Fyre, Raven - Blind Man's Bluff (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Raven Fyre

  “Chloe’s more…refined, more sure of herself,” he decided. “She’s had a hell of a hard break, but she wears it well.”

  One of Ty’s dark brows arched in speculation. “Put it out of your mind.”

  Barely fourteen months apart in age, they’d always been in sync in a way that was reminiscent of twins. They could practically read each other’s thoughts. And, obviously, the ideas Jackson was having at the moment were not PG.

  “Or at least call Bonnie at the Florabama and see if she’ll give her something,” Ty suggested. “Jesus, Jack. You know it’s just stupid to mix business with pleasure. You wrote the policy, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Don’t remind me.” With a groan, Jackson shoved up from the sofa and adjusted the crotch of his pants. Those X-rated notions were wreaking havoc with his dick. “Damn it, she’s got me tied up. We just met, and already she’s under my skin. How is that possible?”

  “Abstinence messes with a man’s mind.”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jackson scanned the bank of computer screens that monitored the activity of the floor below. If it were just the sex, just the desire to have her naked and whispering his name while he poured himself into her, Jackson wouldn’t have felt so absurdly unbalanced. The need to hold her, to pull her close and protect her, was as sharp as the need to possess her body in the most carnal ways imaginable.

  He was usually so steady, so sure of his place. He wasn’t crass or unfeeling when he took a woman to bed, but neither was he one to get tangled up emotionally. One look at Chloe and he’d felt…shaken. Her emotions had been in her eyes, and her body language screamed for comfort. There’d been the compulsion to soothe, the need to touch. Touching her had sliced the ropes on his ship’s anchors. Wanting Chloe sexually felt like aimlessly drifting out over the Gulf on a cheap blow-up raft that was being circled by a pack of hungry sand sharks. Dangerous--no way to escape the devastating effects of those razor-sharp teeth on the thinly coated hot air.

  Maybe Ty was right. He’d be better off sticking to the policy and calling Bonnie. Chloe would make a few bucks. He wouldn’t be tempted to drag her off to some dark corner and ravage her because she was within reach and looking so damned delectable.

  And just for good measure, maybe he’d flip through his mental file of available women and see about ending his recent sexual dry spell. A blonde. Or a redhead.

  Just not, God help him, a sexy little brunette with sea-siren eyes and a devastatingly sensual mouth. Or a smoking hot body.

  * * * *

  Chloe walked into the house and dumped her purse on the floor next to the chair where she dumped her numb body. She couldn’t feel the shaking of her hand, but holding it out in front of her, she could see it.

  It was a miracle she’d driven home without incident.

  Surely, this was just a dream, she reasoned. No, this was a horrible freaking nightmare. Soon, she would wake up to find she’d never left Birmingham at all, that perhaps she’d overslept and was late for a shift at Harry’s or maybe even m missed a class.

  That Gram was still alive.

  That these revelations hadn’t rocked her to the core.

  “Oh, Gram.” Her head fell back, and she rubbed at her lids.

  Forget picking up some tips while she was home—if she didn’t come up with something solid, substantial, and fast, Rachel would have no home.

  Mr. Botter had been sympathetic to her plight, but it was out of his hands. He’d shown her the paperwork with Gram’s signatures.

  “I’m sorry, Chloe, honey,” he’d told her. “But your grandmother used the house as collateral in order to secure the loan.”

  Obviously, Chloe was clueless. The news came completely out of left field.

  Why had Gram taken a loan? And, most importantly, where had the money gone? Her checking account was as pitiful as Chloe’s. The savings account was only marginally better. Thankfully, the house was paid for with only this latest lien tacked on to the deed.

  “She invested a small sum from the settlement, years ago, and put everything in your name.” Another shock. “But if we remove it now, the penalties and fees won’t leave you with enough to sneeze at.”

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Botter. Where could the money have gone?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t rightly know, honey. You’d have to ask Rachel. Perhaps your grandmother spoke of it to her.”

  Highly unlikely, Chloe figured. This was the sort of thing Rachel would have mentioned right away—the probability of losing the house if they defaulted on the loan.

  She’d let it ride, though, Chloe decided, until after the services tomorrow. No use adding to Rachel’s burden with worries of keeping the roof over her head.

  Later that evening, after dinner, she received a phone call from Bonnie Carson, manager of the Florabama, a hot spot for locals and tourists alike. The club, which sat smack dab on the state line dividing Florida and Alabama and facing the Gulf, featured nightly local bands and a wide menu of fresh seafood. Since Hurricane Katrina, it was little more than a couple of trailers, connected with tarps and the like, but the crowds kept coming.

  Jackson had passed her name along. She was grateful for both the promise kept and the opportunity. But she was afraid she’d need more than minimum wage and tips to save this sinking ship. Still, it was smarter to take the bucket and start bailing herself out, so she graciously accepted Bonnie’s offer.

  She debated calling Jackson. She even took out his card and stared at it long and hard, ran her fingers over the embossed letters like a worry stone.

  Night or day.

  Anything.

  Right now, what she wanted more than anything was to be held by Jackson’s strong, warm hands. But it wasn’t smart to lean on a man or to let him see her weakness. Clint would’ve exploited it to his advantage. She wanted desperately for Jackson to be different.

  And maybe because she sensed deep down in her bones that he was, because the desperately part worried her beyond belief, she didn’t dare pick up the phone.

  * * * *

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Rachel remarked to Chloe the next morning over a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. Neither of them had done more than pick at the food, moving it around the plate with their forks to convince one another they’d each eaten a morsel or two.

  Shoving back from the table, game over, Chloe dumped her leftovers in the trash and took her plate to the sink. “It’s going to be a very long day.”

  Paul shuffled in and kissed the top of Rachel’s head. Then he took the seat next to her and finished off her eggs. “Did you want to ride with us over to the church?” He glanced up at Chloe expectantly. “The truck’s got an old bench-style seat, so there’s plenty of room for the three of us.”

  “Yes, actually,” Chloe replied. “Thanks.”

  “Isn’t he a sweetie?” Rachel crooned. She wrapped an arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Or Chloe.”

  Chloe rinsed her mug and turned from the sink. “I’ll be ready by nine.”

  “But that’s so early,” Rachel protested. “The services don’t start ’til ten. And we aren’t having a viewing…”

  “I want to see her, Rache. You said your goodbyes at the hospital. But I didn’t. I need to see her.”

  A shudder ran over Rachel’s spine. Contrary to Chloe’s assumption, she hadn’t been able to be in the same room with Gram once the doctor pronounced her dead. And she had no desire to lift the lid on the casket and see what Radney’s technicians of the afterlife had done to Gram’s body. Perhaps it was some childish fear of death reaching beyond the grave or just facing the finality of it all. Either way, Chloe could have her time alone with Gram.

  Rachel wanted no part of it.

  “Do what you feel you need to. But it just creeps me out.”

  “Have you seen her pearls?”

  “The ones Grandpa gave her for their anniversary?”

&nbs
p; Chloe nodded. “They weren’t in her jewelry box.”

  Odd, Rachel mused, it wasn’t like Gram to have things out of place. Nor would she have ever gone without the necklace of tiny, graduated beads.

  “Wasn’t she wearing them?”

  “She always did,” Chloe remarked wistfully, as if she’d been sharing the same memory. “But they weren’t with her effects from the hospital. I meant to ask you before now, but I was certain they would be in her jewelry box. We can’t let them bury her without them.”

  Oh, Jesus. Don’tlet Miss Neurotic get her panties in a wad. She’d tear the place apart until they found them or she was liable to have them hold off the interment. God, please. “I’ll help you look.”

  Rachel followed Chloe into the bedroom and pulled out the small drawer from the table by the bed. “You look through here while I check the jewelry box again. Could be you overlooked it.”

  Chloe sat on the edge of the bed and rummaged through the contents of the drawer. Taking down the polished wooden box, Rachel was swamped with emotion. Gram had never owned anything much of real retail value, but she’d tended what she had—especially those pearls—as if every tiny treasure were the most precious of gems.

  The black felt lining was faded, the edges frayed. “I don’t see them.”

  “It’s not here,” Chloe announced and chewed at her lower lip.

  Gram never went without that necklace. It worried Rachel to see Chloe so anxious. Chloe was her rock of strength. She couldn’t handle another upset to her world just now.

  Was that why she’d been clinging to Paul?

  She was a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of gal. Better to send the guy packing before he broke her heart. But Paul was different somehow. He didn’t push her for more, and he didn’t pull away when she was the one doing the pushing. In fact, he seemed to know what she needed before she did.

  The night Gram died, he’d tucked her in bed and into the curve of his body.

  She’d never spent the night in a guy’s arms and not been naked. Oh, he’d had a boner the size of the Florida panhandle that’d been impossible to mistake snuggled up to the cleft of her ass the next morning. But instead of trying to seduce her out of her PJs and into taking care of it, he’d kissed her slowly, tenderly, before strolling off to take a shower. Most likely a very cold shower.

  When she’d asked him to stay, just for a few days, just until she could get over the hurdle of burying Gram, he’d offered to sleep on the couch. She hadn’t let him, of course. But still, that he’d offered…

  God, she didn’t deserve him.

  “We’ll find them.” She tried to sound confident for Chloe’s benefit. “They’ve got to be here somewhere, right?”

  “Right.” Chloe went to Gram’s closet and started shuffling through the hangers on the metal rods. “Maybe the clasp broke, you know? And what if she tucked it in a pocket, thinking she’d put it away later?”

  They searched her closet, only to come up empty. No shirt, no jacket, no purse and its myriad compartments, no article of clothing possessing pockets was left unturned. And still, Gram’s necklace couldn’t be found. So, they started in on her chest of drawers.

  “I’ll call Mr. Lenny,” Chloe announced, “and see if he has it.”

  “Seems like she would’ve mentioned it,” Rachel pondered aloud. “But it’s worth a shot.”

  The number for the local jeweler was in Gram’s black spiral address book by the phone in the den. Chloe sat in Gram’s recliner and dialed it up. Rachel listened with half an ear while sitting on Paul’s lap on the couch.

  She couldn’t help feathering her fingers through his hair or leaning in to skim her lips along his jaw. His erection pushed against her bottom, and she wiggled for the sheer pleasure of tormenting him. “I promise to make it better, baby,” she whispered in his ear, adding all the naughty ideas that popped into her head of what and how she was going to make good on the promise.

  Maybe it was crass of her to be thinking of sex only hours away from facing death, but maybe that was the precisely the point.

  She was alive.

  For the last six days, she’d been walking around like a freaking ghost, sleeping next to a great guy who cared enough about her fragile emotional state not to fuck her.

  Oh, how she needed him to fuck her.

  Rachel was suddenly desperate to celebrate being alive. Forgetting their audience, she grabbed Paul’s hand and placed it over her breast. “I need you to touch me,” she murmured while nibbling at his neck. Then she brought her lips back to his. “I want you inside me.”

  “Soon,” he promised. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “Tonight. When we’re alone.”

  “That is the damnedest thing,” Chloe said as she hung up the phone.

  Snapped out of her aroused state as if she’d had a bucket of ice poured over her head, Rachel pivoted around to face her sister. “What’s that?”

  Please, God, she hoped Chloe wouldn’t pick up on the husky sound of her voice.

  “Mr. Lenny. Gram didn’t bring the string of pearls in to be repaired. She sold it to him. About six months ago,” she added.

  “You’re sure? Damn. I guess I was so used to seeing them on her, I didn’t realize she wasn’t wearing them. I’ve been so busy with work and classes…Really, I’m out more than I’m home.”

  “I wasn’t going to bring this up now, but Mr. Botter from the bank—he asked to meet with me. Seems Gram used the house as collateral to secure a loan. Only, there’s no record of where the funds went. No deposit, no transfers. She took the amount in cash.”

  Rubbing her spinning head, Rachel tried to process this outlandish idea. She slipped off Paul’s lap and began to pace. “Gram? With money?” She had to snicker at that. “You’re sure?”

  When the doorbell broke in, Paul offered, “I’ll get it.”

  Chloe assured her, “Mr. Botter was absolutely positive. He even showed me the papers. And it was a significant amount. Rachel, honey, if we don’t make good on the loan, we’ll lose the house. There’s enough in Gram’s savings to cover this month’s note, but beyond that…it’s up to us.”

  “Hell, Chloe. How are we supposed to do that?” She was already stretched thin forking out tuition. Last month, she’d dropped a boatload of cash on new tires for her car. And although Gram had refused to let her pay rent, Rachel had insisted on splitting the utilities and groceries.

  Now, this freaking loan payment was going to be like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “I’m working on it. Somehow, someway…” Chloe’s voice trailed off, and her face went white as a sheet. Her gaze caught and held on a point beyond Rachel’s head. “Jackson.”

  Chloe’s tone was oddly breathless, Rachel decided, and the melting look in her eyes was so not a good sign. If Rachel had a dollar for every time she’d witnessed the effects of Jackson or Tyler Sawyer’s charm and good looks on the female population, they wouldn’t be discussing the need for cash. Because she’d be a freaking millionaire!

  Hadn’t she warned her sister dear?

  Of course she had. But then Rachel was abruptly struck with the reality that since Chloe wasn’t an employee, Jackson wasn’t off limits.

  Ah, the cruelty.

  Apparently, given that Jackson crossed the room and took Chloe’s hands in his and eased her back down into the chair while he dropped to his haunches in front of her, he’d also clued in on that monumental fact and was now capitalizing on it as well.

  Interesting.

  “What’s happened?” Jackson demanded. “Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” He rubbed briskly at Chloe’s arms.

  “I’m fine. Really. I’m not…not cold.”

  “Gram’s pearls,” Rachel told him. “We couldn’t find them, and then when we called Mr. Lenny’s to see if she was having the clasp repaired, it turns out it wasn’t broken. She’d sold him the necklace a while back.”

  “Rachel,” Chloe snapped.

  But, undeterred, she
shrugged a shoulder. “It’s just Jackson. There isn’t much about us he doesn’t know.”

  As if to smooth out her embarrassment, Jackson added, “Ty and I, we make it our business to get to know the people who work for us, Chloe. Especially those who are hardworking and show the most potential. Rachel’s been with High Tide for nearly three years now. And I knew your Gram about as well as I know my own.”

  Rachel noted the color slowly returning to Chloe’s cheeks, and took it as a good sign. “Nothing’s adding up. Those pearls? They were from Grandpa for their anniversary. Thirty-five years. Can you imagine what they meant to her? She wore them every day.” She took a deep breath and went on. “And then she went to the bank a few months back, asking for money. Remember, Mr. Botter called while you were here?”

  Jackson simply nodded.

  “Why she took out a loan is beyond me…Look at this place.” Her gaze swept the room. “Nothing’s been updated in forever, Jackson. The kitchen’s harvest gold, for goodness’ sake. Harvest gold hasn’t been on a chromatic chart since the seventies. And it’s not like she’s been hoarding it in some savings account so it can draw interest. In fact, she took it in cash, and there’s no record of a deposit. No paper trail of it anywhere.”

  Jackson squeezed her knee and stood. “There has to be an explanation. But we aren’t going to find it right now. Later, I promise you, we’ll figure it all out. You need to get to the church.”

  Looking down at the baggy T-shirt and men’s boxers she’d slept in, Chloe grimaced. “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Oh. I was going to ride with Rachel and Paul. You don’t have to—”

  “I’ll wait,” he insisted, cutting off any further protest.

  Rachel took her sister by the shoulders, turned her toward the hall, and gave her a gentle shove to get her moving. “We won’t be long,” she told the men.