds before you made a move.”

Jake smiled and gave me that look that made my stomach dive into a free fall. “Well,” he said, “it wouldn’t be strenuous physical activity if you were the one on top.”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer. I spun on my heel and tromped back down the stairs to the kitchen, planning my revenge on Jake Carpenter and then revising it to include more forms of slow torture.

My cousin, Nina, was waiting for me. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a deep frown furrowing lines across her forehead as she stared at a blank piece of white paper. When I slammed Jake’s tray down onto the countertop she jumped, her pen skidded and a long, jagged black line snaked its way across the clean, unblemished surface of the paper.

“See?” she cried. “That’s just what I was trying to tell you! If you don’t have a goal, your life lacks direction. You become just like the line on this paper.”

I looked around, thinking maybe she was talking to Spike and I hadn’t seen her.

“You talking to me?” I asked.

Nina looked around the empty kitchen. “You see anybody else standing here? Of course I’m talking to you! Who else would I be talking to?” She sighed, took up her pen again and frowned at me. “Jake got shot because you didn’t have a plan.”

Oh, right, another country heard from.

“Nina, Jake got shot because Joey Smack’s people had guns.”

Nina shook her head and smiled like I was stupid.

“No, he didn’t. He got shot because you thought we should pool our talents into an agency that helps people in trouble, only you wound up taking a repo job on account of you didn’t have a mission statement.”

“No, Jake got shot on account of they had guns and Jake wasn’t expecting them.”

Nina smiled as if I’d made her point for her. “Bingo!” she cried. “If we’d all planned what this agency was about and what kinds of jobs we wanted to take on, then we would’ve been prepared. You wouldn’t go fix a faucet without a wrench or something, would you?”

As she spoke, I saw Spike appear in the doorway, her head cocked to one side as she listened. I turned to appeal to her.

“So do you think it’s my fault Jake got shot, too?” I asked.

Spike shrugged and walked over to the table.

“I think Nina has a point.” She spoke slowly, as if weighing her words. “I mean, granted, we’ve all got skills in the same area. I’m a lawyer and you used to be a cop. Jake’s former Special Ops and Nina’s… Well, Nina’s…” She paused and smiled at her girlfriend. “Nina’s just Nina. Now, while it was a good idea to decide to go to work together, we haven’t really talked about it since then. All we did was rent office space. You and Jake started taking on freelance investigative work and repos, but Nina’s right, we do need to think about where we’re headed.”

“Yeah,” Nina said. “I answer the phone. I mean, that is so bogus! What a waste of my talent!”

Once again I had no idea what Nina meant. The only talent she had that I was aware of was mud wrestling, and where could you go with that?

“I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” Nina continued. “I think I have a calling and I think I ought to follow it.”

The phone rang, startling us all. Spike and I stared at it, then looked at Nina, who sat smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“So are you people going to get that, or must I do everything?” Aunt Lucy came in from the back porch, followed by Lloyd, and grabbed the receiver off the hook.

“Hello?” There was a brief pause as Aunt Lucy listened. “Who? Private investigators? Hold on a minute.” She turned to glare at me. “So now you got clients calling the house?”

I was already halfway across the room, reaching my hand out for the phone, but she jerked it back, insisting on an answer.

“Actually,” I said, “I believe you can blame this one on old Jake. He had the calls forwarded to his apartment after business hours. I suppose he had them sent here after you insisted that he recover over here instead of in his own bed in his own apartment!”

I snatched the phone from her, listened to a muttered diatribe in Italian, and ducked into the kitchen pantry where I could attempt to hear.

“This is Stella Valocchi, may I help you?”

The answering voice on the other end of the line was female and muffled, intentionally muffled, I thought.

“Yes, I need to make an appointment, as soon as possible. Is Mr. Carpenter available?”

It was starting to steam me, the way everyone was assuming that Jake ran the business, rescued damsels in distress and took a bullet to save my hide, when in fact, the reverse was true. What had he been telling people?

“Actually,” I said, “he’s a little under the weather, so he’s not taking any appointments today. However, you’re in luck. I’m Stella Valocchi. I own the agency and Jake works for me. I’ve had a cancellation in today’s schedule and could work you in around four o’clock. Is that soon enough?”

There was a brief hesitation on the other end of the line. “I suppose,” she said, sounding just like a whiny kid who had to settle for vegetables instead of candy. “But I really wanted Jake.”

I sighed. “Take a number,” I muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘Do you know where the office is? Four Wallace Avenue, second floor?’”

“I’m sure I can find it,” she snapped.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle your case without any difficulty. Trust me.”

“Oh, all right!” she said, and hung up.

I looked over and saw the others hanging on my every word. “Of course, you do know that we charge a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses?” I asked the empty line.

Nina’s eyes widened into saucers.

“And we will need a week’s deposit in advance.”

The line began to hum.

“Fine then, I’ll see you at four.”

I hung up and turned back to the assembled group at the kitchen table. “Now, what was this about a mission statement?”

Chapter 3

Just once I’d like to have a plan go my way. Just one time. Was that too much to ask? I stood in what had been my bedroom, clutching my towel and clean clothes to my chest, watching as Jake rolled off the bed, fully dressed, and proceeded to search for his shoes. He should have been fast asleep.

“She asked for me. I’m going.”

I adjusted my towel turban, tightened my hold on the jeans that were wrapped around my underwear and bra, and gave him the no-shit-I-mean-business stare.

“You are mortally wounded, remember?” I said. “That’s how you scammed your way into Aunt Lucy’s house and my bed, isn’t it? You’ve been gut shot. You need my aunt to tend to your every need. You can’t go see clients in the office. I’ll handle it and you can hear about the job later.”

Jake found his lizard-skin boots, pulled them on slowly and gave me a look of his own. I was working on becoming immune to the way he looked at me, but so far I found myself weak-kneed every time.

“What’s the matter, Stella? Afraid I’ll be tougher than you? Afraid you can’t keep up?”

He stood and took two steps toward me.

“Be careful. Remember, you’re wounded.”

Jake smiled. “Funny, it hardly hurts at all.” He reached me, his hands reaching to grip the sides of my arms.

“Jake, you’re out of your mind on pain medicine. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

I felt my grip go weak on the clothes I held in front of me and clutched tighter to keep my towel wrapped securely around my body. He stepped closer, towering over me, his breath hot on the side of my neck.

“Why, Stella, you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“I’m not scared of you, Jake.” My voice cracked into a squeak that told him I was lying, only believe me, I wasn’t really afraid of him, just a little…apprehensive maybe? I actually had come in only because I’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. If I’d known he was awake, I would have asked my aunt to get them.

Jake ran the index finger of his right hand down the side of my face, the work-roughened skin exciting every nerve ending as it moved.

“I think you’re scared, Stella,” he whispered, cupping my chin with the crook of his finger. “I think you’re very scared.”

He bent his head toward me. My stomach pitched and his lips met mine. Finally.

The clothes hit the floor. The towel followed. I heard his foot kick the door shut behind us as I pressed into him. The rough fabric of his denim shirt brushed across the tips of my nipples and they hardened, begging for his touch.

Jake sighed. His tongue searched my mouth and mine answered him. In an entire lifetime of fantasizing, nothing could have matched the reality of Jake Carpenter’s kiss.

The turban holding my damp hair slid to the floor. Jake’s fingers raked my scalp, pulling my head back to better meet his inquisitive lips. He stroked the back of my neck in one long fluid movement that seemed to pulse with energy and heat. How long had I waited for this?

Since high school? Since the day he’d run off, too scared to elope, leaving the mousy little nerd to explain all to her aunt and uncle? Had I still been secretly waiting for him when I ran off to reinvent myself? Because I know I’d been waiting for this moment ever since my return to tiny Glenn Ford, Pennsylvania. But did I really want Jake, or did I just want him to want me so I could be the one to walk away?

His fingers slipped down my back, circled my waist and moved up toward my breasts. His hot mouth bruised my lips as I answered him with a passion I didn’t know myself capable of feeling. I felt him harden against me and knew I had Jake Carpenter in the palm of my hand. I could finally pay him back for every moment of agony he’d put me through eleven long years ago.

So why then didn’t I break it off and leave him there, wanting me and never being able to have me? Why was I lingering when I owed the son of a bitch a good and final payback? I mean, it wasn’t as if he was really my type, now, was he?

Jake’s thumb and forefinger found my left nipple, squeezed softly, and then pinched harder as I moaned and my knees went weak.

Okay. What was the better revenge, really? To leave him all worked up, or to get my needs met and leave him wanting?

Oh, definitely the latter. I mean, after sleeping in the cold, dank basement on Uncle Benny’s couch, didn’t I deserve a little satisfaction?

I felt his left hand moving down my side, felt him guiding us toward the bed, and knew I was going for all I could get before I rolled away and said, “There, that’s what you get for jilting me and humiliating me in high school!”

We half fell backward onto the bed and Jake only winced once as he rolled onto his left side and shifted to find a comfortable position. Once he’d settled in, his hands began to explore every tender, responsive inch of my body. When his fingers slipped between my legs, I stopped breathing. Oh, yes, this was definitely the good part. Oh, please hurry, I begged silently.

I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and fumbled with the button. Might as well do some exploring of my own, I figured.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” I whispered.

I felt the button give, tugged at the zipper, and was rewarded with a gasp from Jake as my fingers found smooth, hardened skin.

Jake rose up onto one elbow and stared into my eyes. His fingers moved closer and closer and if he didn’t touch me soon I was going to have to beg. Without a word, he read my mind, and I felt his fingers plunge deep inside me.

Oh, yes, I was going to enjoy this. I was going to…

“Stella! You in there?” Nina banged on the door. “Hey! We need to leave! It’s almost three-thirty. Isn’t she coming at four?” More banging.

I jumped off the bed, snatched my towel off the floor and wrapped it tightly around my torso. What in the hell had I been thinking?

“Yeah,” I called. “I’m coming!”

“Does Jake need anything before we go?” she asked.

I looked at the man lying on my bed. He’d fallen back against the pillows, eyes shut, his facial expression the perfect picture of frustration. Revenge was sweet, but so unfulfilling!

I struggled into my clothes, danced around the floor on one leg as I pulled my almost too-tight jeans up and quickly zipped them.

“No, he doesn’t need a thing,” I called to her.

Jake opened one eye and frowned. I stood, topless, at the end of the bed and let him suffer as I slowly, very slowly, pulled on my bra and fastened it.

“He’s not in pain, is he?” Nina asked. “Aunt Lucy says he can have another pain pill now.”

I looked at the bulge in Jake’s pants and smiled. “He may be a little uncomfortable,” I said, “but he’ll manage. He’s a tough guy.”

I smirked, pulled my black turtleneck sweater on over my head and turned to open the door.

“Wait,” he gasped, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’m coming.”

I looked at his crotch, then at his darkened eyes. “No, you most certainly are not,” I answered.

I opened the door and Nina half fell into the tiny bedroom. She took one look at me, glanced over my shoulder at Jake and started laughing.

“You didn’t… I mean, you weren’t…” She gasped.

“No!” we both answered.

Nina’s grin broadened. “Oh, man, wait until I tell Spike!”

I glowered at her, sure that behind me, Jake was doing the same. “Nina, let’s just get going, all right?”

Nina looked miffed. “Well, don’t take it out on me!” she huffed. “I’m not the one who said she’d be at the office in an hour!”

She spun on her heel and headed down the steps, leaving me to dash off after her. When Jake didn’t follow us, I was both relieved and disappointed. He needed to stay home. After all, a gunshot wound was nothing to fool around with, even if it had been superficial.

I raced Nina to my Camaro, slid behind the wheel, cranked the engine and looked at my watch. Ten minutes. We’d make it with five to spare, even with it being rush hour. Of course, rush hour in Glenn Ford meant a four-minute commute across town instead of the usual two.

“What’s that red light mean?” Nina asked, breaking her pout.

I looked at the instrument panel.

“Damn! We need oil.”

Nina sighed. “Oh, that’s nothing! One time I drove my car with the oil light on for two weeks.”

I looked over at my pink-haired cousin. “And then?”

“Oh, well, it died forever, but that wasn’t because of the oil light. The engine block froze.”

“Nina,” I said, rolling my eyes mentally, “that’s what happens if you don’t get oil!”

Nina stared at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

I started down the driveway. “No. We have to stop.”

“But we’ll be late. You told her four and she’s paying a thousand dollars a day.”

“She’ll wait.”

“This is so totally why you need a mission statement,” she muttered.

I failed to see the connection between stopping to put oil in my car and a corporate mission statement, but I kept my mouth shut. I drove to Sheeler’s Garage, ran inside to grab two quarts of oil, and figured at most, we’d be five minutes late.

That was before Joey Smack’s representatives, in the form of a long, black sedan with dark, tinted windows saw fit to stop by Sheeler’s and give me a personal season’s greeting from their boss, aka Santa Claus, aka The Man Voted Most Pissed Off About Having His Sled Repo’ed.

I had the hood popped and was about to insert the funnel, when the car rolled to a stop beside us. The right-side passenger window slowly slid down, just far enough for an arm and a hand to emerge. The arm was wearing a charcoal-gray suit jacket and a light blue cotton shirt with cuff links. The hand was holding a gun.

“Merry Christmas!” the arm’s owner called, and started shooting.

Nina screamed and ducked down in her seat. I hopped behind the car, wedged between the pumps and the Camaro and wished like hell I’d worn a holster instead of leaving the Glock wedged down beneath the driver’s seat.

The bullets hit the right front tire, the right rear tire and the back window, before the driver of the sedan hit the accelerator and tore off out of the lot.