“He knows? Does anyone else know? Did you tell—did you tell Adrian?”
“Miss Thomas, please. Are you afraid? Are you in danger?”
“I have to go.” I shoved myself back from the desk. “I’m sorry. Thank you, officer. I’ll—” I wrenched the door open and stopped. “Damien.”
“Lara.” He breathed the word and I saw his shoulders slump. “Oh, my God. I thought you were dead. I thought you were…oh, my God.” He dropped his face into his hands and his shoulders shook.
“Are you all right?” I reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder.
“I thought he’d killed you,” Damien whispered. “I really thought he’d killed you, Lara.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes, he—” He looked away.
“Excuse me. I’ll give you two some privacy.” Officer Villanueva slipped past us and ushered us into the room, and closed the door behind Damien.
“Damien...you know Adrian would never do that.”
“He…” Damien looked away. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were bloodshot, not to mention, I was pretty sure that was yesterday’s suit he was just still wearing. Slowly, as if he were worried I was made of glass, he pulled me close for a hug and rested his cheek on the top of my head.
“Damien, I’m all right.” I struggled not to cry. Now that I saw his fear, I remembered just what had happened over the past few days. I remembered, too, what I had done.
I had killed someone. I stiffened in Damien’s arms.
“Lara.” He drew away to look at me. “What happened? Was it him?”
“I can’t—” I shook my head, and tried to think of something to distract him. “Why would you think he would hurt me?”
He paused.
“And why would he implicate you?” I frowned.
Now his head jerked back, and I saw something close off behind his eyes.
“I need to figure some things out,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve learned something recently. I’ve been worried about him for a while and I went looking and, well—I found some things.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to say until I know for sure.” He shook his head. “Lara, come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
I laughed. I shouldn’t have, but the thought of him trying to do any of what Jack had done was simply too much. Damien was a man who could hold his own in a board room, not a brawl.
I shook my head. “I…I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll be in contact, okay?” I remembered suddenly that Adrian might be coming, and that Jack was here. “I have to go.”
Chapter 17
Jack
“Well, well, well.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my hands moved on their own, reaching for a rifle I no longer carried.
Goddammit.
I turned and looked Adrian Witte in the eyes for the first time.
He might have been a good-looking man if it weren’t for those eyes. Certainly, there was nothing extraordinary in any respect about the features. His hair was a fairly nice shade of brown, his eyes had hazel glints to them, and his features were, if a bit bland, at least perfectly passable.
But if you actually met those eyes, if you saw the person underneath… The eyes were cold as death, red-rimmed, slightly maniacal.
“If it isn’t the hit man.” Adrian tilted his head. His suit was perfectly tailored. He looked like a small child playing dress-up. “You seem to have lost your way. You think you’re playing the part of the knight in shining armor, do you?”
I would be damned if I ever let this man in the same room as Lara again.
When I said nothing, he rolled his eyes. He was already bored, pouting that his choice of victim wouldn’t consent to be the played with. He jerked his head at the police station.
“Is she inside?”
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” My voice was calm, but I knew just how much threat I could put into quiet words.
Adrian stepped back, swallowing, and then he realized what I had done and his jaw set. He didn’t want me to know he was afraid of me.
“You don’t tell me what to do.” His eyes narrowed, and he gave a truly terrible smile. “In fact…isn’t this a bit dangerous for you, being here? What if they find out what you did?”
“Then I’ll drag you down with me.” I stepped closer and enjoyed the flash of fear in his eyes. “You got that, Witte? I will go in there and I will tell them the truth.”
“You’ll never prove it.” His voice was high, terrified.
“I may not,” I agreed. “And if I can’t, I’ll just take matters into my own hands.”
He swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“I will find you, and I will kill you with my bare hands. And lest you doubt I can do it, I can assure you, I am very, very good at that.”
He stumbled back as I advanced, and then—to my profound amusement—he actually turned and ran. He ran away from me to where his driver was waiting for him, and he left with a squeal of tires.
I smiled grimly after him.
A door opened, and I jerked around.
“What was all of that?” Lara asked.
Chapter 18
Lara
“Jack?” He was staring at me strangely. “Jack? I…think we should go.”
That seemed to launch him into motion. “Yes. We should. Come on.” He held out his hand.
I took it without thinking, and he led me across the street to where a taxi waited. He opened the door for me, and his hand was at the small of my back to usher me inside. His fingers burned like a brand against my skin, but when I stole a glance at his face, he seemed preoccupied. He was being well-mannered, a gentleman—not snatching at a chance to touch me.
I settled into my seat, disappointed and knowing how ridiculous it was.
“Upper West Side,” Jack told the driver tersely.
“Who were you—”
“Not here.” His voice was brusque.
I shut up.
It wasn’t a long ride, but I was exhausted by the end of it. Jack leaned against the side of the car and his eyes never stopped scanning the road beside us, ahead of us, behind us. Toward the end, he guided the driver to a hotel, paid in cash, and pulled me out to stand blinking on the sidewalk in the midday sun.
“A hotel?” I looked around us.
“We need to stay somewhere else for a bit.” He jerked his head for me to follow him into the dark of the lobby. “If they start looking for me in earnest…they might find my place.”
“Do you need to go get anything from your apartment?” I thought of the sparse furnishings, and wondered if there even was anything like family pictures or beloved possessions. That, of course, set me to wondering just who he might have pictures of.
I shook my head at myself and looked over to where he was standing, considering.
“The rest of my guns,” he said finally.
I wished I hadn’t asked. Also, I wondered where he was hiding guns right about now. I studied his torso, and made out the faint distortion under his jacket.
“Come on.” He grinned, amused by my discomfort. “Let’s worry about getting a room first. And some food—I’m so hungry.”
He paid for the room in cash as well, and we were directed to the third floor, to a room with two queen beds and a stunning view of a brick wall. Jack nodded, clearly pleased, and closed the drapes anyway.
“You’re happy with this room?” After years of hearing the rich brag about their citywide views, I couldn’t quite make sense of this.
“I like knowing that no one can see in,” he said absently. He paced around the edges of the room and examined the electronics.
“Do you actually think someone is spying on us?”
“Just habit.” He looked over at me and gave a shrug. “Besides, if something changes, this way I’ll know it changed.”
The thought wasn’t very reassuring. I sat down on the bed and watched him. He se
emed more at ease when he was moving, doing something, rather than when he was sitting still. Until him, I was the only person I’d ever met like that. The constant calendar of charity events and dinner parties was draining, but I made sure to fill all of my free time with working out, reading, learning languages—literally anything to keep me from my thoughts.
I recoiled even from thinking about that. I didn’t like to think about…well, why I didn’t like to be alone with my own mind.
I needed a distraction.
“So what happened back at the police station?”
His hesitation was minute. “Nothing. Speaking of which, what happened with you?”
“Why do you ask?”
He didn’t seem to want to answer that, so I picked at my new sweatpants while I tried to figure out how to answer. Eventually, I shrugged. “Not much. I said I was fine, they asked where I’d been and I wouldn’t tell them…and then Damien showed up.”
“You didn’t tell them?” He took a seat at last, perching on the desk chair like he might need to leap up at any moment.
I tried not to smile at him; he’d want to know why, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t a man who liked people thinking of him as adorable. “What was I going to say? Anything I said would have put you at risk, wouldn’t it?” He sat back, staring at me with a strange expression on his face, and I was instantly nervous. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, and then frowned. “Damien showed up?”
“They didn’t actually have him in custody. There wasn’t any evidence. And before you tell me we shouldn’t have gone because he was fine, I know. It was stupid. But I’m glad I went. He was really worried.” I remembered his tears and felt my hands twist.
“Of course he was,” Jack murmured. His face was filled with something I couldn’t name. Was it pity?
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Uh…do you want something to eat?” He pulled out the room service menu and tossed it to me.
“I…” Now that he mentioned it, I was ravenous; we’d stopped for clothes, but not for breakfast. I pored over the menu and felt like I could probably eat one of everything and still have room for dessert. But…
I pressed my hand over my stomach and stared glumly at the only salad they had available. “I don’t know.”
“Do you eat meat?”
I looked up. “Yeah, why?”
He picked up the phone and dialed. “Yes. Room 346. We’d like to order room service. Yes—two burgers, fries with both, one of the appetizer platters, and two slices of chocolate cake. Oh. What do you want to drink?”
“Water.”
“Water for both of us, and…root beer. Two of them. Sure.” He hung up.
“Root beer?”
“I like root beer. Sue me.” He dropped into one of the armchairs. “And I can see you getting panicked about the food. Don’t.”
“You don’t understand.” No one scrutinized every inch of his body for muscle tone, the fit of his clothes. No one expected him to look effortlessly perfect.
“Probably not,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I will point out that if your goal is to be in shape, I was in shape for years on a diet of field rations and fried food. It works.”
“You’re crazy. And where did you get fried food out in—where were you?”
“They had restaurants on the bases. I was in Afghanistan mostly, and—” He stopped, looked away. “Never mind.”
“You were in the army?”
“It’s not important.” He sighed and stripped off his suit jacket and the button-down shirt underneath.
I bit my lip as I watched him. I had always acquainted suits with elegance: men like Adrian wore them, and Damien, men who needed to prove their money and their class. They were well put together to show that they knew the rules, and they made sure to keep trim to look their absolute best. Damien had once spoken longingly of wishing he had a bit of grey in his hair so that people would take him seriously. It was their uniform, and would be until they left the business in their 70s or 80s to go play golf and preside over their estates on Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket.
Jack wore a suit completely differently. He wore one because he wanted to blend in with the people who hired him—the thought made me a bit queasy—but no one who looked closely at him would mistake him for anything other than what he was: a weapon. And once you noticed that, the suit only sharpened the impression. It was impossible to miss the breadth of those shoulders or the way he moved.
He caught me looking, and I flushed.
“What is it?”
Stupidly, I answered without thinking. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met before.”
That seemed to make him sad. “Yeah, well.” He rubbed at his head and looked around himself, as if looking for anything else to talk about. His eyes caught on where my fingers were still playing with the fabric of my pants. “Are you uncomfortable? Should we get you something else to wear?”
I gave a little burble of laughter. “I’m fine.”
One eyebrow quirked; his own smile started in response, though he clearly didn’t know why he was laughing.
“You saw Cecelia’s place. That’s how I grew up.” It felt like releasing the floodgates, to admit this to someone. Adrian had always told me never to talk about how I grew up, or everyone would think I was just a gold digger. Only he and Damien really knew—and Adrian’s mother, of course, who proved him right by thinking I was only a gold digger, and hating me for it.
“So?” Jack didn’t seem to know what to make of that.
“So…I didn’t have any new clothes until college, really. That was when I had my own money for the first time. I bought this bracelet…” I leaned back on my elbows, remembering. “It was tacky as hell, I’m sure, but it had these gorgeous stones on it, all different colors, and it was so bright and pretty to me then, and I bought it. It was only something like $5, but I spent the whole next week feeling like I’d made this huge mistake, wanting to take it back. I never even wore it, I was so scared of losing it and wasting my money. I’d just take it out and look at it…” I looked up and found him staring at me. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to—I don’t know why I told you that. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
His mouth quirked. “You’re like no one I’ve ever met before,” he echoed. He lifted his shoulders. “And…nothing like I expected.”
“Oh?” I sat up. All I could see was his face, his eyes. I wanted desperately to know what he did think of me, and—
There was a knock at the door. “Room service.”
I was sure my face fell. I sat back as Jack went to the door and paid the man.
“All right.” He came back and put the tray on the desk before holding out the appetizer platter. “What do you want?”
“I’ll just have the burger—”
“No, no, I saw you looking. You want something on this plate.” He was grinning.
“I can’t eat any of that.” But I was laughing.
“Chicken wings?” He held one out, watching me closely. “No, not those. Quesadillas? Oh, closer. Maybe it’s the cheese. Mozzarella stick?”
“Gimme.” I snatched it out of his hand and bit down with a sigh of pleasure. “Oh, man, I cannot remember the last time I had one of these.”
“That is a travesty. Mozzarella sticks are delicious.” He picked up one of the quesadillas.
“I know, they’re—” I blinked. “Did you eat the whole thing that fast?”
“Military thing. It’s better not to taste the food.”
“You’re not in the military right now.” I was almost offended. “And you’re eating something luxurious. Take the time to taste it.”
“Like how?” he asked plaintively.
“Oh, good grief.” I set the mozzarella stick aside and went to pick up one of the quesadillas. “Sit. Open your mouth. Like…this much. Bite down.”
He obeyed, with a look that said I was probably going to lo
se some fingers if I tried to stand between him and food again.
“Okay, now you try.” I handed him the quesadilla and stepped back out of easy biting range.
He ate in small bites, but with the attitude of a shark, and I stifled my laugh as I finished my mozzarella stick. I sighed as I stared at the platter. There were three more, and I desperately wanted another.
“Eat,” he advised, his mouth full. “Go on, Thomas. You know you want another.”
“Do I get one of the root beers?”
“One of them.”
“Okay.” I twisted the cap off and retrieved another mozzarella stick. The combo was heavenly, but it had been ages since I’d had anything so sweet. “This is insane. My taste buds are freaking out.”
“That’s because you’ve been living on kelp. Or whatever the latest fad diet is. Live a little.” He was slouched in the chair, feet up on his bed, staring contentedly at the ceiling as he devoured yet another quesadilla. He sat up just long enough to hand me the burger and fries. “Try that.”
“Can I take off the bun?”
“Nope.”
“Slave-driver.”
He laughed.
Once I started eating, though, I couldn’t stop. My God, I had missed food. The tiny dishes at all of the charity dinners were usually not only not filling, but also cold by the time they reached the table. Hot food, with flavor and enough substance for a proper mouthful, reminded me of carefree college nights. I grinned over at Jack through a mouthful and he gave a thumbs up.
“There,” he said, when I had devoured most of the burger and was staring at it, too full to go on. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
“Too full to know.” I flopped over backward.
“Good. But get ready, because there’s chocolate cake for later.”
“Oh God, I can’t.”
“In a bit. For now…TV?”
“We should make a plan.” I pushed myself up with difficulty.
“I suppose that makes sense. But, first, you need to figure out what you want that plan to accomplish.”
HUNTED: A Bad Boy Romance (Books 1-5) Page 8