by Avery Flynn
She trudged across the muddy drive with Onion at her heels, her tears camouflaged by the rain. If it hurt this bad to walk away, what would staying have been like?
Part of her wished she’d been brave enough to find out.
Jake watched the tiny car drive away, Onion’s head sticking out the passenger window. His solar plexus ached as if he’d been sucker-punched by a bear. He double-checked the latch on the front door and started toward his SUV.
Something slapping against a solid surface caught his attention. On alert, he stopped in his tracks and listened. There it was again.
Every nerve attuned to any movement, he grabbed the Beretta from his ankle holster. He crept toward the kitchen side of the wraparound porch. Turning the corner, he saw a hotel do-not-disturb sign hung from the kitchen doorknob.
Taking his time to be thorough, he scanned the perimeter. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he squatted down by the door. Scratches marred the lock. He picked the lock and cautiously entered Claire’s kitchen. His search didn’t turn up anything new and he returned to the porch and the do-not-disturb sign.
As he had done when he’d found the gas can in Claire’s pantry, he used his cellphone camera to document the find. He e-mailed the latest photo to his Absolute Security account. Still alert, he got into his SUV and turned on his cellphone’s hands-free option.
“Call Sherry.”
It rang twice. “What’s up, hot stuff? You finally callin’ to ask me out on a date?”
“Oh honey, you know I would, but Carl would kill me if I took his blushing bride out on the town. You’d never be able to live with him afterward.”
“Hell, I can’t live with the man now. Do you know he brought home another stray dog today? We’re up to five. Good Lord in heaven, it’s a sin what I pay for dog food every week.”
The news didn’t surprise Jake. He’d grown up with Carl in the house next door and Sherry across the street. For as long as he’d known Carl, almost thirty years, he had been dragging home every pitiful animal he found.
“That’s what you get for marrying a vet.”
“True. So what’s got you calling me if it’s not candlelight dinners?”
“I need some help of the unofficial kind.”
“Uh-huh. Talk.”
He could tell by her no-nonsense tone he was now addressing Sgt. Sherry Newsome of the Denver Police Department.
“I’ve got an UNSUB believed to have killed a woman, now terrorizing another. I’ll upload the case file to you as soon as I get to my hotel. I need to know if his pattern fits any open cases in Colorado, Nebraska or Wyoming.”
“Shit, you’re not asking for much, are you?”
“Do I ever?”
“Only every damn time. Are you working with the locals on this?”
“There’s an evening at Silvio’s in it for you and the puppy collector.”
“Damn. You’re gonna get me fired one of these days.”
He shrugged. “Hey, what are friends for?”
“Technically, you’re Carl’s best friend, not mine. But I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Thanks, Sherry, I owe you.”
“Believe me, I keep a running tally.”
Jake clicked off as he pulled onto the highway. The killer could have left the door hanger when he’d rummaged around the house. But if that was the case, why break the stained-glass front door?
Could the killer have been there during the storm? From his vantage point in the drive, Jake had kept visual contact of Claire through the windows but couldn’t see the kitchen door.
It all came down to the phone and flash drive. What the fuck was Burlington hiding? Time to find out. He pushed the phone’s voice-activation button.
“Call Burlington.”
Chapter Eight
Beth lowered her sunglasses. “Well, looky who’s waiting for you.”
Claire spotted Jake and sank down in the passenger seat of Beth’s Mini Cooper as they pulled into Harvest’s nearly empty parking lot.
“Why won’t he just go away?” She groaned at the sight of Jake lazing against his SUV’s bumper. Dark aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, but his full lips were turned up in a smirk. He tipped his head their way. Claire’s belly went gooey. Hell, the man’s hard body wrapped up in tight blue jeans screamed “fuck me”. Her fingers itched to drag his zipper down and slide the denim off his muscular legs, before doing exactly that.
She forced her gaze away from him and turned her mind from the fantasies he inspired. Concentrating on the asphalt at his feet, still bearing ugly black marks from the Jeep fire, helped slow the lust streaming through her body.
“I told him about your interlude with the shotgun during the storm.” Beth examined her French manicure, studiously avoiding Claire’s penetrating gaze.
Claire’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“I saw him at the Stop and Sip this morning. He ordered a large black coffee and picked up the tab for my mocha. I think that was nice, don’t you?” She looked up, her heart-shaped face plastered with false purity.
Claire glared at her best friend. Beth might be many things, but sweet and innocent were not two of them. “Spill.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Okay. Look, I know we,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “hate him. But you really like this guy, even if you’re not ready to say it out loud.”
“I don’t even know this guy!”
Beth shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes love works like that.”
“You’re thinking about my love life?” Claire waved her hands in the air as she searched for a valid argument to change Beth’s mind. “You know I do have more important things going on right now, like a psycho killer stalking me.”
Claire hoped she sounded more convincing to Beth than she did to her own ears. Beth arched a thinly waxed brow.
Damn.
“Honey, there isn’t a nutjob in the world who can take you down. You’re way too smart and stubborn for that.” Beth slung her arm around Claire’s shoulders and squeezed. “But Jake could really help. I know you want to do it all on your own, but no one ever does it completely alone.”
“I have you.” Claire rested her head on Beth’s shoulder.
“Yes, you do. But I’m a master of mental jujitsu.” Beth raised her mocha toward Jake. “I think super-stud over there probably knows the other kind.”
Claire contemplated Jake. Her body lusted after him and her dog trusted him. Beth probably was right. Maybe Jake was what she needed right now. A bodyguard with benefits.
Last night’s storm seemed like years ago. The sense of home she’d experienced wrapped in his arms was just a gauzy dream. In the light of day, the idea of no-strings-attached sex with Jake seemed possible.
She ignored the doubts. She could protect herself. He’d be leaving soon so her heart was safe.
Of course, first he had to tell her the truth about the phone and the flash drive.
“What are you plotting?” Beth seemed to always know when she was going to let her impulses guide her, which she admitted happened way too frequently.
Claire flipped down the car’s visor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Checking her reflection in the mirror, she reapplied her lipstick.
A casual affair. Better yet, one time only. With the way he threw her mind and body into turmoil, she couldn’t be confident she could stay emotionally detached if it was more than once. She glanced at him. Anticipation sent a shiver down her spine.
Confident in her decision, she gave Beth a quick hug, grabbed her travel mug of coffee and stepped out of the car. Beth beeped her horn as she pulled onto Main Street.
Jake said nothing as she walked past. Fishing the keys out of her overloaded purse, she wondered if he’d ever open his mouth. She unlocked the door and turned to face him. His arms were folded across his chest, his legs outstretched and crossed at the unlaced ankles of his tan work boots. All he needed was a cowboy hat tipped down low over his face and
he’d be the epitome of nonchalance.
Yeah, right.
She nailed him with a glare. “You coming in or not?”
He smiled in response and ambled forward. Her gut sank to her toes. This might not have been such a good idea. Who was she fooling? Was it too late to take back the invitation?
Flustered, she whipped around and ran smack into the door. The emerging bump on her forehead throbbed, but her pride hurt more.
“You have the worst luck.” Jake’s breath fluttered by her ear as he spoke.
Claire shivered. His body heat seeped through to her back.
He reached past her and pushed the door open. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch on the door.”
Claire ignored him and strode into the darkened restaurant.
She loved the stillness of Harvest in the morning before the chef arrived, the food delivery guys dropped off their goods and the phone started ringing. This was her kingdom and she ruled it well. While many restaurants failed within the first twelve months, Harvest had netted a profit its first year. Not much of one, but it had been money in the bank.
On Mondays, Harvest stayed closed for business. Her routine dictated she’d spend the day buried in paperwork. Unlike other Monday mornings though, today she had a six-foot lightning rod of sexual energy zapping the calm.
“Well, if you’re staying, you might as well come on up to the office.” Claire added a little extra sway in her hips and ascended the staircase.
Jake admired the view as he followed Claire up the stairs. Damn. He needed to keep his thoughts on protecting her, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to touch her soft skin again.
She had on some sort of strappy dress that made a man fixate on the thin pieces of fabric on a woman’s shoulders. Or maybe it just made Jake obsess about the bright-red material highlighting Claire’s lightly freckled shoulders. The skirt swished as she climbed the stairs. Momentarily it clung to one side of her round ass before switching direction.
She stepped onto the landing and turned toward her office before he drank in his fill. Denied lust slammed into his gut and places lower as she disappeared into her office.
She was spunky and stubborn with a smart mouth, all wrapped up in a sexy package that he desperately craved. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and feel her come around him. That vision in all its variations had kept him awake and hard most of the previous night.
“You okay?” Claire’s voice knocked him back to the present. “You look like you’re in pain. Headache? I have aspirin.”
The reality of her put his lustful imaginings to shame. She stood in her office doorway with her arms crossed underneath her breasts. Her stance pushed those touchable tits together and upward. The sun’s rays shining from her office windows outlined her toned legs through her dress.
Aspirin wasn’t going to fix what ailed him.
“I’m good.” He clenched and released his hands in a failed effort to get his blood rushing in a different direction. A bit bowlegged, he walked into Claire’s office.
She sat down behind her desk and powered up her laptop. Jake looked around for a place to sit. She’d covered almost every horizontal surface with stacks of paper, management books and dirty coffee cups. He grabbed a pile of manila folders off a hot-pink plastic chair, gently placed them on the floor and sat down.
He had no idea what to do now. He never figured she’d actually let him inside the restaurant.
Claire cleared her throat. “Tell me about the phone and flash drive.”
Well, that explained why she let him in.
Jake searched for the right words to start his story. The conversation with Burlington last night hadn’t been pleasant, but it had been productive. He’d convinced the privileged prick he would cooperate, but demanded to know the story behind the phone and flash drive. Burlington had agreed.
Claire’s chocolate-brown eyes didn’t waver. “Tell me now or get the hell out.”
He scooted his chair closer to her desk and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “Charles Burlington, Kendall’s dad, adopted her when he and Kendall’s mom, Charlotte, got married. Kendall was two years old at the time.”
He leaned forward in his chair, swiped her coffee and took a long drink. Like him, she drank it black. He paid no mind to her irritated look as he returned the travel mug to her desk.
“It seems Kendall’s biological father, Frank Darcy, is a two-time loser, con man and meth abuser who’d made contact with her earlier this year. He’d talked Kendall into giving him money—a lot of money. Burlington thinks Darcy killed Kendall.”
“Why would Darcy kill Kendall?”
“Burlington believes Kendall stored the account information needed to access her money on the flash drive. Either she changed her mind about giving the cash to Darcy or his meth paranoia took over and he killed her for reasons that only make sense to him.”
“No doubt the Voice of Doom was tweaking hard yesterday. Could it have been Darcy? He’s in the right age bracket and he’s definitely a meth head.”
“Maybe. Burlington couldn’t give me a good description of him, said he hadn’t ever seen him and it had been years since the wife had. My office is searching arrest records now to pull a photo.”
“Something still seems off.” A worry line formed between Claire’s eyes. “If she was giving him money already, killing her doesn’t make sense, even for a meth addict.”
“Agreed. Burlington did bring up a third possibility. Kendall siphoned off three million dollars from her parents to give to Darcy. Burlington thinks she did so at Darcy’s request and that he killed Kendall to cover his tracks.”
“How did Burlington find out about all this?”
“Kendall told her mother everything the day before she was killed.”
She pursed her lips and squinted at him. “Why is my bullshit meter going crazy right now?”
“Because you’re not a moron.” He stole another drink of coffee. “Also, it’s the second story he’s told about why he wants the phone. The first story was his wife wanted some photos of herself and Kendall that were on the phone. Both stories are crap. Maybe not all of the embezzled money story is crap, but a good portion of it is.”
He stood up, shoved his fingers through his hair. “Burlington is an asshole, but he’s not stupid. I doubt anyone could siphon off twenty bucks from him, let alone three million. Something else is going on here. I don’t know what Kendall stumbled onto, but it was enough to get her killed.”
He lowered himself to the chair and stretched his legs out. “I did some research last night at the hotel, called up some buddies who owe me favors. There are questions about the legitimacy of some of Burlington’s clients’ profits. Maybe the three million dollars Kendall stole, if she took any money at all, didn’t belong to her parents. Maybe it belonged to one of daddy’s clients.”
Jake gave Claire a moment to digest the information.
“Shit.” The vivacious spark that usually glimmered in her eyes dimmed. “So how do we nail the son of a bitch who killed Kendall?”
God, he loved the spit and vinegar in her. She refused to give up. As a double bonus, she’d said “we”.
“Same plan as before. We wait for him to come at you again, but this time I’ll be with you.”
She gave him a wan smile. Her obvious worry hurt him as if he’d been kicked in the knee. To lighten the mood, he leveled his best wolfish leer at her. “Enough of this. I’d rather talk about when we’re going to finish what we started in your kitchen.”
Claire pursed her lips and turned toward her screen. “We’re finished with that.” Her fingers sped across her keyboard.
He doubted anyone but an android from the science fiction channel could type that fast. Jake got up, circled the desk and stopped directly behind Claire’s high-back office chair. The screen showed a mass of gibberish. Her shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn to look at him. He leaned down.
“That may be true, but I
’m still not going anywhere.” He twirled a strand of auburn hair, which had escaped from her loose bun. “I’m going to get the son of a bitch who hurt you.”
She grasped his hair-wrapped finger. He expected her to pull her hair away, but she didn’t.
“Is that the only reason you’re staying?”
Her breathy question made his nuts tighten. “It should be.” His concrete dick clearly didn’t agree. “But right now it’s not.”
He brushed his lips against the spot below her earlobe. She smelled of oranges and crisp snowfall at the same time, a sensual contradiction much like the woman herself. He meant to stop there, but couldn’t. He sucked on her earlobe, then nibbled down her neck and strung kisses across her shoulders.
“Jake,” Claire half moaned, half whispered as she stood up and turned to face him.
Their mouths melded together. His hands traveled up the outside of her smooth thighs and lifted her dress. He caressed her ass before he lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. His hands on her butt locked her against his straining cock. She fit against him perfectly; it felt better than anything he’d ever experienced.
“Clarabell Anne Layton, you should count yourself lucky I’m not that so-called Voice of Doom Chris told me is after you. My Lord, here you are getting frisky.”
The shrill voice shocked his hands still.
Jake’s head shot up. A tall, middle-aged woman with fire-engine-red hair stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Bedazzled bull horns decorated her white T-shirt right above the words: Don’t mess with Texas…or me.
“I could’ve shot you dead before you’d even gotten your lips off that man.” She pressed her hand to her heart in a melodramatic fashion. “I failed as a mother. My child has no survival instinct.” She lowered her neon-yellow sunglasses to the upturned end of her nose. Her hostile gaze burned a hole through Jake. “And as for you, Mr. Hands-On-My-Baby’s-Behind, you’d better put my daughter down. Now.”
He did as told.
“Hi, Mom.” Claire bit her kiss-swollen bottom lip. “You made great time from Texas.”