S.O.S. Perk (S.O.S. #6)

CHAPTER ONE

“What the hell was I thinking?” agent Sloane Vessers mumbled under her breath, wondering for the umpteenth time why she’d come to Billboard and O’Shea’s clearing-in-the-woods wedding. Looking around, all she could see were blue skies, trees, a bunch of close friends, and a whole lot of freaking happiness. None of which were on her dance card.

What exactly were her standards in life? Pragmatism, dedication to her indoor job, and an ability to operate solo, regardless of all the other agents in the Bureau with whom she had to regularly interact.

But now, somehow, without much trouble at all, the operatives at SOS had managed to wiggle their way past her normal firewalls and make her feel…welcome. Well, one man in particular had stood out, if Sloane were being honest.

Yup. Perk was the real reason she’d come today. Exactly what was his game where she was concerned? Sloane had yet to figure him out. But she would, given time.

“…I now pronounce youze man and wife. Youze may kiss the bride, Mistah Seingold.”

Hah. Mizzay was the other conundrum in the mix. The spunky woman was continually being damned kind to Sloane. Without any reason, as far as Sloane could see. And as for who the woman really was…?

The pistol of a tiny female somehow had deep ties to all Sloane’s higher ups. Not that any of them were giving details of how or why that was a thing. But it continued to be odd. Whatever Mizzay wanted from the Bureau, Mizzay got, which intrigued Sloane, no end.

She would find out exactly who Mizzay was, but right now the woman of many hats was wrapping up her duties as wedding officiant, and once things were considered finished here, Mizzay would direct the entire party to trek back through the woods to Anna Jakes’ house for food, drink, and comradery.

Right. Comradery .

Normally, Sloane would skip that part of things. Hell . Who was she kidding? She was going to attempt it, today. Would that work out for her? Sloane gave an internal snort. Her go-to MO was to never attend any weddings, yet here she was. Damn that Henry Perkins for getting under her skin and insisting, no, wheedling her into being present. Sloane wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but she was ready to start shedding her breached epidermis to make sure the insidious Perk-infection didn’t spread to other parts of her body.

Speaking of Perk…

Every time she glanced his way—two rows ahead and on the opposite side of the grassy aisle—he was peering back at her; a shit-eating grin on his too cute, gorgeously youthful face. She pretended to ignore him, but Sloane could tell he wasn’t buying it.

Double-damn him for being both smart and pretty.

Turning her attention back to the front of the gathering, Sloane barely refrained from rolling her eyes behind her regulation aviator sunglasses as she tuned in to Billboard and O’Shea. If a kiss could go on forever and ever, Billboard was clearly pushing the envelope to make that happen with his new wife.

Sloane glanced at her watch.

She’d already been here for more than an hour, which meant… Screw it. She wasn’t going to sta

It was past time to make a surreptitious exit.

While everyone “awwwed” at the endless lip lock, Sloane slowly inched toward the far end of the make-shift row where she stood. Thinking she had a chance to escape, she nearly jumped out of her dress shoes when the man she’d been fixated on magically appeared at her elbow, dashing those hopes.

“Wasn’t that awesome?” he chortled, with the same enthusiasm she’d attribute to a kid who’d just unearthed a video game easter egg.

“Great,” she agreed with a grunt.

“And the food back at the house is going to be epic, too,” he continued, actually smacking his lips.

Smack …? Who did that?

He took her arm and began steering her in the opposite direction from where she wanted to go.

She shook him off.

“I’m not headed back to the house,” she told Perk definitively. “I have things to take care of. At home. In my office.”

“On a Sunday?” he prodded impishly, sending a gentle nudge to her ribs. “Nah. I think you’re just scared you might enjoy yourself if you join the party.”

Was she afraid of having a good time? Absolutely not. Just the opposite in fact.

Sloane knew how things would go. She’d be forced into making small talk for a few minutes before she reverted to being her normal, brooding self, which would make her even more miserable. Whenever she was forced to attend a social gathering—which luckily wasn’t often—she always ended up clutching some horrid cup of punch while standing with her back against the most convenient wall.

Socializing wasn’t her specialty, small talk made her anxious, and happiness like that which currently flowed between Billboard and O’Shea—Sloane knew from experience—was fleeting. So why should she expend any energy in that direction by becoming drywall-support? It was a waste of her time, and her internal ticking clock—the one that kept her on track to make the most of every one of her waking hours—was already sounding an alarm.

“Well?” Perk actually winked at her. And just like that, the gears in her timepiece ground to a halt.

Goddammit. Nobody, in a very long time, had tried to make nice with the dour Agent Vessers persona she purposely projected, and Henry Perkins was throwing her off her game. She should shut down the dimply, man-child immediately, but…

Her hesitation was her undoing. Before she could regroup, Perk slid his hand southward and captured her fingers, insistently tugging her in the direction of the crowd.

Fuckity-fuck-fuck. But…

His palm actually felt good, pressed against hers. She might even admit there was a little warmth seeping up her arm?

Shit . She was going to do this, wasn’t she?

“I’ll stay for one hour,” she told him definitively. “Then I’m done.”

He simply grinned and kept walking, actually daring to tuck her fingers into the crook of his arm while keeping his free hand on hers.

Seriously ?

“You know this is a dangerous way to hold someone,” Sloane apprised him grumpily. “If I wanted to flip you, all it would take is a single move and you’d be on your back.”

His blue eyes turned down to hers, but they didn’t lose a trace of their good humor. “You sound pretty sure of yourself, Agent Vessers. But I’ll warn you, even if you could manage to throw me to the ground when I have six inches and seventy pounds on you, the eventuality of being in that position doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

He actually winked.

“I’d place a wager on that action.” Prez’s teasing voice came from behind them.

Oh, good. Now Perk’s teammates were engaging.

“For me or against me?” Perk asked cheerfully.

Did the man never lose his aplomb?

“ For you, little buddy.”

Right. Little buddy. Because to Prez, who was like, six-foot-a-hundred, everyone appeared small.

Prez continued. “I’ve never seen Agent Vessers working the mats, of course, but I know you, Perk, and you’re pretty darned slick.”

Sloane held her tongue. There was no need to posture or engage. This was only banter, and it was all moot anyway, because this kumbaya-get-together was a one-and-done for her.

“Well, if you want my opinion,” another voice piped up, “my money’s on FBI.”

Great. Now Brent Devons—or Peaches as the man had been known before he left the Bureau—was chiming in. They’d never worked in the same office, but his reputation as a sharp operator preceded him.

Sloane sighed, knowing that some form of acknowledgement was expected of her as the conversation paused.

“Thanks. I think,” Sloane clipped. Even though she wasn’t normally involved in banter, it didn’t mean she hadn’t studied and understood how it worked. She just wasn’t in the mood to give it her best.

“Uh, guys? Let’s save the rough stuff for another time, okay?” Del, the SOS boss and voice of reason for his team, entered the conversation, coming to her rescue. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Perk and Agent Vessers do some sparring, but this is Billboard and O’Shea’s wedding day. So, no bloodshed allowed.”

“No problem, boss,” Perkins responded happily. “I wouldn’t want to mess up Agent Vessers’ nice outfit, anyway.”

Sloane’s back went up. She chambered a growl, ready to fire, only to have the charge jam in the barrel when she realized Perk wasn’t blowing smoke. He was actually looking at her dark suit with appreciation in his eyes.

What the fuck?

Sure, this wasn’t her black and white, going-to-work, no-frills attire, but still, there was nothing feminine about the boxy jacket and slacks she’d purchased for the occasion. The get-up was just a nice shade of brown that the lady in the department store said matched her eyes. But… Maybe it was the white dress shirt she wore underneath today? It was more indicative of her civilian wardrobe; the one she espoused when she wasn’t on the job or around people who expected to see her in her agent capacity. This shirt did have some actual pleats that molded the material to her body, unlike the loose, starched version she wore while working. It could be that’s what Perk was referring to.

Sloane swallowed. She didn’t like the tiny thrill she felt that Perk might have noticed her little nod to fashion.

Better turn the conversation back to sparring. That, she could deal with.

“You want a match, Perkins?” she postured. “Just name the time and place. I’ll be happy to see who comes out on top.” There. That sounded…

Fuck . Like a proposition.

Sure enough, everyone around them who’d been following the conversation, snickered.

“Shit. Bunch of adolescent-brained cave-people,” Sloane muttered. Not that she wasn’t used to sexual innuendo. Working in a male-dominated industry, she’d heard it all. But this time, oddly, she didn’t feel like she was on the outside looking in. Something about this interaction felt…inclusive.

“Don’t worry, Agent Vessers. I know what you meant.” Perk didn’t have to, but he stepped in and put an end to the smirking with a not-so-subtle shake of his head. Sloane was grateful, even if it hadn’t been mean-spirited teasing.

Maybe she’d give Perk something in return.

“Uh, since we’re doing a civilian thing today, perhaps you should call me by my given name,” she offered. “All of you,” she added expansively.

What the…? How had that come out of her mouth?

Perkins looked a bit dazed, but quickly recovered and doubled down by squeezing her hand; as if she couldn’t tell how pleased he was by the enormous smile that broke out like sunshine across his face.

“I’d like that a lot,” he told her.

She sighed. “It’s Sloane,” she managed, but that was all she’d give her…acquaintances. There was no way she’d trust them with the nickname she’d been given by her department members. It was…hateful. Brent, she figured, already knew about it, but thankfully he hadn’t ratted her out. Yet.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Sloane.” Brigid, Sarge’s wife and a detective with the Boston Police, greeted her from their other side. “Not that we haven’t known you for a while, but this is the first time we’ve hung out off the job. Don’t worry that we’ll take advantage, though. Nobody will call you by your first name during any joint ops in the future.”

It hadn’t even been on Sloane’s radar that they would. The group could be goofy and irreverent at times, but she’d never met a more dedicated bunch when it came to their search and rescue missions. Their professionalism on the job was exemplary, and had earned them their on-call reputation with the Bureau.

And speaking of working together, Sloane needed to find a small, private moment to speak with Del. She’d been handed some very interesting and sensitive intel just this morning; something his team might be willing to consider for a joint mission. She made a mental note to make it happen.

Coming out of the woods at Anna Jakes’ house almost seemed surreal. The last time Sloane was here they’d been investigating Anna’s ex-husband and his connection to large sums of money that had been embezzled from the town. There’d been no joy in the home at that time, with the specter of danger hanging over the woman and her son, but the atmosphere was completely different now. Anna and Ethan were both all smiles.

Entering the small residential cul-de-sac with Perk still in attendance, Sloane had everything she could do to keep her facial muscles neutral. Someone had overly -decorated the yard and the exterior of the house in honor of the wedding; young Ethan and Mizzay’s niece Rory, if Sloane had to guess. It was so frou-frou and over the top, it looked like the inside of a brothel, but nobody seemed to mind.

“What can I get you to eat?” Perk’s voice at her ear brought her back to the moment. There were at least five different food trucks parked in the paved circle.

“I can get my own food,” she answered.

He sighed, but in an amused, tsk-tsk kind of way, not with the pissy air Sloane was used to from her colleagues when she fended for herself.

“I know you’re fully capable,” he told her patiently, “but I want to do this for you.”

“Why?” Sloane asked suspiciously.

Maybe now wasn’t the time, but with Perk being so nice to her, Sloane’s mind went back to her original misgivings. What did the guy want from her? In her experience, niceness always had strings attached.

“Why?” he repeated, his dark brows shooting up to be hidden under the longish fringe of his bangs.

Was his hair a bit too lengthy and shaggy? Yes. But it suited his youthful appearance.

“Yeah.” She crossed her arms over her chest protectively. “Why?”

“Because I like you, Sloane,” he informed her without hesitating.

She didn’t want to, but Sloane liked hearing how his voice almost caressed her name. Still, he—

Wait. What ?

“You like me?” Sloane refused to acknowledge that her voice cracked.

“Uh, huh,” he said, without missing a beat. “Why do you think I invited you today?”

“Because, uh, closure? With the Jakes case. Like putting a period at the end of the whole thing?”

Perkins shook his head. “No. I mean, yes. That too. But I actually asked you here because I want to get to know you better.”

Damn. That wouldn’t fly.

Perkins was nice. He was attractive. He seemed sincere. And the heat that had shot up her arm when he’d taken her hand earlier had been unexpected. Still, she wasn’t available, and she had to let him know that a connection between them was never going to happen.

He was watching her, expectantly. A nerve in his cheek, twitching, the only sign he was nervous.

Sloane blew a stream of air out from between stiff lips. She’d try to be gentle.

“First of all, how old are you, Perkins?” she asked, putting off the inevitable.

“Twenty-eight,” he answered without hesitation.

“And I’m thirty-four,” she told him, hoping that might quell his interest.

“So?” He shrugged. “That’s only six years. Not a deal breaker,” he challenged.

Dammit. Perk wanted to do this the hard way. She’d tried to let him down easily, but he wasn’t taking the hint. She hated to burst his bubble, but…

“Listen, Perkins. Here it is in a nutshell.” Sloane gave him her best, stern expression. “I. Don’t. Date.”