Falling For Rachel: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

Alex had to fight to keep his lips from twitching. “All right, Rachel, you’re going to listen to me.”

She had to sigh. Then she had to take his face in her hands and kiss him. “Since when have I ever listened to you? Go away, Alexi. Chase some bad guys. And I’ll have to take a rain check on that movie tonight.”

There was no arguing with her. There never was. Changing tactics, Alex stared down Zack. “You watch out for her, Muldoon, and watch good. Because while you’re at it, I’m going to be watching you.”

“Sounds fair. Come by the bar anytime, Officer. First one’s on the house.”

Muttering under his breath, Alex stalked away. He turned once when Rachel called something out to him in Ukrainian. With a reluctant smile, he shook his head and kept walking.

“Translation?” Zack asked.

“Just that I would see him Sunday. Did you pay the bond?”

“Yeah, they’re going to release him in a minute.” Zack took a moment to reevaluate now that he realized she’d been kissing her brother that morning, not a lover. “I take it your brother isn’t too thrilled to see you tangled up with me and Nick.”

She gave Zack a long, bland look. “Who is, Muldoon? But since that’s the court ruling, let’s go get started.”

“Get started?”

“We’re going to pick up our charge, and you’re going to move him into your apartment.”

After spending the better part of a decade sharing close quarters with a couple hundred sailors, Zack gave one last wistful thought to the dissolution of his privacy. “Right.” He took Rachel by the arm—a gesture she tried not to resent. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any rope in that briefcase of yours.”

It wasn’t necessary to tie Nick up to gain his cooperation. But it was close. He sulked. He argued. He swore. By the time they’d walked out of the courthouse to hail a cab, Zack was biting down on fury and Nick had switched his resentment to Rachel.

“If this is the best deal you could cut, you’d better go back to law school. I’ve got rights, and the first one is to fire you.”

“Your privilege, LeBeck,” Rachel said, idly checking her watch. “You’re certainly free to seek other counsel, but you can’t fire me as your court-appointed guardian. We’re stuck with each other for the next two months.”

“That’s bull. If you and that crazy judge think you can cook up—”

Zack made his move first, but Rachel merely elbowed him out of the way and went toe-to-toe with Nick. “You listen to me, you sorry, spoiled, sulky little jerk. You’ve got two choices—pretending to be a human being for the next eight weeks or going to prison for three years. I don’t give a damn which way you go, but I’ll tell you this. You think you’re tough? You think you’ve got all the answers? You go inside for a week, and with that pretty face of yours the cons will be on you like dogs on fresh meat. You’d be willing to deal then, pal. Believe me, you’d be willing to deal.”

That shut him up, and Rachel had the added satisfaction of seeing his angry flush die to a sickly pallor. She gestured when a cab swung to the curb. “Your choice, tough guy,” she said, and turned to Zack. “I’ve got work to do. I should be able to clear things up by around seven, then I’ll be by to see how things are going.”

“I’ll keep dinner warm,” he said with a smirk, then caught her hand before she could walk away. “Thanks. I mean it.” She would have shrugged it off. His hand was hard as rock, calluses over calluses. He grinned. “You’re all right, Counselor. For a broad.” He climbed into the cab behind his brother, sent her a quick salute as they pulled away. “She’s right about you being a jerk, Nick,” Zack said easily. “But you sure as hell picked a lawyer with first-class legs.”

Nick said nothing, but he did sneak a look out the rear window. He’d noticed Rachel’s legs himself.

When they arrived at Nick’s room ten minutes later, Zack had to swallow another bout of temper. It wouldn’t do any good to yell at the kid every five minutes. But why in the hell had he picked such a neighborhood?

Hoods loitering on street corners. Drug deals negotiated out in broad daylight. Hookers already slicked up and stalking their prey. He could smell the stench of overripe garbage and unwashed humanity. His feet crunched on broken glass as they crossed the heaving sidewalk and entered the scarred and graffiti-laden brick building.

The smells were worse here, trapped inside, where even the fitful September breeze couldn’t reach. Zack maintained his silence as they climbed up three floors, ignoring the shouted arguments behind closed doors and the occasional crash and weeping.

Nick unlocked the door and stepped into a single room furnished with a sagging iron bed, a broken dresser and a rickety wooden chair braced with a torn phone book. A few heavy-metal posters had been tacked to the stained walls in a pitiful attempt to give the room some personality. Helpless against the rage that geysered inside him, Zack let loose with a string of curses that turned the stale air blue.

“And what the hell have you been doing with the money I sent home every month when I was at sea? With the salary you were supposed to be earning from the delivery job? You’re living in garbage, Nick. What’s worse, you chose to live in it.”

Not for a second would Nick have admitted that most of his money had gone into the Cobra treasury. Nor would he have admitted the shame he felt at having Zack see how he lived. “It’s none of your damn business,” he shot back. “This is my place, just like it’s my life. You were never around, were you? Just because you got tired of cruising around on some stupid destroyer doesn’t give you the right to come back here and take over.”

“I’ve been back two years,” Zack pointed out wearily. “And I spent a year of that watching the old man die. You didn’t bother to come around much, did you?”

Nick felt a fresh wash of shame, and a deep, desperate sorrow that he was certain Zack could never understand. “He wasn’t my old man.”

Zack’s head jerked up. Nick’s hands fisted. Violent temper snapped and sizzled in the room. The slightest move would have sparked it into flame. Slowly, effortfully, Zack forced his body to relax.

“I’m not going to waste my time telling you he did the best he could.”

“How the hell do you know?” Nick tossed back. “You weren’t here. You got out your way, bro. I got out mine.”

“Which brings us full circle. Pack up what you want, and let’s go.”

“This is my place—” Zack moved so quickly that the snarl caught in Nick’s throat. He was up against the wall, Zack’s big hands holding him in place while his thin body quivered with rage. Zack’s face was so close to his, all Nick could see were those dark, dangerous eyes.

“For the next two months, like it or not, your place is with me. Now cut the crap and get some clothes together. Your free ride’s over.” He released Nick, knowing he had the strength and skill to snap his defiant young brother in half. “You got ten minutes, kid. You’re working tonight.”

By seven, Rachel was indulging a fantasy about a steamy bubble bath, a glass of crisp white wine and an hour with a good book. It helped ease the discomfort of the crowded subway car. She braced her feet against the swaying, kept her gaze focused on the middle distance. There were a few rough-looking characters scattered through the car whom she’d assessed and decided to ignore. A wino was snoring in the seat behind her, his face hidden under a newspaper.

At her stop, she bulled her way out, then started up the steps into the wet, windy evening. Hunched in her jacket, she fought with her umbrella, then slogged the two blocks to Lower the Boom.

The beveled glass door was heavy. She tugged it open and stepped out of the chill into the warmth, sounds and scents of an established neighborhood bar. It wasn’t the dive she’d been expecting, but a wide wood-paneled room with a glossy mahogany bar trimmed in brass. The stools were burgundy leather, and every one was occupied. Neat tables were set around the room to accommodate more customers. There were the scents of whiskey and beer, cigarette smoke and grilled onions. A jukebox played the blues over the hum of conversation.

She spotted two waitresses winding their way through the patrons. No fishnet stockings and cleavage, Rachel mused. Both women were dressed in white slacks with modified sailor tops. There was a great deal of laughter, and she caught snatches of an argument as to whether the Mets still had a chance to make the play-offs.

Zack was in the center of the circular bar, drawing a beer for a customer. He’d exchanged his sweatshirt for a cable-knit turtleneck in navy blue. Oh, yes, she could see him on the deck of a ship, Rachel realized. Braced against the rolling, face to the wind. The bar’s nautical theme, with its ship’s bells and anchors, suited him.

She conjured up an image of him in uniform, found it entirely too attractive, and blinked it away.

She wasn’t the fanciful type, she reminded herself. She was certainly no romantic. Above all, she was not the kind of woman who walked into a bar and found herself attracted to some land-locked sailor with shaggy hair, big shoulders and rough hands.

The only reason she was here was to uphold the court’s ruling. However distasteful it might be to be hooked up with Zackary Muldoon for two months, she would do her duty.

But where was Nick?

“Would you like a table, miss?”

Rachel glanced around at a diminutive blonde hefting a large tray laden with sandwiches and beer. “No, thanks. I’ll just go up to the bar. Is this place always crowded?”

The waitress’s gray eyes brightened as she looked around the room. “Is it crowded? I didn’t notice.” With a laugh, she moved off while Rachel walked to the bar. She eased her way between two occupied stools, rested a foot on the brass rail and waited to catch Zack’s eye.

“Well, darling…” The man on her left had a plump, pleasant face. He shifted on his stool to get a better look. “Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“No.” Since he looked old enough to be her father, Rachel granted him a small smile. “You haven’t.”

“Pretty young girl like you shouldn’t be here all alone.” He leaned back—his stool creaking dangerously—and slapped the man on her other side on the shoulder. “Hey, Harry, we ought to buy this lady a drink.”

Harry, who continued to sip his beer and work a crossword puzzle in the dim light, merely nodded. “Sure thing, Pete. Set it up. I need a five-letter word for the possibility of danger or pain.”