by Avery Flynn
His lips left hers and traced down her neck. He arrived at that sweet spot where her throat met her shoulder. Her spine dissolved as he sucked and nibbled.
“You taste so good,” he said, his breath hot against her skin.
The feel of his hands cupping her ass made it impossible to respond verbally other than to moan her appreciation. Her body slid up against his as he lifted her to sit on the kitchen counter. He yanked her closer. The hard bulge in his jeans rubbed against her in the perfect spot.
Every part of her, relaxed only a few minutes before, hummed with tension. Her nipples stiffened into tight nubs. She squeezed her legs around Jake’s waist, her wet core snug against him. She clutched at his shirt, desperate to touch his skin. She needed him closer. Her body demanded it. The endorphins wrapped around her brain gave the go ahead.
She hiked up his shirt and ran her hands up his strong back, felt the tension within him. He tugged her scoop-necked T-shirt lower and his lips descended to the top of her cleavage. He licked and kissed above her teal bra.
Claire’s butt started to vibrate.
Not Jake making my ass vibrate.
It was her phone stuffed into her back pocket. She had to stop to answer. Her body screamed no.
“Phone,” Claire panted. She pushed against Jake’s shoulders. “Have…to…answer…my…phone.”
He groaned into her breasts, put his hands on the counter on either side of her hips and lifted his head. The dark look in his eyes showed he hated this interruption as much as she did.
She got lost for a moment in those eyes. She wanted him. Now. Here on the counter. The vibration stopped but began again a second later. Jake swung her down so she stood again on the kitchen’s taupe tile.
“You’d better answer that.” He backed away, his desire palpable.
Claire reached into her back pocket, warm from Jake’s touch, and pulled out the scarlet phone.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded breathy to her own ears.
“You know, I don’t like to work this hard for the things I want. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Panic exploded in her stomach at the first syllable from the Voice of Doom. Claire looked up at Jake, who cocked his head in question.
“I understand. You want the phone and flash drive, but I don’t have them. I looked everywhere.”
Jake stepped closer. He leaned his head toward the phone. She angled it outward so he could listen.
“Your lack of results has, well… Sweetheart, I’m not the kind of guy you want angry.” His voice pitched lower, sounding more like he did at the train tracks. “Lucky for me, I’m not angry. I. Am. Furious.”
Claire’s temper snapped. Again. This nutcase killed Kendall. He threatened her and her family. He trashed her house. And he had the gall to go all drama king on her for something she didn’t have and couldn’t find? She’d had enough.
“Welcome to the club, asshole, because I’m not too happy myself after the job you did on my house.”
“Just wait, Kitten, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He hung up on her. Again.
Claire’s fingers itched to throw the phone across the room, but her rational, penny-pinching side intervened. With deliberate care, she placed it on the counter.
“The guy is unhinged,” Jake said.
“Yeah, I think the meth mind warp has set in. I’d give him the damn phone and flash drive if I had them. Why does he want them so badly?” Claire paced away from Jake, her bare feet slapping on the floor.
She stopped when Jake didn’t respond. Intuition kicked in.
He knew something.
“What do you know?” Her gaze locked on him. He returned her look, but his face betrayed no emotion.
“Client confidentiality. I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t.”
She stalked across the kitchen to him.
“This guy is messing with my life.” She jabbed her pointer finger into Jake’s less-than-flexible pecs. “He wants the phone and flash drive enough to kill for them. If you know why, you’d better start talking. There are lives at stake!”
She stared up at his kiss-swollen lips. They stayed immobile. She counted to twenty, silently, and waited for a response. Jake remained quiet.
Claire took a step back. Outrage dominated, but underneath was a nugget of regret for what could have happened if the phone hadn’t interrupted them.
“Get out.”
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s not safe for you to be alone.” Jake took a step toward her, his hand outstretched. She shook her head and turned her back to him.
“So nice of you to care about my safety. Get out.” Unwanted tears threatening to cascade down her cheeks, making her vision blurry.
“No.” He turned her around to face him. His thumb brushed away an escaped tear.
Claire focused on his scuffed boots, pushed his hands away from her face. “Please, just leave,” she said, her voice scratchy.
She stayed rooted as his footsteps receded from the kitchen. The front door’s click announced Jake’s departure. She blinked slowly and bit her lip. A part of her, one she didn’t want to acknowledge, mourned.
Chapter Seven
I hope I never set eyes on Jake Warrick again.” Claire flung a disinfectant wipe into the garbage. “Unless it’s to hear him grovel at my feet.”
Onion cocked his head at Claire and whined before trotting into the living room. No doubt he wanted to escape the heavy lemon scent filling the kitchen. She’d used so many wipes on the counters trying to wipe away the memory of those searing kisses, the room reeked of citrus.
The garbage disposal clanked as she fed it that fateful last slice of pepperoni pizza. She could have tossed it in the trash, but seeing it obliterated satisfied her more. She needed to see it get torn apart. It was a visual reminder of how her heart would have looked if she’d spent any more time in the secret-keeping snake’s arms. Good riddance to the pizza and all other reminders of Jake.
But not the beer. That remained in the back of the fridge. Claire had her limits. She’d demolished a perfectly good slice of pizza, but it was just wrong to dump the beer. Especially when it was her favorite kind, Black Bart Porter. All other signs of Jake’s visit had been removed.
Except for his SUV in her drive.
Peeking out the kitchen’s crisp white curtains, she spied Jake sitting in his SUV. His muscular frame was outlined by the setting sun filtering in his windows. He’d never left.
Earlier, she’d marched outside, rapped on his rolled-up window and tried to shoo him off, but he wouldn’t go. Told her she’d have to call Hank in to arrest him. Then he rolled up his window, leaned back in his seat and ignored her. She’d stomped back inside.
“Big jerk.” She snapped the curtain shut.
Why had she ever kissed him? Hell, why did she still want to?
The shrill ring of her landline blasted the quiet. Claire eyed it warily. Not a lot of good things had resulted from phone calls lately. However, it went against her curious nature to let the phone go unanswered. She crossed to the counter in two steps and picked up the cordless receiver. She shot a quick glance at caller ID and smiled.
“Hey there, if it isn’t Miss Beth Martinez, esquire. Done with work?” She had given her best friend the barest details before going to work on the front door earlier, promising they’d talk more once Beth got out of a client’s deposition.
“Oh my God, what happened now? I just heard about how you chased down the killer. Margret Goodwin said she saw Chris carry you back to the restaurant. Are you okay?” Beth accentuated her words with a loud slurp of her ever-present coffee.
“I kissed him.”
“You kissed the Voice of Doom?” Beth’s voice went up three octaves.
“No, I did not kiss him! I kissed Jake. Well…more than that.” Claire wandered into the living room and nudged Onion off the couch. “Not a lot more, but not as much as I wanted. We almost went at it right there on the kitchen counter. I can’t
seem to control myself around him.”
She bent and picked up a few stray dog hairs from the overstuffed gray cushions. Onion shed fur everywhere and it seemed to travel with Claire. She’d found dog hair in her office at Harvest, where he’d never been, carried in on some item of her clothing.
“You really like him.” Beth giggled. “Miss Picky Dater has finally found a guy who makes her melt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Claire. You’ve lived like a nun for long enough. There’s nothing wrong with having the hots for Mr. Tall, Dark and Studly.”
“Very funny. I don’t live like a nun, I just work a lot. Anyway, it won’t work out because we hate him.”
“We do, huh?”
“Yep.”
“More information, please.”
Claire harrumphed and plopped down on the couch, still warm from Onion. “At Harvest, he questioned me like I was a criminal.”
“So he did his job as a private investigator?”
Unable to sit still, Claire popped up from the couch and marched over to the bay window. Yep. He was still out there, his SUV bracketed by the storm clouds rolling across the pink and gold horizon.
“Beth, you’re not helping. He’s obnoxious. Plus, he knows why Kendall’s phone and flash drive are so important, but he won’t tell. Some bullshit about client confidentiality.”
“As a lawyer, I must remind you that client confidentiality is not just ‘some bullshit’.”
“This is why everyone hates lawyers.”
“Only until they need one. Enough lawyer jokes. Start talking, Claire.”
She told Beth about Jake, the killer’s latest phone call and her trashed house.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but it is not safe for you to stay out there by yourself.”
“Agreed. So you’re good with me coming to your place?”
“Of course! We’ll watch a chick flick and talk shit about Jake. I have mocha coffee ice cream and whipped cream.” Beth paused. “I’m on my way to get you now. Will you be okay until I get there?”
“Sure, I’m not alone. Jake’s sitting in my driveway.”
“What?”
“He wouldn’t leave. Told me I’d have to get Hank to come arrest him.”
Beth laughed so hard she snorted. “Oh my God, have you ever met your stubborn match.” She sighed and took another loud slurp of coffee. “Okay, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“See ya then.” Claire clicked the phone off. Her gaze locked on the SUV. Despite her irritation, having him out there set off the butterflies in her stomach again. Made her imagine what it would be like to have Jake around all the time.
Onion’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor. He stopped in front of the plywood-covered front door and whined. She reigned in her fantasy and opened the door.
The dog lingered in the doorway and sniffed. Ozone hung heavy in the air. The wind whipped up low-lying dust devils. She snuck a look toward the SUV. Jake sat up straighter in his seat and watched her, intensely enough to spark goose bumps. She tore her gaze away, turned her face upward.
“Not looking good, Onion. You’d better pee now before Beth gets here.”
The dog looked up with despondent eyes. Great. Her worry had spread to Onion.
“You moody dog. Get moving.”
Despite her growing unease, Claire stepped out onto the porch. She figured Onion would come along too. Instead, his sorrowful eyes remained locked on the distance. He bayed an eerie howl.
“Okay, now you’ve freaked me out, Onion.” She searched the fields for a sign of life, any hint that something or someone who didn’t belong hid among the corn. She wished she had the shotgun in her hands instead of it being on the fireplace mantle.
The first fat drops of rain plopped against the ground. Claire didn’t worry about the storm. The only good part of these fast-moving summer squalls was they tended to leave as quickly as they approached.
“Come on, let’s go in until this blows over. Beth will be here soon. Don’t worry.”
She glanced toward the SUV. Jake gave her a quick salute. Pretending not to notice, she headed inside. If he’d fess up, she’d be more than happy to let him inside. But as things stood, he could enjoy the storm from his car.
Desperate to ignore the niggling apprehension, she focused on keeping her hands busy. The living room still needed work. She grabbed a well-worn copy of Gone with the Wind, and a hardcover copy of a Nina Simone biography to put back in the bookcase.
A crack of thunder broadcasted the storm’s arrival. Nerves already frayed, Claire jumped. The books dropped from her grip. She looked over at Onion, who cowered under the coffee table.
Another crack of thunder. The house lights brightened, then flickered out. Onion, never one for storms, crawled out from his hiding spot to stand by Claire’s side.
“It’s okay, boy. Let’s go flip the fuse.” She fought to keep her voice calm. The sudden gloom strummed her already tightly strung nerves.
Claire felt her way along the walls to the fuse box in the back bedroom. She flipped the switches back and forth. No luck. Onion shivered at her feet.
“Flashlight and candles in the kitchen, come on.” She scratched behind his ears, tried to impart a reassurance she didn’t feel herself.
The storm turned the dusk sky to night. Claire tripped over the books piled on the floor on her way to the kitchen, but caught her balance before she landed face first. As soon as her foot crossed the kitchen threshold, another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Claire caught a flash of something in the window over the kitchen sink.
She stifled a scream and instinctively stepped away from the window. Darkness blocked her vision of whatever, or whoever, had been there.
“Jake? Is that you?” Her shaky voice barely lifted over the sound of hail pinging against the roof.
Claire froze. No one answered. Dread filled her veins, chilled her skin.
The shotgun was in the living room. Should she go for it? A bang of thunder shook the windowpanes. She used her left hand to pull open the junk drawer and fumbled around for the flashlight.
Onion’s throat vibrated as he let out a low growl. He stood, tense, by her side. At last, she felt the plastic tube. Her pulse ratcheted down a tad when she clutched the flashlight. With the push of a button, light poured forth toward the window.
Claire screamed at the face that glared at her. Only it wasn’t the killer who stared back. The light showed her petrified reflection. She couldn’t see who or what, if anything, was outside.
Never looking away from the window, she shuffled backward into the living room and grabbed the shotgun down from the mantle. She snatched up a box of shells and shoved them into a pocket. A few strays slipped out and plinked against the brick hearth. She loaded the gun by muscle memory, grateful for the times her dad had taken her hunting.
The flashlight didn’t help make her feel safe. The gun helped, but.…
She hunched low and scurried to the bay window. Lightning flashed. For a moment she saw Jake’s SUV, too brief to confirm if he was in there. She scooted toward the door, the living room wall firm against her back—her goal, the front door and Jake beyond it.
Another burst of light. Onion stood growling at the kitchen door. The hair on his haunches stood straight up. The dog burst into wild, ferocious barking.
Claire swung the shotgun over. Pointed it at the kitchen door. “Who’s there?” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. No one responded.
Jake would have called out.
Her finger caressed the trigger.
If the Voice of Doom lurked outside, she couldn’t afford to be a damsel in distress. She took in a steadying breath. Gritted her teeth. A calmness descended. No more fear. She knew what she had to do. She took in a deep breath and let it out. She was ready to fire at whoever came through the door.
Then…nothing.
Onion stopped barking, trotted acros
s the kitchen and took several long, deep sniffs at the bottom of the door. He jogged back to Claire, his tail wagging.
“Good boy, Onion. Good boy.”
She looked down at the shotgun in her white-knuckled hands. Unable to hold it any longer, she placed it on the fireplace’s brick hearth. Her blood rushed through her body so fast, she could swear she heard the ocean.
Claire slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. She ran her trembling fingers through her hair. The rain beat down nearly in time with her hammering heart, but the thunder and hail had passed.
A rapping at the bay window startled her. She jerked her head up. Jake stood on the other side of the pane, his dark, rain-soaked hair plastered to his head. “Are you okay?”
His words, muffled by the window, shot straight to her heart, calmed its beating. Unable to form any words, she pushed up off the floor and crossed to the door. She tugged it open and cool air stroked her cheeks. The breeze brushed the hair off her shoulders.
Jake folded her into his arms. His chin rested on her head, a warm drop of rainwater sliding down one side of her face, a baptism of sorts. She’d acknowledged her fear. Asked for help. Received it. Found safe harbor. Wanted more.
“It’s going to be okay.” Jake stroked her hair. “I’ve got you.”
And that’s what scared her more than the storm—or the killer. She teetered on the edge of falling for a man she knew nothing about. After Brett, she’d worked hard to block access to her heart. Jake shook down her barriers like an earthquake.
He’d be gone as soon as they trapped Kendall’s killer. She couldn’t take another heartbreak. It had taken so long to come back from the last one.
“Claire—”
A car horn interrupted him. She peeked around his arm and saw Beth’s Mini Cooper in the driveway.
“I have to go.” She stepped away. Confusion was clear in his eyes and it gut checked her. Claire stood on her tiptoes, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”