He jumped over his chair toward the door, spilling beers and knocking elbows on his way. Summer wasn’t in sight, but he couldn’t let the guy get away.. When he got to the door, he bolted out to the lot, just in time to lose the taillights of a brown sedan over the horizon. “Hey, what the hell is going on?” Summer yelled as she jogged up behind him. “Why did you bolt out of there so quickly?”
“The guy who has been sending you the mail with the scary pictures was here...”
“Excuse me, can we help you?” Jake looked up at the familiar voice.
“Who are you?” Jake asked, playing his cover.
“I’m Earl Diggs with the Bonita Springs PD. I overheard your discussion. I’m familiar with your case, Miss. Riley. I’m off-duty but I can call my guys.”
“That’s okay. I got this handled.” Jake extended his hand. “Jake Harrison by the way. Good to meet you.”
“How do you know it was the same guy?” Summer asked, pulling on Jake’s sleeve.
“His tattoo matches. I saw it.” Jake pointed to his left arm. “I don’t know if he’s following you or what, but he’s out there.” He heard the shock in his voice. Maybe there was more to the mail than he bargained for.
“Did anyone talk to you or approach you in there?” Diggs asked. “See any one suspicious?”
“No, but I wasn’t really paying attention.” Her gaze turned back to Jake. “I thought I was supposed to be relaxing.” She looked down the street, then back toward the bar. “I think I’d like to go home.”
Jake felt his heart sink when he saw fear cloud her emerald eyes. “Hey, relax. Remember you can trust me.”
“Trust you?” She shook her head, still staring out at the empty road. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know who you are.”
Chapter Six
Summer closed Jake’s bedroom door behind her and slung her gigantic duffle bag on the bed. After tonight’s events at the bar, Jake insisted, for safety’s sake, she stay at his house indefinitely. She hadn’t spoken to him the whole ride here but she could tell by the way he rubbed his temples that a headache was coming on. It served him right, she figured. He deserved it for lying to her. Or at least omitting the truth. How did she know he hadn’t set her up? And if she wasn’t allowed to know his true identity, what else was he hiding from her?
She pawed through the rumpled pile of clothes bulging through the bag’s open zipper. Jake told her she’d be there at least a few days, but she didn’t feel the need to unpack. That would imply she was staying, something she wasn’t sure she wanted him to assume. Finding a t-shirt in one of the drawers, she slipped it over her head. The musky scent that was signature Jake filled her nostrils. The jerk. She climbed in bed, puling the comforter over her face.
After a moment she rolled to her side and looked out at the lonely ocean. In the moonlight she could make out the outline of Jake at the top of the stairs, the orange glow of a cigarette dangling at his side. A disgusting habit for sure, but it intrigued her that it never surfaced other than late night when he thought she was long asleep. Maybe he did respect her after all. At least enough not to do it in her presence.
She rolled back over, her hair snagging on her earring. Carefully she removed them both and too lazy to stash them anywhere else, she opened the nightstand drawer beside her. When she looked inside there was a thick grey book that looked a lot like a photo album. Jake’s initials written in calligraphy were prominent in the middle, but faded under a thick layer of dust.
She looked down at it a moment and then shut the drawer. Curiosity forced her to reopen it. Pulling it out, she thumbed through the pages until a picture on the inside cover caught her eye. A black and white shot of a shirtless Jake in tight jeans standing next to a race car. Under his arm he sported a helmet with the number thirty-seven emblazoned across it. She smiled,, impressed by his six-pack and the way the front of his jeans held him in all the right places.
She flipped to the middle. A smiling Jake with random others, rarely the same face twice. A decade old Sports Illustrated cover caught her eye. Him sitting on the hood of a race car in a tight, white tank-top with two blond women in string bikinis sitting on his lap. The headline read “Winning Streak: NASCAR’S Favorite Playboy.” She giggled as she studied his face. His smile could melt icebergs. It was no wonder everyone loved him.
The next page made her gasp, the pictures too vivid and gruesome to take in.. It was the mangled carcass of a race car that had been ravaged by impact and fire. The headline read “The Streak Up In Flames. Survival Not Expected.” A separate picture showed Jake bloodied and unconscious, being carried by a herd of medics to an ambulance. She drew back and covered her mouth. The faded pictures were disturbing. She could only imagine the real thing.
Countless accounts of his conditions and his treatments followed, too longwinded to read. Some stories even went as far to eulogize him, as if he were already dead. But the final pages of the album told the story of his survival and why he was rendered “NASCAR’s Living Legend.”
She looked back out at Jake, still perched on the railing with a cigarette in his hand. If it was the difficulty of discussing the accident that was keeping him distant, she knew exactly how he felt. Her instincts told her there was another reason he was holding back. Something bigger. Something she had to find out.
***
Jake took a long drag of his cigarette as he gazed out at the water. The moon was high, casting grey shadows on the whitecaps. Many nights he would stand at the top of the steps watching the waves roll themselves. The scene always calmed him, except tonight it left him agitated.
He glanced at his watch. One a.m. If he wasn’t on a mission, who knows where he would be right now. Out carousing, probably. Half in the bag. Hell, maybe all the way in the bag, and later with a soft, warm body underneath him. It was a lifestyle adopted during his NASCAR days and he was smart enough to know it was a coping mechanism now.
The accident seemed like a lifetime ago. At times it was hard to even reconcile the man he was today with the twenty-one year old boy of twelve years earlier. Young, rich and ready to party. By his assessment, invincible, which probably was what drew Big Al to him in the first place.
He regretted the arrangement as soon as he made it. Al assured him throwing the Daytona would guarantee him more spoils than he could imagine. But when he awoke three weeks later, his broken body wrapped like a mummy, he realized he made a deal with the devil. Recovery was worse than death itself and there were many times when he wished he’d never pulled through. But as wrong as it sounded, his dream of revenge gave him a will to live and a goal to set his sights on.
Payback Big Al Riley.
So here he was. An FBI big-shot on the verge of completing a mission eleven years in the making. He should be thrilled. Exhilarated. But all he kept thinking about was the woman asleep alone in his bed. “What are you doing out here?”
Jake jumped, turning toward her voice.
“I’m sorry.” Summer held up her hand. ”I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I know how you hate that.”
She stepped into the moonlight and he smiled in spite of himself. She wore his t-shirt which hid nothing and her hair was lose around her. He stared, transfixed at how it billowed in the sea breeze. “What’s up?” he asked. “Did you come out here to yell at me some more?”
She shrugged, then nodded toward his cigarette. “You’re smoking.”
He lifted up the beer can next to the ashtray. “I’m drinking, too, if that interests you at all.” He settled himself in a patio table chair and motioned for her to take the other. “Don’t tell me the smoke bothered you from the bedroom.”
“Of course not. I was just wondering why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you smoke.” He sensed the impatience in her voice. Like the question was only a means to get to another.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I used to be a lot worse before.”
“You mean before the accident?”
/> He snapped his head around, confused by her insinuation. “What are you talking about?”
He watched her come toward him with something tucked under her arm. Taking a seat beside him she gently placed it in his lap. “I hope you don’t think I was snooping because I wasn’t.”
He blinked once from shock and again to focus on his initials under the blanket of dust. Taking one last drag, he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table beside him.
“Come on, humor me. How did you get the name Streak?”
“I don’t know. After I won a few races a magazine printed it. Another one got a hold of it, and you know how it is.”
“Why did you crash?”
The million-dollar question. He picked his beer up from the table and stared out at the water. “I don’t know what happened.” That was true. The best he could figure the accelerator got stuck but this type of malfunction wasn’t something that happened unless someone had planned it that way.
“The articles say you were burned over sixty percent of your body.”
He looked at her and smiled. “You’ve done your research, haven’t you?”
“You look pretty good to me for a burn victim.”
“The miracles of medicine,” he declared, holding his arms out wide. “And amazingly enough, it wasn’t the burns that had lasting effects. My head went through the windshield. At the speeds these cars run, you can imagine what that can do. I still have shards of metal all over my body.”
“Wow.” Summer said, making a face. “It’s amazing you’re still alive.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Well you seem better now. Why not go back?”
“I had a pretty bad concussion,” he told her. “My manager and sponsors were convinced it put a damper on my killer instinct, so they dropped me.”
“That’s why the headaches, huh.”
He nodded, feeling one still lingering in his temples. “I’ve kept them a pretty good secret. Other than Leslie, I can’t think of anyone who knows about them. They’re getting better too. They used to be so bad I couldn’t even open my eyes or stand up, the pain was that sharp.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. “So now you have a PhD in criminology, huh?”
“Yeah.” He stood up from the chair and stretched. “It just seemed like something to do. My life was pretty empty then. Thought an education might fill it up.”
“How did you meet my father?”
He took his time to consider his answer, measuring the crack in her voice when she asked the question. “I don’t know.” he replied. “I guess it was a while ago, back at the Beaver. Leslie introduced me.” He brought the beer can to his mouth and let it linger there.
“You’re good friends, huh?”
“Sure,” he said simply. “What about you? You like him?”
“I suppose I have to. I’m his daughter right? I don’t have much of a choice.”
“That’s a sad way to put it.”
“Maybe.” She tucked her knees to her chest and pulled her t-shirt over them. “I guess I just resigned myself long ago to the fact the only love in my life would be tennis, and maybe if I was really lucky I would have a husband and the six kids I’ve always wanted.”
“Six?” He laughed. “That’s a houseful, Summer.”
“The more the merrier.”
“I guess. You must really miss Geoffrey when he’s on the road, huh?”
The smile faded. She brushed her hair from her face and gazed at him. “What about you, Jake? You ever want to get married? Or are you happy just being the NASCAR Gigolo?”
Slowly his vision blurred, little dots dancing around him. A sharp pain spread from the base of his skull around the sides of his head. He dropped his face in his hands, and pressed hard on the temples with his fingers.
“Jake, are you okay?”
He couldn’t answer, the pain sucking the breath from his chest. Gasping, he pushed harder, his fingers cramping from the pressure. He switched to his thumbs and squeezed his eyes shut, praying like hell the throbbing would stop.
He jerked when he felt Summer touch him. Her cool fingertips covered his, coaxing them into soothing circles. She ran them down his cheeks then back to the hair line, pressing exactly where he needed her too. “How’s that feel?” she asked, her voice as gentle as the ocean breeze.
He couldn’t answer, too enthralled by her closeness. He could smell her, her candy-sweet scent mixing with sharp salty air. Every sense within him sharpened, like she carried an electric charge. Pressing his head against her, he slid his hands up her long sleek legs. “Don’t stop,” he breathed, the words muffled as he kissed her stomach through her shirt.
“Can I get you your pills?” she asked, her hands still woven in his hair.
“No, just you.” He stroked the back of her thighs. She was as soft as he imagined, like the pedals of a budding flower. But there was a danger behind her eyes. So tempting, yet so lethal. A mixture as potent as any powder keg he could imagine.
He couldn’t help himself.
Closing his mouth on hers, he tasted her luscious lips. Sweet and soft, just like he’d remembered. He searched her with his tongue, his desire driven by the soft moan escaping from somewhere deep within her.
“You taste incredible,” he whispered, sliding his hands under her shirt. His fingers found the line of her panties, gently teasing her skin along it. He was confused by how swept up he was, so completely floored by this woman who he should hate more than anything. But instead he was mad with desire. It was like driving at speeds too fast to maneuver. Completely on the edge of control.
In a sudden fluid motion, he lifted her shirt over her head, bringing his mouth to a swollen pink nipple. He suckled hard, crazed by the way her body responded, his hands barely able to hold her as she writhed and squirmed against him. Grabbing her buttocks he pressed his erection against her. She gasped when she felt him, a reaction that urged and excited him. He swept her up in his arms, carrying her the few feet to the stairs and with urgent care he laid her down on the sand. He was ready. As ready as he’d ever been for any woman. By the way she looked up at him, he was sure she wanted it too.
Suddenly, a noise from inside the house jolted him. Jake pulled away and reached for the gun under his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” she panted.
“Quiet.” He scooped up her shirt and threw it at her. “Get dressed and stay behind me.”
Again he heard the sound of footsteps. Pulling Summer behind him he inched his way to the doors, his aching eyes wide in the darkness.
“Jake, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I want you to go lie down behind the couch. Got it?”
He waited until he was out of her sight to pull the gun from his holster. Carefully he made his way through the house, stopping when he saw movement swimming in the shadows near the foyer closet.
He crept closer to the silhouette. His back was turned as he rifled through a duffle bag on the floor. “Freeze” Jake yelled but it drew a fist instead. He ducked just in time and knocked him in the back of the head. The intruder tumbled to the floor in a jagged heap, a pool of crimson blood forming under him.
Chapter Seven
Summer padded up behind Jake and stared down at the flaccid figure at Jake’s feet. “Oh my God,” she croaked. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t kill him. I just knocked him out.”
“Yeah, knocked all the blood out of him.”
“It’s a head wound. Head wounds bleed.”
“How the hell would you know? You’re not that kind of doctor!” She jogged over to the light switch and snapped it on before kneeling down beside the man laying face down in the puddle. “This looks terrible. Shouldn’t we call the cops or something?”
“I’m telling you. He’s fine. I didn’t hit him that hard. Now, how about you step away so I can do my job.”
She stood up and moved aside with a flourish. “
Be my guest.”
He walked around the body with his hands on his hips. When he turned, she saw the slightest gleam of his revolver. “What was that?” she exclaimed.
He followed her finger with his eyes and smirked like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “A gun.” He pulled it out and pretended to inspect it. “Still is.”
“I thought we had an agreement about guns.”
“I didn’t shoot him, did I?” He jammed it back under his shirt, then dropped to his knee to pat him down. Finding nothing, he stood back up. “We’ve got to flip him over and get a look at his face.”
She took a few paces back when Jake wedged his foot under the body. With an effortless push, he flipped the man over.
Summer covered her mouth with her hand and gasped. “Oh my God! That’s Geoffrey.”
Jake looked over at her. “What?”
“Geoffrey!” She dropped to her knees beside him, slapping his face to jar him awake. “Nice job, Jake. You could have at least asked him who he was before you assaulted him.”
“I thought the man was trying to kill you.” he reminded her. “What the hell is he doing breaking into my house anyway? Isn’t he supposed to be in Bermuda?”
“How do you think he knew I was here?”
“I don’t know. He’s your fiancé.” Jake swung the guy over his shoulder and brought him back to the bedroom. He tossed him on the bed with a thud. “Does he always walk into stranger’s houses unannounced?”
“Probably won’t anymore.” She gazed at Geoffrey as he snored away. Love was not the first emotion she felt. More like a distant second behind guilt. Geoffrey had probably shown up because he thought she needed him. He was loyal like that. Her eyes wandered to Jake beside her, wondering if she could say the same for him.
She watched as he went over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. He dug through it, finally pulling out an old flannel shirt. “Look, you have to play tomorrow and you don’t want to be tired. So how about you head to the couch or the guest bedroom and I’ll keep an eye on Geoffrey.”
Break Point Page 7