by Laura Kaye
He was right there.
She hadn’t heard him move. Just . . . sensed his presence. Her gaze flicked over him. The man had some damn broad shoulders under that black jacket. “We’re doing the buddy system?”
“I’m going to do a quick sweep for bugs while you’re packing.”
“Oh. As in . . . Oh.” Unease shivered over her. Becca hadn’t even thought of that. At the top, she broke left into her bedroom and turned on the lights. Her gaze scanned over the place where she’d slept the past four years—the dresser, the bed, the night tables. Had the intruder come in here? The idea made her want to strip her unmade bedclothes and throw everything in the wash. She shuddered.
“I’ll start in here,” he said, following her in. “And then you can pack while I sweep the office.”
Nodding, she watched him go to work, starting with the disassembly of the handset on her phone. Detached and methodical, he worked quickly, confidently. Though he seemed to be paying no attention to her personal things lying around the room, she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought.
The guitar Scott had prized sat on a stand in one corner. Paperback books and framed pictures of her family crowded the nightstand along with her alarm clock. A crystal dish dominated the center of her dresser, filled with seashells she’d collected over the years—one for each trip to the beach she’d ever taken going all the way back to her childhood. Pieces of jewelry she hadn’t bothered to put away lay loose on the dresser near her mother’s jewelry box—hers now. She never gave these things a second thought. Did he wonder what kind of woman they added up to?
He checked each of the lamps, then crouched next to her nightstand. Using a tool he produced from his pocket, he removed the plate from the outlet. He poked around for a moment, screwed the cover back on, then repeated this process on the only other accessible outlet and the light switch box. Competence rolled off him in oddly appealing and tangible waves that kept the threatening anxiety from washing over her.
“Just pack essentials for tonight, okay?” Nick said as he made for the hall.
She blew out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yeah, okay.” From the bottom of her closet, she retrieved an overnight bag and tossed it on her bed. Moving around her room, she gathered clothes, scrubs, a couple of favorite sleep shirts, and a few days’ worth of panties and bras, including her favorite pale yellow satin and white lace matching set. Just because wearing it made her feel good, and pretty. Had absolutely nothing to do with the hard-bodied warrior prowling around her house right now. Because that would just be crazy.
Right.
After piling everything on the bed, she pushed her door closed. She’d been in these scrubs so long she was about ready to burn them. As she stripped, her pulse kicked up. Nick was ten feet away in the next room. What if he barged in? Ridiculous heat rushed over her skin, like her body didn’t think that was a completely bad idea. She tugged on a pair of jeans and grabbed a yellow Henley. There. More human already.
She chucked the dirties into a basket in her closet and made for the bathroom.
Nick’s gaze landed on her the moment she opened the door. Man, those light eyes with the chocolate brown hair made a killer combination.
“Find anything?”
“Looks clean. Need more equipment to know for sure.”
Small victories. But, after the day she’d had, it was better than nothing. “Okay, well, I’m almost done,” she said, feeling like she needed to say something as she passed him in the hall. The bathroom light revealed the toll the day had taken. She leaned into the mirror. A dark red scrape filled the space between the end of her left eyebrow and her hairline, just above her temple. She soaped up a washcloth and cleaned the injury, wincing at the tender sting. Antibiotic cream went on next. The rest could wait. With Charlie missing, it hardly mattered how messy her hair was or how bad she yearned for a hot shower.
The feeling of being observed skittered over her skin, pulling her gaze to the right. Nick’s big body seemed to take up the entire landing at the top of the steps. The black jacket, cargo pants, and boots—not to mention knowing he had a holster strapped around those big shoulders—gave off a paramilitary vibe, making him look like the soldier he’d once been. He wasn’t obviously watching her, though her father had always had the ability to see out of the back of his head. No doubt Nick was the same.
Shaking off the sensation, she packed her toiletries and rushed back to her bedroom. Nothing about Nick’s demeanor made her think he was getting impatient, but there was something in his silence that made her feel she should rush. None too carefully, she stuffed everything in her bag.
“Becca, can you think of any reason why someone broke into your house? And your brother’s? What they might’ve been looking for?”
She paused with her hand on the zipper. Those questions had been driving her crazy since she’d first seen the disaster at Charlie’s place. She thought back to their fight last week, to his insistence that their dad wasn’t who she thought he was—and that he could prove it. How could that be relevant, though? “A few days ago I’d have guessed that the break-in at Charlie’s had to do with his computer security consulting work. That someone was trying to steal secrets or something. But now? With the note, and tonight? I have no freaking clue.” And her confusion about why this was all happening was giving her a grade-A headache. Becca shouldered her bag, grabbed her favorite pillow, and stepped out into the hall again.
Nick’s gaze was narrow and sharp as a blade. “Does Charlie go missing a lot? Has anything like this happened before?”
“No. He’s a bit of a homebody. Always was, even as a kid. Our mom died when we were young, and Charlie withdrew into himself and his computers. But he never just disappears like this.”
“Does he have any friends? Anywhere he might go?”
Becca shook her head. “That I know of, most of his friends have always been online. He does corporate security consulting, and even most of his business meetings are calls or Skypes he does from home. I’m not even sure which companies he works for. Apparently he has to sign nondisclosure agreements as part of his contract work, so he can’t say.”
Something dark flashed over Nick’s expression, and his jaw ticked. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, reaching for her bag. His fingers touched hers on the strap, warm and strong.
The we in his words shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I got it.” He slipped the bag from her shoulder to his.
“Uh, okay. Look, I have to say this. I appreciate your help very much. But please don’t confuse my needing help with being helpless.” She squeezed the pillow against her stomach.
He gave her an appraising look and nodded. “Fair enough.” His gaze dropped to her flower-covered pillow.
“What? It’s essential. I hate hotel pillows.” She hugged it tighter.
“Well, you’re in luck then.” Nick gestured her toward the steps.
“Why’s that?” she asked, starting down.
“No hotels.”
“What? Where else would I go?” She paused at the bottom and watched him make his way down. Big as he was, he not only came quietly but also didn’t hit a single one of the squeaks, like he knew where they were and how to avoid them. “How’d you do that?”
“What?”
“The stairs.” God, it was like being around her father. Her heart gave a little tug. Not that the comparison was all bad. “Never mind. Back to this hotel situation.”
He shook his head. “No hotels. My place is safer.”
His place? Her stomach flip-flopped. “Uh . . .” was the sum total of her intelligent response. Where would she sleep at his place? And would she be able to sleep at all knowing he was so close? “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You won’t,” he said, going from window to window and pulling all the curtains closed. “We’ll leave the lights on. Hopefully that’ll discourage anyone fr
om another attempt tonight until we can get more serious hardware on these doors.”
A shiver raced over her skin. There was that we again. “Do you think they’ll be back?”
He paused at the last window and looked her way, his expression unreadable.
“Truth,” she said.
He closed the curtain and returned to her, his eyes softer than she’d yet seen them, but no less serious. “I think they’ll be back. But next time, we’ll be ready for them.”
Chapter 5
“Wait. You live here?” Becca asked, recognizing the brick warehouse-style building she’d visited the day before despite the dark. The whole neighborhood was a collection of empty-looking brick warehouses located just a few blocks from the business end of the harbor.
“Yep,” he said.
She stared at him, waiting for more. But Nick remained quiet as he turned into a gravel lot at the side of the building, big hands gripping the wheel, console lights casting shadows over his strong profile.
Nick cut the engine and glanced her way. “Home, sweet home.”
She peered out the window at the dark brick building. “You mean tattoo parlor, sweet tattoo parlor.”
He winked and pushed out of the car. “That’s only the one part.” The back door opened and he retrieved her bag.
What the hell was happening to her life? Charlie missing and maybe taken. Chased from her home. Now, taking shelter in a run-down warehouse in a not-great part of town. “Good to know, I guess,” she murmured. Grabbing her pillow and her purse, she opened her door and stepped out. And almost walked right into Nick, who’d apparently come around to open her door. Warmth filled her chest, though she couldn’t say why the polite gesture should affect her after everything else he’d done for her tonight. “Sorry,” she murmured.
He placed his hand at the small of her back, and his heat seeped into her skin through the thin shirt. “This way.” She wasn’t a small woman, but he almost made her feel it walking next to him. And it wasn’t just his height, though he had a good seven or eight inches on her five-foot-seven-inch frame. It was the breadth of his shoulders, the almost defensive way he moved next to her, his general presence.
On the brick by the back door, he flipped up a metal covering and entered a code into a backlit panel. The door disengaged with a snap and a low buzz. He opened it and gestured for her to go first.
The inside was pretty much what she’d expected. Brick walls, gray-painted cement steps, and a gray, metal railing. A wall-mounted light with grating over the bulb cast a dull illumination over the entryway, as did another at the bottom of the steps.
“Hard Ink’s through there,” Nick said, pointing at a door adjacent to the staircase. “In fact—” He tugged the door open and stepped through, holding it for her to follow. She braced it with her back but didn’t enter. She was holding a pillow, for God’s sake. Wouldn’t whoever was here think that was weird? “Hey,” he said to someone inside. He waved her in.
Oh, what the hell. Maybe it was good that someone else knew she was here. Though, truly, no part of her thought the sense of safety she felt around him was misplaced. Was that because he’d known and fought with her father? Or because he’d shown up to help exactly when she’d needed him? She propped the pillow against the wall and rounded the corner to join him.
The room was large and airy, surrounded on three sides by warm brick walls. On the longest wall, a large graffiti-like painting read, “Bleed with me and you will forever be my brother.” It was a striking design, a jagged cursive with reds and grays and blacks blending through the words.
Nick’s brother, Jeremy, sat at a round table in the middle working on an intricate abstract drawing, a sketch pad, printed pictures, and a book on modern art in front of him. “Hey,” he said, glancing up. He did a double take, shook his hair out of his eyes, and straightened in his chair. “Oh, hey. Uh, uh . . .”
“Becca,” she and Nick said at the same time. Yeah, this wasn’t awkward at all.
“Hi, Becca. Good to see you again.” Smiling, he glanced from her to Nick and back again.
“What are you working on?” Nick asked, ignoring Jeremy’s unasked but obvious questions.
The younger Rixey glanced down at the drawing. “Oh, an abstract tat I have to start tomorrow.”
Nick walked over to the table. “That’s a monster.”
“Guy already has ink, but I’ve never worked on him before. This is easily four or five hours’ work. Might take two sittings. Speaking of which . . .” He flipped to another page in his pad. “This dude came in right before closing and asked for a design along these lines, about this size.”
Curious, Becca stepped closer. Jeremy had black letters in a block font on the backs of each of his fingers, but she couldn’t make out what they read.
Nick glanced to the page and frowned. “And?”
“This one’s totally yours, man.” He smiled up at his brother, clearly undeterred by the volume with which hell no radiated off Nick’s body and expression. Becca couldn’t help but compare the two men. Though they shared the same dark hair and light green eyes, Jeremy was lean where Nick had bulk, and he had tattoos everywhere she could see, except for his face. And it wasn’t just their appearances that differed. Jeremy seemed to have an inherent playfulness that was so different from Nick’s hard-edged seriousness.
“I’m busy,” Nick said.
Wait, Nick did tattoos?
Jeremy laughed. “You don’t even know when I want you to do it.”
Uh, apparently. Well, that was . . . unexpected.
Becca got about a hundred times more curious to see someone get a tattoo. His big hands creating art on skin. What would that be like? She imagined the skin was hers, and her stomach did this completely maddening flippy thing. “You’re a tattoo artist?” The question was out of her mouth before she thought to voice it.
Both men looked at her. “Yes,” Jeremy said at the same time Nick said, “Not really.”
Jeremy winked. “Ignore him. He’s good. When I can get him to do it. He’s especially good at people and faces. Which is why this one’s yours.” He turned the paper so she could get a better look.
The image was only roughed out on the page. A dynamic drawing of a man: half firefighter, half soldier. The man’s face was tilted down, showing off his headgear, with the fireman carrying an axe on his shoulder, and the soldier resting an automatic weapon on his. One man, two identities. Very cool. And Nick could do this? Becca could barely draw a stick figure.
“Get Ike to do it,” Nick said, eyes still on the drawing, as if he was studying it.
“Ike’s off until Monday. Guy wants it done this weekend. Besides, doing this would give you an even fifty-five.”
Fifty-five what? she wondered, but she didn’t want to interrupt their negotiations.
Nick glanced at her, like he was uncomfortable with all the focused attention. “When?”
“Told him I’d call him. Any time this weekend. You tell me.”
He pursed his lips for a long moment. “Saturday, then. First thing in the morning or late evening.”
Jeremy slapped his hand to the sketch. “Done.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself. “So, you kids hanging, or what?”
The innuendo in the question flooded heat into Becca’s cheeks.
“Becca will be here for a few days. I’m going to put her in Katherine’s room.”
Who the heck was Katherine? Becca’s level of discomfort ratcheted up another notch, creating an odd emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe that was just the fact she hadn’t eaten since . . . hmm. The piece of coffee cake she’d nibbled on in the break room this morning?
“Okay, well, welcome to the Hard Ink Hotel,” Jeremy said with a smile and a bowed flourish. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll try not to walk around naked while you’re here.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Nick smacked him on the back of the head, which only
made Jeremy laugh and strike out with a punch that missed. “Come on,” Nick said, guiding her toward the door. “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t do that. Much.”
“See ya later, Becca,” Jeremy called, amusement coloring his voice.
“Bye,” she said, scooping her pillow from the floor, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Apartment’s this way.” Nick started up the steps. “We own the whole building, so you don’t have to worry about anyone else coming or going.”
She nodded, and her heart hitched up toward her throat as they reached the landing bracketed by two more nondescript industrial doors. Another electronic code got them into the one on the right.
Unlike the hallway, the apartment wasn’t what she expected at all. With its dark kitchen cabinetry, distressed plank flooring, and chic-but-industrial fixtures, it could easily have been a warehouse loft in one of the upscale rehab developments along the expensive Fells Point waterfront. “This is really nice.” A long, narrow island with a stove and a black granite breakfast bar was all that separated the open, airy kitchen from the spacious living room. Less surprising in the home of two men was the huge plasma TV that hung on the opposite wall in front of a giant brown leather couch and two well-worn, overstuffed recliners. An overflowing bookshelf spanned the short wall before the back hallway.
Nick looked around the space, as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah. Can’t take any credit for it, though. All Jer’s doing.” He crossed the room and led her down a long hallway, giving her the guided tour. “Jeremy’s room is here. Bathroom here. Mine’s back there. And this”—he turned a corner and flipped on a light—“will be yours. It’s nicer than the guest room we have.” He settled her bag on the wide-plank floor.
Becca leaned against the jamb, discomfort at invading another woman’s space giving her pause. Although, as she glanced in, there was nothing particularly feminine or personal about the room. A queen bed with a sturdy oak headboard and a plain maroon comforter sat against the lone brick wall, and a long oak dresser with a mirror filled an adjacent space. The warm coffee color on the other three walls tied it all together. “Who’s Katherine?”