The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  Gabe had taken her for a cup of coffee, updating her as much as he could on the case, questioning her on the bombing. She’d answered what she could.

  She told him some of the things she’d mentioned to Brayden, enough to let him know she was serious about getting it all over with, but not enough that he could do anything yet.

  “Thanks for the coffee and the ride,” Christian told him as she climbed out of the car.

  “I can walk you in,” Gabe told her.

  She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I know you want to get down to the shop and I know Brayden’s still down there.” She stepped up to the front doors.

  Gabe checked his watch. “Yeah.” Thumping the top of the car, he told her, “Look. Stay around the Kinncaids. Don’t go off by yourself. We’ve assigned a couple of plainclothes to watch things. Just be careful. I’ll call you soon. Who knows, with any luck we might pick up Ivan tonight.”

  She had told him that Ivan was the one that knew about bombs.

  “If you find him, tell him Josephine asked for his help.”

  “Josephine?”

  She only smiled. “I’ll talk to you later. Can Brayden and I just meet you at the station? I don’t want to do this here. I don’t want it here.”

  He lifted the corner of his mouth in a rueful grin. “Yeah, that’s fine. Give me a call on my cell and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. It’ll be over soon.”

  She hoped so, but her life couldn’t be that easy.

  He climbed back in the car and she watched as his taillights blinked when he pulled out onto the street.

  “Ms. Bills,” the doorman said, opening the door for her.

  “Thank you.”

  The private elevator behind the mirrors was warm and silent as she rode up to the family’s penthouse suites.

  Jock and Kaitlyn were already here. She knew that from talking to Brayden. Quinlan had been here to meet them; as far as anyone else was concerned, she had no idea.

  The elevator doors slid open.

  A hot shower beckoned, but she could see the doors at the end of the long hallway stood open. Jock and Kaitlyn’s suite. With a sigh, and wondering what she was going to say to them, she decided the shower could wait.

  She was just inside the entryway, when a voice halted her steps.

  “Jock,” the man said calmly, “I’m certain they’re fine. Patience, my friend. It won’t do to excite yourself with your blood pressure.”

  Oh, God, no.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs and the bands around her chest tightened.

  Richard! Damn the man.

  What was he doing here? Pictures, memories and terror rushed through her.

  It was okay. It was okay. What could he do right here in front of everyone? Nothing.

  Fear mixed with anger, and rage conquered.

  On a deep trembling breath, she strode into the room, and didn’t so much as look at him.

  “Christian!” Kaitlyn was off the couch and hurrying toward her.

  “Hi, Mom,” she whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry.”

  Kaitlyn squeezed her tight then leaned back and brushed hair off her forehead. The touch was feather-light.

  “Nothing to be sorry for. My God, you could have been killed. Are you all right?” she asked.

  They were the same height. Christian hugged this woman, who was more a mother to her than the woman who gave birth to her, and said into her ear, “I will be soon. Very, very soon.”

  Her eyes met Richard’s, and she didn’t look away from the pale green depths.

  He looked . . . relieved. Yes, relieved and angry. There was no masking the anger burning bright in his jaded depths.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Quinlan asked from behind the bar.

  Christian shrugged. “Answering questions.”

  “I hate that crap,” Jock grumbled. “Questions, always questions. Why can’t they leave the good guys in peace?” He stood and walked to her, wrapping her in a tight bear hug.

  Her ribs folded together, but it hardly mattered, Jock was happy to see her.

  “I’m okay,” she told him, patting his back.

  He set her away from him and stared at her. “They’ve been badgering you again, haven’t they?”

  Not now. She didn’t want Richard to know she’d been with the cops planning to spill all.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine, Chrissy.”

  She smiled at the name he sometimes called her. Chrissy. It was a truly horrible nickname. But it was better than Jesslyn’s, whom he referred to as Missy. Or even Kaitie lass. Jock had a thing with ending nicknames in ie or y. But it was who he was and it was as comfortable as her favorite pair of jeans.

  “Quinlan,” Jock barked, “fix your sister a drink.”

  The man then guided her to the couch, where Richard stood.

  Taking a deep breath, she held his stare, noting the smirk at the corner of his mouth.

  “Jock,” he said, tsking. “You didn’t tell me you had such a lovely . . .” He trailed of as his gaze ran over her. “Daughter?”

  Jock stood a bit straighter. “Well, it’s a long story, but yes, Chrissy is ours. She’s a Kinncaid.”

  Richard’s eyes ran over her again, and she could no more stop herself from crossing her arms than she could from inwardly cringing.

  She couldn’t help wonder what he thought of learning his grand plan almost killed her. Was he happy? Relieved or angered? Or had that been the plan?

  Jock continued. “Christian, this is a friend who moved into the old Cooley place, just up the road. He was the one who heard about it at the club. Kaitie and I were sitting in the lounge. Anyway, he drove us here.”

  “Yes, we can’t thank you enough, Dickie,” Kaitlyn said, coming to stand with them.

  Richard’s smile grew as he stretched his hand toward her.

  Christian looked at it, but didn’t take it, and decided to snatch the ball from his court. Meeting his gaze again, she asked, “Congressman Burbanks, isn’t it?”

  “You know Dickie?” Jock asked, turning to her.

  Dickie? Christian arched a brow, and looked as slowly over Richard as he previously had her. Dickie? He must hate that. With a chuckle, she only said, “Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “Um . . . Dickie and I have met before.”

  Richard cocked his head to the side. “Have we?”

  The smug son of a bitch. God, she wanted to tear into him, claw his eyes out. He could have killed Brayden, hurt Tori, and she knew none of that mattered a damn to this man. No, he was more worried about the perfect crease being arrow-sharp down the front of his golfing chinos. Arrogant ass.

  It would be so easy . . . so easy to just let something slip.

  Silence stretched. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

  As much as she wanted revenge against him, now was not the time. DNA they had. But she wanted it all. Every last shred of evidence. Maybe even a confession.

  There was a thought.

  “Yes, our previous meeting was a charity, I think.” Smiling only slightly, she hoped no one could see how flustered she was. “A charity event a while back.” Inspiration struck. “For sexually abused children and laws of limitations.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. A muscle bunched in his jaw, and he only nodded.

  “That sounds about right,” Kaitlyn said, guiding her to the bar, where Quinlan had her drink—something in a mug. Probably tea. Christian hopped up on the stool, turning back to face Jock and his new friend. No way in hell was she turning her back on Richard.

  Kaitlyn continued to chatter. “Christian here is always doing something to help kids.”

  “Really?” Richard asked.

  “Oh, yes, too many things to go into.” Kaitlyn turned back to her and asked, “Hon, is it sweet enough? Quinlan, how much honey did you put in it?”

  Christian shared a sibling smile with Quinlan.r />
  “A teaspoon and a half, just like you taught us all, Mom.”

  Kaitlyn Kinncaid nodded just as the phone rang and Quinlan grabbed it.

  How long was Richard planning to stay here? Had Brayden met the man yet? The Cooley place? My God, he wasn’t even a mile from them! So Brayden could have met him.

  After maybe three seconds, she discarded that idea. Brayden was hardly stupid. If Brayden had met a man named Dickie he would have immediately known it was a diminutive for Richard. And that would have been enough for her Kinncaid to set some plan in motion.

  Dickie.

  Richard Burbanks, hated, hated and despised nicknames.

  Bless Jock’s simplifying heart. It was enough to make her smile.

  Quinlan hung up and said, “That was Aiden. He and Bray should be here soon. They’re on their way.”

  A sigh escaped her.

  Richard shifted. “I should probably be going. Looks like everyone is fine and headed this way.” He held his hand out to Jock, who took it with a hearty shake.

  “No need to run off,” Jock said.

  “Well, now that your family is all here, and I can see you’re fine, I think—”

  “What do you mean, he’s fine?” Christian asked.

  Quinlan stood stiff beside her, having come around the bar to sit on the other stool.

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Jock waved his hand.

  Richard gave a harsh chuckle that grated on Christian’s nerves like nails down a chalkboard. “Nothing, Jock? You could have had a heart attack.”

  “What?” both she and Quinlan asked.

  “He’s fine,” Kaitlyn assured them. “We just had a bit of a scare in the car on the way here. We were in Richard’s car, since he insisted on driving us; he didn’t think either one of us should be driving. Anyway, Jock started to have chest pains and couldn’t find his nitro pills.”

  “I don’t know what happened to them. I had them in my damn pocket, Kaitie.”

  Kaitlyn only shot her husband a hard stare, her green eyes like shards of emeralds. “Anyway, luckily I had some in my purse and gave him one.” Looking from her to Quinlan, Kaitlyn said, “He’s fine. He’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  But it could have been something to worry about. Oh, God, it could have been. Missing pills. Jock never, never went anywhere without his pills. He always carried them in his pocket. It was like his wallet.

  Christian looked to Richard and felt nauseous.

  He only smiled, a sharp-bladed grin, walking toward her. Christian tried, but she must have stiffened because suddenly Quinlan stood just a bit in front of her.

  Richard cocked a brow and said, “It was good to see you again”—he paused—“Christian.”

  She couldn’t talk to him, or even nod. My God, both Brayden and Jock?

  It was all she could do not to roar off the stool and rip his head off. Anger pulsed through her, thick as the blood in her veins.

  “Dickie, thank you again for everything today,” Kaitlyn said, blessedly drawing his attention.

  Christian stared into her mug of tea, the smell of chamomile wafting with the steam. She listened as the Kinncaids walked Richard Burbanks, the monster in her life, to the door and felt self-loathing at the fact she’d brought the wolf to the sheeps’ pen.

  When the door clicked shut, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair, chills racing through her. She tried to stop the tremors, but her hands shook.

  Jock and Brayden.

  Oh, God, forgive her.

  “Hey, you okay?” Quinlan asked, his voice jerking her back to where she was.

  She started to nod, but knew he’d see through it, so she only took a sip of tea.

  “Did you really know him?”

  Where had that question come from?

  “Why do you ask?”

  Quinlan’s gaze was studying, weighing. Finally, he said, “Because the closer he’d get to you, the stiffer you became. And you didn’t shake his hand.”

  The look in his eyes said he saw more than that.

  Hell. Grabbing the first thought that came to mind, she said, “I just . . . I don’t know. I’m fine around all you guys. But others . . .” She trailed off and let him think what he wanted. Shaking her head, she added, “I just didn’t feel comfortable around him.”

  Quinlan humphed and climbed on the other stool. His hand thumped on the bar. “Well, I don’t like him at all. He’s too . . .” The corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t know. Too something.”

  “Who are you two talking about?” Jock asked, sitting on the couch, pulling Kaitlyn down with him.

  “Your buddy,” Quinlan answered.

  “You don’t like him?” Jock asked.

  Quinlan shook his head. “No, I don’t. Slick. He’s too slick. You can see it in his eyes.”

  Jock frowned. “I’ll admit he’s a bit stiff, but I hardly think he’s slick or whatever it is you’re implying. Though he’s a politician, so he probably is slick.”

  “I’m not implying anything, Dad. Something about him just seemed off.”

  Christian stared at her tea. No message floated on the surface telling her what to do or say.

  “If you think he’s bad, you should meet his wife,” Kaitlyn added.

  Could this get any better?

  “Kaitie lass.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Jock, but I see what Quinlan means, and Ms. Burbanks is a cold woman. You can’t argue that.”

  Jock’s heavy sigh could have felled a tree. “No, I can’t. And she wonders why her daughter ran away. Can’t say I blame the girl at all.”

  Christian’s cup shattered on the floor.

  Oh, God. What did they know? Surely she hadn’t heard right. Daughter? Estella talked about her daughter, about her.

  She couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Christian?”

  Jerking back from Quinlan’s touch, she slid off the stool and stooped to pick up the broken pottery.

  “Oh, honey, ignore us,” Kaitlyn said, right beside her. “Here we are talking. You need a hot shower and a bed. After everything else and now this afternoon.”

  Kaitlyn took the pieces Christian had picked up.

  “Go on. Go take a shower or bath. I’ll order you some room service. Or all of us some, I guess, since no one’s had dinner.”

  The thought of a shower was heavenly. But what if Richard didn’t leave? What if he knew which suite was hers? He would. Or he could be waiting in the hallway near the elevators. Hell, he would, wait to pounce. What if he was in there now? Waiting on her.

  “Christian, honey,” Kaitlyn said, setting the broken cup on the counter. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  And she was. She couldn’t quit.

  Kaitlyn’s hands were warm.

  “Your fingers are like ice. Come on, I’ll run you a bath.” Kaitlyn started to pull her toward the door, but she stayed rooted to the spot.

  “Christian?” Kaitlyn asked.

  What had Estella told them? What if when it all came out, they didn’t believe her? They were already friends with the people who had hurt her most in the world.

  The path that seemed so very clear earlier now was shadowed, uneven, and overgrown.

  Brayden. She wanted Brayden.

  Chapter 20

  At that moment, the door opened, and as if from merely needing him, he was there.

  “I don’t care,” he was saying over his shoulder to his older brother, Aiden.

  His eyes met hers and for some stupid reason, hers filled with tears. Without stopping to say a word to anyone, he strode to her. Kaitlyn, thankfully, let go of her hands, right before Brayden crushed her to his chest.

  Neither of them said a word. His arms held her so tight, she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. He could have died. What if she had been late and he’d run out to get the papers. She knew his habits. He waited till he was at the hood to unlock his vehicle.

  A shudder danced through her.

  B
rayden pulled back. “How come you haven’t had a shower yet? You still smell like smoke.” A frown crinkled his brow.

  Christian just shrugged, but Jock put in, “Probably because she just got here not half an hour ago.”

  Brayden shook his head and she let him steer her toward the door.

  “I’m ordering room service,” Kaitlyn said. Which translated to: You will eat.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Brayden replied as he ushered her out the door and into the hallway. “Come on, we both need a shower.”

  “You’re finished?” she asked him.

  Brayden opened the door to their apartment suite. “No, I simply told everyone there I was leaving. Gabe showed up about the time I was leaving and mentioned something about us all going down to the station later. That you wanted to meet?”

  Christian stopped in the living room, looking toward her room. She really didn’t want to go in there alone. Though she had a perfectly fine bathroom and her fear was more than likely completely unfounded, but still . . .

  “So, we’ll shower, I’ll make certain you’re all right, we’ll eat, since Mom’s ordering, and then go to the station. Though I don’t know why he can’t come here.” He pulled her to his rooms on the other side of the living room.

  “I’m fine, Brayden.” And she didn’t want to eat.

  He only shoved her toward the bathroom. “And then I’ll make sure you get to sleep tonight, and I need to make a few calls.”

  “Brayden . . .”

  He flicked on the light, stepped around her and turned on the shower. With quick, deft fingers he shed their clothing, then pushed her toward the stall.

  She closed her eyes and sighed as the hot water sprayed her, enveloping them both in steam.

  Damn, he’d turned the water up too hot. Brayden started to turn it cooler, but her words stopped him.

  “No, leave it. It feels great.” Still she didn’t open her eyes.

  Water trickled over her face, dripped off her chin, ran down the long column of her neck, slid down her fantastic body.

  Brayden’s control snapped. When he’d seen her fly through the air, couldn’t get her to respond . . . those seconds had been absolute hell.

  He kissed her hard.

  What if he’d lost her today?