According To Plan Part 2

"My name is Shelby," I forced through clenched teeth. For some obscure reason he never got my name right. This would be hilarious, if it weren't so annoying.

"Yes, Shelby, of course," I pictured him pus.h.i.+ng his gla.s.ses up the bridge of his nose. "I called because I have made a discovery and wondered if I might stop by your office tomorrow."

The fine hairs on my arms rose straight up at the thought of Regis cornering me in my office. I'd take Tank over him every day, all day before that happened. Time to nip this baby in the bud. "I won't have time, my calendar is quite full. Is this all you called about?"

"I'd hoped you would consent to dine with mother and me one evening this week."

I heard his bowtie spinning and the crack of his mother's whip. "Regis, we talked about this before. I'm going to say no, again. Call Penelope. She's anxious to show you..." Geez, what did Penny have again? "Whatever it is she's growing in her garage. You'd have a lot in common."

"Sh.e.l.ley, Mother has-"

I hung up and gave my body a shake, like a kid at school who got cootie germs. Regis phoned me on a regular basis asking me on dates, with his mother. He'd latched on to me when we were kids and I could only handle him in small doses. There was a slimy, ick factor about him and it had nothing to do with the three pounds of Brylcreem in his hair.

Putting away groceries, I sighed when I noticed I'd purchased most of Tank's favorite foods. I stared at the can of whipped cream before putting it in the fridge beside the pecan pie. I may have told him to go to a motel, but I knew he'd stay here.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. Why couldn't I move on? He had. I was positive he left me for another woman. Why else would he leave what seemed, to me at least, a wonderful, loving marriage?

Wanting nothing more than to relax I headed upstairs and threw my purse on the bed. Maybe long hot shower would wash my heartache away. A girl could hope.

Tank let himself into Shelby's house and heard the shower. There had been a time when he'd have joined her, but all that was gone. His rights as her husband were on hold until she was apprised of the whole situation. Only one other person close to Shelby knew he was a Federal Agent, and she'd sworn on a stack of cream filled donuts, she wouldn't give away his secret.

This case with Harrison couldn't end soon enough for him. The slimy little worm wouldn't give them the information needed to close in on Big Boss. He did let slip there was someone else involved. Someone from this town.

Tank knew he was close to closing the case, he could taste it. Nervous energy thrummed through his veins and if he were superst.i.tious, like his partner Rodi, he'd bet everything on them discovering who Big Boss was.

Thinking of Rodi made him realize his inside man hadn't contacted him in a while. Not unusual when you work deep undercover, but Rodi always tried to leave an encrypted message every two weeks.

Tank paused outside the master bedroom door before taking a step inside. Nothing had changed much, except anything that belonged to him was hidden or thrown away. A wry grin tipped his lip. Most likely thrown out or burned. Maybe both.

He walked to the dresser and picked up a bottle of her favorite perfume, drawing in the scent. Immediately he was transported back to the first time he met her, at a party on the beach. Across the fire he'd been mesmerized by the woman with hair the color of ripened wheat, cascading down her back in soft curls. And when they'd come face to face, one of the first things he did was kiss her.

Turned out to be a wrong move, but he couldn't help himself. When her gaze met his, he knew right then and there he'd marry her. It took a few months to convince Shelby of that, after he'd located her. The little minx gave him the number to a funeral home when he asked for her number.

The shower shut off and he heard the sounds of Shelby moving around the bathroom. He stood by the walk-in closet door and leaned one shoulder against the door jamb. Within minutes she opened the door, looking flushed with her hair twisted up into a clip and a warm, fuzzy housecoat wrapped around her body. She hadn't seen him yet, so he waited until she stopped in front of the dresser and looked into the mirror, catching his reflection.

Her eyes widened and then closed. He pushed away from the door. "Hey, darlin'."

My thoughts over the past few hours had been all about Tank, and then I stepped into bedroom and saw him. A sense of dej vu washed over me and I closed my eyes so he couldn't see my pain.

Tank's hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him, surprised me. I thought he'd step away, but instead he cupped my face, held my gaze and smiled a lazy smile. The one that made me fall in love with him the first time. He slipped a finger under my chin and caressed my cheek with his thumb. I wanted to press into his hand and rub my cheek against his palm. It took everything inside me to remain still.

He lowered his head and took possession of my mouth. Love, hurt, and anger combined and spread out from my heart and through my body. I stood, bathed in all these conflicting emotions and knew I still loved him. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead on mine.

I had to be realistic. He might be here for only a few hours. Could my heart take him leaving again? The cold answer was, no.

"Tank-"

"Shh....." He silenced me with a finger on my lips. "I don't mean to complicate things, but I can't stay away. And G.o.d knows I tried." He walked over to my king-sized bed and lay down, making it look like a doll's toy. He stretched out and, long legs crossed at the ankles, linked his hands behind his head and watched me. His biceps tensed and flexed with perfection.

I turned toward the dresser and grabbed a handful of underwear, shoving them into the cavernous pocket of my housecoat before Tank could see them. "You can't waltz into my bedroom-"

"Our bedroom," he corrected.

"-and think we can go on like nothing happened. You made your choice."

I glanced over to the bed where he looked like the poster boy for Tall, Dark and Dangerous. Did he get my meaning? Marital relations were not going to happen. Not tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. He'd left me for another woman, and my stomach clenched at the thought of him touching her. Loving her. Tasting her- The taste of bile was bitter in my mouth as I turned toward the dressing room. I'd spent countless nights, crying myself to sleep at the thought of him loving another woman the way he'd loved me. It had taken everything inside me to crawl out of that hole of self-pity and I wasn't going back.

I grabbed the closest tee s.h.i.+rt and a pair of jeans. With my skin still being moist from the shower, the jeans wouldn't s.h.i.+mmy up over my hip as far as I'd like, but I couldn't leave Tank alone any longer. I re-entered the bedroom, and stopped cold in the doorway.

My purse lay open and Tank was reading my notes from the Grant family meeting. He held up the open book and raised one eyebrow in question. "Grocery list?"

I stomped over and s.n.a.t.c.hed the notebook out of his hand before grabbing my purse. Everything spilled out, which ratcheted my frustration up another level. I threw the purse back onto the bed.

"Get out!" I hissed, pointing to the door. "You have no right to go through my private papers. And you're staying in the guest room, not here." Clutching the notebook to my chest, I crossed over to the bedroom door and held it open. "Out!"

He pushed off the bed and strolled out of my bedroom. But not before he paused, lightly touched the exposed skin where my jeans had refused to go further, and leaned in. His warm breath feathered my ear, "Glad to see you still have your tattoo."

Chapter Four.

Ah, yes, the tattoo. On my right hip I had a tattoo of a small 'T' with a stylistic heart wrapped around it. During a wild, crazy holiday in Cancun with Tank I'd gotten it to show how much he was in my heart. That promise of love walked out my front door, but the tat was forever. Lucky me.

I wandered into the ensuite bathroom and perched on the edge of the tub. I tried to have a backbone when it came to Tank but he was my Achilles Heel. This was the twenty-first century. Tank could have s.e.x with whomever he wanted and, technically, so could I, except Tank had been my first and only lover and I wouldn't betray the bonds of marriage.

I stood and started blow drying my hair. Staring at my reflection, I gave my 'self' a pep talk.

"You're a strong woman. You don't need Tank to validate who you are. Get the job done and don't let him get under your skin." Firm with resolve to distance myself emotionally from Tank, I wandered down to the kitchen where I found him making coffee. Without turning he said, "That wasn't nice, what you did out at the Grants. You could have warned me about the guard troll."

How quickly I'd forgotten about Hannah. I choked back a little giggle. "What's the matter Tank, couldn't handle a little old lady?"

"Do you still take your coffee black?" He reached into the cupboard and brought down sugar for his coffee.

Tank continued to move around the kitchen with ease and I watched him. I longed to reach out and rub his back like I had in the past. To know that with one touch, he'd turn around, gather me into his arms and kiss me senseless. My hand rose, but then dropped back by my side.

This camaraderie in the kitchen brought back a lot of memories I chose to forget. Tears formed and my eyes burned. My firm resolve was melting as fast as the sugar in his coffee.

"What did the Grants want to see you for?" He took my cup and poured coffee into it. Quickly, I dashed the tears away with the back of my hand. I reached around and grabbed the mug.

"Nothing much. They want me to track down a cousin or something. She has to sign some papers for their business."

I hated lying. It went against every Sunday school lesson I'd learned and Pastor Nolan's preaching. Whoever said lying could be cathartic for a bruised psyche was dead wrong. He shook his head, turned around and poured a third spoonful of sugar into his mug.

Coffee in hand, I walked into the living room. I set the coffee down and flopped into my easy chair before turning on the television. Tank stayed in the kitchen and set up his lap top at the kitchen table.

It was surreal, having Tank in the next room working while I watched television. We'd fallen right back into the routine we had before he left. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. After the local news, I remembered my date with Polly. I placed my cup in the dishwasher, headed for the front door and had just grabbed my purse when a creak echoed down the hall.

Tank stood in the entrance of the kitchen, his large frame filling the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"Polly's," My throat felt tight, "It's our movie night."

"That's right. It's Tuesday." He turned back into the kitchen.

After this case I was getting my head examined. On my own I was a confident, independent woman. Tank showed up and suddenly I became a blubbering, mindless, love-starved moron. There must be workshops I could take that addressed this kind of thing. The gym I went to always had posters advertising self-help cla.s.ses. I was going to sign up for one and take back control of my life, right after my trip to L.A.

When I got to Polly's my jaw ached from clenching my teeth. Soft light from recessed pot lights pooled onto her front entrance and when she opened the door, I smelled popcorn.

"I wondered when you'd get here, you're late." She wore a fluffy pink robe and bunny slippers. I was probably the only person on earth who ever saw Polly this way. Not her usual, sophisticated style. Most people probably thought she reclined about her mansion in silk robes and s.e.xy slip-on mules.

"I know. Tank's at my place." I pushed by her and made my way to the theatre room, where she'd set up the DVD.

"Ah. That explains it." Polly shut the door and followed me in. She offered me a cola before sitting and re-wrapping herself in a homemade afghan.

I plopped down on the other end of the sofa and grabbed a bowl of popcorn. Harley pattered in and jumped up on my lap. "So what are we watching?"

"Casablanca."

My shoulders slumped. Not again. It was so...so... black and white. And Humphrey Bogart didn't do it for me as a leading man. Now, if Rick Blaine was played by Henry Cavill, I'd wear the DVD out.

"We've seen it a gazillion times. Isn't there anything else? Something that's been produced in this century? In color? I'll even watch Steel Magnolias again."

"Nope, Casablanca. I love when Rick says to Isla, I remember everything. The Germans wore gray. You wore blue."

"All right, but you'll be sorry next month. For my choice I'm thinking s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p Troopers... Part II." It was Polly's turn to groan.

"Oh, shush. You love this movie as much as me. I've seen you cry when she has to leave Rick." She pointed the remote control at the TV and started the movie.

I grabbed another handful of popcorn and settled in, allowing Harley to eat out of my hand while the credits rolled.

"At least Isla left Rick, not the other way around." I whispered to Harley.

I forgot how good Polly's hearing was. One of the things that made her a good secretary.

"Hon, you have got to stop looking back. Keep doing that and you'll never see the good things ahead of you." She grabbed some popcorn out of my bowl. "Take the bull by the horns. Talk to Tank about why he left. Get it out in the open."

"He didn't leave, I kicked him out." I pulled my bowl away from her.

"That's horse puckey and you know it. This is me you're talking to. He walked out and you fell apart. You need to find out why or every time he comes around, you'll keep spinning your wheels."

I knew she was right, but I was glad the movie started so she wouldn't see the tears trickle down my face. Tears Harley softly licked off my cheek. Even if she had, she wouldn't have commented. Polly never betrayed confidences. Not even when I snuck out with Ben Grady after I'd been grounded.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, my mind scampered in a million directions. I had to devise a plan to side track Tank and keep him from discovering I was going to L.A. Ideally he'd leave again my heart cramped and I wouldn't have to worry, but I had a feeling he was here for a while. And because he was my roommate-du-jour, he'd figure out pretty fast I was up to something.

Tank had Spidey senses, like Peter Parker's Spiderman, when it came to me, so I needed him deaf and blind. Call it self-preservation or just plain pride, but I didn't want him in my business. He lost that privilege when he moved out.

The next day at work I hatched and discarded idea after idea. Tank knew me too well. It was on the drive home, when I saw an ad for 'Don't Drink and Drive,' that it hit me. Get him drunk. Then he'd pa.s.s out and sleep like a baby while I packed my bags and took off.

All I had to do was figure out how much it would take to knock him out. Tank could put back a few beers, but I'd never seen him drunk and the whole operation had to be subtle or his internal radar would start pinging. I decided to start with something small, like drinks with dinner. That would work. My drink would be sipped and I'd top his up on a regular basis.

After I'd been home for about an hour I heard keys. .h.i.tting the hall table. There was a time when I'd drop everything, run down the hall and jump into his arms. I continued to grate parmesan.

"Mmm, smells good. What are we having?" Tank came into the kitchen and sat at the island. He placed his laptop bag on the floor beside his stool.

"Lasagna and salad. Want a drink?"

"Nah. I'm good. Can I help?"

He came around and started ripping apart the romaine. Plan A shot down before it even started. On to Plan B-wine with dinner.

Supper was quiet. There were too many emotional landmines we both were dancing around. Also, my thoughts were focused on creating a Plan C. He'd refused the offer of wine with his meal. This was proving more difficult than I imagined.

While I cleared the table, he settled on the couch. Even though we were no longer a couple I admit to being miffed when he brought out his laptop. Soon he was texting, checking messages and generally ignoring me. Fine by me, I had my own stuff to do.

I sat and twirled my hair.

Last night Polly suggested we go shopping and now I wished I hadn't blown her off. She would have helped me think of devious ways to get Tank drunk.

Through my eyelashes, I observed Tank. Totally immersed in his work, his rugged face illuminated by the artificial light from his laptop screen, he had no idea I watched him. Every line, every angle of his face was familiar. I knew if he smiled, one lone dimple would appear. His face would be rough to my touch from the five o-clock shadow dusting the lower half of his face. His breath warm on my palm as he turned to kiss it.

A familiar ache tightened my chest. He was no longer mine and the sooner I solved this case and he waved good-bye, the better.

Reigning in my thoughts, I re-focused on my plan. I chewed my lip and twirled my hair some more. Then it hit me. Why didn't I think of this sooner? Polly had given me some sleeping pills after Tank left and there was almost a full bottle left.

I needed to get him into the hard stuff, so I could mask it. He'd never know I slipped a little something 'extra' into his beverage. And, with any luck, he'd be gone to la la land in no time. Great plan in theory, but how would I get him to drink? He'd refused every offer so far tonight. Mentally I slapped my palm against my forehead. I'd been making the wrong offer.

I would utilize the time-honored method of diversion, a game of strip pool. No way would I play strip poker; Tank would have me naked in two straight hands. But at pool-I could take the guy. We played this a lot and I'd beaten him regularly.

Time to put Plan C in motion.

"Tank, I'm bored." I maneuvered myself so I lay draped over the big easy chair, letting my leg swing back and forth over the arm. "Wanna play strip pool?"

His head rose, like a buck scenting a doe in heat. He's not stupid, he had to know I was up to something, but he was willing to play along. After putting away his laptop, he leaned back and stretched his arms across the back of the couch, all smug and c.o.c.ky. "Rack 'em up, darlin'. Call me when you're ready to break."

"I'll mix some drinks, you rack and break. I'll be right down."

As always, I loved it when a plan worked.