CLEAN to the BONE

by Heather R. Blair

  “Hello,” Charlie interrupted, her own voice cracking. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, but this isn’t Jake.”

  A long pause. “Obviously not. Where in the hell is Jake?”

  “He’s . . .” Charlie swayed, her fingers tightening on the warm body next to hers. “He’s right here, but he’s—he’s hurt really bad. I think he’s been shot.”

  “Typical fucking Jake.” The woman cursed, but there was a ring of abject terror behind the flippancy. “What happened?”

  “There were some men here looking for him. Scary men.” Her stomach rolled again and went cold as the fish-scale eyes of the skinny man with the hatchet face flashed in Charlie’s head. “They said they were police but he—your Jake said they weren’t. And I think he was right, there was something . . . wrong with them.”

  With wide eyes, Charlie watched Jake’s blood stretching slow, scarlet fingers over her hardwood floors, reaching for her outstretched leg. “I-I don’t think he’s going to make it. I’m sorry.” Her voice came out in a terrified whisper as she stroked the man’s thick dark hair, her own fingers trembling.

  “Oh, he’ll make it. He’ll make it, or I’ll kill him.” The woman’s voice had hardened into pure steel. “But you’re going to have to help us.”

  “Me?” Charlie’s voice squeaked out. “No. No, I can’t. I need to call an ambulance—”

  “Listen to me— What’s your name?”

  “Charlotte. Charlotte Gracen.” Her voice broke. “Charlie.”

  “Okay, Charlie, you listen to me.” The woman’s words were low and urgent. Commanding. “You cannot fucking do that. You do that and Jake—and you—are definitely gonna die tonight. You hear me, Charlie?”

  “But, I—”

  “No buts! Those men who came to your door, those are the men who hurt Jakey. You can’t even imagine how dangerous— Christ! Trust me on this, Charlie. They’ll be monitoring 911 and the police scanners. If they hear you call in, they’ll come back. They’ll come back and kill you both. And these are the kind of people that will enjoy it.”

  “But, he’s gonna die anyway if he doesn’t get help!”

  “No, he isn’t. ’Cause he’s got you. You’re gonna save my baby brother, Charlie girl. Aren’t you?” The words had turned hard, but Charlie could hear the brittle desperation beneath the surface. Brother. Her fingers sank into that tangled mass of dark hair as she gritted her teeth. He was someone’s brother.

  She could do this. Not for the woman on the phone or even for the man on the floor. But for Emily.

  “Yes,” she whispered, willing herself to believe it. “Yes, I am.”

  “Good girl. Now here’s what we’re gonna do.”

  Chapter Three

  Jake woke to the smell of sawdust overlaid with sunshine, flowers and a hint of paint thinner. A pleasant combination on the whole. One that made him sigh and relax back into the fluffy layers of warmth surrounding him. Then his eyes snapped open. Darnell. They’d gotten so close, closer than ever before. Last night, the job . . . holy shit. Had he been shot? He moved, and the accompanying stab of pain answered him with a strong affirmative.

  Shit. Stace was going to kill him.

  Stace. His phone. Jake winced in the bright light of the unfamiliar bedroom as his brain tried to catch up. There was an unknown woman next to him. Not an unusual occurrence, but surprising in the context of last night. He never screwed around on a job. Especially one involving Darnell.

  He blinked a couple of times, staring down at her. He was propped up on a lopsided stack of pillows. She had fallen asleep, kneeling next to the bed, her upper body twisted in what looked to be one hell of an uncomfortable position. A bottle of extra-strength Tylenol had rolled a few inches from one upturned hand and his cracked phone was loosely clutched in the other. Huh. This must be the woman whose house he’d broken into to get away from Darnell’s goons.

  She looked different in the light of day. Still lumpy, and a bit unkempt, with all that mousy not-quite-blond-or-brown hair he remembered framing her face in a wild cloud. The glasses he also remembered had slid down until only the tip of her upturned nose kept them from falling off her face. He pushed them in place with a forefinger. Even that small movement cost him. Jake let himself fall back into the pillows with a muffled groan, letting her sleep. He could feel a thick wad of bandages on his side even though she’d obviously not called the ambulance or the police. A fact that he was most grateful for, though it puzzled the hell out of him.

  This was a normal, everyday woman. And normal, everyday women most definitely called 911 if bleeding, incoherent strangers broke into their apartment in the middle of the night.

  His eyes narrowed as he gave her a second look. Her skin was glowing in the midmorning brightness pouring through the thin blue-and-white-checkered drapes, a perfect milky porcelain he usually associated with women from the British Isles. He had a weakness for English women, even more for the Irish ones. There was the faintest dusting of freckles over that upturned nose and cheeks. His eyes dropped lower. Jake felt a stab of heat that had nothing to do with his injury.

  Crazy-hot lips. Cotton-candy pink. Full and soft. The kind of lips that would give the most straitlaced man in the world wicked ideas.

  Jake was about as far from straitlaced as it was possible to be. He blinked when her tongue darted out and traced those pillowy curves. Her eyes popped open, fuzzy with sleep. Big baby blues stared up at him in befuddled amusement as her sleepy mind undoubtedly tried to work out who he was and what the hell he was doing in her bed.

  “Morning,” he drawled.

  “Shit!” She jumped back. That mouse-blond-brown hair stuck to one side of her head, flattened and sticking up just over one ear. His lips twitched.

  She had a cute, heart-shaped face. Too chubby . . . fat, not to put too fine a point on it. Not that Jake had a problem with curves. He was a fan of every female body type known to man. But she had the air of someone who had let herself go for a long time.

  Even so, she was decidedly sweet looking, early twenties maybe, with a sharp, sparkling intelligence in her eyes that he liked. Not to mention those killer lips . . .

  A knock boomed through the townhouse. The woman did a slow blink, her eyes like an owl’s behind her glasses, going blank and cool, that intriguing spark snuffed in a heartbeat. He got the strong impression of someone donning armor.

  Depending on who was at the door, she might need it, too.

  He grunted, trying to sit straighter in the bed, wondering where the hell his gun was and furious at the weakness clinging to his limbs. “If it’s those men again, you need to—”

  “Calm down and stay still, dammit.” Her voice wasn’t loud but it had a surprising snap to it. “It’s probably just your sister.”

  “My sister?” It was Jake’s turn to blink. “You know Stace?” he said stupidly.

  She shook the phone she still held in one hand, rolling her eyes at him. His phone. The one he had dropped last night. My phone’s fallen and it can’t get up. A giggle threatened to burst out of his mouth. Jake pressed his lips together in alarm.

  He didn’t giggle.

  Suddenly he wondered what the hell she had doped him up with, because it sure as hell wasn’t something as benign as Tylenol. He felt positively floaty despite the constant, low-level pulse of pain along his right side. All in all, he was way too comfortable for a guy who been gut shot, or damn near.

  Those fabulous lips twitched. “No, dopey. She called me, or rather, you. After those scary-beyond-all-reason guys left.” She got up from the floor, wincing as her knees popped in protest. She lifted her hands to her hair, grimacing at the feel of it. Then she gave a “hell with it” shrug that made him smile before she made her way across the room as another, more impatient knock came. Yeah, that sounded like Stace.

  Goddamn it, he wasn’t in the mood for an arse reaming. Though after last night, he probably deserved it.

  His benefactress paused at the doorway. “I am going to e
xpect answers eventually, you know. Provided this whole crazy mess doesn’t disappear with my first few cups of coffee.”

  “You already anxious for me to disappear?” The words and tone were automatic; flirtation was hard-wired into his DNA. Most women would have colored up. Or smiled. Fluttered their lashes. This woman did none of the above.

  “I’m pretty sure the answer to that is a resounding yes, but I’ll let you know.”

  He raised his eyebrows as she vanished. “I bet you will, love. I just bet you will.”

  She had to be the strangest woman he’d ever met and he’d been in enough strange women’s beds to know. Once again that manic, giggly feeling rose in him.

  It evaporated the instant he heard his sister’s voice.

  “Where is that sonofabitch? Is he still alive? I hope he’s still alive, ’cause I’m going to fucking kill him!”

  Jake closed his eyes and wished for a glass of whiskey to go with whatever narcotic was zipping happily through his veins. He was going to need it.

  Anastacia Jayne Harris Nolan Kowalewski strode into the room the same way she did everything, like the world was her bitch and in need of a good slapping. Stace the Face had been his nickname for his twin since time out of mind. Today that face was wearing an expression that boded ill for everyone within range of those snapping blue-gray eyes.

  Shorter than Jake but quite tall for a woman, his twin was close to six feet of elegant darkness, her nearly black, waist-length hair whipping around her like a sleek, satin cloak. Her gaze was laser sharp as she took him in, her lethal scarlet heels clicking as she approached his bedside. He thought her gaze softened a bit as he leaned back into the pillows. He should’ve known better.

  Stace slapped him right across the face.

  “You absolute wanker!”

  At that moment, his owl-eyed host appeared in the doorway, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her small, almost dainty fingers were speckled and dotted with what looked like masses of freckles, except freckles didn’t come in green and blue and pink. Paint. That was important, but damned if he could remember why.

  The woman took a slow sip of her coffee, bemused eyes flicking from Jake to Stace and back. Despite their benign look, Jake was sure those eyes were cataloging every move he and Stace made. “Did I put all that effort into saving him so you could send him into shock again? Seems like a waste.”

  “Yeah, Stace.” Jake chuckled, then gasped as for the first time real pain snaked through his insides. Instantly, the blond woman was at his side, adjusting his pillows and ordering him to lie still. “A waste,” he repeated more carefully now, grabbing the woman’s hand. He didn’t know why exactly, just that he felt the need to touch her. She made him feel better. And if he held very still, the pleasant floaty feeling came back. He closed his eyes in relief, then opened them again, smiling up at her.

  She blinked and tugged her hand out of his.

  He watched her step away from the bed to pick up her coffee again before his gaze collided with his sister’s. “Listen to the nice lady who saved your baby brother’s life.”

  Stacia’s jaw clenched, but her fierce expression sweetened when she lifted her gaze to the woman contemplating her mug as if it held the secrets of the universe.

  Americans and their obsession with the vile stuff.

  “Charlie!” Stacia stepped forward to grab the woman’s shoulders in both hands. Then she kissed her full on the mouth. Jake wasn’t sure who was more stunned, him or the woman with coffee now dripping over her fingers. Charlie, huh? It suited her and the glimpse of fire he had caught in her eyes earlier. He wondered what had made her snuff it so mercilessly. He wondered what it would take to kindle it again.

  “Jesus. I like some girl-on-girl action as well as the next guy. But you being my sister puts a real damper on the appeal.”

  “Charlie saved your life. Show some respect.”

  “Does that mean I get to kiss the hell of out her, too?”

  For the first time their host looked uncomfortable, a hint of pink in her cheeks. She pulled out of Stacia’s grip and shot Jake a scolding look. One that he found altogether too titillating combined with those dark-framed glasses and full lips. Damn, he was sure feeling pretty fine for a guy who’d been bleeding out a few hours ago.

  “I don’t know what was in that Tylenol you slipped me, but could I have another?”

  Those maddening lips twitched again. “The Tylenol was for me. The medic that came here last night ran an IV and gave you all kinds of hard-core stuff. Band-Aids don’t fix bullet wounds, or hadn’t you heard?”

  Jake shrugged, then winced. “Did he leave anything stronger for later?”

  “He’s coming back tonight,” Stacia snapped. “Lucjan says you were fucking lucky. His medic told him the bullet missed everything important—skated right next to your ribs and came within a hair of clipping your kidney before exiting.”

  “Lucjan?” Jake stared at Stacia, his mouth half-open. His sister’s eyes darted away from his, her throat working. As far as Jake knew, his twin hadn’t talked to her husband in over a year. But she’d called the man. For him.

  Trust Lucjan to have contacts even in Minn-e-fucking-sota. “I really must’ve been in a bad way,” he breathed.

  “You were dying, you arsehole.” Jake caught the glint of tears in her eyes, eyes that mirrored his own. “I gotta make some calls.” Without another word, Stacia dashed out of the room as quickly as she had entered.

  Fuck, he was the world’s shittiest brother. Jake let out a slow breath as he watched that dark hair whip around the corner. He’d terrified her. Made her reach out to a man who had ripped out her heart. His guilt-ridden gaze found Charlie’s contemplative one.

  “So what exactly happened after I passed out?” he asked quietly over the slamming of a distant door.

  Charlie finished her coffee and set it down on the dresser with deliberate care. “I got rid of the freaky guys. Or rather, the downstairs neighbor did.”

  She shuddered, hugging herself in a way that treated Jake to yet another stab of guilt.

  “Then your sister called. We talked. She walked me through putting pressure on your wound. You bled all over me.” Her face had gone pale, but her voice stayed steady. “Then a guy showed up with a bunch of medical stuff.” She shook her head. “It was amazing. Terrifying, but amazing. Of course, we were too busy keeping you alive for small talk. He said you were, and I quote, ‘One lucky motherfucker.’ Once he decided you were stable around six or so this morning, he packed up and left.”

  She moved around the bed as she spoke, straightening his covers.

  “But he’ll be back every night. Until they can move you, anyway.”

  As Jake watched her, he realized Lucjan’s medic had hit the nail bang on the head. He should be dead. If it hadn’t been for this strangely self-possessed woman, he would be. He wanted to say thank you, but what came out instead was more of a question.

  “I gotta say, Charlie, you’re handling all this amazingly well.”

  “How am I supposed to handle it?” She bent over, picking up some gauze and tape that littered the blue-carpeted floor. Sunshine turned the edges of her hair almost white, like dandelion fluff.

  Run screaming to the cops, Jake thought. Get hysterical. Or pissed off at what they’d dragged her into. But she had done none of those things. Charlie had a wry smile on her face as she finished cleaning up, as if she could hear exactly what he was thinking.

  “I’m not a particularly excitable person. And those guys were enough of an explanation. For now.” Her tone left no doubt the reprieve came with an expiration date. She frowned, then turned to face him. “Speaking of your sister, she could probably use a cup of coffee herself, and maybe some breakfast. How does she like her eggs?”

  Jake stared. Stacia’s hard-ass demeanor inevitably put other women off. Or her looks did. Whatever it was, Stacia had been bringing out the catty side of every female within a hundred-kilometer radius sin
ce they had hit puberty.

  “Scrambled and light on the pepper. Thanks.” Jake reached out to place a hand on her arm, despite the protesting burn in his side. “For all of this.”

  Her face averted, Charlie pulled away again. She doesn’t want me to touch her, he realized, frowning. Then she cleared her throat and the observation slipped away.

  “Sometimes people in trouble need help. No questions asked.” She leaned over him to shut the blinds above the bed. Shadows filled the room. “You go ahead and rest.”

  As if on cue, Jake yawned. He was so tired, a nap sounded just this side of heaven. Before he let his eyes close, he had one more question. “How are you going to explain if someone comes over and sees me?”

  She hesitated, her hand on the door. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have people over.”

  “Ever?” Jake muttered. But the door closed with a click, and his eyelids were too heavy to fight any longer.

  Chapter Four

  If the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been the scariest of her life, they had come damn close. As Charlie had told Jake, she wasn’t an excitable person. When you’d been through as much as she had, you didn’t get shaken easily.

  But Charlie was shaken now.

  When she took her shower, it was almost midnight. Stacia had left around noon and Jake had slept most of the day, but Charlie had been too keyed up to nap herself, especially since her bed was currently occupied. Martin—the medic from last night she was fairly sure was not named Martin—had showed up an hour ago to administer more goodies from his bag of tricks. He’d just left and she was finally beginning to crash from the twenty-four-hour blast of adrenaline.

  Thank god Jake chose a Friday night to break in, she thought with a touch of exhausted amusement. She habitually stayed up late on weekend nights, but on Monday morning she’d need to be up bright and early, heading back downtown to Gundersen & Associates, the accounting company where she had worked for the last eight years. It was going to be surreal, crunching numbers with all this waiting at home.