He smiled at her. “Yet, I do know about your now-former team.”
“Then you also should know we weren’t originally here for a drug raid.”
“So, I was being tracked for something else then. Interesting.” But not surprising. He’d always figured he’d collected the wrong bit of information about the right person, and that had put him and the club in the bull’s-eye.
Now he knew the truth. Faked drug charges gave them the in. Becca or someone on her team came up with the idea and ran with it. He’d barely left her side for months, spent his nights kissing her, touching her, fucking her. It’s true the line between right and wrong didn’t exist for him. Nothing was ever that easy. But dealing drugs—hell, even trying them—was not something anyone could honestly lay at his door. He knew too much about where that destructive road led.
She turned to face him. “I saw the drugs, Jarrett.”
Not possible. The words punched him and he fought off a flinch. Forced his expression to stay blank.
The doors opened straight into a small entry foyer outside his front door, the only one on this floor.
“If that’s true, and I’m not convinced it is, you saw what someone wanted you to see.” He packed away every word she said, every phrase of the conversation for later dissection. “This discussion is over.”
He repeated the security procedures at his door and pushed it open right after the lock cleared. He was halfway into the foyer, his dress shoes clicking against the inlaid marble, when he stopped and glanced around.
She stood in the doorway, not moving. “Elijah is dead.”
Looked like she didn’t know everything after all. “I am aware of his status.”
“And?”
“And what?” Jarrett dropped the keys in his suit jacket pocket.
“Did you kill him?”
Jarrett wondered what it took for her to hold back the question this long. Not that he intended to answer it or prove to her how wrong her assumptions were. “Come inside, Rebecca.”
Still she didn’t move. “I know you hated him.”
“A vast understatement.” When his phone buzzed, Jarrett ignored it. “You, him, everyone who built a phony case against me.”
His phone buzzed a second time, and this round he grabbed it out of his pocket. While he checked the screen, she came inside. He glanced up and watched as her gaze touched every surface and hesitated on the fireplace mantel, where the few photographs he’d ever allowed of them together once rested. Only a clock sat there now.
Her chest expanded as she blew out a long breath and headed to the left. His room.
“Stop,” he called out.
“Why?”
“You’re on the right.”
She glanced in the direction of his bedroom door. “Since when?”
“My bedroom is off-limits to you.”
Her head fell to the side and frustration showed in her expression. “Is this necessary?”
“Why don’t I tell you about my short but very real time in jail, then you can decide how serious I am.” His fingers tightened around the phone and the plastic case cracked under his hold. “Go into your assigned bedroom.”
Her gaze bounced to the erection that still hadn’t abated. She nodded then started walking.
He followed her inside but leaned against the doorjamb as she brushed her hand over the comforter then sat on the bed. Seeing her there, legs partly open and body bared to his gaze, shook his resolve.
“You will stay in here unless and until I allow you to leave. So that we’re clear, I will fuck you in here and not my room.”
“Are you going to chain me to the bed?” Her voice carried a whip of sarcasm. The look on her face suggested she was a few seconds away from losing her calm reserve.
“If necessary.”
“I didn’t sign up to be your prisoner.”
“I think we both know you did.”
She shook her head. “What about eating and the bathroom?”
“You may go into any part of my apartment except my bedroom and private office.” His phone buzzed for a third time.
“I used to live here. I slept in that bedroom every single night.” She put her hands on the edge of the mattress and tucked her legs as close to the mattress as possible, hiding her bare feet underneath the bed.
The shift caught his attention and had his gaze roaming. “You were my girlfriend then. Whatever rights you had are gone.”
“What am I now?”
His eyes met hers. “At my mercy.”
She stared at her lap and his gaze followed her there. Waxed bare and so damn hot. His brain battled with his dick. He wanted to slide into her mouth, but Wade clearly needed him downstairs or he wouldn’t keep calling.
After a lifetime of putting his needs last, Jarrett followed suit again this time. “I expect you to be here when I get back. Right here, just as you are now.”
He buttoned his jacket and ignored the way it gaped over his pants. By the time he reached the downstairs floor he needed his body back in control.
“Where are you going?”
The more familiar she became, the harder he pushed back. Some internal switch in his brain ticked on, ensuring she understood her place. “Not your business.”
He got the whole way back to the door before she spoke again. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here and what I really need from you other than a place to hide?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m still trying to figure out why you thought you’d be safe with me.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I am, aren’t I?”
“For now.”
THREE
When his determined footsteps receded and the front door slammed, Becca blew out the breath she’d been holding. The confrontation had been rocky, bordering on humiliating, as expected, but she wasn’t dead. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he pulled out a knife or gun and made her beg for her life. Not after he promised to destroy her all those months ago.
His claims about not dealing drugs hit harder. He’d always denied the charges, but didn’t they all. Seeing a rich man’s lawyer cry to the media about falsified charges had become such an eye-rolling event that it no longer even registered in her brain.
Face-to-face with the sharp snap of Jarrett’s voice and piercing gaze right there where she couldn’t look away or ignore proved different. He’d almost willed her to believe. He acted like he didn’t care about one syllable she uttered as he vibrated with indignation over the old charges.
It was an impressive display, but she’d seen the drugs right downstairs in one of the storage rooms and found more in the office in this apartment. As part of her assignment she posed as an employee of Spectrum Industries, a small satellite communications company that served as cover for her black-ops team. The cover gave her the in at Holton Woods, but her sales meeting with Jarrett had turned very personal, very fast.
She’d lied to him and led him down a path that never felt right to her. But she didn’t plant evidence. No member of her team had. Not possible since, as the one on the inside with the greatest access and the most to lose, she’d insisted she be the only one allowed in the apartment. Even if someone “helped” the investigation along downstairs, that didn’t explain what she’d seen here, in Jarrett’s private sanctuary.
She chewed on her lower lip as she stared out the open door and into the hallway. Minutes passed but the questions refused to leave her brain no matter how hard she tried to kick them out. Checking the old drug-hiding place now wouldn’t prove anything and she wasn’t in the apartment for that anyway. She needed access to his computers and information, and a place to hide. Plus, he could have changed where he stashed the drugs or finally stopped dealing for real.
It shouldn’t matter how he earned his money . . . but if he really had been set u
p, if getting out of jail amounted to more than a simple case of applying the right pressure to the right powerful person, then everything about the last few months of her life was a lie. And what she did to him . . . she shook her head to block out the thought.
Still, it took a second to make the decision. Her innate need to investigate and uncover kicked in. Not knowing when he’d be back, she moved as fast as possible. She slipped into the bathroom connected to what she supposed would be her temporary room and grabbed a pristine white towel off the rod. As if Jarrett would have anything other than white towels. The entire apartment was a shrine of white and gray.
Unless something had changed, and she doubted it had, his decorating world consisted of black hardwood floors and a monotone color scheme of streamlined gray sofa cushions in the living room and a matching comforter on the bed. No knickknacks. No clutter, not even a stray newspaper.
Even the few photographs on the walls were black-and-white prints of places she doubted he’d ever visited. He had plenty of money but rarely ventured outside the club’s walls. When they were together his only view of the actual sky came with his regular runs and a dinner out every now and then.
With the plush cotton wrapped around her, she walked back to the door, enjoying the constant blast of air conditioning that chilled the place. Jarrett hated heat, which always amused her since he’d settled in a city known for its unrelenting summer humidity. He combated the problem by running the air in the hot months and barely turning the heat on during the winter.
She stared across the hall at the closed door. The knob turned under her hand without trouble. Not a surprise. Jarrett lived a closed-down life outside of his apartment, but inside there wasn’t a single lock.
She flicked the switch, and bright lights bounced off the wall of mirrors and every shiny surface of the workout equipment. This was where he honed that body into pure muscular perfection. She’d long ago figured out his regimen had more to do with clearing his head than a true dedication to exercise.
After a brief scan of the room she turned off the light and closed the door. No, what she wanted would be at the other end of the spacious apartment. She crossed through the open living room, only sparing a glance at the kitchen and dining area, neither of which looked like anyone had stepped in there in the months since she’d been gone.
She hesitated at the short hallway on the opposite end of the large living space. The doors to the office and his bedroom were partially open. The temptation to push the door and peek into his private bedroom, to see if anything had changed, if there was even a hint of her past presence, pulled at her. Shutting down the instinct, she focused on the office and stepped inside before common sense clobbered her.
The only light in the room came from the one on the desk. This one, like the one downstairs, was framed by computer monitors. Two this time. Unless things had changed, one provided him with a constant stream from the security feed and the other was for work.
Papers were stacked in neat piles on the exact center of the top. Not as much as a pen mark marred the calendar blotter.
Her gaze skipped over the two black leather chairs and bold geometric gray-and-white patterned rug to the wall of closets on the far wall. She’d found the drugs there last time, behind boxes. The police found more in a secret but unlocked compartment in the wall. No way would he be stupid enough to repeat that . . . but the lure proved too great. She’d been investigating and searching for so long as part of her work life that she couldn’t break the habit.
She opened the double doors with a click and dropped to her knees. The boxes that used to line the floor were gone. With the back wall cast in shadows, she couldn’t see a thing. She fought back a flood of dread as she balanced one hand against the doorframe and strained to reach into the deep closet and the space behind.
Her fingertips brushed against the smooth wall, checking for a seam. She knocked and smacked, slapped her hand against every inch, but nothing. Not even a hollow thud.
She sat back on her heels. Whatever was once there was now gone. With her eyes closed, she silently berated herself for flipping into operative mode. His crimes were no longer her business. Going after him would not solve any of her problems. The exact opposite, actually.
When her eyes opened again her gaze landed back on the computer monitors. That fast, the training revved up again. Something had him rushing out of there. For all she knew, he was behind the attacks on her team and setting her up for the biggest fall of all.
She repeated the excuse as she got to her feet and sank into his desk chair. Never mind she wanted to know what he was doing right now.
As she hit the space bar to turn on the screen she tricked her brain into thinking she needed to know.
FOUR
Jarrett exited the elevator on the first floor and ran straight into Wade. Since the guy had the body of a professional football player, getting clipped in the stomach by his elbow wasn’t something you could laugh off. Not that Jarrett felt much like laughing at the moment anyway. “What the hell are you doing lurking around out here?”
Wade looked like he was fighting off a smile as he rubbed a hand over his beard. “Waiting for you to finish.”
Since he’d rather be upstairs doing anything but talking, Jarrett ignored the verbal jab. The incessant messaging gave him little choice but to come downstairs. Now that he stood in the dark back hallway of his club, his temper sparked. “How about telling me what’s so damn urgent.”
Wade leaned back against the wall. The shift highlighted the gun clipped to his side. “I guess I interrupted.”
Weapon or not, if the smirk didn’t disappear soon, Jarrett would remind Wade that the boss-employee part of their relationship meant he wanted a straight answer without having to demand it. “I’m still waiting on a response, preferably one that doesn’t piss me off.”
Wade’s expression sobered as he stood up straight again. “Natalie Udall.”
“I guess you didn’t hear the ‘no pissing me off’ part.” At the mention of the woman’s name, a nerve in the back of Jarrett’s neck pinched. He rubbed the muscle to ease the sudden cramp. “What about her?”
“She’s here.”
At least the woman upstairs had a use. Natalie was nothing but trouble. “Why?”
“Not sure, but she seemed mighty interested in you being in your apartment instead of in your office. Apparently, people think you spend all of your time working.”
Jarrett didn’t intend to provide details of his working hours to anyone. What he had with Becca once was over. Whatever they had now, no matter how complicated and infuriating, would be private. And shallow. Emotionless. He promised himself that much.
In all the thinking about Becca, Jarrett missed an important detail. That wasn’t like him, but it had always been that way with her. He stopped mid-step and put out a hand to bring Wade to a halt beside him. “One more thing—”
Wade smiled. “I was wondering when you’d remember our guest hidden away upstairs. The one who’s not Becca.”
“I’ve tried forgetting about him and how I let him stay. Believe me.” Jarrett shook his head. “And, for the record, I consider him our unwanted guest.”
Wade’s expression went blank. “You know how I feel on that score.”
Only too well, and it jabbed at Jarrett at times. When everything blew up, and it would, he’d have to take the blame for opening the front door and letting the danger inside. “As of today, we’ll have two unexpected guests.”
“So, Becca is staying?”
“For now.”
“He’s not going to like Becca being here. Their history is . . . let’s say complicated.”
“Not the word I’d use, but message received.” Jarrett stared at the ceiling and blew out a long breath. “Okay, main rule here is no one but me goes near the third floor.”
“Of course.”
Speaking of which, Jarrett’s mind wandered back to Natalie as he started walking again. It was just like her to show up at the wrong time. Made him wonder just how closely the CIA watched his business these days. “Nosy bitch.”
“You mean Natalie? Yeah, I’m sure she’s been called worse.”
“Sometimes by me.” He exhaled, because what he hoped would be a short visit downstairs to his office had turned into a full-blown nuisance.
Becca sat in his apartment, naked and likely doing something he’d warned her not to, and he was down here. Having her roam free, without supervision, made him twitchy. That woman could find trouble. Not that he kept anything important up there. He wasn’t stupid. But that hadn’t stopped her from framing him last time.
Then there was the naked part. This time he vowed to fuck her and not care. Their time together would be hot and dirty and completely commanded by him. She’d leave and he wouldn’t so much as glance at the door as it slammed shut behind her. But none of that lessened his need to thrust inside her now.
First he had to get through what promised to be an irritating few minutes of government-speak. “Where is Natalie?”
“In the bar. Waiting.”
“Right.” Jarrett checked his suit jacket and flooded his brain with memories of Becca’s betrayal in an attempt to calm his pounding erection. “Stick with me.”
“Afraid to be alone with Natalie?” Wade chuckled. “I’m guessing Becca is more dangerous.”
“I need you in case I get struck with the urge to strangle her.” They walked in unison, their dress shoes clicking against the shiny hardwood floors.
“Which woman are you talking about?”
“Yes,” Jarrett said and Wade chuckled.
Both women pushed Jarrett and tried to manipulate him, but in very different ways. Natalie assumed she could best him. Win. As if he’d ever let that happen.
Mercy Page 3