Repo Chick Blues (The Leah Ryan Series - Book One) Read online

  Repo Chick Blues

  By Tracy Sharp

  Copyright © 2010 by TRACY SHARP

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, situations and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9871309-9-0

  Cover Art © 2010 Dare Empire eMedia Productions

  To my mother, master plotter, who is always just as excited about my stories as I am, and to Tasha, my beloved dog and best friend. I miss you, baby.

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t my fault. No matter how many times I’d told myself those words over the past fifteen years, it didn’t help. The guilt was like a cancer eating at me every day. There were days when I didn’t consciously think about Susie. Those days were rarer than a solar eclipse. And on those nights I’d pay for not allowing her memory to shadow my thoughts. I’d pay with nightmares so horrible that I’d wake up covered in a chilly sweat, a silent scream lodged in my throat. A scream I never had let loose, even at the moment I should have. Even at the moment they took her.

  I was tired as I stood, bleary-eyed, at my kitchen window looking out at the blackness. This morning was no different than any other since the men in the white car took Susie that day. I’d spent most of the night in a state somewhere between waking and dreaming. Sleep, which had never come easily, even before that day, was much more elusive now. I suppose what my father always told me was true. I’ll get enough sleep when I’m dead.

  It was four-thirty a.m. I had to be at the construction site in an hour. They were calling for a hot one again today. The weather can change within minutes here. This is the North East. There’s a popular saying here: If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. The last couple of years had been brutal for heat waves, and today was supposed to reach ninety-five degrees with seventy percent humidity. It felt much hotter after working on that black top for twelve hours.

  When I opened my front door and stepped outside it was still dark, but my motion light was on. This didn’t alarm me, since many times a cat or rabbit will set it off. I began walking to my car and caught sight of movement on the left side of it, shrouded in shadow. I tensed, freezing in place. Why was this person lurking in the dark next to my car? If they’d been waiting for me, knowing that I usually come out when it’s still dark, they would’ve taken the light bulb out of the motion light. So why was this person here?

  “Who the fuck is there?” My voice sounded too loud in my own ears. I don’t talk much and nobody talks to me. So I rarely yell, but when I do it always freaks me out.

  A tall figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The guy was built, muscles bulging from beneath his t-shirt. A lock of black hair fell over his eyes. He smelled of musk and spice.

  A strange combination of fear and excitement raced through me. I stared at him for a moment, dumfounded. If my dream man suddenly materialized before me, it would be this guy. I had no idea why he was here, but shit, he was yummy. Still, I’d kick his ass if I had to. I’d dropped larger men than him over the years. You just have to know where to hurt them. And let’s face it. Men don’t usually lurk in the shadows of a woman’s yard with honorable intentions. Not in my experience, anyway.

  “I have to take your car,” he said to me.

  I blinked. “What?” My car was nothing special. It was a 1995 Jeep Wrangler. I loved it, but it wasn’t the kind of car a car thief usually targeted. Believe me, I know.

  He approached and I dropped down and reached for the knife strapped to my lower leg.

  “Whoa,” he said, palms facing outward. Slowly he pulled a piece of paper from inside his leather coat pocket. “Parker’s Repossession Services, ma’am. You are Leah Ryan, right?”

  “Yes.” Repossession services? Had it been that long since I’d made a car payment?

  He stayed where he was, his hands still held up as if I were robbing him. “I need the keys to your car … please.”

  I couldn’t believe the guy was actually going to take my car from me. “What if I don’t give you the keys?”

  “Then I’ll have to take it my way.” He tilted his head toward the street behind me.

  A black tow truck sat against the curb. A light flicked on inside the truck and a wiry man wearing a fedora smiled and gave a little wave. He had to love that hat to be wearing it in this heat.

  I groaned. Money had been tight lately for a lot of reasons. I made good money doing construction, but it still didn’t cover it. I reached into my pocket and tossed him the keys.

  He caught them in one hand, those almond eyes moving over me for a moment. Then he nodded slightly and left without another word.

  As pissed off as I was, I still couldn’t help admiring his butt as he walked away from me. Man. He was wearing those Levis.

  And he was taking my Jeep.

  Jerk.

  Chapter Two

  They fired me. I wasn’t surprised. Just pissed off. There was nobody to pick me up. I didn’t have enough money for a cab and no busses ran through the small town I live in. I couldn’t get to work. So they fired me.

  I had to find a job. Fast. If worse came to worst, I’d work in a bar. It was quick cash and I was fast. I’d worked in my father’s bar slinging drinks, a dark and gloomy pub where mostly Scots and Irish gathered, before I could legally serve booze. When I was even younger, I worked in the back mopping and doing dishes.

  But I really didn’t want to work in a bar, I was thinking as I finished my tenth rep of bicep curls on my right arm. I don’t play well with others, so I don’t go to the gym. I have free weights and a weight machine in my spare bedroom.

  I began working my left arm and I steamed as I thought about the repo man driving my car away. For a moment, I could smell his spicy scent. I closed my eyes and breathed in. It had been a while since a man had affected me the way he had, on a completely animal level. When I’d first laid eyes on him standing there in the dark, logic told me to prepare to fight, while my body had reacted to him in a different way. I opened my eyes. A lustful way. Just thinking of him caused an ache deep in the pit of my abdomen.

  I gave my head a little shake. I needed a job more than I needed a roll in the hay. No matter how hot and wild that roll could be. My lips curved up in a smile. What had the name of the repossession company been? Something with a ‘P’ in it. Parker Repossession Services. That was it. I wondered how much a vehicle recovery agent made. By the time I was finished lifting weights I’d decided that I’d pay Mr. Parker a little visit.

  * * *

  “No. Absolutely not,” Parker said, shaking his head. It turned out that Mr. Yummy actually owned the business. “It’s too dangerous for a woman.” His square jaw was set, his almond eyes steady.

  I let out a harsh laugh. “Mr. Parker. Do I look like a shrinking violet to you?”

  His gaze moved over me and something in my chest fluttered. I caught his scent on the breeze. Woodsy. Spicy and woodsy, like a forest after a summer rain.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re obviously fit but it’s a tough job.”

  “I can do this job. I’ve worked construction the last four baking summers and freezing winters. I can handle it.”

  “Look, Ms. Ryan. Lots of things can happen out there. You can get raped, beat up. Anything.�
�

  I looked up at the dark, gathering clouds. “Do you read the papers or watch the news? Because women get raped and beat up walking to their cars, or even in their own homes.”

  He stared at me but still said nothing. He knew I was right.

  “I’ve worked almost exclusively with men the last four years, Mr. Parker. I assure you, I’m prepared. I’m strong, and I know how to fight.”

  This was true. In the places I’d been in you had to know how to fight. It didn’t matter that you were female. There were just too many mean people out there. You had to know how to defend yourself. I’d become a skilled street fighter and kick boxer by the time I was fifteen. I wasn’t kidding when I said I know how to take care of myself.

  “Ms. Ryan…”

  “Mr. Parker. I was fired from my job because I had no way to get to work. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, and if I don’t find a job quick, I’m gonna be living on the streets pretty soon. Just try me out. If it doesn’t work, you can let me go. I promise you, I can do this. I won’t let you down.”

  He tilted his head, thinking. His eyes narrowed and his gaze went right through me. For one crazy moment, I pictured myself walking over to him and running my tongue over those kissable lips. I gave my head a mental shake.

  “Please,” I said, so low even I could barely hear it. I guess he did, because his eyes softened. “All right.” He threw his arms in the air. “Okay. I’ll hire you. You’ll have to do exactly what I say. No exceptions. Otherwise, you could put us both in jeopardy.”

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  “I hope not.”

  * * *

  When I got home, Frank, who lifted his orange head from his paw, blinked at me, and lowered his head again, greeted me. Frank’s a laid-back kind of cat. I poured some kitty treats into his self-feeding dish, and he jumped off the chair and padded over, pausing to stretch his legs behind him. It had been a trying day of sleeping for him.

  I peeked into the fridge. A brick of sharp cheddar sat on the top shelf where I’d left it two nights ago. There were two slices left of a loaf of bread, six bottles of beer and a few sodas. I looked in my cupboards. Various boxes of crackers sat on the shelf. I like crackers. Especially with cheese. A box of extra-sugary cereal, my secret shame, and two cans of mushroom soup. I hadn’t been shopping in a while. I grabbed one of the boxes of crackers and the brick of cheese, and after inspecting the cheese for anything green or furry, I grabbed my sharpest small knife and headed to the living room.

  I flipped channels but found nothing that interested me. So I turned off the T.V. and punched the button to turn on my stereo. Billy Joel sang about it still being rock and roll to him. I could dig it.

  After wolfing down several crackers with cheese, I showered again. It was the kind of day you take two or three showers just to get the sweat off you for a while. I let the cool water beat over my hot skin and thought of Callahan Parker’s face. I could look at that face for a very long time without ever getting tired of seeing it. He wasn’t movie star handsome. His nose was slightly cooked, like it had been broken at least once. He was sexy in a rugged way. I got the feeling he’d been around the block a few times.

  I moved my soapy hands over my breasts and my nipples tingled. I closed my eyes and thought of Callahan’s mouth moving over them, his tongue flicking across them. The folds of my pussy swelled and my clit ached. God. I couldn’t function like this. I needed to take care of the sexual tension. Like right now.

  Taking the detachable showerhead in my hand, I leaned against the shower tiles and adjusted the head to “massage”. My clit peaked up to meet the spray as I moved it over my pussy. I heard the echo of my moan as I tilted my pelvis forward, moving the spray over my clit again and again. In my mind, I saw Callahan the way he was earlier, when I’d gone to see him. I walked up to him and took his bottom lip in my mouth, nibbling lightly. I moved my hands over his chest, breathing him into me, moving my tongue into his mouth and tasting his heat.

  Tension balled deep in my belly, tendrils of delight curling through me as I kissed Callahan. He kissed me back, his mouth urgent, crushing against mine. His hands gripped my ass as he moved me backward to lean up against one of the cars in his parking lot. He moved his legs between mine, spreading them, and thrust his pelvis forward, grinding his erection against me through our jeans. I moved against him, feverish, running my tongue over his throat. He fucked me through our clothes, dry humping, as his hands gripped my ass tightly.

  “Is that what you want?” His voice was a deep growl. His green eyes boring into mine. “You want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes,” I breathed against his mouth. I sucked his tongue hard, moving against hardness of his length. I didn’t want to stop to take our clothes off.

  My knees became weak as the first tremor of pleasure sang through me. He gripped my ass tightly against him as I cried out into his mouth, riding the orgasm as it slammed through me over and over.

  Callahan faded as the delicious sensations receded and I slumped against the tiles, trying to catch my breath. “Whoa.”

  Was the man some kind of sorcerer? What in hell was wrong with me? Maybe it had just been way too long since I’d had sex. I didn’t even want to think of how long it had been. Now that I’d taken care of myself I could refrain from humping Callahan’s leg. I hoped so, anyway.

  When I stepped out of the shower to dry off, Frank was lying on the bath mat waiting for me. This was a ritual for us. In the fall and winter, when I didn’t have to worry about giving either of us heat stroke, I’d blow-dry my own hair, and then him.

  It had started with me trying to show him that the hair dryer was nothing to be afraid of. That it was just loud. As it turned out, he loved the heat it provided, and now I had a monster of my own creation on my hands. He rolls around, luxuriating in the heat of the dryer, and he sits by my feet each day and complains loudly if I forget to blow-dry him. Right now it was far too hot.

  I towel-dried my short, black hair and finger-brushed it. I used to have long hair, but it’s not conducive to construction work, so I’ve kept it cut into a sleek bob for several years now. I rarely wear make-up in the summer time. My skin is tanned a deep, golden brown from doing road construction, and my brown eyes are fringed in thick black lashes. My mother used to tell me that I’m naturally pretty and that I should count myself lucky. I know that if she were still around she’d also tell me that I should let my hair grow, get a desk job and wear dresses and high heels. That’s the way she was before she left us. I’d imagine it’s the way she still is to this day.

  At eight o’clock there was a knock at my door. Callahan was just on time. He cut an impressive figure as he stood in my doorway. His dark hair was damp and I wasn’t sure if it was still wet from having been just washed or if it was sweat. He had a five o’clock shadow and he wore a black t-shirt and cargo shorts. The t-shirt clung nicely to his chest. I tried not to drool.

  I was dressed much the same, but wore a black tank top and cut-offs. It was a steamy evening. The temperature had dropped to the mid-eighties.

  “Mr. Parker,” I said. “Just on time.”

  “Call me Cal. When someone calls me Mr. Parker it reminds me of a teacher in high school I couldn’t stand. He used to always call people by their surnames.”

  I nodded. “I’ve had a few of those, too.” Mostly in juvenile detention, mind you. But I definitely knew the type.

  Cal’s gaze skimmed my legs, but he soon looked away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s go.”

  We walked to the black tow truck I’d seen the night before. It had tinted windows. I supposed this was prudent, as I’m sure one doesn’t make many friends in the auto recovery business.

  “Nice ride,” I said.

  “Yeah, not too shabby. At home I have a brand spankity new Land Rover.”

  “Oooh. Did you steal it?”

  “Actually, yes, I did. It was one of my repos. Got it pretty che
ap at auction. I liked it so I watched out for it. Just knew it had to be mine.” He flashed me a grin.

  I felt a little dizzy. Mercy. That grin could be the death of me. “Do you always get what you want?”

  He considered this as we got into his truck, and then nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. You ready to go steal some cars?” He turned the key in the ignition. It purred to life. I was certain that he was used to things purring under his touch.

  I took a deep breath and tried not to be so aware of sitting beside him in such close proximity. Damn his delicious, woodsy scent. “You bet.”

  We were both quiet as we rode to our destination. My nerves were on edge, anticipating the night’s events. It had been a long time since I’d even entertained the idea of stealing a car. I’d put those urges on a shelf long ago. And now, in one day, I was going to have to purposely call on those old skills again. Nevertheless, I had to make a living. I had a ton of bills to pay. Hopefully my car thieving talent wasn’t too rusty.

  We pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary’s church, an enormous, gorgeous grey brick that had been built in the mid-eighteen hundreds. The same could be said of most of the homes on this particular street. It was an older part of the area that we’d called ‘snob hill’ growing up.

  Callahan pressed the speed dial on his cell phone. “What’s the good word?”

  I watched him, wondering who he was speaking to.

  He ended the call and put his cell back into his coat pocket.

  “That was Will. The guy you saw sitting in the truck this morning. He’s following the target from work so that we’re sure about when he’ll be rolling by here.”

  I made a tsk tsk sound with my tongue. “There are stalking laws in the state of New York, you know.”

  “Hey, recovery agents need to employ a host of … creative methods of recovery. Often times we need to follow people, get their routines down. You want the recovery to go as smoothly as possible.”