Bulletproof

By Linda Mooney

Wanting to wind down after a week-long seminar, U.S. Federal Marshal Stokker Teague finds himself in a hotel bar with plans to celebrate with a few drinks. Seeing a cute female sitting alone a few tables away, he's interested and decides to make his move to see if she'll bite. He's got some time to kill before his flight home in a couple of days, so why not?

 

Diane takes the bait, but their one-night stand ends up being so much more than either of them expected. Diane knows she's getting sidetracked from her job but this time it can wait. She deserves some fun, even though she's sure it won't last.

 

When time starts ticking on a job, Diane must strike when the opportunity presents itself. She takes her shot and runs. It breaks her heart to leave Stokker, but she convinces herself it couldn't last. Her job would always keep them apart—except it seems fate has other plans. They keep running into each other no matter how much she wants to stay away and keep Stokker from finding out the truth.

 

When Stokker discovers who Diane really is and what she is, he's torn between his job and his heart. Does he turn her over to the police for murder, or should he allow her to keep delivering her brand of vigilante justice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Mooney
• Release date: Jun 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781953797414

Linda Mooney

Linda loves to write sensuously erotic romance with a fantasy, paranormal, or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel. A wife, mother, grandmother, and retired Kindergarten and music teacher, she lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast where she delves into other worlds filled with daring exploits, adventure, and intense love. She has numerous best sellers, including 10 consecutive #1s. In 2009, she was named Whiskey Creek Press Torrid's Author of the Year, and her book My Strength, My Power, My Love was named the 2009 WCPT Book of the Year. In 2011, her book Lord of Thunder was named the Epic Ebook "Eppie" Award Winner for Best Erotic Sci-Fi Romance. In addition, she write naughty erotic romances under the name of Carolyn Gregg, and horror under the pseudonym of Gail Smith. For more information about Linda Mooney books and titles, and to sign up for her newsletter, please visit her website. http://www.LindaMooney.com

Book preview

1

DRINKS

The last day of a week-long seminar, and Stokker Teague was done. He was ready to go home, but his plane wouldn’t be leaving until Monday morning, which meant he had the whole weekend to either chill, roam the city, or do both. Or do neither if a third, better alternative popped up from out of nowhere.

But first I celebrate, he offered himself. His next question was should he go out and find a local bar? Or remain here at the hotel where he could quietly get hammered and only have to worry about making his way up to his room afterwards?

The second option sounded the most promising. Besides, he’d already been to the bar downstairs. It was nice. Quiet atmosphere. And somewhat out of the way, out of the main flow of traffic and people coming in to claim their reservations. Plus it had a nice view of the city skyline, especially at night.

He checked his watch. 6:42. Should I eat something first? Or just go straight to have a drink? He decided on a drink or two first to take the edge off, followed by a nice porterhouse from the restaurant next door. After which he’d indulge in enough Old Fitzgerald to put him under until late Saturday morning.

Sounds like a plan, he announced. All I gotta do is remember to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign so housekeeping doesn’t walk in on me. Throwing his jacket on the bed, and slipping his weapon and credentials inside his suitcase where they would be out of sight, he sauntered out the door.

As he’d hoped, the place wasn’t as crowded as he’d thought it would be this time of day. Most of the hotel’s occupants were probably eating at this time, with the intention of hitting the nightclubs and bars later. Allowing their stomachs time to digest their meal in order to absorb the incoming river of alcohol that would follow.

Stepping into the lounge, he briefly debated whether or not to take one of the dinky tables when he noticed the empty seat at the end of the bar. Better yet, the next two seats were also unoccupied. Good. He wouldn’t have to put up with someone’s inane chatter.

Sliding onto the stool, he caught sight of the bartender approaching him. You got Old Fitzgerald back there?

The man nodded in reply and went to fetch the bottle. Stokker held up two fingers when the guy dropped a napkin and a glass in front of him. Again the bartender gave a nod and poured two fingers’ worth of the golden liquid. Want to keep a running tab?

Add it to my room.

The man produced a voucher which Stokker filled out and signed. With that done, the guy slid over a tiny bowl of baby pretzels before leaving him alone.

The first sip was pure heaven. The second one was manna. Picking out a couple of pretzels, he placed them on his tongue and glanced around. To his practiced eye, he spotted the usual tourists, a couple of businessmen, and one guy who looked totally out of place but appeared innocent enough.

A young giggling couple—newlyweds, he guessed—came in and took the empty table nearby. That’s when he noticed the figure at the table on the other side of the bar. Partially blocked from view and almost completely shadowed, it was hard to tell who that person might be. Not knowing irked him, and Stokker cursed his training and intuition.

Let it go, he argued with himself. But he couldn’t let it go, and he damn well knew it. Until he was able to get a good look at the guy and fit him into one of a dozen categories, Stokker knew he wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy this moment.

He heaved a big sigh. Fuck it. Do it and get it over with, he admitted and picked up his glass and the bowl of pretzels.

Pretending nonchalance, he made his way to the middle of the room and an empty table. From that location he could see all four corners of the place. As soon as he sat down, his eyes locked on the shadowed figure and, damn him, he couldn’t look away. It was a female. Late twenties or early thirties. Short dark hair. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful, but pretty enough. Plus there was…an aura, he told himself. Yeah. That was it. It was as if she had some kind of invisible aura surrounding her.

His brain automatically nixed the idea that she might be a call girl looking to hook up and score off some poor slob. But if he was wrong and she was, she’d picked the right hotel. The Saint Regis wasn’t a high-priced place, but neither was it low-end.

Stokker mentally shook his head as he sipped his bourbon. No, she wasn’t a sex worker. He could spot those from outer space. This one…was different. How different he couldn’t tell, and that alone made him more than interested. It made him curious. And anything that made him curious wouldn’t let up until he got a reasonable explanation.

He continued to stare at her, not caring if she noticed him watching her. She was sensibly dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a long-sleeved blouse. Yellow on brown. He bet himself five bucks she had on a pair of flats.

She picked up her wine glass. The contents shone red in the last rays of the setting sun coming from outside the window. He bet himself another fiver that it was a merlot.

While he scrutinized her, she’d been staring out the window, but he got the impression she wasn’t admiring the view. She was definitely thinking about something. Or someone. A quick check of her hands didn’t reveal a wedding band. For that matter, he didn’t notice any kind of jewelry. No necklace or earrings, unless she wore studs that were too small to be visible from this distance.

One thing was certain. Despite the fact that she intrigued him, he couldn’t deny that he wanted to know more about her.

She finally drained her glass and turned her head to discover him staring at her. Surprisingly, she didn’t appear offended. She didn’t seem to be interested, either. She just…ignored him.

Fine with me. No skin off my back. Still, he got up from his table and returned to the bar to get a refill. While you’re at it… He pointed in the direction of the woman. There’s a lady over there with some kind of red wine.

Ah. The Cabernet.

Strike one, Stokker silently admitted with a wry grin. He gave a nod. Yes. Give her a refill and put it on my tab. If she asks, tell her there’s no strings attached.

Got it. The guy refreshed his drink, then grabbed a bottle from the shelves behind him and exited the bar. Stokker took a seat on the stool he’d previously vacated as he glimpsed at the interaction between the barkeep and female from the corner of his eye. Come on. Take the bait, he whispered. But when the barkeep returned without the woman in tow, he felt disappointed. Okay, guess the old charm no longer works.

The lady sends her thanks, but no thanks.

Stokker stared at the guy in disbelief. She’d turned down his refill?

Did you tell her that there were⁠—

No strings attached. Yes, he did, a female voice noted behind him.

Stokker whirled around. The drink in his hand went flying to land on the floor. A little of it splashed on the woman who’d somehow miraculously managed to get behind him without his knowledge. And because she had, it pissed him off to no end. How had she managed to do that?

But first he had to contend with his expensive bourbon landing on the front of her pants and…

Heels. She’s wearing heels. Not pumps or stilettoes, but definitely heels. Not flats. That’s strike two, boyo.

She was also wearing a smug look when he glanced back up. If a man is going to buy me a drink, I expect him to do it face-to-face. Not behind his back as if I don’t really matter, she remarked.

He analyzed the tone. She wasn’t upset with him. More like…

She’s taunting me. Fuck it, she’s playing with me like she’s the bait and I’m the fish about to be reeled in.

So, she continued as if his confusion was something she’d anticipated. You still want to buy me that glass of wine?

2

DINNER

In all his thirty-three years, Stokker could count on one hand how many women had left him tongue-tied. This lady joined that elite group. Gathering his wits about him as much as he was able, he gestured to the stool next to him.

Please. Have a seat.

She planted her butt on the Naugahyde and placed her glass on the bar. The barkeep was ready with a bottle to refresh her drink. Stokker shoved the bowl of pretzels toward her.

I’d offer you a steak dinner, again with no strings attached, but I don’t want to get my face chewed off, he drolly offered.

I just met you, she flatly stated, not accepting his offer but not turning him down, either. Let’s see how this conversation goes, and I’ll let you know. First off, are you a cop?

Stokker snorted. If he had a nickel for every time he got asked that question…

No, I’m not a cop. Do I look like one?

She narrowed her eyes at him. Or a Fed. Are you a Fed? CIA? FBI?

He sighed this time. No, I’m not CIA or FBI. Why are you asking?

So I know who I’m talking to, and not being set up.

This time he couldn’t help but smile. Set up for what?

She dropped the questioning and sipped her wine. Go ahead. I know you’re dying to ask me a few questions.

I am?

And I’ll go ahead and answer your first question. No, I’m not a hooker.

Stokker raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t going to be my first question.

She paused. Okay. I give. What were you going to ask me?

What are your plans for tonight?

Her eyes widened with undisguised surprise. He continued before she could reply, pointing to the floor. If I’m out of line, say so now. But you give me the impression of someone who’s had a long week and was planning on having a night out on the town. You’re wearing heels, and I seriously doubt you’d be wearing those now, after work hours, unless you were going somewhere. He shrugged. Of course, I could be wrong. You could be the type who wears heels while on the job.

Damn it, but he was finding himself unable to think straight with this woman staring at him with those blue eyes. Stokker gave up trying, knowing that if he continued, he could end up talking himself into more trouble than he wanted to handle. He shrugged again. Never mind. Forget it. Just forget I said anything and enjoy your merlot.

Cabernet, she corrected.

Whatever.

She continued to study him, a tiny smile lifting her lips. You know, you’re kind of cute when you get flustered.

Thanks…I guess. He sipped his bourbon and studied the guy walking in. Businessman. Pale complexion and on the corpulent side, which meant the man never got out. Judging by the flash of diamonds coming off the rings on the man’s hands, definitely someone with ties. The guy was giving off those Al Capone vibes.

The woman turned to check out what he was staring at, and he saw her own body posture stiffen.

You know the guy? His question popped out before he was aware.

She quickly shook her head, but his instincts had kicked in. No, not personally, she admitted.

Not personally. Which meant yes in other ways.

The idea of her being with an escort service resurfaced, but he dismissed that thought a second time. Yet he couldn’t dismiss the idea that she wasn’t the secretarial pool type either.

In short, she didn’t fit any of his categories, and that only made his interest in her that much more intense.

His gaze involuntarily went back to her hands. She noticed.

No, I’m not married or engaged. And there’s no significant other in the picture. Can you say the same thing? she remarked.

Stokker held up his hands. Yes, I can. See? No tan lines.

That doesn’t mean shit. I know lots of guys who’re married but never wear a ring, she shot back.

The answer is no. Not married. No significant other. He started to reach for his glass when he realized it was empty. Across the way, the barkeep eyed him, waiting for his signal to refill it. That’s when Stokker made a decision. He wanted to continue with this conversation. This woman piqued his interest in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and he was determined to discover more about her. Holding up a hand to let the man know he was done, he looked directly into that deep blue stare.

I’m hungry for a steak dinner. If you don’t have a pending engagement, would you care to join me? I’m buying.

"You’re buying? Or the company you work for?" That little lopsided grin returned, and the wild thought of kissing it flashed through his head.

Stokker slammed the gates down on that bit of impulsiveness. What the hell are you thinking? he mentally berated himself. If I’m buying, what does it matter to you?

This time she laughed, and he felt his reserves further draining away. It was soft, lilting, and in no way abrasive or cackling.

To be honest, I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning, she admitted and held out a hand. The name’s Diane, by the way.

He shook it. Stokker.

She blinked. No kidding?

I was named after one of my great, great whatever grandfathers.

You sound like you’re proud of it. The smile she gave him was genuine, if somewhat jesting.

I am, he admitted. It makes me unique.

Unlike Diane.

Hey. Don’t knock it. You’re the first Diane I’ve met. It’s a nice⁠—

Old-fashioned name, she finished for him. Yeah, I know. I’ve only been told that almost every time I’ve told someone. She glanced over her shoulder, over at the guy who’d strolled in a couple of minutes ago, then back at him. So where is this steak dinner you’re taking me to?

Not far. He gestured with his head. I was thinking of checking out the restaurant here in the hotel, unless you know of a better or closer place.

She shook her head. No. Next door is fine with me.

Taking the risk, he placed a hand to her back and guided her out of the bar. He noticed she didn’t carry a purse and wondered if he should mention it, when something told him not to worry about it.

The hostess quickly showed them to a table he had no problem with. Like the far wall in the bar, their accommodations also faced a large window that gave them an excellent view. Handing them their menus, she left, and a waiter took her place.

What can I get you to drink?

Diane waved a hand. Just water, thank you.

Make that two, Stokker added.

You don’t imbibe when you eat? she questioned him after the waiter left.

Sometimes. Setting his menu down, he studied her. Now that they had better lighting, he could see her more clearly. Nope, she definitely wasn’t a hooker. For one thing, she didn’t have that look. He waited until they gave their orders and they were given a modicum of privacy.

Mind if I ask you a couple of questions? he finally broached.

That tiny smile reappeared. Just two?

That’s how many you’ve asked me that I haven’t been able to reciprocate yet. I believe I’m owed.

She sat back in her chair, hands clasped over her abdomen. Fair enough. What do you want to know?

I take it you’re not from around here, correct?

What makes you think that? For all you know, I could be hanging around hotels, looking for a likely sucker.

Stokker disagreed. You don’t give off that vibe.

Oh? She tilted her head. "What kind of vibe do I give off?"

He chuckled. If I answer that, I still get two more questions.

Go right ahead. What kind of vibe do I have?

You’re a businesswoman, but not the kind who works in a building for a corporation. True or false?

She rolled her eyes upward. True.

"Also, I get the impression you’re self-employed. You’re your own boss, which means you work your