There was no point in denying it now. “I told you my reasons a couple of nights ago. You really think they would have changed just because you told me to stick to parking violations?”
His eyes narrowed. “The words ‘dangerous as fuck’ don’t mean anything to you? How about ‘newbie cop’ and ‘doesn’t know what the hell she’s getting herself into’?”
Forgetting about the sticky tabletop, Ava leaned forward, holding his gaze with her own. “How about ‘none of your business, asshole’?”
He gave a low, rough laugh. “Honey, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s now become my business. Your daddy fucking made it my business.”
Ava’s jaw tightened. Dammit, she didn’t want her father finding out about this, at least not until she’d managed to get confirmation on the claims made by her anonymous tipster. Because it would hurt him to know that the wrong man had been arrested, that his wife’s actual killer had gone free.
And as for herself, well, her dad never talked to her about her mother, never ever spoke about her death or even the circumstances surrounding it. And because he never spoke of it, she didn’t either, at least not with him. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it, that it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t make her angry, every single damn day.
Which was why she had to find out the truth.
Sitting back stiffly in her seat, Ava lifted her chin. “So what? Are you here to give me another warning to let things go?”
“Yeah.” Lifting the beer bottle, he took a swallow. And despite her anger, she couldn’t help but notice the long, strong column of his throat as he tipped his head back.
Why on earth was that so sexy? And why was she finding it sexy when all she wanted to do was punch him in the nose?
“Well, thank you,” she said primly, dragging her gaze away. “Message received, loud and clear.”
Rush lowered the bottle, leaning his head back against the back of the seat and gazing at her from underneath his lashes. “I’m not sure that it is. Maybe I should scare you a little.”
That strange shiver was back again, the brush against her spine like someone had run the tip of a feather down it. Almost as if…she liked the idea of him scaring her. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t scare easily these days, and the idea of Rush Redmond doing so was laughable.
“Was that what the ferocious ex-con look was about before? Because if so, it didn’t work.” She gathered up her cheap and utilitarian black leather purse. “Thanks for the warning, Rush. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”
He scowled. “You think I won’t tell your father about what you’re doing?”
Oh, crap. That she did not want. Except she wasn’t going to let Rush know that. “Of course not.” She gave him a level look. “You can tell him all you want. But it’s not going to make any difference. I’m still going to do what I can to find out about that arms ring.”
“And if he fires you?”
That gave her pause. Because if he knew what she was doing, he could. And if he thought it would keep her safe, he very likely would. “He won’t,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “Because I’ll just tell him you’re lying to try to cause trouble. Then it’ll be your word against mine, and I wonder who he’ll believe—his daughter, or a guy who’s only just gotten out of jail?”
Something in his face changed instantly, becoming even harder, the look in his eyes steelier. “Be careful, honey,” he said, his voice soft and barbed. “Be very, very careful. You don’t want to cut yourself, what with being so sharp and all.”
That jail comment was a low blow. Especially when you know he’s actually innocent.
Her cheeks heated, guilt twisting inside her. Yes, okay, so it was. But hell, she was angry, tired, disappointed, and frustrated. And she resented him telling her what to do. She most especially resented the fact that her father hadn’t even bothered to come to talk to her about it first. No, he’d gone to Rush instead, which only made it worse.
“Yes, well, thanks for the warning,” she said, avoiding his gaze and fussing with the strap of her purse so she didn’t have to look at him. “Tell Dad you’ve done your duty.”
Rush put the bottle down on the table with a hard click. “You’re going to ignore me, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m going to ignore you. If Dad had wanted to find out what was ‘off’ with me, he should have come to me himself.” She got to her feet. “Thanks for the beer, but I’m not thirsty.”
She turned to leave the booth—only to find Rush’s boots resting on the seat in front of her, his legs totally blocking her exit.
She glared at the offending footwear, then glared at him. “Let me out.”
Slowly he shook his head. “Nope.”
“You can’t—”
“Sit down, honey,” he said in a low, liquid drawl, the one that held just a touch of menace. “You and me need to have a little chat.”
Chapter 5
Ava’s pretty eyes looked almost gold in the light, luminous with anger. Her pale, creamy skin had flushed, making the sweet scattering of her freckles blend in.
She was in a plain navy blue button-down shirt and an equally plain pair of black trousers, an ensemble clearly designed to give fashion the big fuck-you, and yet for some reason he couldn’t work out, she looked totally, completely hot.
In fact, from the moment he’d walked through Jack’s doors and seen the tall, curvy woman with the great ass standing with her back to him, all he’d wanted was to get to know her better. And very much in the biblical sense.
Until she’d turned around and he’d come face-to-face with Ava.
And unfortunately, far from killing his hard-on, it only seemed to make it worse. Which had not made him feel any better about this whole goddamn evening.
Especially not when she was being stupidly stubborn and downright mean.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the small barb of hurt that had caught at him with her casual comment about him being an ex-con. Because it was true, he was. And it was also true that, given the choice, her father would believe her, not him.
But still, it rankled.
He was fucking innocent and he always had been, and the people who knew that often seemed to forget that fact. Sure, prison had marked him, stained him, turned him into a bad guy, but he wasn’t responsible for the manslaughter of Charlie Jones, no matter what his rap sheet said.
Then again, what had been true at the strip club remained true now: if she was going to treat him like a fucking criminal, he was going to damn well act like one. He’d told her he’d scare her, and since she looked like she had no intention of leaving the Jimmy Troy situation alone, he had no qualms about frightening the shit out of her, Rush style.
Keeping his legs exactly where they were, he stared arrogantly back at her, half of him daring her to push him, half of him wanting her to sit the fuck down and listen to him. Because she really didn’t have a clue what kind of hornets’ nest she was kicking.
Ava blinked, and he could see her almost visibly trying to calm herself with a few deep breaths, her hands clenching tight into fists, then relaxing.
Interesting. Since when had she gotten so uptight? He didn’t remember her being like that as a kid. She’d been bright and funny and earnest in the way only a kid could be, and he’d liked looking after her. He’d liked her. She’d made him laugh at a time when it felt like his family had been fragmenting around him; she’d been the single bright spot in his world. Where had that girl gone? Or had time and experience crushed her?
He found he didn’t much like that idea, so he shoved it out of his head. “You’d better sit down, honey, ’cause I’m afraid I’m not going to let you leave until we’ve cleared a few things up.”
Ava inhaled again, her shirt pulling across her full breasts in a way that was seriously distracting. Then she let her breath out in a whoosh. “Fine,” she said, her voice calm, and sat back down on the seat opposite. “So. Talk.”
Well, shit. He had to adm
ire the way she handled herself. It was just a shame that the responses it set off in him were all of the extremely wrong kind. Such as wanting to poke at her, ruffle her, see if he couldn’t get her to lose that hard-won cool. See if that was her all the way through.
Bad move, man.
Yeah, of course it was a bad move. He was a bad man.
Lifting his beer, he took another long swallow, purely to draw out the moment and annoy the crap out of her.
“I have another pair of handcuffs in my purse,” Ava said. “Just so you know.”
He gave her a grin. “Aw, I’m not sure we’re at the handcuff stage yet, honey. Though I’m into it if you are.” It had taken him a whole fifteen minutes and much cursing to get out of the cuffs she’d put on him in the VIP room, and he couldn’t deny he wouldn’t mind turning the tables on her.
Aaaaand you can stop that shit right here. Handcuffing Ava St. George is not what you want to do.
Fuck. The problem was that now he’d thought about it, his goddamn brain wouldn’t stop fixating on it. He could take her across the street to the Lone Star Hotel, to his room—or rather his suite, since he’d claimed one after he’d gotten out of jail—with the massive four-poster bed. Lay her out on it and cuff her to the headboard. Slowly peel off her clothes, see if those pretty little freckles went all the way down…
Ava looked at the plain black sports watch wrapped around one narrow wrist, as if she had much better things to do with her time than sit and listen to his nonsense. “Can we hurry this along? I’ve got to get back to Dad.”
Christ, that patronizing attitude. She needed to check it. Except how to get her to do that? His usual modus operandi was to find the weakness in someone’s armor, then exploit the fuck out of it. Which meant all he had to do was to find out what her buttons were and push them. Hard.
He stared at her, thinking. Drawing out the silence.
Her lush mouth tightened. “If all you’re going to do is stare at me—”
“Why is this so important to you?”
She blinked at the abruptness of the question. “I would have thought it would be obvious. Illegal weapons are a huge problem in this country and—”
“Is it the fame? The glory? Proving yourself to Daddy?”
“No,” she snapped. “Of course not. And if you’d just let me finish a single damn sentence, you’d know that.”
Had he hit a nerve? Yeah, seemed like he had, because she was certainly pissed and he didn’t think it was solely to do with his interruptions. So maybe a point for proving herself to Daddy. Time to widen the net, see what else he could turn up.
“He doesn’t like you being a cop, does he?” He watched her face, noting the rise of color in it. “Why not? It’s got something to do with your safety, right? After what happened to your mom?”
Reaction flared in her eyes. “This has got nothing to do with my mother, so how about you just shut up.”
Interesting denial there. What was the bet it did have something to do with her mother?
His chest tightened in unexpected sympathy, something that he refused to examine too closely.
If we’re talking about mommy issues…
Shit, this had nothing to do with him. This was about her. About her mother. He’d heard a lot about Lauren St. George, since he and Ava used to have long conversations about their respective moms when she’d been little. But he didn’t know much about her death, only that she’d been a cop who’d died in a gunfight with a dealer.
Now that he thought about it, though, a few of the dots began to join together. Troy’s arms ring had been operating in various capacities over the years and had been credited with being the main source of arms for some of the biggest cartels. Weaponized drug dealers would understandably be a hot button for a cop whose mother had died after being murdered by one.
Ava’s face had flushed a deep crimson with anger, her eyes glittering, her mouth a hard line.
Yeah, he’d definitely hit a nerve.
Rush shifted, settling himself in for the long haul, and folded his arms. “Let’s unpack that, shall we? So, what? You want to be a stand-up cop like your mom? Or is it more that you’re off on some half-assed crusade to avenge your mother’s—”
Ava stood up in a sharp, jerky movement and turned, jamming her knee hard against his outstretched legs. “Get out of the way, you bastard.” She pushed at him again. “Move!”
Right, looked like he’d found her weakness. It should have been satisfying, but for some reason it wasn’t. There was real anger in her husky voice, real pain. This was a wound that hadn’t healed.
Sound familiar?
The tight sensation in his chest constricted even further, but he didn’t shift his legs out of the way. He hadn’t finished with her, not yet. Because regardless of how hurt she was now, it would hurt a whole lot more if she tried going after Troy.
He didn’t move, ignoring her little kicks. “So that’s the plan?” he said, keeping his voice low and hard. “You get yourself killed too? I wonder what your dad would have to say about that?”
It was low and mean, and he knew it and he used it anyway. Because this was serious, and her life was more important than her hurt feelings.
Ava stilled, her face turned away, her attention on his legs that were blocking her way out. She’d stopped pushing at them, but he could see the tightly leashed tension in her shoulders and her neck. In the fine line of her jaw.
“Sit down, honey.” He didn’t consciously put gentleness in his tone, but it crept in there all the same. “You need to think this through a little more.”
There was a long silence, Ava standing there not looking at him, every line of her stiff. Then abruptly she sat down, her attention on the table top, her expression taut with repressed emotion.
A thread of sympathy wound through him.
He remembered those conversations they’d had in the kitchen at Lone Star, sharing their grief. Maybe it should have been weird, a seventeen-year-old boy talking about his dead mom with a seven-year-old girl, but it hadn’t felt weird at the time. She’d understood him and he’d understood her. And that understanding was still there all these years later. He knew how hard this was for her.
You’re getting soft, asshole.
Yeah, good point. Being nice and giving a shit were no longer his thing. So why he was giving a shit about Ava and the loss of her mother was anyone’s guess.
“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen,” he said quietly and without expression. “First, you’re going to drink that damn beer. And second, you’re going to tell me all about how this is connected to your mom.”
Ava kept her gaze on the tabletop. “Thank you, Dr. Freud, but I don’t think I’ll be doing either of those things.”
“Christ, you could give a mule a run for its money. Drink the fucking beer.”
“I don’t like beer.”
“Easily fixed.” He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. Instantly his favorite waitress was hovering at his elbow. “Two bourbons, Katie,” he said. “And make it the good stuff.”
After Katie had run off to do his bidding, Ava finally deigned to look at him. Her expression was neutral but her eyes were glowing with anger. “I don’t like bourbon either.”
“Then you haven’t been drinking the right bourbon.”
“What are you wanting from this, Rush? Me to stop what I’m doing? Because I’m not going to, no matter what you might think.”
“I’m more interested in why you’re not going to. Why you’re pushing it even though you know it’s a damn fucking stupid idea.”
She let out a sharp breath and sat back against the seat, folding her arms and looking away. She looked like a grumpy, sullen teenager who knew she’d done wrong and yet didn’t want to admit it.
A ridiculously wholesome, fresh-faced teenager with her creamy skin and her freckles, a lock of red hair that had come loose from her ponytail lying across her shoulders and gleaming in the dim light of the bar.
“You know I’m right, don’t you?” he said, pushing. “You know it’s a stupid idea.”
Her stubborn chin jutted as she glanced at him. “What do you want me to say? I know it’s not a great idea. But what else am I supposed to do? I’ve got a lead, Rush.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to play the hero and risk dying in a hail of gunfire.”
“I’m not going to die in a hail of gunfire. God, give me a little credit. I graduated at the top of my class, after all—I’m not stupid.”
Wow, she hadn’t just had a sip of the Kool-Aid, she’d swallowed the whole damn barrel.
“So tell me what’s going on. What your plan is,” he said, nodding to Katie as she returned with the bourbon. She shot him a wink. Looked like he could get lucky later if he wanted.
Ava frowned, as if she’d noticed the interaction and disapproved.
Rush pushed a tumbler of bourbon in her direction and grinned at her instead. “Don’t be jealous, baby. You had your chance in the VIP room.”
Color swept through her cheeks again, which he shouldn’t have found at all intriguing and yet did.
“I’m not jealous,” she muttered. “If you want to pick up a waitress, that’s your business.” And yet still she was blushing.
A very inappropriate and unwelcome satisfaction settled down inside him. Which was stupid, since he had no intention of investigating exactly why he found her reaction so very satisfying.
You know why.
Okay, yeah, he did. But it wasn’t happening. She was off-limits. Completely.
“Then why are you blushing?” he heard himself ask, because obviously he was a stupid bastard who couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Or are you still thinking about that lap dance you gave me?”
She scowled. “No, of course not.”
“Because if you are, that’s cool. I mean, you could even join us later if you wanted. The more the merrier.”
Shut up, you stupid prick.
Take Me Harder Page 7