Riley Thorn and the Dead Guy Next Door

by Lucy Score

  He should definitely stop kissing her, Nick’s inner good guy whispered from the recesses of his mind. This was clearly an adrenaline thing. She might regret it in the morning. But there wasn’t enough blood left in his head to really focus on the pitfalls.

  Not when Riley Thorn was plastered against him, kissing the hell out of him. That situation demanded every iota of his attention.

  He’d been waiting for this. Hoping for this. Ready for this.

  Well, almost. Shit.

  He pulled back from her very eager, very talented mouth.

  “I don’t have a condom, Riley,” he groaned.

  Mrs. Zimmerman would be disappointed in him.

  She sank her teeth into his lower lip. “I have six in my go bag.”

  “Oh, God. You are the sexiest, most prepared woman I’ve ever met in my entire life,” he said between devouring her mouth and shoving a hand under her t-shirt.

  “Yeah, I’m awesome,” she said, her breath catching as his hand found her breast.

  The sexy little whimper that made it out of her throat had him tossing her on the ugliest bedspread he’d ever seen and ripping open her bag.

  He found the condoms as well as a pocketknife and a fire starter in the exterior pocket. The woman was a marvel. There was no way he was going to just walk away from her. Not after tonight. And not even after the bad guys were behind bars.

  He grabbed a condom, looked at her sprawled across the bed, and grabbed a second one.

  “Shirt,” he commanded.

  Eagerly, she dragged her shirt over her head and threw it at him. Her bra was red, white, and blue with silver sparkles representing what he could only assume were fireworks.

  He responded in kind, yanking his own t-shirt off over his head before diving for her.

  It felt so right to settle his weight over her, to kiss her again as his cock throbbed behind the zipper of his jeans. The friction of skin against skin was exactly what he’d been missing.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked. Hoping, praying she was.

  “Don’t you dare wuss out on me now, Santiago. I can handle the love ’em and leave ’em,” she promised.

  He stared into her brown eyes under those gorgeous heavy lids. Like molten chocolate. And suddenly he wasn’t so sure he could handle it.

  Maybe he could do the relationship thing. Hell, if Different Girl Every Weekend in College Brian could eventually transition into faithful husband, Nick could sure as hell do the boyfriend thing.

  “Talk later,” he decided. There were more urgent, pressing matters at hand. Like removing pants and kissing every inch of her body.

  “Good idea,” she said.

  He dragged his lips away from her mouth and trailed them over her neck, pausing to sink his teeth into the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck.

  She shuddered and bucked her hips against his.

  He groaned at the exquisite torture of being separated by mere layers of clothing.

  If he got any fucking harder, he was going to have to have his zipper surgically removed from his dick.

  Eyes on hers, he moved lower, to the edge of her very festive bra. She arched against him as his tongue danced just under the edge of the barrier.

  She let out a moan that had his blood pulsing harder.

  “Pants,” she breathed. “Take off your pants.”

  He wrestled his way out of his jeans, kicking them into a crumpled heap on the floor.

  “Nice thighs,” she whispered, running her hands over his legs to his dark green boxer briefs.

  “Thanks. I work out,” he said humbly.

  Her head hit the pillow, and she laughed. The lava lamp cast a warm glow over her skin. He dove for her again. They were a tangle of teeth and tongues, of whispers and soft laughter. He dipped his head to lick and taste a trail down her body, pausing to pay special attention to her breasts, her stomach, the inside of her thighs.

  By the time he was done tasting and teasing, she was trembling. She reached for him, her fingers dipping into the waistband of his underwear. But he stopped her. “Not this first time, Thorn.”

  “The second time?” she asked, looking disappointed.

  He shoved his underwear down, freeing himself to roll the condom down his shaft. “Maybe the third time.” He grinned.

  “God, I love your stupid dimples,” she said with a laugh.

  “Anything else about me that you love?” he asked as he settled himself between her thighs.

  “I’d really like to find out right now,” she said, looking down at where their bodies were almost joined.

  He gave a small, testing thrust, and her head fell back onto the pillow. The second she opened for him, he forgot all about going slow and sweet. He forgot about murder and danger and dogs and old ladies. He drove into her with one swift stroke.

  “Nick!” Riley squirmed beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

  How long had he been waiting for this moment? It felt like all his life.

  He lost himself to the rhythm. To the feel of her surrounding him. To the sound of her breath in his ear as she gasped and moaned. This was what he’d been missing. This was what he didn’t know he wanted.

  The headboard hit the wall hard and rattled. Once. Twice. He adjusted them, dragging her body crossways on the mattress. The next thrust was quieter if he didn’t count her sharp intake of breath.

  This was what he was never letting go of.

  Rolling, he landed on his back and anchored her above him. “Ride, Thorn.”

  His grip on her hips was harder than he intended. But he needed to hang on for dear life as she moved above him, over him, around him.

  Their gazes locked, their breath synched, and their bodies began to move as one.

  “Thorn?” It came out through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah?” she breathed.

  “Are you with me?” He squeezed her hips harder.

  “I’m with you.”

  “Good. Then hang on.” He rolled them again, pinning her to the mattress and letting her body guide his rhythm.

  “Nick. Nick. Nick,” Riley chanted.

  It was music to his fucking ears. She was getting wetter and tighter. Her nails were digging deeper.

  “Now,” he muttered. “Now.”

  And for once, she didn’t argue. They came together in a synchronized release that had his eyes rolling back in his head and his muscles going rigid then limp like a marathoner’s legs just before the finish line.

  He rode it out, carried her with him, and when it was over, he collapsed with a heroic groan.

  For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breath coming in short gasps.

  “Good for you, kids,” Blossom called through the wall.

  “Mom!” Riley called back, embarrassed. “Stop listening!”

  “Don’t worry! Your father has his headphones in. He’s listening to a sleep story,” Blossom bellowed.

  “What the hell’s all the racket?” Roger yelled. “Is Daisy okay?”

  “Daisy is fine! Everyone is fine. Go to sleep!” Riley shouted back. She buried her flaming face in the crook of Nick’s neck. “I’m too satisfied to be humiliated,” she confessed.

  “That oughta put an end to all the ‘Nick’s bad in bed’ rumors,” Nick said with satisfaction.

  53

  4:30 a.m., Sunday, July 5

  Yep. He was still there.

  And he was still naked.

  Nick Santiago was spooning her sans clothing. The much-hyped comforter was in a crumpled pile on the floor. Finally, a vision worth having.

  She stifled a yawn and wiggled closer to the man who’d just rocked her world so hard and long that she’d gone psychically blind and deaf and lost the ability to form coherent words.

  If sex with Nick was listed on Yelp, her review would include glowing words like “orgasmic,” “expert-level,” “very large penis,” and “totally satisfied.”

  No matter what happened in the morning,
this had been the best bad decision she’d ever made.

  One second, she was curled up in the protective cocoon of his arms, and the next she was standing in broad daylight.

  She dropped into the vision just like she was dropping into a dream. But this was no dream.

  Nick was standing in front of her, looking pissed off as hell.

  “Drop the gun!” he said, pointing his own shiny pistol at someone. His eyes were steely.

  Her Nick. Always the hero.

  But time was moving slow. Or speeding up. And the sound of water was muffling everything. She felt cold and hot at the same time.

  There was the sound of a gunshot, and Riley watched in horror as a bullet tore its way through the air, closing in on Nick.

  “Noooo!” Vision Riley shouted.

  But the bullet was sinking into his flesh. And he was falling backward into the water. His eyes closed in slow motion, and the water turned red around him.

  She launched herself out of bed, hands clutching her chest. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was a vision. A vision of the future.

  She felt sick. Her mother’s cautionary tarot reading came back to her.

  “No. No. No,” she whispered.

  She needed to fix this. To stop this. Nick was not going to die if she had anything to say about it. Whatever plan he’d concocted was going to get him killed. Today.

  Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. It was Jasmine. She snatched up her phone and sat on the bed. Her momentarily relief shifted to anxiety. Middle of the night calls were never good news.

  “Jas? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Nick stirred beside her.

  “Riley Thorn, you’re a hard woman to find.” The man’s voice was smooth, amused, and laced with poison.

  “Who is this?”

  “Just your friendly city mayor calling to see if I can count on your vote in the next election.”

  Mayor Nolan Flemming was calling her from her best friend’s phone.

  “What have you done with Jasmine, Flemming?”

  Nick’s hand clamped on her thigh. She switched the phone to speaker with shaking hands.

  The mayor’s laugh was a cruel chuckle. “Nothing. Yet.”

  The “yet” hung in the air.

  “Where is she?” she demanded.

  Nick sat all the way up and turned on the bedside lamp.

  “I’m afraid your friend didn’t get your text warnings soon enough,” he said smugly. “Jasmine and I are enjoying a little private time together. We’d love it if you could join us.”

  How anyone in their right mind could find this sleazebag handsome was beyond her.

  “What do you want?” Riley asked.

  “You have something I want. I have something—or someone—you want. I’d like to orchestrate a trade.”

  She looked at Nick. He nodded.

  “You want me to trade you the blackmail evidence I found at Nature Girls for Jasmine?”

  “Such a smart girl,” he crooned.

  “I want to talk to her,” she said.

  “Of course you do. Jasmine, darling, say hello to our friend.”

  “Riley, don’t fall for this piece of shit’s games!” Jasmine shouted in the background. “He’s not actually handsome up close. He’s a kidnapper! And he smells like piña coladas!”

  Definitely a turnoff.

  “I told you it was the spray tan,” Nolan yelled back.

  Good God, just how many unhinged, spray-tanned weirdos were lurking out there?

  “Jas, are you okay?” Riley asked, tears filling her eyes.

  “Besides the fact this asshole won’t let me take off my eye makeup, I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?” she demanded.

  Nolan tut-tutted into the phone, and Jasmine went eerily silent. “I don’t think that’s of consequence right now.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Riley asked, pulling her knees up against her chest.

  Nick’s big, warm hand settled on her back. But instead of comforting her, it reminded her that in mere hours that hand would be cold and lifeless. She was going to barf.

  “I’d like you to meet me at the back entrance to the State Museum at three p.m. today.”

  “Three p.m.? Oh, come on!” Jasmine shouted in the background. “You honestly can’t expect me to wear day-old fake lashes and eyeliner that long.”

  Nick’s fingers squeezed Riley’s shoulder.

  “Three p.m. at the State Museum?” she repeated.

  “Come alone and bring what you stole from me.”

  “What guarantee do I have that you’ll let us go?” she whispered.

  “If you want a guarantee, buy an air fryer.” The demented mayor laughed at his own joke.

  “Dude, that wasn’t even close to being funny,” Jasmine called.

  “Shut up,” Nolan told her. “I’m a businessman at heart, Ms. Thorn. If you prove your usefulness to me, your loyalty to me, I think we can reach an amicable agreement.”

  Yeah, right.

  “I don’t think we need to share this information with your investigator boyfriend, and I know for a fact the police are much more interested in bringing you in for blowing up a department vehicle and endangering officers’ lives. I’m personal friends with a few of Harrisburg’s finest. So let’s keep it just you and me and Jasmine.”

  “What about Duncan?” she asked.

  “He might stop by to say hi, but I’ll keep him on his leash.”

  Riley doubted that very much.

  “Three p.m.,” he said. “Come alone and bring what’s mine.”

  He disconnected, leaving Riley with a racing heart and staring at the phone in her hand.

  “Nick,” she whispered.

  “I know, baby. But I’ve got this. Jasmine is going to be fine,” he promised. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  He got out of bed.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “Riley, I’ve got this,” he said with that dimpled grin that made her vagina do a cartwheel. “I promise you, I’ve got this under control. I’ll go wake up Bri and Josie. We’re going to get Jasmine back, and I’m going to get to kick this idiot in the nuts before he heads downtown in cuffs.”

  “Do you have an actual plan?”

  “My plans have plans,” he said, all cocky hero. “Trust me.”

  She did trust him. But he didn’t know all the information.

  “About that tarot reading my mom did—” she began.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Thorn,” he assured her with confidence she felt was not entirely called for.

  She knew it then. Even if she told him that he was going to get shot and die in the next twelve hours, he’d still show up. He’d still try to save the day. He’d still die.

  Yep. She was definitely going to barf.

  “Let me wake up Bri and Jos and make a few calls. I swear to you on my life that I will fix this, Thorn.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. So she settled for nodding.

  He pulled on his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, and grabbed a shirt off the floor, not realizing it was hers until he couldn’t get it over his nipples. “Fuck it,” he said, taking it off. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”

  She nodded again. He leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “I know you’re worried, but I swear to you this all ends in just a few hours.”

  That’s exactly what she was worried about.

  He kissed her one more time and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He was already dialing his phone when he opened the bedroom door.

  “We’ve got a problem, and this time it’s not your fancy shoes and your stupid face,” he said into the phone.

  The guy sure knew how to ask for a favor.

  Scrambling out of bed after he closed the door, she found his t-shirt halfway under the bed. It was the one from her vision. She grabbed a sports bra and dragged Nick’s shirt on over it. She nodd
ed at the mirror.

  He couldn’t get shot in this shirt if she was the one wearing it, she reasoned.

  And he couldn’t get shot if she rescued Jasmine first.

  She found her shorts then unpacked her running shoes and socks from the bag. Tucking the mini can of pepper spray into her waistband, she stuffed a $20 bill into her sock and grabbed her spare phone charger.

  Riley looked back at the rumpled bed and remembered with aching clarity what had transpired there only hours before.

  Nick was going to be so pissed.

  But at least he’d be alive, and Jasmine would be safe. She hoped he’d forgive her eventually.

  Riley dug through the nightstand until she found a tablet of recycled paper then quickly scrawled a note that was probably just going to piss him off even more.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Hitting dial on her phone, she held her breath.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” she said.

  54

  6:50 a.m., Sunday, July 5

  City Island on a Sunday morning was eerily quiet. She ignored the almost empty lot and cruised up over the steep hill toward the stadium. Great. It looked like sleepy early morning volunteers were setting up for a 5k. The finish line arch was half-way inflated. Well, at least there would be witnesses to her spectacular and untimely death.

  Hmm. Witnesses. That gave her an idea. A really desperate one.

  There was another smaller parking lot on the west side of the baseball and soccer fields, and she nipped into a space.

  “Okay, spirit guides. I know we don’t know each other that well, and we’re probably going to be meeting pretty soon. But I could really use your help getting Jasmine out of here today,” she said, fiddling with her phone. Opening Facebook, she went to the yoga studio’s page. A few clicks later, and she stuffed the phone into her bra strap.

  “It’s go time,” she whispered and climbed out of the SUV. She left the keys on the seat and the door unlocked so Nick wouldn’t have to swing by the morgue before picking up his car. Gulp.

  Her heart was hammering in her chest. Adrenaline made her sweaty and breathless. A bit like last night in bed with Nick. Only not nearly as good. Her poor adrenaline system. After so many years of not being used, it had been in overdrive for twelve hours straight.