by Lori Foster
He eyed her breasts. “I love the differences between me and you.”
The phone rang before Julie could think of anything to say to that. Clint got up to answer it, saying, “Evans here,” then, “Hey, Mojo,” and with one quick glance at Julie, he turned his back and walked into the other room—where she couldn’t hear.
Apparently he wanted to speak in private. He and Mojo were probably making decisions about when and how to return her to her old life.
Because she didn’t want to go, Julie would do her best to change his mind.
Chapter Eleven
Clint dropped onto the threadbare couch, settled back and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Anything new?”
“Maybe. And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
So far, he hadn’t liked anything to do with Julie’s kidnapping. “Let’s have it.”
“Petie wasn’t arrested with the others. He got away.”
“Shit.”
“That’s not all.” Mojo hesitated for only a second before adding, “Now he’s missing.”
Through the kitchen doorway, Clint could see Julie moving around. She’d finished her breakfast and was pouring herself more coffee. “What do you mean, he’s missing? Red can’t find him?”
“You know Red, he can find out anything about anything. But thanks to the car registration, getting Petie’s address was a piece of cake. Thing is, he’s not there.”
Red had connections that boggled the mind. The man seemed to know an insider everywhere. “So Petie’s lying low.”
“I don’t think that’s it. I went to his place and snooped around. Someone ransacked his apartment. It wasn’t vandalism, it was a search. Drawers were dumped, and all the typical hiding places were gone through. Pain meds were still on the counter, and since I figure you broke his jaw, he’d have taken those with him if he just wanted to hide out.”
Julie went to the sink and ran hot water to wash the dishes. Clint’s gaze never left her. He noticed that she wasn’t favoring her ankle this morning at all. “I’ll go have a talk with Asa.”
“Let me know when, so I can back you up. Red has some commitments with Daisy, but I’ve got the day free.”
Glancing at the wall clock, Clint said, “I’ll leave here in about an hour.” Julie started to hum, again drawing his attention. She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and bent to retrieve the dish liquid. Thanks to her lack of panties, Clint got an eyeful. “Damn.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
Mojo wasn’t one for idle chitchat, so he didn’t question Clint’s distraction. “Allowing you time to get there, let’s say ten—”
“Make it noon.” Clint stood, his muscles already twitching in carnal anticipation.
“Noon?”
“Is that a problem?” He detoured into the bedroom, grabbed up a condom, and headed for the kitchen.
“No.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.” Clint hung up the phone.
Julie turned with a smile. “Is everything all—”
He smothered her mouth with his own, not as gentle as he should have been, unable to temper the need.
Odd, given how many times he’d already had her, but hunger raged inside him. Julie was here, with him, in his kitchen, in his life. Damn it, already in his heart.
She pushed back. “Wait.”
Trying to collect himself, Clint breathed hard. Jesus, he’d all but mauled her. She deserved some tenderness. She deserved special care. “Julie Rose, I—”
She turned off the water, dried her hands, jerked off his shirt, and pressed herself back to him. “Okay.” Her eyes were already soft and dazed. “Now.”
Clint had never considered himself a particularly lucky man—until Julie Rose came into his life.
Scooping an arm below her knees, the other around her back, Clint lifted her to sit on the edge of the table. He shoved his jeans down, tore open the condom packet, and rolled the rubber on with shaking fingers.
The second he moved toward her, Julie opened her arms—and her legs.
Much more of this and he’d probably die of a heart attack. A guy his age could only take so much stimulation.
He caught her shoulders and pressed her flat to the table. “Put your legs around my waist.”
She did so immediately, breathing hard, squirming in an effort to rush him. Her heels dug into the small of his back and her slender thighs squeezed him.
“You want me, Julie Rose.”
“Yes. Right now.”
“You’re not ready yet.” He moved against her, stroking her vulva with the head of his cock, feeling her open to accommodate him, how wet she got with each glide across sensitive flesh.
“But soon,” he whispered in awe, “real soon.” He bent and put his hot mouth around one nipple.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. “No teasing now, Clint. I mean it.”
He believed her. “All right.” He repositioned himself and sank into her. Julie cried out, a sound that went straight to his heart, twisting the emotion and need inside him.
She tipped her head back, her mouth open, her expression contorted in the way of undiluted pleasure, natural and real, like Julie herself. Clint pounded into her, harder, faster…He felt the heat rise and knew it was all over for him.
“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, and began coming with no way to stop it.
Julie’s eyes opened, and their gazes clashed. He got lost in her acceptance, felt more connected to her than to any other human being he’d ever known.
Unable to bear it, he kissed her, hard, rough, his tongue in her mouth, and before he finished his release, she tightened around him, her thighs quivering, her hands knotted in his hair. He swallowed her raw cries, cradled her to his chest, and let her ride out the storm.
Leaving her today would be hard.
Leaving her forever would be…impossible.
Clint had a lot of things to think about, so why was he still dwelling on Julie Rose? Damn it, he had to clear his head, not picture her sighing softly on the kitchen table, so spent that her independence hadn’t been an issue, and she’d let him take care of her. Never before had he wanted to pamper a woman, but with Julie Rose, he took as much pleasure in bathing her, in cuddling her, as he did in making love to her. It was different, for sure, but still so damn enjoyable.
He had to stop thinking about the trusting way she let him use her body, as if she knew in her heart that he wanted only to bring her pleasure.
Urging her to take a nap, he’d carried her to his bed, tucked her in, and kissed her goodbye.
But now, he had to concentrate on business.
He glanced behind him as he went up the walk to Asa’s place. Discreetly positioned, Mojo could keep an eye on things. If Clint didn’t return in ten minutes, Mojo would come for him. Not that Clint expected any problems; he and Asa had an understanding now, and while Asa was a cold-blooded crook, he had his own code of ethics. Mojo was there because, understanding or not, Clint didn’t take chances, especially not when Julie Rose depended on him.
Before he reached the front door, one of Asa’s jackals confronted him. Clint remembered the fellow’s name was Trent.
At his most polite, Clint said, “Tell Asa I want to see him.”
“He’s not seeing anyone today.”
Eyes direct, body language clear, Clint took one step up the porch. “Be a good lad, Trent, and tell him anyway.”
His pride ruffled, Trent tapped on the door and relayed the message to another. A minute passed, and Clint was given entrance. Trent glared at him as he went past, but Clint ignored him. He didn’t waste time gloating or prodding a lackey.
Though noon had come and gone, Asa sat at his kitchen table, dressed in a black and red silk robe with the newspaper spread out before him. Fragrant coffee steamed from a mug at his elbow. A carafe and a plate of fruit pastries were close at hand.
Clint nodded his greeting. “Sorry to disrupt your morning.
”
Asa lounged back. “It’s more afternoon than morning, but such is the life of a man in my position. Business is best late at night, and I enjoy the luxury of sleeping in. Coffee?”
“Thanks.” As long as they kept things cordial, Clint might obtain some much needed info.
Asa motioned for a young woman to bring another cup to the table, then dismissed her. They were left alone.
Indicating Clint should help himself to the sugar and creamer, Asa said, “I’m pleased that you obliged my wishes.”
Clint threw one spoonful of sugar into his coffee, took a drink to gather his thoughts, then met Asa’s smug satisfaction. “How’s that?”
“You killed Petie.”
Clint paused. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His senses screamed an alert.
“Petie’s dead?”
Asa’s smile faded into a formidable frown. “You didn’t kill him?”
“I punished the bastard, just as I said I would. I broke his jaw and gave him more bruises than he could count.” Clint set the coffee aside. “But no, I didn’t kill him.”
Two seconds passed before Asa began laughing. Given his deep, rough voice, his laughter sounded more like the croup than any type of amusement. “A broken jaw, eh?” He laughed and laughed some more. “Fitting. Petie was a pain in the ass, a punk who ran his mouth far too often.”
“Whatever he was, the question remains: Who the hell killed him?”
Lifting rounded but still bulky shoulders, Asa said, “That, I do not know. I assumed it was you, so I made no inquiries. A dangerous thing, assumptions. But he is dead. He was found late last night in a parking lot in the downtown area.”
Asa named the bar and the location, a place Clint recognized as common ground for many crimes. Only thugs hung out there. “How’d he get it?”
“Three close shots.” Asa touched his stomach, his chest, and then, making a gun of his fingers, shot himself in the head. “Whoever killed him made sure he was dead.”
“Any suspects?”
Laughing again, Asa said, “I thought it was you. But if you mean the boys in blue, they’re likely stumped, and given Petie’s lifestyle and where he was found, they’ll dismiss it as a random act of violence, a fitting end to the type of life he led.”
“But it wasn’t random?”
“I think not.” Asa eyed Clint. “My expert opinion? He was killed so that whatever information he had would die with him. The plot thickens, doesn’t it? What did Petie know, who hired him, et cetera, et cetera.”
Jesus, the situation seemed to grow worse rather than better. Clint stared down at his coffee a moment, lost in thought.
Asa said, “Shall I assume if you broke Petie’s jaw, you rescued the lady?”
“Yeah.”
“She was…” Asa hesitated, and something very ugly darkened his face. “Unharmed?”
Knowing exactly what Asa meant, Clint tightened, always on the verge of anger when he thought of what Julie Rose had been put through. “She wasn’t raped, but they threatened her with it.”
“Then Petie is lucky he’s dead.” Asa’s raw voice barely rose above a whisper. “I have no tolerance for rape, and if they threatened it, they would have done it. Eventually.”
“Yeah.” Clint shook off the awful thoughts. He had to keep his head now. Julie needed him to figure things out. “She’ll be okay.”
Asa curled his mouth into a cynical smile. “Because you’ll make it so?” He lifted his coffee cup. “Sounds to me like you’re getting personally involved.”
Clint was about to comment on that when Asa suddenly looked toward the kitchen doorway. His expression was at first alarmed, then magically transformed into a gentle smile of welcome. “Marie. How long have you been waiting? Come in.”
He stood and held out his arms. A strikingly beautiful woman with Asa’s dark coloring came cautiously into the kitchen. Petite but lushly built, dressed in expensive, feminine clothes, she embraced her brother while stealing a wary glimpse of Clint.
Odd, Clint thought as he, too, pushed back his chair in respect. How could a man as cold and ruthless as Asa look so adoring and protective when holding his baby sister? And baby sister described her, because she didn’t look to be more than twenty-one or twenty-two.
The woman seemed so skittish, Clint wondered how much she’d heard.
“Marie,” Asa said with a flourish, “this is Clint, an acquaintance of mine.” Beaming with pride, Asa added, “Clint, my sister.”
Clint held out his hand. “Ma’am.”
While Marie did have her brother’s hair color and skin tone, her eyes were a startling light blue. They were eyes that would capture a man’s attention—and Marie must have realized that, given how she quickly, almost fearfully, averted her gaze. She accepted Clint’s hand in a brief, barely polite greeting.
“I’m sorry that I’ve interrupted your discussion. It sounded…important.”
Asa responded with emphatic denial. “You can never interrupt, you know that.” He kept his arm around the woman. “My sister is quite shy,” he told Clint.
Clint remembered what he’d been told, that Asa’s sister had been brutally raped, and that her mother had died trying to protect her. Sympathy welled inside him. With stylish clothes and attention to hair and make-up, Marie attempted to look as composed as any other woman. But the turbulent emotion in her face told a different story. Her brother might not see it—but Clint did.
Using the awkward moment to make his exit, Clint said, “I’ll leave so you two can chat. Asa, I appreciate the coffee and your time.”
Asa nodded. “Now that you have me intrigued, you will keep me informed.”
It was a demand, not a question, and Marie’s gaze moved between the two of them. Clint shrugged. “Odds are, you might know before I do.” He slid a business card across the table. It listed an untraceable phone number, no name, no address. “I check the number daily.” Clint glanced at Marie, and found her staring at his card. “Ma’am.”
Her head jerked up, her smile forced. “Goodbye.”
Asa moved protectively to her side, and as Clint left, he heard Marie whisper, “Why was he here? You said something about a woman…”
Asa shushed her. “Don’t fret over it, Marie. The woman is fine. Clint is taking care of her.”
“But who is she? Where is she? What—”
And then Clint couldn’t hear anymore. He frowned, thinking that Marie’s voice sounded familiar, and was bothered by the depth of her interest. No woman should have suffered what she did. He hoped the men who hurt her had gotten retribution. Knowing Asa, they surely had.
The second Clint got in the truck with Mojo, he told him about Petie.
Mojo digested that information with typical introspection. “Now what?”
Until Mojo asked, Clint wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Then he made a sudden decision based solely on gut instinct. “I’m going to go see Robert, Julie Rose’s ex-fiancé. Know where he lives?”
Mojo nodded and put the truck in gear.
It wasn’t a long drive, maybe a little over a half an hour. But all the way there, Clint’s tension rose. He knew something was wrong, though he had no idea what. “Keep your eyes open. This feels messed up.”
“Maybe you should skip it.”
“Can’t.” Clint opened the truck door. “I have to find out what the hell’s going on. Just keep watch. I should be back in ten.”
Clint strode up the spotless walkway and rapped on the front door. No one answered. He leaned on the doorbell, and when that still didn’t produce results, he slipped a small case out of his pocket. Extracting a long, thin metal pick, he jimmied the lock with the expertise of a professional burglar. The heavy, ornate door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Given the deadbolt had been left unlocked, maybe Robert wasn’t even home. But Clint still wanted to have a look around. Senses finely tuned to any noise or movement, he methodically went through each downstair
s room until he heard a slight noise from the kitchen.
His knife was at the small of his back, his gun in an ankle holster. He could get either one in less than two seconds if necessary, but so far, he didn’t feel the need to have them in hand.
Following the sound, Clint made his way down the hall, through the dining room—and there, at the kitchen table, his face so bloody and swollen it was barely recognizable, sat Robert. Clint stared in shock at the damage done to him.
Robert half slumped at the table with a steaming cup of tea in front of him and a bottle of pills at his elbow. The poor bastard. Someone had worked him over good.
Clint leaned into the doorway. “I want to know what’s going on, Robert. And I want to know now.”
Robert would have jumped in surprise if he’d had the energy. But he hurt everywhere, the pain sinking in each day, growing worse and worse instead of better. “Evans.” His words sounded like mush, formed by his thickened lips and swollen jaw. “What are you doing here?”
Clint strode forward and pulled out a chair. “You’re alone here?”
Robert half shrugged. “Other than you.”
Seating himself, Clint nodded. “Good. How about I ask the questions, and you do your best to answer them, leaving out the bullshit and half truths for a change.”
Hands shaking, Robert extracted a tiny pill and placed it gingerly in his mouth. The hot tea burned his split and bloodied lips, making him wince. He nodded, then lifted a hand toward the teapot. “Tea?”
Clint looked around before leaning his elbows on the table. Robert knew the kitchen was a mess, but he hadn’t dared let anyone in, not even the cleaning lady.
He peered at Clint. “You locked the door again?”
That chilling gaze that Robert remembered so well settled on him. “A locked door won’t keep you safe if someone wants to pound on you again.”
“I know. But I don’t want Drew or…anyone else to come in and catch me like this.”
“Anyone else, meaning your girlfriend?”
Robert could tell that Clint expected him to lie. But lying had gotten him nowhere, and now he had to change tactics. “Yes. She’d be very upset to see me like this.” The irony of it struck him, and he gave a gasping, pain-filled laugh. “Especially if she found out who did it.”