The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  “This is your home. Why couldn’t you help it?”

  Raw pain shifted in her eyes. This close he saw they weren’t really black, just a deep brown, like dark, sinfully rich chocolates.

  Aiden shook off the thoughts. Stick up his ass?

  “It’s a long story,” she whispered, stepping back, paler than she had been, if that were possible.

  “I think you really should sit down,” he said, reaching out in case she fainted.

  She looked at his hand, started to take it, but then dropped her hand back to her side, looking at him with an arched brow. “Afraid I’ll fall prostrate at your feet? You would have an ego.”

  What was with her? Something about her wasn’t adding up. The paleness, the pain in her eyes contradicted the edged words and attitude.

  Tim shook his head. “Like two damn cats,” he mumbled. Then louder, “Aiden’s right, honey. You should sit down.” He led her towards the kitchen, but she shrugged him off.

  “I’m fine, dammit,” the last word wavered in the air. “I am.”

  No one spoke. Aiden leaned on the newel post.

  “Jesslyn,” Tim said softly, reaching again for her.

  She jerked away, the blanket falling from her shoulders to land on the floor.

  Palms out, she shook her hands. “You two catch up or whatever guys do. Bond, build a fire, get drunk. I don’t care. I’ve got to take a shower. I’ve got to get this off. I have to take a shower.”

  Her khaki pants were rusted from the thighs down. It looked like blood. Dried, caked blood.

  Aiden straightened. “What happened? Are you okay?” He took two steps towards her and halted at the raw emotion in her eyes.

  “Oh yeah, I’m just peachy.” She smiled, thin and humorless. Then she shook her head and said in a softer voice, “It’s not mine.” Again she shook her head. “It’s not mine.”

  He watched her fist her hands at her sides, swallow. She looked to Tim. “The Jameson is in the living room in the armoire.” She motioned towards Aiden. “Or whatever his poison is. I’ll be back. I need some coffee.”

  He moved aside as she walked past him and up the stairwell.

  Aiden watched her go, then turned and asked Tim, “What is going on? I feel like I just woke up in the Twilight Zone.”

  Tim shook his head. “Sorry about what happened earlier. I forgot to tell her about you being here and all. My mind was on alcohol limits and fights. She came back from Denver early.” Tim huffed out a breath, looking up the stairs. “Wished she hadn’t.”

  “Why?”

  Tim stared at nothing, shoved his hands into his pockets, then met Aiden’s gaze. A muscle bunched in his jaw. “She found her friend murdered.”

  Chapter 3

  Hot water beat down on her. Jesslyn sat on the tiled floor, her head on her knees. The thunder of water against her scalp shoved everything else out of her mind.

  It had to.

  Heat wrapped its steamy arms around her and still she was cold. Cold down to her very soul. Her body was tired, her heart was tired, and she didn’t have the courage right now to face what happened tonight and what it meant. She hated death. It stole happiness, ripped out souls, shattered worlds, and in the end faded memories. Being a widow and childless for the last three years, she should be used to it, but she wasn’t.

  Jesslyn rubbed her hands over her face, mixing her tears with water. Crying helped nothing, only gave her a headache. She knew that. She had no idea how long she’d been in here, but it had been a while. On a sigh, she stood up, surprised at how unsteady her legs were. Maybe she’d give herself a heat stroke, pass out and hit her head on something. Then she could just be in oblivion for a while.

  Though the idea held a degree of merit, she wasn’t about to throw herself on the floor in hopes it might work.

  She stepped out and wrapped herself in her silk robe. As she tied the towel around her head, a knock at the door startled her.

  God, her nerves. She’d love a cigarette, but she’d quit. Hell, she’d even take a Xanax if she had any.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You okay?”

  T.J.

  Sure. I love images of death and murder in my mind, goes great for research.

  “Fine.”

  “We’re out here in your room.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah,” T.J. continued. “Tim, that renter Kinncaid guy, and me. Hurry up.”

  Kinncaid. That thought stopped her. They were all in her room. Tim, T.J., and Kinncaid.

  “Why?” she asked, straightening.

  Silence. She could picture T.J. tapping her foot. Finally she said, “We just wanted to make sure you were okay. Hurry up and get dressed, there’s tea and coffee downstairs.”

  Now that she was out of the shower, the faint rumble of their voices filtered through her door.

  She picked up her comb and pulled it through her wet hair.

  Kinncaid. Now there was a man, arrogant though he was. Black hair swept carelessly off his forehead, dark cobalt eyes, strong jaw shadowed with dark stubble. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet if she were guessing. When she’d poked her finger in his chest, she’d had to crane her neck back just to glare at him. Her finger had also been at her eye level. The man probably went for the no-end-legs-size-C-cup-willowy-frame-model-face type.

  Jesslyn stared at herself in the mirror. None of the above fit her in the least. In high school she’d finally given up on long legs when she hadn’t grown in two years. Her face was long, wider across her cheeks, almost an oval. The deep widow’s peak made it more an odd-shaped heart. Her eyes were normal, as far as she could tell, and she’d always thought her mouth was too small. As she shed her robe and put on the camisole and panties, she looked back in the mirror. Size C? Maybe with toilet paper and in her wildest fantasies. There was a reason the bra termed The Miracle was Victoria’s greatest secret.

  Okay, everyone was in her room. Her clothes were on the bed. On a sigh, she jerked the robe back on and loosely belted it.

  As she walked to the door, she caught herself looking in the mirror again.

  Why?

  She decided not to even answer that one. But, at least the musings kept her from thinking darker thoughts. Denial was a wonderful thing. Denial could keep her together for just a little bit longer.

  The cold air from her bedroom swept across her as she opened the door.

  T.J. leaned against her dresser and Tim and Kinncaid were both lying across her bed. Kinncaid propped up on his elbow, Tim lifted his head.

  “’Bout damn time,” Tim muttered.

  She halted, staring at Kinncaid.

  A man reclining on her bed. A very handsome man. In her room. On her bed. He straightened from his leonine pose, lean and powerful.

  This is where she was supposed to say something witty. Something blasé. Something. Anything?

  His blue eyes bore into her and a friction of awareness tingled along her spine.

  She licked her lips and blinked, tearing her gaze away from Kinncaid and over to Tim, who studied her with a smirk on his face. Time for flippant. “Oh my!” She strived for her best Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Look, T.J., two strapping men in my room. On the bed. Let’s tie them up and have our way with them. I’ve always fantasized about an orgy.”

  Kinncaid arched one black brow, the blue in his eyes shifting. Though in the low light she could be wrong. Slowly, he rose from her bed. Her libido, which she thought was probably nonexistent, whispered along her nerves. Great damn time for it to awaken, she thought. It must be all that dark stubble peppering his lean jaw.

  “Your humor, as usual, is beyond me,” Tim mumbled.

  T.J. chuckled.

  Jesslyn jerked her eyes off Kinncaid and faced Tim. “I know, like most things, it generally is. And it’s either pop stupid ass jokes or I have a breakdown. Take your pick.”

  Tim shook his head. And motioned to Kinncaid. “Aiden Kinncaid, meet Jesslyn Black. I don’t think we ev
er got around to actual introductions before.”

  Aiden.

  It fit him. As stupid as that sounded, the name fit.

  He crossed the space between them and held his hand out. Jesslyn stared at it, momentarily wondering what in the world she was supposed to do. The entire night was surreal.

  Shoving the memories away, she focused on his hand. Long fingered, dark hair dusting the back, it reminded her of an artist’s hand. No rings and a strong sinewy wrist. She reached out and grasped it, and shock danced up her spine from the simple contact. His hand was warm, nothing more, but the light touch of his palm on hers, his fingers closing around hers made her want to jerk her hand back.

  “Hello, nice to meet you,” he said.

  His voice reminded her of the promise of a storm, a rumble, softened by the patter of rain. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

  “Hi,” she answered. “Nice to meet me? I take it you’re over your snit then?” She licked her lips, and gently tugged until he released her hand.

  “Snits? I don’t get in snits.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about earlier, snapping at you and all.”

  “Did that hurt?”

  His brow furrowed. “Did what hurt?”

  “The apology?”

  He moved his jaw out then back in. “Not as much as I thought it might. Are you always like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Contrary, edgy?”

  Tim laughed. “I’d use bitchy.”

  She ignored both Tim and T.J., who laughed as they walked out of the room. Aiden’s eyes were fascinating. All that blue surrounded by thick black lashes. She took a deep breath and smelled a faint trace of his spicy cologne. She licked her lips again. Did the man taste as good as he smelled? “Probably.”

  “Probably what?”

  You probably taste good? Shaking off the wayward thoughts she remembered what they were talking about. “Yes, I have an attitude problem, or so some think. Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Silence settled between them. She was in panties and a camisole. Naked flashed in her mind. It didn’t matter that she had a robe on. “As fascinating as this is, would you please leave? I need to get dressed.”

  For a moment, he didn’t move, just watched her. “Guess so since Tim and the woman with the gun walked out of your planned orgy, and I’m not really into sharing anyway.”

  She bet he wasn’t, but quirked a brow, saw the amusement, the challenge in his eyes. “Well, as to that, I don’t know that you qualify into sharing or otherwise.”

  “Depends,” he said, as his gaze raked over her, from her head to her bare toes, and with every inch of his look, her blood hummed, “on what I’m sharing. And why wouldn’t I qualify?”

  Was she really having this conversation at—she glanced at the clock by her bed—half past four in the morning with a virtual stranger?

  “I’m waiting.” He had a voice that could coax angels to sin.

  “You’re not my type.” She planted a hand on her hip and pointed towards the door. “If you don’t mind, I need to get dressed.”

  “Dressed?” He frowned. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  And he wanted to know why? “No.”

  He shook his head, and turned and walked from the room. At the doorway, he turned. “You want the door open or shut?”

  “I’m about to change and don’t care to do a striptease in front of you. Shut.”

  A grin, lightning fast and just as lethal, flashed, showing her his straight white teeth and a dimple in his right cheek. “Aww, but I have my own fantasies.”

  He shut the door. For a full minute, Jesslyn stared at it, at a loss as to how she was supposed to process that remark. Probably the way he processed hers earlier.

  Then a knock thumped.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “I was wondering where my apology was.”

  She could hear the amusement in his voice.

  “I already apologized.” Jesslyn walked to the door and swung it open. He had a hand against the door frame, his dark blue button down pulled and stretched with his upraised arm.

  “Yeah, but I was the one arrested. It was not a good experience.”

  “You’re whining and you were hardly arrested. Snitting again.”

  “Men don’t snit.”

  She just stared at him.

  He crossed his arms. “Have you ever been accosted by the police, felt like you were going to be on Cops?”

  “Have a problem with cuffs?”

  His eyes narrowed fractionally. “Depends.”

  “Your ego is entirely too large.”

  That dimple winked in his right cheek. “That’s usually not what the women refer to.”

  He stood there. She started to shut the door.

  “If you do, I’ll just knock again.”

  “Fine. I’m sorry your pride was bruised.”

  His chuckle was rough, yet soft, reminding her of crushed velvet. “Did that hurt?”

  Ass. “More than you know.”

  She shut the door in his face, but still heard his laughter as he walked down the hall. At her bed, she realized she was smiling.

  Not what the women usually refer to? She’d bet not. Confusion slithered through her and she looked at the door, wondering what his point had really been. At least he’d gotten her mind off Maddy for a moment. Guilt shifted through her even as images, blurred and hazy, sharpened to bloody points.

  God, Maddy.

  Jesslyn swallowed and closed her eyes, willing the truth, the darkness away.

  She couldn’t deal with this right now. Not right now.

  Coffee. She’d just get some coffee and go write. At least in the worlds she created, she could control what happened, leaving nothing to shock or soul-shredding pain.

  • • •

  Aiden walked down the hall, his smile sliding away. That was one complex woman. Her smart-ass attitude seemed like a front. He had no idea how he knew that, but he did. He got the same feeling as he did when a floundering company he took an interest in tried to convince him they were fine, that there were no problems. One of his brothers called it his bullshit detector.

  Then again, maybe he was wrong about Black. Sleep deprivation was a terrible thing.

  In the kitchen, Tim poured mugs of coffee. He turned as Aiden entered. “Have fun?”

  Though his friend smiled, there was an edge to it.

  “You have a problem with that?” he asked.

  Tim had assured him earlier that he and Jesslyn were just friends, but who knew.

  Those gray eyes Aiden knew so well leveled at him. “Don’t screw around with Jesslyn.”

  “Last time I checked, we were both adults.”

  Tim grumbled something. “She’s not Brice.”

  “Thank God.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Jesslyn has teeth and a bite-my-ass attitude, but she’s really . . .” Tim frowned and rubbed his fingers down each side of his mustache. “She’s not . . . Hell.”

  “You hurt her at all, even think about it and I’ll shoot you,” said a voice from the doorway.

  The female cop. He looked from her serious expression to her gun. No doubt she’d do exactly as she said.

  “What do you two think I am, some pervert?” Aiden asked.

  “I told you, she’s a widow,” Tim repeated.

  “Yeah.” Tim had told him earlier how the woman had lost her husband and kids in an auto accident some three years before. Damn, the idea was unimaginable to him.

  “She’s not your average type to just jump in and have fun and then say, c’est la vie.”

  The female cop snorted.

  Aiden studied his friend. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes, damn it. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Such faith is humbling.” Aiden strode to the counter, grabbing up his mug. Why he was drinking coffee at almost five in the morning was beyond him. Guess he didn’t want any sleep.


  “All I’m saying is be careful with her. She doesn’t look it, but she’s fragile.”

  “She would kick your ass for saying that,” T.J. said, coming closer to them and holding her hand out for a mug. Tim handed her one. “But I have to agree with you.”

  Aiden thought about what they said, inclining his head towards Tim. They were wrong though. There wasn’t anything fragile about Jesslyn Black. There was strength in her that practically shouted out. It was in her stance, ready to fight off the world. Yet, there was softness in her. Not fragility, but something under all that rough exterior. Though the exterior hadn’t looked rough. He smiled into his coffee.

  And why did he really care anyway? He was renting the house for a few weeks, not looking for a relationship. That was the very last thing he needed, or wanted.

  The other two moved to the table and sat down.

  Her dark eyes flashed in his mind, hurt layered under exasperation and a gleam in her eye as she’d snapped at him upstairs.

  Complex.

  Feet thumped down the stairs. Ms. Black stood in the doorway, stopping for a minute before she came towards him.

  Aiden leaned against the counter in her way. He should move. Call it perverse curiosity, but he didn’t.

  She halted and looked up at him. He could still smell her fruity, floral scent that had teased his senses earlier. Shampoo? Soap? Lotion? Who knew? But it made his mouth water.

  He’d just been too long without a woman. That had to be it. And tonight hadn’t helped one damn bit.

  “Would you move?” she asked.

  Aiden reached back and grabbed a mug, handing it out to her. “I’ve always said polite manners have been overrated.”

  She snatched it out of his hand and turned, leaning against the counter adjacent to him.

  Didn’t want to get too close apparently.

  “Is this decaf?” he asked Tim.

  Jesslyn chuckled, low and throaty. “There isn’t a grain of decaf in the house. What’s the point?”