by Jane Jamison
Brown hair with red highlights. Probably her real hair color.
A good seven inches shorter than his six-foot-one-inch frame.
Weighs around one hundred thirty pounds of luscious curves.
Oval-shaped face with a few freckles dancing across her nose.
Hot as hell.
He would’ve gladly stayed where he was and studied her longer, but Sherwood Dawson, the officer behind the receiving desk, was all too ready to catch a break. Dawson’s face flooded with relief.
“Miss, this is Detective Draper. You can tell your story to him.” Dawson turned to the older gentleman standing off to the side of the gorgeous girl, dismissing her. “Yes, sir? What can I do for you?”
Surprisingly, she didn’t move. Instead, her gaze met his and held. And held a moment longer.
He didn’t want to break the spell that had somehow come over them. And yet, he wanted to meet her, to touch her, if only to shake her hand.
“I’m Detective Ryan Draper. What can I do for you, Miss…?”
“Julie Brooks.” She glanced around as though realizing for the first time that they weren’t alone. “Can we talk in private?”
He’d love to “talk” to her in private but resisted the urge to say so. “What’s this in regards to?”
“It’s in regards to the life of a woman and her daughter.”
She’d mimicked both his words and his professional tone, but he didn’t care. As long as he could hear her voice, she could say any damn thing she wanted. “Come on back to my office.”
“Fine. Lead the way.”
He didn’t want to lead her. Instead, he would’ve liked to wrap her in his arms and carry her. The ideas she’d sent racing through his mind were definitely not of a professional nature. Hell, some of them were even illegal.
By the time he’d closed the door to his office, he was sure that half the department had their hot gazes on her. He motioned to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Miss Brooks.”
On impulse, instead of sitting behind his desk, he took the chair next to her. “It’s Julie, right?” He put out his hand. “I’m Ryan Draper. Call me Ryan.”
She took his hand, her lips quirking upward. “Yes, I know. You already introduced yourself.”
He was acting like a teenage boy crushing on the new girl in school. “What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me how an abusive man found out where his wife and child were staying.”
Damn. He almost let out a sigh. He’d worried that she was married and had a kid. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. “Are you talking about yourself?”
“No. I’m not married, and I don’t have any children. I do, however, volunteer at Haven House, the women’s shelter.”
She volunteered, which meant she had a good heart. Plus, it explained why she was so upset and railing at Dawson. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“It’s simple. No one other than the workers, volunteers, and police are supposed to know the shelter’s address. Keeping the location unknown protects not only the women and children seeking shelter, but it keeps everyone else safe, too.”
“I get that. So the husband of one of the women found out where she was?”
“Right. And he showed up. If I hadn’t threatened to call the police, he would’ve forced her and her ten-year-old daughter to leave with him. God knows what might have happened to them if I hadn’t been there.”
He wasn’t sure if she really had any idea, but he did. He’d seen the aftermath of domestic abuse far too often. Reaching for the pad of paper and a pen, he leaned back and got ready to take down the details. “I’m going to need her name and her husband’s.”
“Isn’t that kind of going against what I just said? To keep them safely hidden away?”
“If you want my help, you’re going to have to tell me who I’m helping.”
Damn, but she’s pretty. Her eyes sparkled when she was irritated. Her cheeks had a soft pink hue that made her seem vulnerable and sexy at the same time. Her full mouth was pursed, but he could easily imagine it wrapped around his cock. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind as well.
“Fine, but I don’t want her name getting around. We’ve already had one screw-up. I don’t want another.”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he simply waited for her to decide to trust him.
She studied him a little longer then heaved a sigh. “Her name is Brenna Scruggs, and her daughter is Molly. Her husband’s name is Randall Scruggs. I thought he was in jail.”
“He could’ve made bail. Are they still at the shelter?”
She hesitated long enough for him to realize she didn’t want to answer his question. The woman had trust issues. The question was if they came from working at the shelter or from personal experience.
“Julie, I need to know where they are in order to protect them.” He leaned forward, met her gaze dead-on, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his business card. He hated carrying the cards and rarely gave one out. Yet he wanted her to be able to reach him. “Julie, you can trust me. Take this and call me whenever you need to. Now tell me. Where is she?”
“She’s at my apartment.”
“At your place? I’m only guessing, but I’d bet it’s against the rules for you to take in a woman and her child from the shelter.”
Her jaw tightened, causing her facial features to tense up. Yet instead of making her less attractive, he had to hold the pad in front of his crotch to hide his growing erection.
“I did what I thought I had to do.” She arched an eyebrow. “Was I wrong in coming here?”
“No. I’m not going to turn you in.” Did she realize her nipples were hard and showing through her blouse? It took everything in him to lift his gaze back to her face. “But we’re going to have to find her another place to go. Somewhere safer for her and her child as well as for your safety, too.”
“I know. But until I can, she stays with me.”
He had a feeling she didn’t make a stand often, but when she did, she’d be like a dog with a bone. No way would she give in.
“There’s no telling how he found out where they were. Frankly, I’d be spinning my wheels and wasting a lot of time trying to find out. He already knows. The best thing to do now is to concentrate on the future.”
“She had a new job and home lined up in a small town called Crosston.”
“That’s near Twisted, right?” As if he didn’t already know. What shape-shifter didn’t know about Twisted, Forever, and the other towns around the country that were shifter-friendly? “Has she been there? Does she have folks in Crosston or Twisted?”
If she did, then maybe she wasn’t as defenseless as Julie was making her sound. Maybe Brenna Scruggs was more than she was letting on. More as in a woman who can change into a tigress.
“No. It was going to be a fresh start for her.”
Then she’s not a shifter. Too bad. She would’ve had a better shot against her husband.
He kept that information for himself. Keeping his secret was hard enough without having to worry about someone else’s.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Like most people, she expected instant action. Unreasonable, but understandable. “Does she have a restraining order against him?”
“No. She came straight to the shelter. Since then, I’ve only been able to get her out of the place to go to Crosston. And now to my place.”
“Then the reality of the situation is this. Unless there’s a direct threat to her—”
“What do you call trying to abduct her? I’d say that’s a direct threat.”
“Yes, but he didn’t take her, and since it happened at the shelter, I’m thinking not many of the women there are likely to sign a statement, much less testify in court. Plus, it would only draw attention to the shelter.”
“Are you telling me you can’t do anything?” She got to her feet, her eyes blazing.
He stood,
too, aching to hold her against him and comfort her. “Not exactly. Give me some time to do some digging. I’ll see if I can find anything on her husband’s whereabouts. If nothing else, I can offer you police protection.” He doubted he could get the captain to sign off on the manpower for a guard. Then again, if the captain wouldn’t go for it, he’d take the duty.
“Wouldn’t that draw attention to my place? And to her?”
“Maybe, but it’s the best I can offer you.”
“Your best isn’t good enough.”
“I’m sorry, Julie. If you like—”
“What I’d like is for the police to get off their butts and help women like me.” She stalled, obviously having said more than she’d meant to. “I mean like Brenna.”
“You don’t trust men much.”
She blinked, obviously thrown. “I never said that.”
“No, you didn’t. But I’m pretty good at reading people.” He smiled, trying to lessen the harshness of his words. “It’s understandable, considering what you see at the shelter. Unless there’s more to it.”
“You’ve got it all wrong.”
The hell I do.
Still, he had to keep her there, if only so he could be near her. His reaction to her was unique, special, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away. “Please, Julie, have a seat and let’s discuss this.” What he wanted to say was to demand that she sit down and spread her legs so he could find out just how sweet she tasted.
“Thanks for nothing.” She strode to the door and yanked it open. “I hope nothing happens to her. If it does, it’s on your hands.”
Shit. I blew it with her.
He watched as she stormed through the outer room and back into the hallway leading to the foyer. He enjoyed the way her pretty, round ass swayed from side to side.
“Well, hell, that went well.” Yet he wasn’t worried. He knew her name and where she worked. He’d make damn sure he saw her again and soon.
Chapter Three
Julie was pleased by the turnout. She’d jumped over a lot of hurdles to set up her art show. Leaving Brenna and Molly alone hadn’t set well with her, but after all the work she’d put into the show, she couldn’t cancel.
First, she’d had to talk the gallery owner into letting her have another show. Because her last show had done well, he’d agreed but had wanted a bigger cut of the profits. Haggling wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but they’d finally come to an agreement. Next came getting help to stage her artwork. Thankfully her friend Josh Morgan had called a few of his friends and had turned the work into a play-like atmosphere.
Deadly attractive and charming as all get out, Josh was the perfect man. His blond wavy hair begged women to run their fingers through it. He always had a nice tan and wore casual clothes like blue jeans and a white starched shirt and still managed to fit in anywhere he went. Green eyes that could melt a woman’s heart and heat up her libido finished off the appearance of the Texas man’s man. And yet, she’d never wanted to be anything more than his best gal-pal.
Unlike her feelings for Detective Ryan Draper. Although she’d been angry while talking to him, she hadn’t been able to push aside the wild emotions she’d experienced. Her mouth had dried up, but her pussy had flooded. For the first time in a long time—hell, ever—she’d wanted to ride a man long and hard. Since she’d left his office, she’d found him invading her thoughts over and over.
Was she ready to try again? Years had passed since she’d wanted to give another man a chance. And yet, there was just something about the rugged detective that had made her feel not only turned-on, but safe.
“Your Mad Dog sculpture just sold.”
She turned around, winding up in Josh’s arms. Someone watching them might have assumed they were lovers, but there was nothing more to it than being very close friends. “Don’t tell me you bought it?”
It would be just like Josh to purchase one of the few sculptures she’d ever completed. Painting was more her strength, but every so often she liked digging her hands into clay.
“Nope.” He put his mouth to her ear. “It was the old guy at the bar. Don’t look now, but he’s got his eye on you.”
“Is he as creepy as you’re making him out to be?”
“Worse.”
Shit. One of the downsides of being an artist, especially a female one, was that people sometimes thought they could get chummy with the artist by buying one of their works. “Save me,” she whispered.
“No problem.” Josh tugged her away, taking her through the crowd to the other side of the room. They were laughing by the time they leaned against the wall, huddled together as though hiding from the others.
Josh slung his arm over her shoulders. “Why don’t I see any of your new paintings here?”
She’d known this was coming. When he’d come to her place to help her load up her artwork, he’d seen the recent work she’d done in the mornings after the nightmares. Each one was dark, ominous, and featured the Silhouette Man. “They’re not good enough.”
“Bullshit. They’re terrific. They’re different from your usual work.”
“Oh, so you don’t like my usual stuff, huh?”
“Don’t try and deflect this. You know what I mean. You’ve done dark work before and these are kind of depressing, but they’re damn good.”
“And you’re an art critic now?”
“Jules, stop. I know good art when I see it, and you know it. Those paintings would sell fast, so why didn’t you include them? You did the last time, and they went like crazy.”
She almost tried another glib remark but knew it wouldn’t work anyway. Being truthful with each other was part of their friendship. “They’re…too personal.”
“Then you need to talk about them.” He zeroed in on her. “You need to talk about him.”
“That’s a load of horseshit. Talk won’t do any good. A year of talking in therapy sessions didn’t help one damn bit.”
“Maybe you were talking to the wrong person. You can tell me what’s going on, you know. I don’t have a vagina, but I’m still a good listener.”
“Josh, please. Leave it alone.” She hadn’t told anyone, even him, about the nightmares. They’d only recently started happening every night like they had during the trial. Yet the recent ones were even worse. It didn’t take a shrink to know that Hank’s impending parole hearing was bringing them back.
“It’s the parole hearing, isn’t it? The man in the paintings is Hank, isn’t it?”
Josh knew her too well. “Like I asked you before. Leave it alone.”
“You know you should go. Tell them not to let that bastard loose.”
The last thing she wanted was to talk about her abusive ex. “No more. I’m warning you.”
“Okay, okay. But you’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest person I know.”
She placed a well-earned peck on his cheek. “And you’re the sweetest.”
He squeezed her, giving her even more support. “Nah, I’m just trying to get into your pants.”
Josh could always make her laugh. “Not going to happen, cowboy.”
“Julie, darling, you have to tell us the meaning behind this painting.” Mrs. Carsgrove, one of the richest women in San Antonio, took her hand and led her away from Josh. She glanced back at him and shrugged.
By the time she’d explained everything about her Muses painting to Mrs. Carsgrove and her bored-out-of-his-mind husband, Luther, Julie was ready to go home, get out of her little black dress and kick off her high heels. She hated dressing up and only did it when she had to.
Begging off from the Carsgroves with the excuse that she had to check in with the gallery owner, she tucked her arms to her side and slunk through the crowd, hoping to go unnoticed for a minute or two. She almost groaned out loud when someone took her by the arm and turned her around. Plastering on a polite smile, she readied herself for another thirty minutes of explaining her work. Instead, her smile died, and her mind went to mush
.
Green eyes, even greener than Josh’s, stared straight at her. Into her soul. The square jaw was cut with steel and highlighted by the rough texture of stubble. His nose was slightly crooked as though it had been broken and never set the right way to heal. Still, it only added to his ruggedly good looks. High cheekbones gave a frame for those amazing emerald eyes while unruly brown hair curled around his ear lobes. Like Josh, he was dressed far too casually for an art show, but again like Josh, he pulled it off. At least, he had the decency to take his cowboy hat off. As far as she was concerned, he should never wear any kind of hat. Covering his rich, thick hair was a damn crime.
“Hi. You’re the artist, right?”
“Yes.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Julie Brooks.”
His palm was callused. Apparently the man didn’t wear a cowboy hat just for the looks of it. “Micah McKnight.”
His name fit. Virile. Strong. Different enough to be interesting.
“Are you an art lover, Micah?”
“An art lover? Yes. An art critic? Nope. But I know what I like.”
“Oh? Which piece do you like?”
“None of them.”
“What?” She’d never had anyone come out and say they didn’t like her work. Especially while at one of her art shows. “Then why are you here?”
He tilted his head and gave her a quizzical look. “How would I know whether or not I liked your art unless I came and took a look?”
She lowered her gaze to her hand that was still captured in his. She should’ve been irritated. At least put out. And yet she wasn’t. Not fear or even wariness, but more like a heat coming to life inside her took her over. Swallowing, she pulled her hand free of his.
When had she felt so drawn to a man? Answer? To Ryan Draper.
Yet why? And after all these years? Was she really ready to let down her guard? Or was she just lonely? Like the detective, Micah had a way about him that made her feel special and protected.
Even stranger, she was surprised to be attracted to two men in such a short time. She’d heard a few of her girlfriends talk about ménage relationships. They’d described them as wonderful, the perfect unions, as though no one man could completely fulfill a woman’s needs. If she was really ready to test her heart again, could she handle more than one man at a time? Would one man protect her from the other if things went south? Or could they both possibly turn against her?