Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  She grabbed the ones bunched together and squinted at the embossed blue letterhead for an attorney’s office. “I think we can sort these into Matt’s legal documents, right?”

  “You start that pile, and I’ll fish out all the receipts. Who knows? They may be telling.”

  She’d figured Jake had used the box as an excuse to come over here and grill her about why she’d kept the storage facility a secret from him, but he barely touched on that and seemed to think they’d find something in this mess to support Matt’s claim that someone had paid him to plant those cards near her apartment and car.

  She had her doubts. Matt wasn’t that organized. Most of his illegal dealings he kept in his brain, away from the prying eyes of the cops. Nobody could get into Matt’s brain—at least not for free.

  She stacked the documents in a neat pile detailing a very messy life.

  She smoothed her hand over the stack. “Any luck?”

  Jake looked up from the three piles he’d set up on the table. “No, but he has some purchases here I think his parole office would’ve been interested in knowing about.”

  “This is just wishful thinking. Even if you could find something that proved Matt took payment from someone to torment me with those cards, how would that help your case? Jordy is dead and gone.”

  “I feel it here.” Jake pounded his bare chest with his fist. “It’s an instinct. Ask Quinn.”

  “I’ve heard plenty about Quinn’s instincts over the years. They didn’t always pan out.” She rose from her place on the floor across the coffee table from Jake. “More tea? Water?”

  “The tea felt good on my throat, but I’ll have some more water. Do you think the clothes can be switched to the dryer?”

  “Probably close.” She grabbed his glass and cup. “I’ll check.”

  He curled his fingers around her wrist. “Do you take your piece with you when you go to the laundry room at night?”

  “I don’t usually do my laundry at night. I was going to save those sooty clothes for tomorrow.”

  Releasing her arm, he pushed off the couch, and a few of Matt’s scraps showered to the floor. “Then let me go. Do you have any dryer sheets?”

  “I already put one in the dryer next to the washer I used. Just load and go.” She jingled a basket of coins on her way into the kitchen. “A quarter for ten minutes. You can probably get away with thirty. It’s light stuff.”

  “I think I’ve got some change.” He patted the front pocket of his jeans on his way out the door.

  As she rinsed the two teacups, she mused on how great it was to have a half-naked man in her place doing laundry. She didn’t know about his instincts, but she’d felt that he wanted to be close to her and just maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Matt’s bits of paper.

  Jake yelled from the front door. “Hey, there’s a mangy cat here trying to get in your apartment.”

  She leaned into the small foyer from the kitchen. “Keep him there. I’ll bring him some milk and food.”

  She splashed a little milk into a bowl and took a box of kibble from the cupboard.

  Jake widened the door for her, and the cat was threaded around his ankles. “I’m afraid to move.”

  “Good idea.” She squeezed past him, and his bicep brushed the front of her camisole, giving her tingles in all the right places. She crouched, set down the milk and shook the dry food into the bowl already across from her door.

  “You’re an advocate for pets as well as people.” Stepping back, he held the door open for her, giving her a wide berth.

  Had he felt the electricity between them, too?

  “Just this guy. The neighbors already hate me for encouraging him.” She slipped back into the kitchen to get Jake more water.

  He took up his position on the couch again, placing his glass on the end table. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “We’re halfway through the box. I know Matt isn’t going to disappoint.”

  “You don’t know Matt.” Before she sat, she reached across the table to grab the pieces of paper that had fallen to the floor. Jake had gotten the same idea at the same time, and they bumped heads.

  “Ouch.” She drew back, rubbing her forehead.

  “Sorry.” He reached across the coffee table and smoothed his thumb down her cheek. “You’ve had a rough night.”

  She parted her lips, unable to form one word. The rough pad of his finger felt like magic, soothing away any doubts she had about him. Her breath came out in short spurts, and her eyelashes fluttered as if she faced that inferno again and couldn’t stare into the heat.

  His thumb moved from her face to her bottom lip, which throbbed under his touch.

  “You know—” his voice roughened as if he’d never had that tea “—we’ve never even kissed. I’ve thought about that a lot, wondered what your lips would taste like.”

  “And what did you come up with?” Her voice came out breathy like a bad actress in a B movie.

  “Ice.” His warm breath caressed her cheek, and she didn’t even mind that it smelled slightly of charcoal. “A cool, cherry Popsicle.”

  “I think I’m going to disappoint you.”

  “Never.” He slanted his mouth over hers and touched her lips in a light kiss. Then he deepened the kiss, caressing her lips with his own, his tongue probing in gentle exploration.

  Her awkward position hunching over the coffee table caused her to start listing to the side, so she curled an arm around Jake’s neck to steady herself.

  He took that as a definite yes and cinched his hands around her waist, pulling her toward him in another awkward scramble over the coffee table with Matt’s life between them. That was no deterrent. She’d been waiting so long for the kiss that she could easily scale a coffee table.

  Digging her fingers into Jake’s broad shoulders, Kyra stepped over the table and fell against him. They toppled sideways onto the couch, and Jake, in a feat of grace and talent, never broke the connection of their kiss.

  He moved his lips against hers. “Better to have you on my side.”

  As he rolled her onto her back, she splayed her hands across the hard planes of his chest. The man was solid in every way, and she wanted him on her side. She did.

  He wedged his finger under her chin, tipping back her head. His kisses moved from scorching her lips to her jawline and then her neck.

  Her head fell to the side as his tongue found the depression at the base of her throat. Her lashes fluttered open, and her clouded gaze swept the mess scattered across the table. She didn’t want to think about Matt now. She didn’t want to think about anything other than the sensations soaking her nerve endings.

  Then a scribbled word jumped out at her from one of the scraps of paper. She blinked and narrowed her eyes, even as Jake murmured a question in her ear, the low, throaty sound of an invitation.

  She lifted her head, and her heart slammed against her chest as she made out the words: laprey.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jake repeated the urgent question that had just left his lips, one hand splayed on the smooth skin of her stomach, his fingers inches from her right breast. “Do you want me to continue?”

  Her body stiffened beneath his, and then her back arched, one leg slipping off the side of the couch. “Oh, my God.”

  He snatched his hand away from her warm belly. “I’m sorry.”

  She wriggled beneath him as if to dislodge him, and he sprang up and sat back on his heels.

  Free of him, she scrambled from the couch, banging her shin on the coffee table and taking a few staggering steps like a boozer on a bender. Had he misread every sign from her?

  “I’m sorry, Kyra. I thought...” He spread his hands, his naked torso making him feel exposed and clumsy.

  Her fingers crept into her loose blond hair, and she shook her head back and forth. “You thought right.
You did nothing wrong, Jake. It’s me. I thought I was ready for something like this, and I’m just not.”

  Her words socked him in the gut, and he escaped from the soft couch that seemed to mock him now. “Yeah, sorry. I got carried away by the excitement of the evening. For a minute, I started believing I was the white knight who came to your rescue. My daughter keeps reminding me that girls don’t need rescuing.”

  He was babbling like an idiot, and she looked as if she’d seen a ghost. His seduction techniques must’ve gotten really rusty in the years since his divorce.

  “I’m sorry I intruded on your space. I’m sorry I came here unannounced.”

  She sliced her hand through the air. “Stop apologizing. I was all on board until...I wasn’t.”

  “Okay. I’ll get my shirt from the dryer and get out of your hair.” His gaze wandered over her shiny tresses, free from the constricting ponytail for once. He’d been looking forward to running his own hands through those silky locks.

  As he made a beeline for the front door, she called his name; he pretended not to hear. He was surprised he heard anything over the roaring in his ears. What an idiot. The woman was as cold as ice. She’d shown him that over and over. Shown him she couldn’t be trusted.

  He grabbed the hamper by the front door and stalked to the laundry room, feeling as if the fire from the storage facility had followed him. She’d lied to him tonight about going to the facility and then lied about the light on her phone dying. How many red flags did a man need?

  He’d missed all the red flags his wife had been throwing about her affair, too. Maybe he was color-blind.

  The dryer still had six minutes on the timer, but he stabbed the Cancel button anyway. He gritted his teeth as he watched the clothes flop around behind the glass door, mimicking his thoughts. He didn’t even wait until the spinning stopped before he yanked open the door and thrust his hand into the warm drum.

  He bunched the clothes in his fist and tossed them into the basket. He plucked his shirt from the pile and pulled it over his head. He’d be damned if he’d go back into that apartment half-naked, vulnerable.

  Holding the hamper in front of him, he trudged back to her place. The green-eyed cat gave him a knowing look. “You know how it feels to be kicked out, too, don’t you, buddy?”

  He pushed through the door without even shutting it behind him and dropped the plastic hamper on the floor. “They’re dry enough.”

  “Were you talking to someone out there?”

  “The cat.”

  She had her hands in the pockets of her gray sweats, one bare foot on top of the other. “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “Now we’re both apologizing.” He tugged on the hem of his shirt and smoothed out a wrinkle from the front. “Forget it. We both made a mistake.”

  Her eyes widened for a second, and the luscious lips that had been his for such a short time trembled. “I...”

  Pointing over her shoulder, he said, “I’m just gonna grab that stuff, if you don’t mind. You said you didn’t want the box.”

  “Oh, no, you can have it.” She swept her arm to the side in a magnanimous gesture that seemed to promise the world instead of a box of junk. You can’t have me, but you’re welcome to that crap.

  He walked past her, his back stiff. He placed the empty box on the floor at the edge of the table and swept everything inside it, destroying his careful sorting. It didn’t matter. He had to get out of here.

  He stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “If your cough gets worse, see a doctor.”

  “You, too.”

  He raised his hand and escaped into the cool night, or maybe it just felt cool because of the heat bubbling inside him.

  The cat flicked his tail and blinked. Jake growled at him. “Good luck.”

  * * *

  WHEN JAKE SLAMMED the door, it seemed to shake the whole apartment—seemed to shake her to her bones. She dashed at the tear trailing down her cheek and withdrew the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.

  She didn’t have time right now to regret her abrupt dismissal of Jake. She could’ve pretended. She could’ve put the paper’s words, which matched the email address on the message, out of her head and made love to Jake. Matched him kiss for kiss. Still, if she was going to be with Jake, she wanted to give him her full attention. Now she might never have the chance at all.

  She shook her head and smoothed the scrap of paper in her palm, reading it out loud. “‘LA Prey’ or ‘La Prey.’”

  What did it mean? Was it some Spanish word she didn’t know? Didn’t look Spanish. Or French. Could it be someone’s name? Nobody would use their real name to send a threat to her.

  But now she held a link in her hand that there was a connection between the cards left for her during Jordy Cannon’s murder spree and the email sent to her after the murder of Andrea Miles. Matt had contact with La Prey. He was probably the one paying Matt to leave the playing cards. Now, with Matt gone, La Prey had taken on the job of tormenting her himself. Why?

  She picked up Jake’s glass from the end table with a stab of guilt piercing her heart. This was what Jake had been looking for—a strong suggestion that someone had paid Matt to plant the cards—and she’d hidden it from him. She’d done more than that to him, something she didn’t want to examine right now.

  Jake was wrong to believe her issues had anything to do with Jordy Lee Cannon’s crimes or Andrea’s murder. Finding out who was harassing her wasn’t going to lead to Andrea’s killer, and Jake had already dealt with Jordy.

  Maybe Matt had been the one who was paying La Prey, not the other way around. Matt had that picture of the foster family in his possession. He could’ve scanned it and sent it to La Prey to send on to her. Maybe Matt had already paid this guy to keep up the reign of terror against her. Maybe Matt’s lackey didn’t even know his benefactor was dead.

  She put the cups in the dishwasher and picked up the hamper on the way to her bedroom. She plunged her hand into the warm, slightly damp clothes and dropped to the edge of the bed. Jake couldn’t even wait for his T-shirt to dry—and she didn’t blame him.

  Why couldn’t she just come clean with him...about everything? She fell back on the bed, her legs dangling over the side. And see that look in his eyes?

  Was it worse than the look she’d witnessed tonight? Hurt? Confusion?

  She rolled to her side, curling her legs to her chest. She needed to talk to someone. She needed her mom.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Jake stumbled into the station, bleary-eyed and still hacking up black gunk. He’d inhaled more of that smoke than he’d thought—had made him go temporarily insane, too. From now on, Kyra Chase could stay in her corner and he’d stay in his.

  He plopped into his chair and stared at his blank computer monitor. But, as long as he was in his corner, he had some work to do. He yanked open his top desk drawer and fished around for loose business cards, plucking them out one by one. He needed a better filing system.

  A punch to his arm interrupted his task.

  “What are you doing in there, searching for old lottery tickets?”

  Jake jerked his head up at Billy and snapped his fingers in his face. “Weren’t you dating someone from DCFS last year during one of your breaks with Simone?”

  “Yes, I was.” Billy rolled his eyes to the ceiling, finger on his chin. “Tara Liu.”

  “Did it end well?” Jake tapped a stack of business cards on his desk, holding his breath. You never knew with Billy.

  “Yeah, yeah. Tara’s a great girl. Bad timing all around.” Billy folded his arms. “You need a favor?”

  “Do you think Tara would be game?”

  Billy winked. “She was game for a lot.”

  “Okay, I don’t need to hear about it.” Jake formed his fingers into a cross. “Do you think she’d help me out with s
omething not by the book, as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone?”

  “As long as it doesn’t hurt those kids. She’s fiercely protective of the children in the system.”

  “This is old news, before her time. Do you have her direct number, and can I drop your name?” Jake swept the cards back into his drawer and slammed it. “Will she remember your name?”

  “Really?” Billy tugged on the lapels of his expensive jacket.

  “Okay, Romeo. Get me her number.”

  Billy pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen. “I’ll send it to you.”

  Seconds later, Jake’s phone signaled a new message and he retrieved Tara Liu’s number from Billy’s text. He tipped the phone at Billy, who was slipping out of his jacket and taking the desk next to him. “Thanks.”

  Jake pushed the chair back, hand curled around his phone, and made for the door. He didn’t need the whole task force listening in on every thread he decided to pursue—and he believed Matt Dugan’s past was linked to these copycats.

  He nearly plowed into Kyra at the entrance to the war room. “Whoa, sorry. How’s your throat?”

  “Still a little scratchy. Yours?”

  “Same.” He brushed past her, the phone digging into his sweaty palm. Without a backward glance, he took the stairs down to the first floor and burst out into the sunshine. He got behind the wheel of his Crown Vic and called Tara Liu.

  Her impersonal voice-mail message greeted him. In her line of work, she probably didn’t answer calls from unknown numbers, so he’d expected this.

  “Tara, this is Detective Jake McAllister, LAPD Robbery-Homicide. I got your number from my partner, Billy Crouch. I have a favor to ask you...off the record.”

  She might not return his call due to that tagline, but he wanted to be up-front. He hated the gradual wheedling of favors from people, the groveling and begging. He liked to state his case and know right away if it was a go.

  He dragged a sheet of paper from his pants pocket containing information about Matt Dugan’s time in the system and smoothed it out on his thigh.