by Cynthia Eden
“Didn’t think you’d enjoy getting a fist to the face.” A shrug from Chloe as her gaze slowly rose. “Trying to leave on a high note, as it were.”
“What do you have nightmares about?”
Her long lashes flickered. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say…tell me yours, and I will tell you mine?”
“Chloe…” He didn’t talk about his nightmares. Sure, he’d gone to see a shrink after the attack and killing. But he’d gotten nothing from good old Gordo.
Nothing good. Only more bad. But, no, he didn’t want to think about that part. About how Gordo thought he was some kind of ticking time bomb. When you’re pushed too hard, your psyche will break. You will break.
“I think we may be more alike than you initially realized, Joel. We both like to keep things inside.” She returned to the bed. Stared down at him. “It’s late. We should both get some sleep.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“You don’t have to—”
He climbed out of the bed. She backed up. He stood toe-to-toe with her. “If you’re not staying in my bed, the least I can do is walk you home.”
“I live on the same property with you. It’s less than a three-minute walk.”
“Humor me.”
“Because you’re being…a gentleman? Seeing the lady home?”
“You actually think I’m a gentleman?” His words mocked her.
“I think you’re something quite extraordinary.”
“What?”
She looked away. “Your jeans are wet.”
“I’ll wear sweats.” He grabbed a pair. Didn’t bother with a shirt. Odd, because he used to stay covered up almost fanatically. Not wanting anyone to see the scars and stare at him. Not wanting people to ask what happened. Not wanting pity or horror but—
Chloe didn’t care about the scars.
So why the hell should he? And if other people didn’t like them…screw off. Those other people and their reactions didn’t matter. Not like they were Chloe. She mattered. She—
Whoa. Down boy. Slow your roll. It was one bout of crazy-good sex. Settle. Down.
She hurried out of his home. Her steps were silent over the stone pathway. He trailed her, but wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. Let’s do that again? Over and over until neither of us can move? Did that sound desperate? Or demanding?
Both?
The night was quiet. Still. Hot.
His gaze flickered toward the pool. A smile tugged at his lips when he thought of her pushing him in. Her attack had actually been pretty good. No, better than good. It had been… “Fuck me.”
“Again? Right here?” She spun toward him. “We’re a little close to the house, and Marie is quite the night owl so—”
“You’ve had training.”
“Can you be more specific? Are you talking about sexual training? Because I did once learn the art of the strip tease but it was for a case that I was working.”
He filed that fun tidbit away in his brain under the section for Will Definitely Pull Up Later, and focused—tried to focus—on the matter at hand. “You said you hired me for protection. But you know self-defense moves.”
“I think it is important for every woman to know some basic self-defense. The world we live in is very dangerous.”
He eliminated the distance between them. Seemed to always be doing that. Because I like being close to her too much. “You know more than basic moves.”
She didn’t deny those words. She also didn’t confirm them.
“If you can handle yourself, why do you need a bodyguard?”
“Extra assistance is always valuable. And I need you for more than just bodyguard work. Your medical knowledge has proven quite valuable so far.”
“Bullshit. I get the feeling you can figure out pretty much everything on your own.” He had to be missing something.
“You have skills that I value.” Her head tilted back. Shadows surrounded them, so he couldn’t make out her expression. “After your attack, you picked up all sorts of fun talents. Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Combat Sambo, Kickboxing, the Keysi Fighting Method—”
“It worries me when you know so much about me.”
“It shouldn’t. I have no intention of ever using anything I know against you. Please believe that.”
Okay. So that statement had been odd. Yet for some reason, he did believe her. “And I won’t use anything I learn against you.”
Her lips parted. “Promise?” A whisper.
The air was tense. Her voice had broken just a little with her whisper. “Yes, baby.” His head bent and his lips brushed over hers. “I promise.”
Her fingers curled over his shoulders. She leaned into him. Met his tongue with her own in a careful, sensual caress.
Then she slowly eased back. “What do you think we should do tomorrow? Regarding the case?”
Okay, that was a one-eighty. So much for his hope that they’d be hitting the sheets again.
She was straightening her shoulders. Lifting her chin. Trying to get back to business? She should get that was an impossible task when she stood before him, clad in his shirt and not wearing underwear.
But…perhaps he’d play along. Because there had been a note of vulnerability in her voice that he hadn’t expected. Something that nagged at him.
When she turned and began walking to the main house once more, Joel fell into step beside her. “I think we’re focusing on the present too much.”
“Do you?”
“These vics are all linked by what happened in the past, aren’t they? So why aren’t we looking at that?”
He thought he caught the flash of her smile as she glanced away. Then Chloe said, “I certainly hope the special agent has contacted the old football coach who knew the vics. Surely, he’d have insight to offer.”
“Oh, yes, the coach would know his players.” He paused. “But I’m certain other people would know them, too.”
They were in front of the main house. She hesitated at the door. “Tomorrow is a Sunday. Their old high school won’t be open, but I suspect we could manage to pay a visit to someone else who might be able to shed light on the past for us.”
“You already have something lined up, don’t you?” Sure, she did.
“I might.” She faced him. “Turns out, the retired librarian from that high school lives about thirty minutes away. Maybe we could join her for a spot of tea.”
“People in England have a spot of tea. People down here have sweet tea served in pitchers, often with lots and lots of sugar added. Iced tea. Cold and delicious.”
“Then we should join her for one of those pitchers of the cold tea.”
God, she made him want to smile. He rubbed his chest. “Say…noon?”
“That’s precisely what I was thinking. Though we should plan to leave so that we can arrive at the librarian’s house at noon.”
Holy hell. She’d already scheduled the meeting. “Did you just test me? Like, you already had all of this in your head, and you just wanted to see if I could come to the same conclusion that you did?”
“If it was a test, you passed.”
Well, happy day.
She reached for the door. It opened before she could curl her fingers around the doorknob.
“Thought I heard someone,” Reese announced blandly. “I was going for a drink of water. Figured I’d better check to make sure thieves weren’t afoot.” His gaze trailed over Chloe. His eyebrows shot up. “Interesting fashion choice.”
“Thank you. I do feel quite comfortable.”
No embarrassment at all. That was his Chloe.
Wait. Back up…mine?
She offered him a faint smile. “Good night, Joel. Let’s plan to meet around eleven, shall we?”
He nodded. “See you then.”
She brushed past her brother.
Reese stared at him. He didn’t look very happy.
Too bad. For the first time in a very long while, Joel felt happy. Becaus
e of her.
Reese waited a little, probably long enough for Chloe to head upstairs, then he stepped forward, coming outside fully. He shut the door behind him. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at my sister.”
Ah, the faint British accent was in full effect. “Exactly how am I looking at her?”
“You know how you’re looking at her,” he snapped back.
Joel nodded. “She’s an adult. I’m an adult. Don’t really see how this is your business.”
“She is my sister.”
“Is she?” Now he was truly curious. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a family resemblance between you. And you know what?” He leaned conspiratorially close to Reese. “When you drink enough, you lose your inhibitions…and your accent.”
Reese swallowed. “Chloe is my family. I value her more than I value anyone else in this world.”
The guy sounded one hundred percent sincere. Interesting.
“I would do anything to protect her. You need to understand that from the get-go. She may think you’re not dangerous, but she’s been wrong before.” A rough laugh rumbled from Reese. “Sure, Chloe hates to admit when she’s wrong. But it happens. I had to pick up the pieces last time. I had to see her pain. I won’t let her go through that again.”
“I’m very curious now.” He was. “A few days ago, you were the one offering me a job. Now—and correct me if I’m wrong here—you’re the one threatening me? What do you want, for me to leave Chloe? Because that’s—” Joel stopped before he said…Not ever going to happen.
Whoa. Way whoa. They’d had sex one time. Only one. They’d known each other for a few days. This was hardly some permanent relationship.
“Of course, I don’t want you to leave her.” Reese squinted at him. “Why the hell would you think that?”
His temples were starting to throb. “Because you’re warning me away from her?”
“I’m telling you not to hurt her, jackass! I happen to love that woman. I don’t love many things in this world, but I love her. She saved me. So if she’s wrong about you, if you turn out to be some crazed, out-of-your-head, psycho killer, then I will end you. Do you understand me?”
“I think you are being exceptionally clear.” Truly. Clear and loud. “And you know what? If I do turn out to be some crazed, out-of-my-head, psycho killer…you need to come for me.”
“What?”
“Stop me. Come and—” Shit. His breath heaved out.
“You okay, man?” Reese asked. “You just…your face just went all weird.”
“Come and get me,” Joel rasped.
“Yes, damn straight I will. Didn’t you hear what I said to you like thirty seconds ago?”
“No, that’s what the killer we’re after—the perp we’re hunting—he left that message for Chloe.”
Reese gaped. “When? Where? What the hell are you even talking about?”
“The Bad Deeds killer.” His hands were clenching and releasing. “He told the witness who saw him…he told her to tell Hastings… ‘Come and get me.’”
Reese rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like that. Chloe didn’t mention that part to me.”
“I thought he was taunting her. Like some kind of challenge. But maybe it’s more.” He turned away. Shuffled back toward the guest house.
“More like what, Joel? Don’t leave me hanging!”
“More like…” He looked over his shoulder. “He’s a crazed, out-of-his-head, psycho killer who can’t stop himself, and he needs her to do it.”
Reese flinched. “Do not leave her.” A rough warning.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were hired to protect her. No matter what happens—personally—between the two of you, swear to me that you’ll keep her safe.”
That was easy enough. “I swear, I will keep her safe.”
Reese’s head moved in a jerky nod. He turned and fumbled with the door handle.
Joel felt rooted to the spot. “You’re not her biological brother, are you?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m her brother, and I would do anything for her.” He had the door open.
“And I’m not the enemy. If I’m supposed to protect her from every threat out there, don’t you think I shouldn’t be wasting time wandering around in the dark? Don’t you think you all need to trust me with the secrets you carry?”
Reese hadn’t stormed inside. He was lingering. Hesitating. So Joel pushed his point. “I can protect her better when I know everything. If you really want her safe, if you really love her—”
“Morgan Fletcher.”
“Who in the hell is that?”
“The man she almost married. Make sure he never, ever comes close to her again.” Reese rushed inside. Shut the door. A little too hard.
For a moment, Joel didn’t move at all.
The man she almost married. Tension knotted his muscles. His temples throbbed a little harder. Chloe had nearly married someone?
He stalked back to his place. Threw open the door. Started to head back to the bedroom. Stopped.
His laptop was still on the desk. It would take like…two minutes to do a quick search on Morgan Fletcher. He could spare two minutes.
He yanked open the laptop. His fingers flew over the keypad.
So, yes, this is what jealousy feels like. A hot, angry knot in his stomach.
There were probably lots of Morgan Fletchers in the world. Tons of them. What had he been thinking? It would probably take longer than two minutes to find Chloe’s Morgan.
Not her Morgan.
But…
It didn’t take long. Not long at all. Less than two minutes, in fact. Because the first result that popped up in his search…
Criminal defense lawyer Morgan Fletcher is presumed dead after his yacht capsized off the Boston coast.
Joel swallowed. Read a few more articles. Even managed to find…
Morgan Fletcher had been scheduled to sail with his fiancée, Chloe Hastings, but due to a family emergency, she was unable to venture out with him. Authorities believe an electrical malfunction caused the yacht to…
More articles and then…
After an exhaustive five-day search, the Coast Guard suspended the search for Morgan Fletcher. The family is asking for privacy at this time as…
There was a picture with that story. A photo of a handsome man with sun-streaked, blond hair. Dark eyes. Wide, charming smile. He had his arms around a dark-haired woman. She was staring up at him ever so solemnly even as he looked at the camera, so only her profile was available. But it was a profile that Joel would have recognized anywhere.
Chloe.
Chapter Nineteen
“You seem oddly quiet today.” Chloe climbed off the motorcycle and toyed with the helmet. “Is something wrong?”
Joel took the helmet from her. Rolled back his shoulders and stood at her side. “Hard to talk when we’re driving so fast.”
“Yes, certainly, but…” Something was off. She could see the tension in the tightness of his jaw. “What happened?”
Joel glanced toward the tidy, brick house that waited behind two oak trees. The giant trees were heavy with swaying Spanish moss. “Nothing happened. What was the librarian’s name again?”
“Judith Key.”
He advanced for the house.
She grabbed his arm. “If you regret what happened between us last night, then it will not happen again.” She spoke quickly, wanting to get this out fast. “You needn’t worry about—”
He spun toward her.
Oh.
That wasn’t regret in his stare. She hadn’t been able to see his eyes during their tense ride. But now that she was staring straight at him, she could plainly see the heat staring back at her.
“It will definitely happen again,” Joel assured her.
“That’s good to know.” Chloe licked her lower lip. “So…what’s the problem today?”
“There is no problem.”
Frustration surged through her. “When you hold back, it makes things harder between us.” She let him go. Strode determinedly for the house.
The sound of his laughter stopped her. “You are not serious.”
She did a quick about-face. “I absolutely am.”
“You’re the queen of holding back.”
Her spine snapped straight. “That is just insulting.”
“You know about all the broken pieces that I have. You know what happened to me, how I spiraled, hell, you know that my girlfriend couldn’t handle the sight of me…somehow, you know it all, don’t you?”
Yes. “Does it matter?”
“Morgan Fletcher.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp dramatically. Didn’t move at all.
And that seemed to frustrate him because his lips thinned. His nostrils flared.
Then he was the one closing in and reaching out to her. Except his hold wasn’t rough. Despite the heat blazing in his eyes, his touch was careful. Gentle.
Confused, she frowned at him.
“You can let me in,” he told her as his hand slid down to circle her wrist. “You can do that. I understand, okay? You lost someone close to you. It hurt. You were going to marry him, and now you’ve put up these walls because you are afraid of being hurt again.”
She looked down at his hand. He was rubbing his thumb along her pulse. “I’m confused. Your eyes look angry, but your touch is…comforting?”
“Yes,” he gritted out.
“Why are you comforting me?”
“Because you lost someone you loved.”
“I see. And the anger? Why are you so angry?”
His jaw hardened. “I think I’m jealous.”
“Excuse me?”
“Forget it.”
She wouldn’t. She didn’t forget anything. “You don’t need to comfort me, but it is a kind gesture.”
His thumb stopped sliding over her wrist. “Because…you didn’t love him?”
She pulled away. Turned away. “Because I didn’t lose him. Morgan isn’t dead.” Her gaze was on the front of the house. She took another step toward it. Narrowed her eyes. “Oh, dear.”
“What the hell do you mean, he’s not dead?”
“The door is ajar.”