The pain and fear in his voice made her heart squeeze.
“Do the police have any leads?”
Uh-oh. Tara rose, set her tea on the counter, and stood in the open bedroom doorway to remind him she was there if he needed emotional support.
“Of course.” He rubbed his forehead. “If I drive down, I can be there by early afternoon tomorrow at the latest.” His head lifted and he met Tara’s gaze, his face pale, eyes tight. When he registered her presence, his lips pressed into a thin line and he turned away.
She fled to the loft with her quickly cooling tea. Of course he didn’t want her there. He probably thought she was being nosy.
But he was clearly suffering right now. It would be petty for her to be hurt by his response. He had kept her safe, and he was here with her despite whatever other shit was going on in his life.
There was nothing else to their relationship. Sure, and I’m a six-foot tall Swedish man named Björn.
“Okay.” Jeff’s deep voice carried across the motor home. “I’ll be there. I don’t care what time it is, call me as soon as you know something.”
The uneasy quiet that followed was broken by a loud crash from the bedroom. “Fuuuuck.”
Tara jolted at the sound, sloshing tea onto the colorful afghan. It took everything in her to stay put.
Something pounded the wall several times, then silence.
Her pulse tapped painfully against her throat.
Outside, the branches of a tree creaked in the wind.
Tara shivered. What she wouldn’t give to be at home in her own bed, listening to the noise and traffic from the street far below. If she knew black magic, she’d curse whoever had driven her into hiding.
Jeff finally appeared in the doorway, his short hair sticking straight up, his cheeks in high color, arms loose at his sides.
She watched him until his gaze met hers. Her heart twisted at the agony in his golden brown eyes.
The breath shuddered out of him and he dropped onto the small sofa with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. For a minute the only sounds were their breathing and the aging heater doing its best to chase away the cold.
Tara set her mug on a small shelf in the wall and laid her hands in her lap.
Jeff’s strong back bowed, his shoulders collapsed, and he hung his head. “Evan’s mom is dead and he’s still missing.”
“Oh, God.” His little boy had to be okay. She couldn’t let herself imagine the alternative. She understood all too well the pain of loss, but the grief and fear of not knowing… Especially for your own child. She could only imagine. Hopping to the floor, she sat next to Jeff on the loveseat. “I’m sorry.”
Not giving herself the time to question it, she wrapped an arm across his broad back and pressed herself to his side. Even tough guys needed comfort.
He didn’t stiffen or move away.
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“It looks like an overdose, possibly suicide.” A deep sigh shuddered from his lungs. “I had no idea she was on drugs or I would have fought for full custody. According to my PI, the guy Bridget lived with—Roy—told one of the neighbors he was worried about her getting high around Evan and planned to take him somewhere safe until Bridget got her shit together. The next night they had a big fight that half the apartment complex overhead, and Roy stormed off with Evan. No one knows where he went. When Bridget didn’t show up for work two days in a row, someone called the cops for a welfare check.”
“Damn.” Tara gently massaged Jeff’s shoulder.
“I was so pissed at Bridget for taking Evan and disappearing—in fact, I hated her for it—but I never wished her dead. I just wanted to know where they were so I could see him again, know that he was safe and healthy.”
That explained the PI.
His hands clenched into fists. Tara covered one with her free hand and he twitched. “Now…shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “At least we’re fairly sure Evan’s with Roy. That’s something, right?”
“Absolutely,” she said, not sure if she managed to reassured him. “It sounds like Roy is trying to protect Evan.” Roy was still keeping the kid from his father, but at least the boy probably wasn’t in any physical danger.
Jeff gave a tight nod. He didn’t shed a tear, but Tara felt several slide down her own cheeks. She gently stroked his back, careful to avoid his stitches. And the gun tucked into a holster at his waist.
“Are you going to fly down there in the morning?” Or, technically, later in the morning, since it was already after two a.m.
“If Olivia has found him, then definitely. If not, I’m going to drive. Evan likes the camper. He’s comfortable here. I’d rather have a familiar place for him to stay than some strange hotel.”
Tara’s heart melted a little more.
“Except, shit… I’m sorry.” His gaze lifted to meet hers. “Maybe Kurt can recommend someone who can stay with you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Evan is the most important thing. And I have plenty of contacts. I’ll figure out something, no problem.”
His lips pinched, but he nodded and resumed staring at the floor.
They sat in silence, unmoving for several minutes, until finally he straightened. Without a word, he lifted her easily, placing her sideways on his lap. Her pulse picked up as his tortured gaze met hers, as if to judge her reaction. He glanced at her mouth and desire zipped down her spine.
Ignoring her somersaulting stomach, she closed her eyes and laid her head against his hard chest. They both deserved more than a mindless distraction.
With a sigh, he relaxed into the cushions and enveloped her in his deliciously warm arms. Squeezing her eyes tight to hold back the tears—when was the last time a man, or anyone, had held her like this?—she fell asleep to the beat of his heart.
Jeff woke with a pain in his side, a warm body in his lap, and a hard-on.
At least he’d slept. A much-needed respite from the fear for Evan that had become like a constant low-voltage shock running beneath his skin.
The sun wasn’t quite up, but it had to be close judging by the amount of light leaking in through the thin curtains.
Tara lay against his chest, eyes closed, her breath slow and steady. Her pinned-back hair revealed a graceful neck, a perfectly turned jaw, and lush, pink lips that he’d nearly lost his mind and kissed last night.
At the time, she had seemed the perfect distraction. It turned out, holding her worked almost as well. Maybe not as satisfying, but infinitely smarter. He’d definitely needed the sleep. As had she.
Except now he wanted her all over again. And if she woke while still on top of him, she wouldn’t be able to miss the signs.
Cradling her in his arms, he stood and laid her on the couch, tucking the blanket around her slender body. With a sigh, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him with her knees curled up. She might be all wrong for him, but damn if she didn’t heat his blood.
She was more than beautiful. She was smart, fun, caring. A man could do worse.
That’s your libido talking, asshole.
Right. She’d been there for him when he needed comfort, but nothing had changed since yesterday. She was still all wrong for him. Not to mention they worked together. At least for now. You didn’t look for quick relief with a coworker. That was just asking for trouble.
And Evan was still missing, so that’s where his focus needed to be. Olivia had said she’d text him with any news, and his phone showed nothing.
He started coffee and jumped into the shower. When he emerged five minutes later with a towel around his waist, Tara stood at the counter drinking from a steaming mug, staring out the kitchen window at the barren trees.
“Morning,” he said.
She turned and her gaze widened at the sight of him. “Morning. Any news?”
“No.”
Her dark eyes focused on her coffee. “I want to apologize.”
“For what?” Water dripped down his back
.
“Last night. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”
“It’s fine.” He gripped his towel, ridiculously tempted to drop it altogether. “This place is the size of a shoebox. There’s no way you could’ve avoided it.”
“But you didn’t want me to know.” Her gaze flicked across his torso before meeting his eyes. “You were careful not to reveal anything before yesterday, so I’m sorry it happened like this.”
He sighed. With luck, she’d think the goosebumps rising on his damp skin were from the cool air. “I didn’t want anyone at Steele to question my ability to do the job. And I didn’t want to see the pity on everyone’s faces, or have to answer their weekly questions about how the search was going when there was no news.”
Her brow wrinkled with concern. “I won’t say anything. I know how much it sucks when everyone knows you’re suffering but doesn’t know what to do about it.”
“Your sister.”
“Most recently, yes. But maybe you heard I was kidnapped by my boyfriend a few years ago.” Her thumb rubbed along the rim of the mug.
He nodded.
“I started working at Steele the next month. Kurt was willing to hire me in the middle of Colin’s trial. He and Dan had helped with the rescue, so of course they knew the whole story. But I was the tragedy, the stupid one who fucked up and picked the wrong guy.”
Todd had recounted the basics for Jeff during their last job together. Jeff had been uncomfortable knowing her story without her being the one to tell him, so it was a relief that she knew he knew. “From what I heard,” he said, “you held your own and helped fight back.”
Her cheeks turned pink and she shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice.”
The thought of her taking fire made him queasy. “You always have a choice. Plenty of people would have cowered in the back seat.” With her fragile appearance, it was easy to forget she had guts.
“My parents always said I was too loud, too bold, too assertive. I guess sometimes it’s not a bad thing.”
He scoffed. Her parents were assholes. “What did they want? A mouse?”
She gave him a tight smile as she set her mug on the counter and tugged the tie from her long hair. “I think they would’ve loved a mouse. Or at least a good pet like my older sister. My middle name even means harmonious or obedient child.” She gave a light snort as her hair came loose. “Emily and I were the rebels.”
Her eyebrows quivered and she bit her lower lip.
Jeff itched to replace her fingers with his own as she combed them through the dark strands before twisting the whole mass into a perfectly messy bun.
“I was supposed to be quiet, respectful, and compliant,” she said, dropping her hands to tug the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I was supposed to join math club, not cheerleading. Be a valedictorian, not a B student. Become a doctor or lawyer, not an employee relations specialist.”
“I’m sure they wanted what they thought was best for you.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I should be over it by now, and it’s hardly the most pressing thing going on right now.”
“I’m not sure we ever get over our upbringing, and as a father, it scares the hell out of me. What if I screw up my kid with my good intentions?” Jesus. Why had he said that?
“The fact that you’re thinking about it pretty much guarantees that’s not how you’ll screw him up.”
Jeff couldn’t hold back a tight laugh. “Good point.” His amusement was short-lived as the dread resettled on his chest like a steel plate. “Now I just need to find him.”
Talk about screwed up. Who knew what the poor kid had seen in his short life? Jeff had barely been part of it, and now Evan had lost his mother. Poor, fucked-up Bridget had probably scarred their kid irrevocably. Once Jeff found Evan, he’d look into therapy.
“When are you leaving?” she asked.
“Soon.”
She removed her new phone from the charger she’d plugged in above the kitchen counter. “I’ll schedule a ride.” Her fingers swiped the screen and tapped.
“No.”
She looked up in surprise. “I can make a new account. Anyone paying attention won’t know it’s me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” What the hell was he doing? “Come with me to North Carolina.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TARA DECIDED NOT to question Jeff’s offer. She thought she’d be a distraction, but maybe he needed one. And she’d feel safer out of town with him than at a hotel by herself. Simple as that.
Liar.
An hour later, after a quick breakfast and coffee, they exited the Target store in Stafford, just off I-95, carrying bags full of groceries and some new clothes for Tara toward the camper parked at the back of the lot. They’d left Jeff’s Forerunner in a storage facility in Manassas so they wouldn’t have to tow it.
Once inside the RV, Tara tore the tags from everything. She was ready to get out of the dress and heels she’d had to wear again this morning, and to be warm from head to toe.
“All yours.” He gestured to the room. “You good if I get us on the road?”
“Absolutely.” She dashed into the bedroom with her purchases and shut the door behind her.
Everything had that freshly dyed smell, but she couldn’t care less. No more rumpled dress or heels, or ridiculously oversized sweats. Within minutes, she’d donned new underwear—boring, but functional—a red V-neck T, a thick black sweater, jeans, socks, and running shoes.
Topping it off with a new ski jacket and gloves, she grabbed her old clothes and shoved them into one of the empty shopping bags along with her ripped pea coat.
“Feeling better?” Jeff asked when she joined him in the front and buckled in.
“Yes.” She held her palms in front of the heat vents, sighing with relief at the warm air. “So much. Thank you.”
Once they were back on 95, Jeff was in a constant fight with the crosswinds buffeting the RV. Loath to distract him, Tara stared out the window.
She couldn’t stop the questions swirling in her head about who wanted her dead anymore than she could banish the vision of Jeff standing half-naked in the kitchen. Holy crap, she’d nearly choked on her coffee when she turned and saw him there, still damp from his shower, dark hair sticking up in clumps. He was tall and lean from his sculpted shoulders to his sinewy calves. She’d wanted to smooth his goosebumps with her hands and mouth, toy with the hair lightly covering his solid chest, trail her lips down his flat abs to the edge of the towel slung low around narrow hips…
Her body throbbed with want, and suddenly heat wasn’t a problem. Would it be so bad to break her celibate streak with a man like that?
Yes. He made her feel too much. No one since Colin had inspired such strong desire, the kind that made her crazy, made her forget that she deserved more than a few hours of pleasure without strings. She’d made too much progress over the last four years to throw it away just because Jeff stirred her long-neglected libido.
Assuming he even returned her interest. The guy had a few things on his mind these days. Like his missing son. Not to mention whoever was after Tara—and probably him by extension at this point.
Sex would only complicate things, and when their lives returned to normal, he had other priorities. Better to focus on getting her own shit in order.
She removed her jacket, finally not shivering, and tried to ignore the warm, clean scent of the man sitting next to her. Tucking her feet up into a cross-legged position, she succumbed to the urge to study his profile. High forehead, sunglasses perched on his long straight nose, solid chin, thin lips that rarely curved into a smile.
Jesus, stop. Time to figure out why she was a target.
She forced her gaze back to her new phone. Procrastinating, she texted Jenna and Mick with her new number in case Jenna went into labor early. Not wanting to alarm either of them, she said she’d explain the change later. She did the same with Kurt.
And then she really h
ad no excuse for getting to work.
With Mars dead, it didn’t make sense that anyone he might have hired would still be after her. If he’d already paid part of an assassin’s fee before his death, he wasn’t around to pony up even if they finished the job, so where was the incentive? It could be one of his friends or family looking for revenge, but that seemed far-fetched.
The only thing she could think of that made sense to her were the missing pictures. She didn’t believe for a second that Mars’s tumble into the camera had been an accident. The police hadn’t found the media card with the photos on it, so he’d either managed to hide or destroy it before his arrest. But Tara had seen the pictures.
And Mars had known that.
What if he’d told someone?
Her money was on the guy with the tattoo, because all the other images had been of some society event or individual photo shoots. Who else would have a motive? The only lead she had was the lion tattoo and the vague feeling that she’d seen it before.
A shudder ran through her. What some people did in their private moments…
She started by searching for celebrity tattoos. Chances were good she didn’t actually know the guy, she’d probably just read about him in People Magazine or Us. Which would also explain why he’d be worried about being recognized.
Forty-five minutes later, after countless combinations of search criteria and a numb butt, she found him on someone’s old social media feed from college.
Gregory Luciano.
Nausea licked at the back of her throat.
She knew him.
Intimately.
How could she have forgotten?
Maybe because he was one in a blur of many one-night stands from her early post-college years. She didn’t even remember his name—maybe never knew it—but the intensity of his gaze, that she couldn’t forget. At the time, he’d been a junior lobbyist for one of the big firms on K Street, brash and confident and darkly handsome, and not afraid to approach her where she sat with several friends at the bar of a Georgetown restaurant.
He kept telling her she looked too young to be there and joked that she must have a fake ID. If he’d really believed she was underage, it hadn’t stopped him from taking her to a hotel.
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