He stood in front of her, leaning against the rail, folding his arms over his chest. For a moment they simply looked at each other; then she sighed. “I know. You think I’m an idiot who doesn’t have the sense to avoid a confrontation with Morgan. You think it’s guaranteed that he’ll start harassing me now, that he’ll try to make my life down here impossible.”
“If Reid hadn’t stopped him—”
“But he did.”
Jamey muttered a curse. “If you’re not concerned with your own safety, then think about Reid’s. Think about mine. You keep pushing Morgan like that, you’re going to get one of us killed.”
Guilt flashed across her face before giving way to that damnable stubbornness. “Ryan Morgan is a coward. He isn’t going to come after me unless he’s reasonably sure of success. That means catching me alone, when you’re not around, when Reid’s not around. He wasn’t going to try anything this evening, not with all those people there. He’ll look for me when I’m by myself, which means neither you nor Reid will be in danger.”
“You’re by yourself most of the time! For God’s sake, Karen...” He looked away, dragging his fingers through his hair, making an effort to control his frustrated anger. “You’re right. He’s not going to do anything when you’re with me, but I can’t spend twenty-four hours a day with you. Neither can Reid.”
She sighed again. “What am I supposed to do, Jamey? Hide inside this house? Never venture out unless I know he’s out of the neighborhood? Let this punk control my life? Exactly what is it you want me to do?”
“Leave.” He offered the solution with more reluctance but no less conviction than the other dozen times he’d suggested it. He would be sorry to see her go. He would miss her presence, her arguments, her relentlessly optimistic nature. He would regret what Serenity would lose in her going—what he would lose—but he still wanted her to go.
“That’s not an option.”
“That’s the only option. You heard what Morgan said. He’s not going to give you many more chances.”
“Morgan can go to hell!” she said hotly, rising from her chair, taking the few steps necessary to confront him, to get right in his face. “I have a right to be here! These people need me a hell of a lot more than they need him. If he doesn’t like it, that’s too damned bad, and if you don’t like it—”
Reaching up, Jamey touched her face. It was nothing much, just his palm to her cheek, but it was enough to make her words dry up in midsentence. Enough to make her go suddenly still. Enough to send a shot of heat along his skin. More than enough to make a sweet breath hard to come by.
They stood that way a long time, staring at each other, barely touching, touching too much. After a moment, she drew a breath that made her shudder, but she didn’t retreat, didn’t back down. She knew he was going to kiss her, as surely as he knew she was going to let him.
As surely as he knew it would be a mistake.
As surely as he knew he would never be able to walk away from it.
He raised his other hand, cupping her cheeks in his palms. Even in the shadows, her skin was pale against his. Even with the care he took, she felt fragile underneath his hands, as if he could crush her with no effort. But the fragility was an illusion. She was a strong woman, a strong, courageous, beautiful and hopelessly foolish woman. He’d never suspected he might have a weakness for strong or foolish women, had never suspected a weakness for the two combined, but the proof was in front of him, inside him, all around him.
Heat and humidity flushed her face, but it wasn’t responsible for her dazed expression, for her labored breathing or the moistness of her lips, slightly parted. He brushed his thumb across them, and her eyes closed, then opened again, in the laziest, sexiest flutter he’d ever seen. She looked exactly the way he felt: wary of what was about to happen but helpless to stop it. Utterly helpless.
He slid his fingers into her hair and swore for an instant that it did burn, just as he had once suspected it might. Then he touched his mouth to hers, and he stopped thinking, swearing, suspecting. He damn near stopped breathing. His kiss was demanding, hers accepting. There was nothing tentative, no hint that this was a first kiss between two people who hardly knew each other, who were on their way to knowing each other too well. He didn’t dance around it—didn’t brush his mouth across hers, didn’t start out gently, hesitantly, giving her every chance in the world to stop him, didn’t give her a sweet kiss that eventually grew more insistent. He simply claimed her mouth and thrust his tongue inside, as if he had kissed her a thousand times before, and she welcomed him, as if she had a thousand times before.
His arousal sizzled to life, a little heat that, in the space of a moment, flared out of control. His body was hard, his skin damp, his chest tight, all with no more contact than his mouth against hers, his hands buried in her hair. If he touched her, really touched her—wrapped his arms around her and held her tight enough to feel her breasts against his chest and her hips pressed hard against his, if he held her close enough to feel her heat, her need... God help him, he might not survive.
She groaned, and he realized that her hands were on him, catching his T-shirt in tight little fists, tugging it from his jeans with a slowness that made his muscles tremble. He felt an instant of cooling when the hem slid free, exposing his middle to the night air, then searing heat as she slid her hands underneath the fabric and across his stomach. Her kiss became far more than merely accepting, merely welcoming. There was a greediness to it, a demand as relentless as his own. She was as aroused as he was, as needy as he was, and she was making him burn.
At first the sound down the street barely penetrated his dazed mind. In the next instant he was breaking away, then catching hold of her arm. “Get inside,” he ordered, pushing her ahead of him to the door. Protesting, she stopped long enough to scoop up the puppy, then went in. He followed, closing the screen door silently behind him. “Take the mutt to the kitchen and stay there.”
“But—”
“Go.” He watched until her shadow blended with other shadows in the darkened hall, then turned his attention back to the street, staying out of sight, watching covertly through the screen door. The sound that had distracted him had been a badly tuned engine and the relentless thud-thud-thud of a stereo powerful enough to vibrate the entire body of a rusted-out old wreck like the Impala. They were coming from Decatur, headlights off, going slower the closer they came to the house. They came to a full stop out front, the engine settling into a rough idle, the music reverberating through the walls of the house.
The doors opened, and the occupants spilled out Alicia, wearing a white dress that gave her an ethereal look, whirled around, pointedly ignoring Morgan, and started for home a half block away. The younger Morgan, Marino and one of the Rodriguez boys waited at the rear of the car while Ryan opened the trunk. On the other side, Reid stood watching, a dozen feet between him and his buddies, his hands in his hip pockets and that business-as-usual scowl of his firmly in place. At least it didn’t seem he would be taking part in their devilry...but he wasn’t doing anything to stop them, either.
“What’s going on?”
Startled, Jamey spun around, then sank back against the wall. “Jeez, Karen, I said stay in the kitchen!” he whispered, pulling her to the side, away from the door.
“I left Jethro in there. He’ll be fine.” She turned and twisted, trying to see what was happening outside. “What is it?”
“I’m not worried about your damned dog. Even Morgan doesn’t mess with strays.” Although Vinnie Marino would probably find almost as much pleasure in tormenting a puppy as he did a person. “You’ve got company, and they’re not feeling too neighborly. Go back to the kitchen, stay quiet and keep the dog quiet.”
She’d gone about a foot when the sound of shattering glass sounded off to the right, followed by a thud on the wood floor. In the thin light from the streetlamps Jamey could see a brick in the middle of the parlor floor. Then came Morgan’s voice. “Hey, Karen.
You in there?”
Jamey pulled her back, holding her tight against him with one arm around her waist and one hand over her mouth. She had confronted Morgan out in the yard this evening. Damned if he would let her try again.
“Come on out, Karen. We know you’re there. We want to party. We want to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
There were more crashes on both sides of the hallway, more bricks hitting the floor, followed by the clang of something hitting metal. Probably a baseball bat coming into contact with Karen’s car. She should keep those damned gates closed and padlocked, Jamey thought grimly. A secure eight-foot-tall fence wouldn’t stop the little bastards, but at least it would make things harder for them. On the other hand, though, as long as they could destroy her property without any trouble, maybe they wouldn’t be tempted to come after her.
She was trembling in his arms—from helpless anger, he suspected, rather than fear. Less than three weeks ago she had replaced all the broken windows, and they’d just destroyed at least four of them. More work, more money, and they would just come back whenever the mood struck and break them again.
After another moment the sounds of mischief faded away, along with the pounding of the music. Unnatural stillness filled the air, broken after a time by Morgan’s voice. There was no false friendliness or good humor this time. Just malice. Pure, icy hatred. “Listen up, bitch. You stay away from my woman, and you stay out of my business. We don’t want you down here. We won’t let you stay down here. You can leave on your own, or you can be carried out. It’s your choice.”
The slamming of car doors echoed in the night. Counting only two, Jamey pushed Karen behind him and shifted just enough to see out. The right passenger doors were still open, and Ryan stood on the sidewalk, talking to Reid. Their words weren’t audible, but it wasn’t a friendly conversation, judging by the shove Ryan gave him before climbing into the front seat and jerking the door shut. The force knocked Reid back against the brick wall of the bar; then he straightened, gave a disgusted shake of his head and walked away.
After the car drove away, long after silence returned to the street, Jamey exhaled deeply, then left his cover to examine the damage. Every window in the two front rooms was broken. There was spray paint on the fence, the garbage from tonight’s cookout was dumped on the driveway, and the car was in need of a new trunk, fender and four tires. He straightened from examining the knife slashes in the right rear tire to see Karen standing silently on the porch. Even in the shadows, her face was a shade paler than normal. She looked stunned, shaken.
He climbed the steps and stopped in front of her. “Get whatever you need for the night. You’re coming over to my place.”
She shook her head numbly. “I won’t let them chase me out of my house.”
“You can’t stay here with all these windows broken. The place is even less secure than usual.”
“And I can’t leave it unsecured. Some other little punks will come in and take whatever I have.”
“Damn it, Karen—”
“If you want to spend the night over here, that’s fine. But I won’t leave. I can’t.”
He stared at her. Hadn’t spending the night been exactly what was on his mind before those bastards showed up? But this would hardly be what he’d wanted. The mood had been shattered, and he wasn’t sure he could get it back tonight. She was looking terribly fragile, and he was feeling that way. “All right. Let’s get inside and see what we can find to fix the windows for tonight.” She had plenty of supplies around. Maybe there was some plywood or something else suitable until morning.
“I’m going to call the police.”
“They won’t come,” he warned.
“I’m going to call anyway, and if they don’t come, tomorrow I’m going down to talk to Evan’s old commander to find out why. I’m going to file charges against them. I’m going to demand that the police arrest them.”
Jamey shook his head. “Darlin’, you didn’t see them.” He had kept her away from the door for her own safety—not just at the moment that the bricks were flying, but later, too. If pressed, she couldn’t swear under oath who had thrown the bricks, bashed in her car or slashed her tires. All she could say was that Ryan Morgan had been with the vandals, that even though she didn’t see him, she thought she recognized his voice.
“But you did. You can tell them...” Her voice trailed off, then that stunned look came back. “Will you tell them?”
People didn’t speak out against Morgan and his gang, he’d told her before. It wasn’t the best way to stay healthy. He didn’t want to identify them to the cops. He sure as hell didn’t want to testify against them in court. That was more deeply involved than he cared to be.
It was also more cowardly than he cared to be.
She was waiting for an answer, and instinct told him that whatever he said just might determine the future of their relationship. If he agreed, Morgan’s enmity would extend to him and, quite possibly, to his customers, who were poorly equipped to defend themselves against anything. But if he refused, the police would do nothing. The punks would get away with it, and they would come back again whenever they needed something to do. If he refused, the next time they might not be satisfied with breaking windows or damaging her car. The next time instead of bricks they might use bullets. Instead of slashing tires they might slash her.
If he refused, he would be little better than they were.
Muttering a curse, he shook his head in dismay and said, “Yes, I’ll tell them. It’ll probably cost me a dozen or so sets of doors, but I’ll tell them. Satisfied?”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, she smiled, just a faint curve of her mouth. “It takes more than that to satisfy me,” she said in a soft voice, “but it’s a start.”
While Jamey patched the windows with the two-by-sixes she’d bought for shelving, Karen called the police. The dispatcher took the information, said an officer would be by and hung up. She didn’t really expect a patrol car to pull up in front of her house any time in the near future, but she was awake—wide awake. She would wait and see.
After sweeping up the glass in the parlors, she wandered out onto the porch where Jamey was hammering the last board in place. For all her brave talk, she was glad he’d been here tonight. She probably would have been foolish enough to stay outside when she’d recognized Morgan’s car, and if they had seen her, they might have done a lot more than smash a little glass. Ryan might have made good on his threat to make her sorry. He might even have left her dead.
Instead, because Jamey had been there, because she’d known he would keep her safe, she hadn’t felt more than a shiver of fear—and a wealth of anger. Those punks thought they could chase her away with a middle-of-thenight visit? Think again. She wasn’t going anywhere.
He sank the last nail, then turned to face her. His gaze went past her, though, to the steps by the driveway, and his expression hardened. She turned to see Reid standing at the bottom of the steps. He looked as hostile as Jamey, as if he would rather be anywhere else than here. But he was here. He’d come because he had to, because he couldn’t not be here.
“Are you okay?” he asked grudgingly.
She nodded, but Jamey chose to answer, too. “Hell, yeah, we’re fine. Everything’s fine...no thanks to you.” His words answered a question Karen hadn’t asked. She hadn’t wanted to know whether Reid had been out there on the street with the others. She hadn’t wanted to know that he might have taken part in this.
Reid’s frown tightened. “I don’t put my neck on the line for anyone,” he said harshly. “She brought this on herself. Any idiot would have expected this after what she did at the damned party.”
“Did you have fun standing back watching?” Jamey demanded.
“I tried to talk him out of it—”
“Yeah, I could see you were trying real hard.”
His movements jerky from the tension that held him rigid, Reid made an angry, frustrated gesture. “I don�
�t need this,” he muttered, his expression so bitterly hopeless that it threatened to break Karen’s heart. “I don’t give a damn what you think or what you believe. I don’t give a damn about you at all.”
When he turned to leave, she started toward him. “Reid, wait a minute, please.”
He stopped and turned, but not to listen to her. “Why don’t you take everyone’s advice and get the hell out? No one wants you here except him, and he’s just looking to get into your bed, and then he won’t care, either. Go away before Ryan or Vinnie or Mr. Falcone makes you go away.”
“Reid...” She sighed as he stalked off, his back straight, his animosity a protective shield about him. With a wistful sigh, she turned back to Jamey.
“He’s right.”
“About what?”
“You should leave. They will try to make you leave.” His grin came slowly and was charmingly, disarmingly crooked. “And I am looking to get into your bed.”
She looked at him for a long time before managing a faint smile of her own. “I kind of guessed that from that kiss.” All that heat, all that hunger...and so much of it her own. Just a few weeks ago she had insisted that she wanted nothing from Jamey but friendship, that she didn’t care if she remained celibate and alone the rest of her life. Tonight she had only one thing to say to that.
Ha.
Obviously she had been in some sort of denial. She had forgotten how incredibly steamy a kiss could be. She had completely forgotten the sweet aches of arousal and the sweeter promise of satisfaction. In the years since Evan’s death, she had lost touch with the purely feminine, sexual side of herself, had convinced herself that it had been buried right alongside him. After all, hadn’t he been the great love of her life? The only lover in her entire life? The other half that had made her whole? How could she possibly be with another man the way she had been with him? How could she ever want another man the way she had wanted him?
Damned if she knew, but she wanted Jamey.
Convincing Jamey Page 16