Finding Grace Page 9

  * * * *

  Dagger found himself whistling on the way into work Monday morning, and smiling when the first sound that greeted his ears was Thorne’s music. It was some classical piece, Russian, probably. He’d noticed that Thorne seemed to have a thing for the tortured tragic composers. It wasn’t until Farley smirked that Dagger even realized he’d been smiling. He stopped and gave Farley a glare sufficient to remove that smirk, then shrugged and went out of his way to avoid Thorne the rest of the day.

  But when Thorne showed up in the big office, blanketed in the old parka and toting his backpack, Dagger realized he’d been checking his watch, waiting for him. Maybe even looking forward to seeing him. He pushed the realization away as soon as it came.

  The ride home was uneventful, except they couldn’t find Jefferson. Thorne was worried. It was going to be a cold night. When they reached his door, they were deep in conversation about what was wrong with the country and how to fix it.

  “Um, wanna come in and help me eat all this food?” Thorne shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous and strangely vulnerable. “C’mon, I won’t bite, Peaches. I won’t even touch you. Scouts’ honor.” Thorne held up two fingers, grinning. “I don’t have a microwave. What am I gonna do with it? And anyway, we’re not done making the world safe for democracy.”

  Dagger only hesitated a moment. Hell, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

  So they spent the next hour sitting on Thorne’s floor, eating Vietnamese and laying out their respective, if radically different, plans for the world. When they’d finished and said good-night, Dagger walked back to the Escalade he liked to drive Thorne home in because it offered a plug-in for both their iPods. They had turned each other on to some really good music.

  * * * *

  They couldn’t find Jefferson on Thursday, either, so Thorne decided to invite Jack in again. She’d been fighting the urge all week and now she had a good excuse. She tried not to let herself get too excited when he agreed.

  After they’d finished eating, she pulled out her needles and yarn.

  “What’s up with the knitting, anyway? I mean, it’s great that you make stuff people can use, but you seem…well, kind of obsessed.”

  She hoped she could explain it so he’d understand. “Helps my brain, keeps it from obsessing, actually. Everything flows more smoothly when I knit. And like I said at the funhouse, beats basket weaving.” And right now, it’s distracting me from thinking about you being here all alone with me.

  “So, did your grandma teach you or something?”

  “No, a nurse did, actually. I grew up in foster homes.” She winced after she’d said it, afraid it was too much information.

  But Jack just went on. “Know anything about your parents?”

  What the hell. “Just that my mother forgot to take care of me when I was a baby. Guess she was crazy or something.”

  “So it’s hereditary then?” She felt his warm laugh rumble deep inside her and was glad she’d gone ahead and said it until he followed it with, “God, Thorne, you answer a question and two more come up.”

  Thorne shifted and looked back down at her knitting. “Yeah, I’m a real enigma all right. So are you. I guess neither one of us likes to talk about ourselves very much. Especially the past. I’ve talked more to you though, Jack, than I’ve talked to anyone in a long time, maybe ever.” Shit, had she really just admitted that to him? She needed to shut the hell up.

  But Jack just nodded. He didn’t look uncomfortable at all, empathetic more than anything. “So, tell me about the nurse.”

  Thorne wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to go there, but Jack seemed genuinely interested and maybe she could work it to her advantage.

  “Okay, but if I show you mine, you have to show me yours.”

  She gave him a grin and a wink before she remembered what they were talking about. “I was in the hospital for a while a few years back. The knitting fixed me more than anything the doctors did.”

  “What kind of hospital? This have anything to do with your padded cell here?” He gestured around, grinning, clearly trying to keep it light.

  She kept her eyes on her needles when she answered. So much for light. “I was all kinds of broken. Maybe I still am.”

  Thorne heard the change in his voice. “Something happen in one of those foster homes?”

  “No, Jack, I was born weird. They were okay, nice families. Nothing happened. I just…I just never felt like I belonged, know what I mean?”

  The way he nodded and looked at her made her feel his empathy. “I was good at school, so I concentrated on that. It wasn’t so bad being the odd one out there. The social side of school sucks for a lot of people.”

  “With as fast as you move, I bet you were great at track, too.” His admiration seemed just as genuine as his empathy.

  “Um, gymnastics was more my thing.”

  Jack grimaced. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? You like the leotards, Thorne, or just the—”

  “Enough about me, Peaches. Time to show me yours. Don’t try to tell me you grew up in a perfect home in the suburbs.”

  The idea was funny enough that they both laughed. For a minute.

  “Now who’s trying to explain weirdness, Thorne?”

  She watched his smile fade though, when he told her about losing both parents when he was still young and being pretty much raised by his older brother, Joe.

  “He was a real hardass. Kids shouldn’t raise kids; you got that part right in your plan for world peace. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. I’m not stupid, but I sucked at school—the book side and the social side. I enlisted as soon as I was old enough, got the hell out of there. Finally found someplace where I didn’t feel like garbage. No drill sergeant ever had anything on Joe. One thing though, he sure as hell taught me how to handle myself in a fight.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack. Sounds shitty. A lot worse than any of my foster homes.”

  “It was shitty.” He shrugged. “But I turned out okay, right? Not a worthless piece of trash any more.” He laughed like he didn’t care. But she could tell he still did.

  She said, “Yeah, Jack, you’re okay,” in a voice that was a lot huskier than her usual.

  He was looking at her kind of funny, so she went on quickly. “Still talk to your brother?”

  “He calls a couple times a year. Fucker still tries to run my life.”

  Thorne couldn’t help but snicker. “I find that pretty hard to imagine.”

  “Me too. That’s why I don’t usually return his calls.”

  She thought for a moment. “Do you think he tries to tell you what to do because he loves you or just because he’s a bossy fucker?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that, Thorne? Can’t we stay off the faggy shit?” He started to get up.

  “Sorry. I guess I thought it was an important one. I was just wondering what it felt like, that’s all, to have somebody love you. Doesn’t sound all that great.”

  Shit, that’s what she got for not keeping her mouth shut. She got up too.

  “You suck at this show-and-tell shit, Thorne. Probably too many foster sisters who liked to put you in dresses or something.”

  * * * *

  Dagger knew he’d left in a hurry. It’s just that Thorne kept touching him in places he didn’t want touched. At least not like that. At least not by a…

  Everything would have been fine, though, if he hadn’t had a dream about him and Thorne that night. That kind of dream. There hadn’t been any body parts or anything like that, just the heat and desire and Thorne’s presence. It scared the complete and utter shit out of him. He almost puked when he woke up and remembered it.

  Thorne had a dream about Jack that night, too. She didn’t dream much really, unless the nightmares counted. But this dream scared her even more. Because it had felt so good.

  Chapter Eight

  Dagger had found the place easily enough, even if he hadn’t wanted to. It wasn’t far f
rom Thorne’s apartment. He’d suggested sending Farley, but Paul had reminded him how important this was and how putting anyone else with Thorne might not provide the smoothest of outcomes. He hadn’t been able to argue the point and he couldn’t very well tell Paul why he didn’t want to see Thorne, especially since he didn’t want to remember.

  The door at the top of the stairs was locked and no one was answering. He rechecked the address. A dance studio. Perfect, just fucking perfect. He leaned on the bell.

  Finally, he saw a neatly dressed, hard-bodied but very effeminate man mincing toward him through the wavy, wire-reinforced glass of the door’s window. The man took one look at him and turned white. Dagger sighed and held his Blackridge ID against the glass. The man frowned and opened the door like it might be his final act on earth.

  “You’re Jack? The Georgia peach? Not quite what I’d…” His voice matched his appearance and he spoke quickly and precisely. Dagger watched his Adam’s apple bob. Dagger scowled. At length, the man cleared his throat. “I’m Trent. It will be about twenty minutes until Thorne is finished. Interruptions are absolutely forbidden, not that I would ever wish to. You may wait in the observation room with me, you lucky man.” His smile was polite, even friendly. He’d regrouped fast, Dagger would have liked to give him that.

  Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to give anybody anything.

  He allowed his mouth to curve into its natural snarl. “I haven’t had any coffee yet, I hate waiting, I’m not into fucking ballet or whatever this shit is and I’m definitely not into you, so what the fuck makes me so goddamn lucky?”

  Trent took a step back and put his hands on his hips. “Well, aren’t you just the beast? I’m not missing any more of Thorne’s routine, so you can just follow my sweet ass or wait out here. It’s entirely up to you.” He sniffed loudly and sashayed down the hall.

  Heaving a second heavy sigh, Dagger followed him through another door into a long, narrow room with an almost floor-to-ceiling window into another room along the length of it. The music coming through the speakers was loud, slow and bluesy. Dagger looked through one-way glass into a big room with a large thick mat centered in it and a table off to the side with a familiar backpack leaning against one of the legs. There was a figure bending in the center of the mat. Lovely legs and soft curves…Wait, that purple hair…

  * * * *

  Thorne stretched into a backbend, holding the pose for a bar before pulling it into a handstand and slowly spreading her legs parallel to the mat. She held the pose for another three bars, then rolled gradually down onto her back, pulling her legs together as she let her body ripple with the beat and bring her to her feet. She loved Marvin Gaye’s “Trouble Man.”

  The concentration required for her workout was a perfect antidote to the craziness under her skin, prickling and tickling her. Jack. It also gave her a physical expression for said prickling and tickling, resulting from what, she guessed, was the sexual tension that her body had been experiencing since she’d met him. She couldn’t be sure, of course, because these feelings were new. But it was getting worse every day.

  * * * *

  Dagger blinked. Then all of the air in his lungs emptied with a whoosh. When he filled them again, he croaked, “Thorne’s a…a…”

  “Oh, you noticed, did you? That leotard doesn’t hide much besides her skin, does it? Not like those rags she runs around in. I was so disappointed the first time I saw her in it. But it appears my loss is your gain. And oh my, what a gain! Mm-mmm!”

  Without taking his eyes off Thorne, Dagger shifted, wishing his jeans weren’t suddenly so goddamn tight, and said, “Take your eyes off my fucking ‘gain’ if you want to keep seeing through them, Trent.”

  Thorne continued to move in ways that were making it increasingly difficult for Dagger to breathe. When she spread those gorgeous legs so invitingly yet again, he hadn’t realized he’d said, “Sweet Jesus,” and tried to push through the glass until he heard Trent hiss at him.

  “Don’t you dare make smudge marks. That glass requires a special cleaner. Now sit down and behave yourself.”

  Still not taking his eyes off Thorne and unable to sit down, Dagger said, “This isn’t how it’s usually done, is it? I mean, Christ, you’d have to have bouncers at the performances.”

  “Actually, what Thorne does is a mixture of tumbling, jazz, and rhythmic gymnastics with some juggling thrown in and an occasional round at that punching bag she asked me to put up in the corner. Of course, most women don’t have the upper body strength to move that slowly. It allows her a wonderfully eclectic taste in music and routines. The choreography is always different, entirely free form. And working with a blindfold like she does! She’s here almost every morning and I absolutely hate it when I have to miss her. I suppose it might be considered somewhat erotic—and she has turned up the heat lately, but until she started at Blackridge, I’d assumed she was asexual.

  “Of course, she could be a one-woman show, but when I suggested it…well, the language! My ears are still burning. You know—” Trent looked him up and down “—I bet you look deliciously frightening without a shirt. If you were to wear just those jeans and he-man boots, learn a few moves, we could add you and call the routine Beauty and Beast. Oh, it would be marvelous.” He sighed dreamily before adding, “She likes you, you know.”

  “What makes you think that? What did she say about me?” Dagger was afraid he sounded like he suddenly felt, a smitten teenager.

  “Well, she curses all of you at Blackridge with the proficiency of a sailor—ooh, I do love sailors, I think it’s those little hats—but she saves the longest and juiciest phrases for you, Jack. And then there’s that silly look she gets on her face when she mentions your name.”

  He grunted, trying not to feel too relieved, too pleased, too excited, too goddamn eager. His palms were sweating.

  Her routine had changed with the music, faster now, the classic Stone’s “Gimme Shelter.” She had just finished a series of handsprings culminating in a twisting somersault, landing at the very corner of the mat. After picking up three heavy-looking juggling clubs from the table, she began dancing, nodding to the music and juggling, blindfold still in place. It should have been more scary than sexy, really, but she was close to the glass and he could see the shiny wetness on her lips from when her tongue had flicked out to lick them in concentration.

  Dagger clenched his jaw to stifle a groan. It only got worse when she went into what Trent informed him was a variation of rhythmic gymnastics using a silver ball. It moved over her body as though it had a mind of its own, and that mind was thinking along the same lines Dagger’s was.

  * * * *

  The final notes of the last song were fading and Thorne was on her back, breathing hard, satisfied. The fine sheen of sweat covering her body and the ache in her muscles were telling her it had been a good workout, even if she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jack. She got up and pulled off her blindfold. She smiled and made a little bow to Trent before moving off to pack up her gear, roll up the mat, and pull on a sweat suit.

  * * * *

  Her gaze met Dagger’s without recognition through the two-way mirror. He let out a breath of relief when he remembered she couldn’t see him. Her eyes were mesmerizing. They were soft gray and huge, framed by a thick pelt of long silver lashes beneath feathery brows of the same ghostly shade. Her cheeks were flushed, the bones fine and high and delicately sculpted like the rest of her face, highlighted by the short cut of her thick hair.

  How the hell had he ever thought she could be a boy? She wasn’t just a woman, she was fucking beautiful, exotic, otherworldly. He gasped when she smiled.

  From somewhere far away, he heard a voice say, “Well, if it’s true that the bigger they are, the harder they fall, then we’d better prepare for an earthquake. Jack? Jack? Earth to Jack. Time for you to go out in the hall. This way…Easy, big fella…”

  * * * *

  Thorne stepped out in the hall, ready for a
slow jog back to her apartment and a shower before heading over to work. She smiled to herself. Seeing Jack again wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Then she saw boots she recognized and looked up slowly. Her smile wavered. Then again…

  “What’re you doing here, Jack?”

  “Trouble at Soroko’s development lab. Paul wants us there right away.” His voice sounded lower and rougher than usual.

  “Soroko is a brand new, important client. I can’t go like this. I smell like a goat.”

  He looked at her strangely. “You smell…” He leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his body and she heard him inhale deeply through his nose. “…like a woman.”

  “You saw.” Her voice came out like a squeak and she pushed against the brick wall that was his chest.

  He was so close she felt his lips brush her ear when he whispered, “Oh, yeah.”

  Thorne shivered, but not because she was cold. She whispered back hoarsely, “So what fucking difference does it make, Jack?”

  In answer, he moved closer, almost pinning her against the wall, caging her between his arms. He pressed into her, letting her feel him, all of him. “Goddamn it, Thorne. You tell me.”

  His voice rumbled deep inside her. His lips had brushed her ear again and it felt hot where he’d touched her. Thorne felt her bones beginning to melt. She swallowed. “Oh…oh!” She couldn’t seem to breathe, what with the whole bone-melting thing and the air having suddenly left the planet and all.

  * * * *

  Dagger saw her pulse pounding in the vein at her throat, just beneath her jaw. It pounded in the same rhythm as the machine-gun hammering of his heart. His hands were just closing on her shoulders, his mouth moving toward her lips, his knee pressing to part her thighs, when he heard a sniff and an insistent throat clearing.

  “You okay, Thorne? Great routines this morning. Your ribs must be healed. I hope you don’t mind that I let Jack in. I have to say, your description of him was very misleading.” Trent sounded nervous.