by Cynthia Eden
His arm curled around her, and he pulled her closer to his side.
I can’t let that happen. Emma, with all her mysteries, all her passion, was becoming too important. So important that Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMMA TIPTOED TO THE HOTEL-ROOM DOOR. SHE’D dressed as soundlessly as she could, a pretty easy task since most of her clothes had been scattered in the sitting area, not the bedroom. Dawn was just about to break across the sky, and she planned to be out of there by the time the sun rose.
Her hand reached for the doorknob.
“Do you always sneak out of your lovers’ beds?” His voice froze her. “Or am I special?”
There haven’t been as many lovers as you might think. Emma pasted a bright smile on her face and turned toward Dean. “You’re awake!” An incredibly obvious statement, but her mind was scrambling right then.
Wearing only a pair of his pants, he was propped against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and one dark brow raised. “Going someplace?” A small pause. “Without me?”
Yes. She had been. Because when she’d woken, Emma had realized that she could probably get her contact to share a lot more if he spoke just with her and not with her new guard/partner.
“I thought we were working together¸ Emma.”
She caught the edge of anger in his words. “We are.” Mostly.
“He’s out there, waiting, with you on his kill list, and you were just going out on your own?”
“I can’t hide forever.” Not my style.
He pushed away from the doorframe and stalked toward her. “Where were you going? Because he’s probably watching your apartment.”
“I-I wasn’t going there.” Not first, anyway. But a stop by that place was definitely in order. She’d meant what she said. Hiding forever wasn’t on her to-do list.
His hair was tousled. From her fingers, she was pretty sure. And the guy’s body—he had some serious six-pack action going on there. Emma forced her gaze off his sexy bod and back to his face. A face that was currently locked in some rather tense lines. If the guy knew that she liked it when he looked all dangerous and tough like that, well, he’d no doubt use the sex appeal to his advantage.
So she didn’t move toward him. Didn’t let her hands wander over those muscles. Emma kept her body stiff because she had a mission to accomplish.
And she’d realized that taking her current lover to see her ex . . . well, that wasn’t the best plan ever.
His eyes narrowed, and it almost seemed as if he was trying to see into her mind. “Were you running from me?”
“No!” Her immediate answer. “I was just going out for a bit. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.” That was only a half lie.
He leaned forward, and his hands flattened on the door behind her. “That’s just insulting. You don’t fuck a man one night and run away before dawn.”
“You do when you’re trying to stop a killer.” Because what was happening—this hell, this nightmare—she was going to help stop it. Lisa wasn’t going to be put in the cemetery while that guy ran away and lived to kill another day. No way. So even if she had to face the ghosts in her past, Emma was going to do it.
“The dark side of town.”
She jerked a bit but quickly controlled herself.
His gaze had turned thoughtful. “You were taking me there before we found Lisa. You thought you could learn something about Julia’s abductor there.”
She still thought that.
He leaned toward her. “Something you should know, baby.”
Baby?
“You’re not the only one who can read a person. You were trying to ditch me and go to that place on your own, but that’s not happening. Too bad if you don’t want me by your side, partner, because that’s where I’m planning to be.”
She held his gaze for a moment. Saw that he wasn’t going to back down. And really, having backup wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen. She’d just been alone for so long that getting used to someone else being there, someone else who wanted to watch out for her, well, it was different.
Not bad.
Different.
Her hand rose and pressed against that delicious chest. She could have sworn he scorched her. “Do me a favor though? Please, please try to look a little bit like you blend in. Leave the GQ look behind. I know you own a pair of jeans.” He must.
He smiled at her, and Emma’s breath caught. She didn’t think she’d ever seen that particular slow and sexy smile cross his face before. It lit his eyes, warmed his face. Made her want to lick him. “Yeah, baby, I do.” He backed away from her. “But how about you tell me just where we’re going, first.”
That was easy enough. “We’re going to my old home. I still have some friends there.” And an ex-lover. “They might be able to tell us if anyone else like Julia has gone missing.”
He nodded, but then he cocked his head. “Old home?”
He’d see, soon enough.
“And maybe we should take a taxi or a trolley.” So his ride didn’t get, uh, borrowed.
But Dean shook his head. “The car will be faster.”
“I hope you have insurance,” she muttered. ’Cause you might need it.
“EMMA, THIS ISN’T a home.”
Dean looked around him, seeing the homeless men and women who clung in the shadows. The streaks of red and gold spreading across the sky told him that dawn had definitely come, and the people there were starting to slip away as the daylight spread.
“Not every home has walls.” Emma was walking quickly down the street, a street in a run-down area that was far from safe. He looked to the left and saw the flash of cash exchange hands.
There were two scantily clad women to the right, edging toward what looked like some kind of bar. It was dark there, the lights turned off, but two motorcycles were in front of the place.
“It’s going to close soon,” Emma said, “so we have to hurry.”
It? The bar? Okay, he’d keep going down this rabbit hole. He made sure to keep a perfect pace with Emma as they approached the place.
Not every home has walls. The woman had nearly gutted him with those words. He hated to think of her scared, alone, on the streets.
I’ll never let it happen again, baby. I promise.
The women disappeared into the bar.
“Going someplace, buddy?” a rough, gravelly voice asked them, and Dean looked over to see a man with black hair and a snaking scar over his left eye. The guy had to be close to six-foot-five, and he was built like a tank.
Dean tensed at the guy’s angry tone, knowing this wasn’t going down well because—
“He’s with me, Carlos.”
She knew him?
A smile flashed across the guy’s face. “Didn’t see you, Em.” Then he was shoving Dean out of his way and bringing her in for a quick hug. “Been too long.”
Emma hugged him back. “You know why I stayed away.”
He held her tight a bit longer, then slowly let her go. “Yet you’re back here . . .” Carlos glanced toward the bar’s door. “And you know he’s inside.”
Who the fuck was this “he” they were talking about? And was the guy going to get his hands off Emma anytime soon?
“I have to talk with Jax. Something’s happening. Something bad.”
Carlos’s dark stare swept over him. “And you think it’s smart to bring this guy with you?”
“A girl needs her protection.” Her voice was soft. “I need that protection right now.”
His brows flew up. “Someone’s after you?”
She gave a small nod. “I need to talk with Jax,” Emma repeated. She bit her lip. “You don’t . . . you don’t think he’ll turn us away, do you?”
Carlos laughed, a rough, grating sound. “Just because you broke his heart?”
What. The. Fuck?
“Jax doesn’t have a heart,” Emma murmured. “Everyone knows that.”
A bouncer? The guy sure looked the part.
Emma and Dean followed Carlos into the bar. If the building had looked like a wreck from the outside, it was nothing compared to the way the place’s interior looked. And smelled. Jesus—what was that scent? Piss and vomit?
There were some tables scattered around a small stage—and a stripper pole? Yep, definitely a stripper pole.
His gaze slid around the bar. The place was mostly deserted, probably typical for a joint like this one, especially near dawn. But, at the bar, counting out cash, he saw a blond-haired man. The guy’s back was to Dean and Emma, but Dean could see the long lines of tattoos that covered his arms.
“You got company,” Carlos called out.
The guy stopped counting his money. “Tell the company to fuck off.” The women were near his side. He handed each of them some cash, and they hurried out without a word.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Not too sure you want her to vanish so fast, boss.”
Emma’s shoulder pumped against Dean’s as she stepped forward. “I need a few minutes of your time, Jax.”
The guy’s hands slammed down on the bar top. “Emma.”
When the man leapt up from his barstool and whirled toward Emma, Dean jumped in front of her. He didn’t know what that jerk might be thinking, but he sure as shit hadn’t liked the sound of his furious voice when the guy had said her name.
The blond lunged toward him. “Who the fuck are you?”
Like Dean hadn’t been wondering the very same thing.
But the man’s light blue stare quickly raked over him. Dismissed him. “Cop or FBI. Either way, your ass doesn’t belong here.” He tried to shove Dean aside.
Dean wasn’t in the mood to be shoved. He caught Jax’s hand and held it fast. “I belong wherever she is.” Because he was getting the picture right then—especially since Jax’s gaze kept trying to jump to Emma. They were involved. Fucking intimately.
Jax glanced down at Dean’s hand. He shook his head, then glanced back up. “Let go, or I’ll break your wrist,” Jax told him, the words sounding matter-of-fact.
“Jax—” Emma began.
“You can try,” Dean offered. “But prepare to have a few things . . . broken . . . yourself.” He wasn’t about to let this jerk intimidate him. Dean would show the asshole just who the hell he was messing with, and—
“Stop it!” Emma shoved between them, while Carlos laughed. “I didn’t come down here for this crap. Jax, stop acting like a dick for once and listen to me.”
Jax glared at Carlos, and the other man’s laughter turned into a coughing fit.
“Dean, show him the picture,” Emma said.
“Dean?” Jax repeated. No, the guy mocked.
Dean pulled out the picture of Julia Finney and handed it to the asshole.
Jax’s eyes swept over the picture. “I’ve seen her. So what?”
“You see most of the girls that come through here . . . if they’re looking for jobs, if they’re short on cash,” Emma said. “You keep tabs of the people who stay near this block, your block.”
“It’s more than a block,” Jax muttered, obviously insulted. “You know my territory is fucking bigger than that.”
Emma didn’t argue. She said, “That girl—Julia Finney—she went missing recently.”
Jax’s face tensed.
“Someone took her,” Emma continued. “She was a sixteen-year-old girl living on the streets, and a man took her.”
Dean caught the fast glance that Jax fired at Carlos.
“He held her, tortured her, and nearly killed her.”
There was no emotion at all on Jax’s face.
This was getting them nowhere. “The guy doesn’t give a damn, Emma,” Dean said. They were wasting their time. They should have gone down to the hospital, seen if Julia was awake. They could have—
“We’re afraid he’s taken others.” Emma crept closer to Jax. The guy’s posture changed as she neared. He leaned toward her. Even reached out as if he’d touch her, but, almost instantly, his hand fell back to his side. “Others,” Emma continued, voice sad, “who he thought people wouldn’t miss.”
Jax glared at Dean. “And how does this bastard fit in?”
“He’s the one who came looking for Julia. He wants to stop the man out there, a man who’s hunting.”
Carlos had moved behind the bar. He poured a fast tequila, downed it, then said, “We need to tell them, boss.”
“Carlos.” The name came as a snarl from Jax.
Emma reached out and caught his hand. “What do you know?”
He shook his head. “You run away, you stay away, and you think you can just came back now? To my bar? Walking in with that jerk”—his thumb shot toward Dean—“at your side? You think I’ll help you?”
Dean stepped forward. That guy really needed to learn some manners, and if he kept talking to Emma with that hard edge in his voice—
“Yes, I think you’ll help me. Because I believe people still matter to you. You know something, Carlos knows something, and I need you both to talk to me.” Her voice rose when he just stared back at her. “Or are you really the cold-blooded bastard, straight to your core? Are you going to let that guy out there get away with hurting, killing? Julia is only sixteen. Sixteen.”
Jax glanced over at Dean. As he stared at Dean, fury flashed on his face. “You expect me to believe these people matter? People without homes, without money? People staying on the street—you expect me to think they matter to you?”
“They do,” Dean fired back.
“He’s picking them because he thinks no one notices when they vanish,” Emma said, talking fast. “But . . . you notice, don’t you Jax? You and Carlos noticed something happening.”
His lips thinned, and Jax said, “Yeah, I noticed.”
Emma’s breath rushed out. “Talk to me. Please.”
Dean didn’t want her begging that guy. He didn’t want her anyplace near him. But . . .
Maybe the SOB does know something we can use.
Emma’s gaze was on Jax. “Dean works with a team who can find the guy. That’s what they do. They find people,” Emma told him.
LOST didn’t usually find killers. They found victims. But this wasn’t their usual case.
Jax wasn’t speaking. Carlos had downed another shot of tequila.
Emma pulled her hand away from Jax. “Fine. Never mind. Don’t care.” She turned away from him and faced Dean once more. “This was a bad idea. Let’s just go—”
Jax grabbed her arm—far too hard—and whirled her back around to face him. “Running away so fast, again?”
But Dean was already moving. He slammed his hand into Jax’s chest and pushed the guy back against the bar, breaking the man’s contact with Emma. “You don’t grab her like that, do you understand?”
Jax laughed. “You have no idea who the fuck I am, do you?”
He didn’t give a shit if the guy was the president. “You have no idea who the fuck I am, either, so I’ll clue you in,” Dean said instead. “I’m the guy with Emma. The guy at her side now.” Yeah, he was getting that this prick knew her. “And I’m the man who’s making sure she doesn’t get hurt. Not by you. Not by that bastard out there hunting.”
Carlos slammed down his tequila bottle. The glass shattered, and the fellow started to lunge over that bar, broken bottle in hand.
Dean’s head whipped up. “That’ll be your last mistake.”
“Stop, Carlos,” Jax said half a second later.
Carlos—very wisely—stopped.
Jax smiled at Dean, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. “You and I . . . we’ll settle up later.” It was a promise.
Damn straight, we will.
“But for now, I owe Emma.” A muscle flexed along Jax’s jaw. “So get your
hands off me, and I’ll talk.”
Dean took his time dropping his hold on the guy. And he made sure that when he stepped back, Emma was at his side.
“Still have the same type, huh, Emma?” Jax asked with a flash of a shark’s smile. “Never can play it safe, not even with the guys that look the part.”
What?
“Six months ago,” Jax said with a slow nod. “That’s when I first noticed the missing.”
Six months?
“I’d taken Wayne in, given him a job . . . not much, just cleaning tables. But the kid was starting to bust ass, he was trying, then”—Jax shrugged—“he vanished.”
He felt Emma tense beside him.
“He had no other friends, no family in the area. He slept in the back room because I told him he could crash there.” Jax tapped his fingers along the edge of the bar. “Now maybe, if I hadn’t just given the guy a chance at my place, I wouldn’t have noticed when he disappeared. And that was the point, right? An ex-junkie, he disappears and you say . . . what the hell? Maybe he OD’d. Maybe he went to greener pastures. Who the fuck cares, and everyone moves on.”
“That’s what the cops thought,” Carlos muttered as he put his broken bottle back on the bar top.
Dean’s brows shot up. “You went to the cops?”
“Carlos did.” Jax’s voice hardened. “I knew they wouldn’t do anything.” His gaze slid to Emma. “For our kind, help’s never really been too forthcoming, has it?”
“You looked for him,” Emma said.
Jax inclined his head. “Turned up fucking nothing, but you know what I did see? In my back room, some dick had tagged the place.”
“You’re next.” Emma’s voice was certain. “That’s what the tag said.”
“Yeah, fucking prick move. When I saw that, I knew Wayne had been taken.”
Just like Julia. So that made two victims . . . three, counting Lisa. Emma can’t be number four. “Anyone else?”
“A stripper named Sandy Jamison. She owed me some cash, so when she didn’t turn around for her payment, I went looking for her.” His fingers stopped tapping on the bar. “Sandy spent most of her time in that little motel down the road, paying for a room each week. There was fresh paint on her motel-room wall when I got there . . . seems some kids had spray-painted the place. Or, at least, that was what the dumb-ass manager thought.”