One Man

by Lisa Renee Jones

  We step into the elevator and I fold Emma close, under my arm, but neither of us speak. Maybe she knows there are cameras, maybe she doesn’t, but I sure as fuck feel like we’re being watched and I don’t like it. Once we’re on her floor, I have a new concern. If York got into her apartment, could someone get in there to bug the place? We’re talking about murder here, even if Emma hasn’t admitted that to herself.

  Halfway to her door, I pull her around to face me. “We need to go back to my hotel.”

  “Wait. What? I don’t understand.”

  “If York could get into your place, then anyone could. I’m here. I’m with you. There are people who might see that as trouble. And the new guard doesn’t sit right.”

  She swallows hard. “What is this, Jax? What don’t I know? What is all of this about?”

  “I’d tell you if I knew but I don’t. You don’t know, but damn it, we need to find out without anyone looking. And a hotel is secure. More secure than your apartment right now. Pack to stay with me at the hotel and to go to Maine with me.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know about Maine, Jax. Aren’t we just baiting trouble?”

  “Yes, we are. But maybe that’s what we need to do to get real answers. On our terms, with hired undercover security, and a plan. We’ll stay at the hotel until we have that all in place.”

  “Okay, so, if we go with that as a plan, and I guess, yes, that seems as good an option as any, then I’m going to focus on the most important thing in my life right this minute.”

  I steel myself for pressure over her brother. “And that would be what, Emma?”

  “The pizza. What about the pizza?”

  I laugh at this unexpected reply that proves that as delicate a flower as she can seem at moments, she isn’t. She rolls with the punches as I’d expect of a Knight. She is a Knight, I remind myself, but I shove aside where that thought might lead me. Hunter and I were both Norths, but we were nothing alike, which is a reality I should have remembered going into this. And Emma is nothing like her father.

  “You have to pack,” I say, “but we’ll get fresh pizza delivered to the hotel.”

  “A this point, we’d better order an extra pizza.”

  I don’t laugh. Food is serious business that hasn’t been property attended to today. “I do believe you’re right.” I lace the fingers of one of my hands with hers and lead her to her door. Once we’re there, I press my cheek to hers and whisper, “Assume we’re being recorded. Stick to topics like how hot you think I am until we get out of here.”

  She laughs, and damn if my cock doesn’t thicken in response. From a damn laugh. I’m in trouble with this woman, and if I’m wrong about her, if she’s a Knight to the core, I’m fucked in all kinds of new and unique ways.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jax…

  Once we’re inside Emma’s apartment, she hurries to her bedroom to pack. I scan the room, looking for signs of anything that might not be right. On the surface, everything appears fine but my skin is prickling, my nerves on edge. Nothing is fine about my gut feeling right now. Nothing is fine at all. It’s time to step things up on my end, and I decide my private investigator, a guy I met in college, isn’t the guy I need on this anymore. A reality he and I have discussed previously in relation to his limited resources, but that was fine then. I was just toeing the line, trying to decide how far I wanted to take this based on what we found. I’m done testing the waters. I shoot him a text: I need to take this to another level. I need someone who can do that and handle undercover security in San Francisco and Maine. And wherever the hell any of this takes me. And I need them now.

  He replies right away with a name and a number: Walker Security. They’re the best of the best and a large enough operation to meet your needs now. They have a San Francisco office. Name’s Rick Savage. He goes by Savage. Just be warned. he’s a big man and a big personality.

  Not a call I can make anywhere in this building. Not a call I can make with Emma present, but I don’t want to leave her alone or set her on edge. It’s also not a call I can put off. I’ll find a way and the time to get this done. I start with a text: This is Jax North. I need security and investigative work. I was referred to you by Cory Smitty, but I can’t talk on the phone right now. Can we meet tonight at my hotel?

  Savage responds immediately: I live to serve you and destroy your enemies. Sure. What time can I serve you?

  There’s that personality. I glance at my watch. It’s two o clock. No wonder Emma and I are both so damn hungry. I set the meeting for four in the hotel bar.

  I step back into the apartment, lock the door, and head up the stairs to find Emma standing in front of a suitcase. “I have no idea what to pack for Maine. What’s the weather like? And no, I’m not saying I’m going for sure yet. I know that’s our plan, but there’s a lot of insanity going on right now. I just need to be ready if I decide I can break away from work.”

  “I’m going to take you to Maine, if I have to kidnap you,” I say.

  “That sounds very criminal of you.”

  I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. “I’m a criminal kind of guy, baby.” I kiss her neck and release her. “And since you’re going, pack for seventies this time of year, but it also gets chilly by the water where we’ll be. And this weekend is our Whiskey Harvest, which includes a casual and formal event.”

  “Whiskey Harvest.” She frowns. “Do you harvest whiskey?”

  I laugh. “No, but it’s something some marketing person came up with a decade ago and our clients love it. We always release a new whiskey and there are special edition bottles that we make only for this weekend.”

  “That sounds fun but my packing just got more complicated.”

  “We have some nice shops nearby. I’ll get you anything you’re missing.”

  “You will not get me anything. I can pay my own way.” She doesn’t look at me and takes it one step further—she walks away and enters her closet.

  Obviously, money is a sore spot for her and based on her father’s will, a weapon he used against her. A weapon I will never use against her. I follow her to the closet and find her staring down at the floor, no eyes on her clothing. “Emma,” I say softly.

  She jerks around to face me, looking like a doe caught in headlights. “Sorry. I’m fighting a headache. I need food.”

  I step into the closet with her and catch the fingers of both her hands with mine, the touch, like every touch with Emma, necessary in ways a touch has never been with another woman. I lean in close and whisper, “Money is power. I get that, but it’s only a weapon when used that way.” I lean back to look at her and risk the closet being one of the only safe places to talk. “I’ve used it that way. I’ll use it that way again, but that’s business. We are not business. It will never be that way between us and I’ll say more about that later when we have privacy.” I kiss her hand and because I don’t want her to feel as if she owes me anything, even a response, I exit the closet. As it is, I’m asking too much by asking her to help me, when helping me works against her family, but I have no choice. I have to find out what leverage her father had over my brother. Because he had some, and for all I know, her family has that leverage now, ready to use it against me or my other brother.

  I walk to the chair where we’d slept last night and sit down, waiting in case she needs help with her bag. Emma exits the closet with an armful of clothes, her gaze reaching across the room to find mine, warmth in her stare. She’s pleased and this pleases me. More proof that I’m swimming in deep waters with this woman when I usually never even get in the damn water.

  A few minutes later, she’s packed up and we head for the door. Once we’re outside in the hallway and she’s locking up, I realize that I haven’t called a locksmith. I’ll have Savage handle this if I hire him. I hope like hell I feel good enough about him to payroll him and his team.

  My gut says that my presence here in the city, more specifically my presence here in the
city with Emma, is someone’s trigger. And that’s a problem since I don’t know who’s holding the proverbial gun.

  We reach the lobby quickly, each rolling a bag past security, and Jeff is back behind the counter, motioning to Emma. “Ms. Knight,” he calls out, rushing to catch us at the exit. “Has my supervisor contacted you?”

  “Not yet,” Emma says. “You talked to him?”

  “I did,” he replies. “That’s odd that he hasn’t contacted you. I’ll follow up. Again, I’m sorry for what happened. That’s unacceptable.”

  “Who was the man behind the counter about half an hour ago?” I ask. “Was that your supervisor?”

  Jeff’s brows dip. “I’m not sure I know who you’re referring to. I’m the only one on duty today.”

  “How do you take breaks?” I ask before I go down the rabbit hole of trouble this is taking me down. “Do you have back-up?”

  “Not today,” he says. “I’m only on shift for five hours.”

  Emma chimes in then. “But there was a man in uniform behind the desk when we got here half an hour ago.”

  “There was?”

  “Yes,” Emma insists. “There was.”

  “Maybe my supervisor is in the building and I don’t know it.” He grabs his walkie talkie and makes a call while Emma casts me a concerned look. I nod to confirm my like mind as Jeff returns his attention to us. “He’s not here. No one is on duty. Maybe it’s my relief man. Can you describe him?”

  “I can,” I say, giving him the rundown.

  He frowns. “I don’t know. I’ll find out who that was. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Maybe that’s the person who let York into my apartment,” Emma says. “We need to know who that was. Please. Get your supervisor to call me as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call him on the priority phone.” He hurries away.

  Emma turns to me. “Your hotel is sounding better by the minute.”

  She’s right. It is. And I can’t get her out of this building fast enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jax…

  The ride to the hotel is short and Emma and I don’t speak outside of ordering our pizza and dealing with the delivery we won’t be at her apartment to accept. Once we’re at the hotel, rolling our bags toward the door, Emma whispers, “What the hell is going on, Jax?”

  “I told you, sweetheart, I don’t know, but we’re damn sure going to find out.”

  “How?”

  “My father always said surround yourself by people who know more than you, and you’ll learn what they know and become smarter. In short, we figure this out by hiring an expert investigator and an army if needed.” We enter the lobby, and I wave off the bellman as I add, “But first we eat, before I chew someone’s arm off.”

  “No kidding,” she agrees. “You take the right and I’ll take the left.”

  We share a look that is as easy and right, as is that exchange. I want to kiss her. I want to fuck her. I want to just eat pizza with her, the latter of which is the real damn unknown. I’m not a relationship guy. No matter what I’ve said or thought up to this point, I need to remember that I’m damn sure not a relationship guy with Emma Knight. I’m suffocating in this woman and with danger in the air, I need to rein this in now.

  That resolve last seconds, as we step onto the elevator and the air around us crackles with sexual tension and when I look at her, when our gazes collide, I want her up against the wall, her pants down and me buried inside her. That’s right. Fuck. I want to fuck her. That’s what this is. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I still want to eat a damn pizza with her. I still want to know her story, get lost in it. I decide right then that out of all the unknowns right now, if any of them gets the best of me, it might just be her.

  Once we’re back in my room, Emma and I quickly get settled, our bags setup on luggage racks just in time for the pizza to arrive, the ease of which we interact so smooth, it’s comfortable. Comfortable gets a man in my position fucked in all the wrong ways. And yet, when that steaming hot pizza arrives smelling so damn good, and we settle on the floor in front of the coffee table, my resolve starts to crumble. I open the box, and together we stare at the bubbly cheese, and in a snap, Emma brings me right back to her.

  “Thank God,” Emma gushes. “I’m starving and I don’t even care if you see me eat an entire pizza. I just want it in my body.”

  And there she goes. I laugh, tension easing deep in my gut, tension that I didn’t think would ever ease. Tension that started months before my brother’s death, when he wasn’t acting himself. But it does ease now and I find myself in the moment, focused on Emma, who doesn’t even hesitate.

  She digs into the pizza, picking up a slice and taking a bite, her eagerness honest. She’s honest. I don’t feel many people are honest, but she is, this woman is, and a wave of protectiveness rises inside me. Why the hell am I trying to make her the enemy? It seems that’s what she’s endured all of her damn life.

  “Where do you live?” she asks, settling her slice on her plate and plucking up a pepperoni. “Aside from Maine, of course.”

  I grab a slice for myself. “I live in the castle.” I take a bite of the pizza.

  “Have you always lived there?”

  “Yes.” My lips thin with a topic that leads to no place good. “It’s divided into living quarters and business offices. Hunter and I lived in the castle. My youngest brother, Brody, has an independent streak. He lives in New York City. He runs North Whiskey and Cigar Shops from there.”

  “I knew he ran those shops,” she says. “I’m not sure how, but you know your family has been connected to our hotels for all my life. I suppose I heard it down the road somewhere. How many are there?”

  “A hundred now. He’s turned it into quite the empire.”

  “Sounds like it. How well did you know my father, Jax? Just curious. I’m not going anywhere with this.”

  “Not well. Hunter was always the heir apparent. My father was his contact until my brother took over. I ran the financial side of the operation, strategic planning, new product development.”

  She considers that for a moment that stretches into a few minutes as we eat in comfortable silence, and I suspect her mind is where my mind is at. Our parents knew each other, but we never met, not until now but I take that one step further. Now both our fathers are dead. There’s an ominous quality to that thought.

  “Why Brody’s independent streak?” she asks as she finishes off half her slice in an easy change of topic that I suspect isn’t easy at all. Her mind may well be going just as dark as mine, and she wants an escape. “And why New York City? Couldn’t he run his little empire from the castle? Or from Maine at least? And how big is the castle?” she laughs. “Sorry. That was me throwing you questions left and right.”

  “The castle is twenty-thousand square feet, which is why the business offices are run from inside as well. As for Brody, he felt like he would never be king of the castle, as he likes to call it. He wanted to prove he was his own man.”

  She studies me a moment and looks away, but not before I see the flash of emotion in her eyes. She relates to Brody. I think she’s really seriously thought about leaving the hotel chain. “How old are your brothers? Or—” She looks at me. “Jax—”

  “It’s okay. Brody is thirty-two, and Hunter was thirty-six when he died.”

  “So Hunter grabbed the throne, while Brody pushed away. Meanwhile, you were boxing. That’s a big leap from Whiskey. Why? The same reason as Brody? To find your own space?”

  “I had some anger issues,” I admit.

  She finishes off a slice as I do the same. “You?” she asks. “You seem very much in control, cool and calculated.”

  “Which I learned from boxing. You don’t beat an opponent by charging. You beat them with strategy.”

  “How old were you and how long did you box? Semi-pro is pretty high up the chain, isn’t it?”

  “College. And yes, I had a shot at going p
ro, but I blew out a knee. I just wasn’t the same after that.”

  “That must have been devastating.”

  “At the time, yes,” I admit, “but it helped me become me. We grow with every mountain we climbed. Even the ones that we fall down.”

  “Even those we fall down,” she says softly, almost to herself. She flicks me a look. “I think falling is better than not climbing.” I want to ask her about that comment, but she doesn’t give me a chance. “You speak of your mother very past tense. I wanted to ask about her before, but you didn’t seem to want to talk about her and if you don’t now, I get it, and we’ll move on, but is she alive?”

  “I have no fucking clue. She left when I was thirteen, divorced my father, took a chunk of change, and never looked back.”

  “Never?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her since she left.”

  “Even when your brother died?”

  “Not a word, but my father was killed in a skiing accident six months earlier. If anyone knew how to reach her, he would have, but he was gone.”

  “Was she the root of your anger issues?” she smartly queries.

  “Yes,” I say, no hesitation to that reply. I know my demons, perhaps a little too well. “I was getting into fights and my father had enough. He took me to a gym and told them to knock some sense into me. It worked.” I think back to that first day in the ring, to getting punched and pissed off, and standing up and screaming, “More! Do it again!”

  “Where are you right now?” Emma asks, nudging me with her arm.

  “Remembering that first day in the gym.” My lips turn up in a wry smile. “My father was smart to drop me there. He was a good man.”

  “I wish I could say that about mine.” She shakes her head. “Why did I go there? Let’s skip that topic. Did your father remarry?”

  “No,” I say, letting the topic of her father go, when I’d rather not, but her loss is fresh. I get that. “He didn’t remarry,” I add. “I don’t think he had it in him to love again. He loved the hell out my mother. Passionately. Intensely. I didn’t have to be an adult to see or know that he got hurt. My tough as nails father was shredded inside, but stayed strong for his boys.”