Payne was right—she was going to be hard to handle...particularly considering how much he wanted to handle her.
Chapter 5
“You caught a break. GPS monitoring got a hit. 504 Cedar,” the voice on the other end of the line told him. “The clock is ticking, money man. You’re a dead man walking if you screw it up again.”
Click.
Hands shaking so hard he could barely get the cigarette to his lips, Curtis Hanson took a much-needed drag and released the plume of smoke with a weary, fatalistic chuckle. And the hell of it? He didn’t smoke. Or at least he hadn’t until a few weeks ago.
A dead man walking? Tubby’s man had warned. Hell, he’d been a dead man walking the instant he’d made the stupid decision to go into business with the notorious local crime boss.
Although, strictly speaking, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually made a decision. Tubby had strongly suggested that if Curtis didn’t clean the money for him through The Ark— the town’s primary help center, funded by the collective generosity of the local churches—that he’d string him up by his balls and then make him watch as his children were tortured. He had a cousin, he’d said, who loved to play with knives, got off on hearing little girls squeal.
He shuddered now, even thinking about it.
Curtis, should he decide to “help,”—thus preventing his eight and ten-year-old daughters from feeling the sharp edge of Tubby’s crazy cousin’s knife— would get a ten percent cut for his trouble, which had ultimately ended up being more than half of his regular salary at the bank.
Greed, Curtis thought now. It really was the most insidious, harmful thing. Because once Tubby had gotten his hooks into him at The Ark and given him a little taste beyond living pay check to pay check, he’d come to him with another offer, and then another, and it wasn’t long until he’d gone from being a law-abiding citizen with what he’d believed was a decent moral compass...to this.
A hit man.
He laughed low and shook his head. He was a piss poor one, clearly, but then he’d never tried to kill anyone before. But it was amazing what one would do when pushed to the limit, when forced to protect one’s family. And as a so-called upstanding member of the community, he was supposedly above suspicion. The only man for the job.
Simply put, it was her or them. Noelle Montgomery-—whom he’d known most of her life and actually liked—or his wife and girls.
The choice, in the end, had been surprisingly easy.
The actual killing, on the other hand—or “elimination” as Tubby’s people liked to say—was proving rather difficult. He’d shot at her and missed twice, and had done a bang-up job setting her house on fire, but she’d managed to escape that as well. And after that bungled attempt, Ed Johnson—his father- in-law—had stepped in and made sure that she was put into private custody. Though he’d tried to covertly wheedle Noelle’s whereabouts from him, Ed had revealed that he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. All he’d said was that she was in the best hands money could buy—and he ought to know since he had so much of it—and that she’d be safe until the trial.
If that was the case, then his father-in-law had inadvertently helped put the final nail in his coffin, most likely making a widow out of his daughter.
It was a funny old world, wasn’t it?
He ground the cigarette into the smokeless ashtray hidden in his desk drawer, fired a little freshener into the air and then popped a breath mint into his mouth. Carla, his wife, hated his new habit and would flip if she suspected he’d been smoking. But this was his office—his sanctuary—the only room in the whole damned house that was truly his and he’d decided that, in this instance, he was going to do as he damned well pleased.
Time to move. Tick, tock, tick, tock...
He picked up his keys and cell phone from his desk, then strolled calmly down the hall. His daughters, Caro and Breanne, were sprawled on opposite ends of the couch watching the Disney channel as he walked by. He paused, spying the box of cheesy snacks on the coffee table.
“Don’t ruin your dinner,” he admonished. “You know you’re not supposed to have snacks past four.”
Breanne, his youngest smiled, revealing a large gap where her two front teeth used to be. She’d pulled them herself, then insisted that they pay her for her trouble and let her keep her teeth instead of giving them to the tooth fairy. “We’re not eating them anymore,” she said. “Just looking at the box,” she sighed, “remembering how good they taste.”
Caro giggled, darting him a look. “She’s such a dork.”
“Hey,” he said, trying to summon a frown. “She’s not a dork. She’s just got a flair for the dramatic.”
Bre lifted a brow. “Are you going somewhere, Daddy?” She bounded up onto her knees, her expression hopeful. “Can I go with you?”
His heart squeezed and nausea swirled in his belly. “Not today, sweetheart. I’ve got to run down to The Ark for a few minutes. 1 won’t be gone long.”
Her face fell. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He found Carla in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta sauce and repeated The Ark excuse. He hated lying to her, hated even more that he’d gotten so good at it.
She frowned. “You’ll be back in time for dinner?”
“Barring any unforeseen complication, yes,” he said. Like being arrested for attempted murder. 504 Cedar, he reminded himself.
It was now or never.
He breathed in the scent of marinara, let his gaze skim along the sweet curve of his wife’s cheek, listened to his daughters laughing from the other room. Took a mental snapshot of everything he’d taken for granted. Everything he’d put in jeopardy. Regret washed through him, but it didn’t lessen the sting.
Quitting, unfortunately, wasn’t an option. Not for him. Not anymore.
###
“The company has a safe house just a little north of Ellijay,” he said, his smooth voice less confrontational than before, glancing once again at the rearview mirror.
He was constantly checking it and everything else around them, looking for followers, she assumed. Given how he’d noted the makes and models of the cars on the street of the previous house, she was certain if she quizzed him right now, he’d be able to do same.
That was impressive, she’d admit.
Additionally, while she was certain that he wasn’t always looking at her—he couldn’t and still drive properly—she was nevertheless sure that he knew every move she made, was aware of each breath she took and which direction she released it.
It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. There was something undeniably attractive about that level of attention to detail. Knowing that he didn’t—or wouldn’t—miss anything. And if he was this committed to that sort of awareness, then logic demanded he’d take that singular, focused approach to everything. Concentrated, determined, thorough. The thought made her belly tighten, the backs of her knees tingle.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s a little thing, knowing where one is going, but it helps.”
He was quiet for a moment. “It’s roughly a five hour drive. It’ll be late when we get there, but I’d rather push on through if you’re up to it. The sooner we’re on site, the sooner we’ll be able to lock things down and relax.”
Noelle didn’t anticipate being able to do much relaxing—just the opposite in fact, with him around— but refrained from commenting. What could she say, really, that wouldn’t sound argumentative or reveal too much? Like how her womb was steaming with heat, anticipating a release that wasn’t going to arrive in the near future. He was merely supposed to guard her body, not service it. And since he didn’t seem to particularly like her, it begged a lot of wishful thinking to even entertain the idea that he’d be interested in doing anything with her beyond his job.
Hell, for all she knew he might even have a girlfriend—a vicious twist of envy gripped her at the thought—or a fiancee. She’d noted the absence of a ring on his left hand, so she presumed
he wasn’t married. Naturally, that begged the question why. Why had someone so smart and lethal ly handsome not married a supermodel brainiac and produced lots of brilliant, beautiful children? Had the career gotten in the way? Or was it something else? Was he merely a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed his freedom?
On a personal level, while Noelle had always imagined that she’d settle down and marry and have a family of her own, the reality of that ever happening was getting slimmer and slimmer.
She inwardly rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, she’d yet to find a man she’d want to spend more than a few evenings with, much less marry. She wanted the Big Romance. She wanted to be swept off her feet, fall head over heels in love with someone who thought she hadn’t just hung the moon, but all the other stars and planets as well. She wanted to be adored. She wanted her quirks to be endearing, her bed head sexy, her bad moods forgotten and forgiven. She grinned.
And if he had an excellent sense of humor, a keen mind, an appreciation of honor and happened to be drop dead gorgeous, then all the better.
The first three requirements were non-negotiable, but the last she was willing to compromise on. After all, a girl didn’t have to have everything and she wasn’t so shallow that she was incapable of appreciating a deeper, inner beauty. In her opinion, some of life’s truest treasures could be found beneath the surface. Her gaze strayed to the basket in her lap.
Like her kittens.
She strongly suspected that the pair had been dumped by some superstitious fool who hadn’t looked beyond their black fur and curious condition, had only seen a bad omen and lots of vet bills.
She, on the other hand, had.
And the bond that she’d formed with the pair was special, whether it was borne out of the horror of seeing the murder or from knowing that she’d been the perfect person to rescue them, she’d never know. Probably a combination of both. But it was there all the same. An undeniable connection.
Because she traveled so much and so often, Noelle had always refrained from having pets. It wasn’t fair to take on an animal, make it dependent upon you and allow it to develop an attachment, and then leave it in the care of someone else. And because pets were usually the forgotten victims of natural disasters, she’d always made it a point to forge good relationships with reputable, no-kill shelters. When she came across animals in need—and she often did— she’d do the rescue and then hand them off, certain of their proper care and eventual adoption.
But with the kittens she hadn’t been able to do that. She hadn’t been able to part with them. Not because she suspected they’d get any sort of ill treatment or wouldn’t find a home, but because they were hers. Doing the drop-off with an abused animal or cute puppy or cat had never been easy, but she’d still been able to make the break. With Lilo and Stitch, she’d made the arrangements, but then had called back and cancelled. When she’d said she was going to keep them—when those words had come out of her mouth—no one could have been any more surprised than she’d been.
But there it was.
She had absolutely no plan as to what she’d do with them, who would care for them, the next time she had to leave, but she’d simply have to figure something out. She was theirs and they were hers. The end.
And considering she had the trial to get through first, then the renovation of her house post-fire, she knew that she wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while. She’d never appreciated Scarleyt O’Hara’s I’ll- think-about-that-tomorrow approach—the absence of a plan made her twitchy—but in this case, she was simply going to have to make an exception. Break her own rule, as it were.
To her chagrin, her stomach suddenly rumbled loudly, echoing like gunfire into the silence. From the corner of her eye, she watched Judd’s lips twitch, the barest hint of what a genuine smile might look like on his face and her traitorous body responded accordingly, heating anew.
“I take it you haven’t eaten,” he said, his twinkling gaze swinging briefly to hers, the impact devastat ingly intimate despite its brevity.
She shook her head. “Dinner was in the oven. I hope someone remembers to take it out,” she said absently, suddenly worried about the potential waste.
He laughed. “They’re men. They’ll remember there’s a home-cooked meal available.” He passed another car, smoothly sliding into the space in front of it. She liked the way he drove, unhurried, but confident. “Meat loaf, right?”
She nodded, surprised. “It was. My grandmother’s recipe.”
Her grandmother had been all about comfort food and had shared her passion with Noelle. Which was good, because if she’d waited on her mother to teach her how to cook she’d have never learned. Her mother had been a firm believer in take-out and the microwave and used to joke that she could barely boil water. Domestic things had never been her strong suit, probably because she hadn’t really cared about them. She’d been devoted to her job as the editor of their local paper and to Noelle’s father. Anything else had been secondary.
Including Noelle.
Her mother had once confided that they’d never planned on having children, that she’d been a “happy surprise.” She wasn’t entirely sold on the “happy” bit, but she didn’t doubt that she was a surprise. And she’d been loved, too. She knew that. In as much as two mutually devoted to each other, self-absorbed people could be, anyway. Thankfully, she’d had her grandparents to fill the gap, and there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t miss them, when she didn’t think about them. Stupid cancer...
“It smelled good,” he remarked. “I noticed it when I came in.”
“There was plenty. Pity we didn’t have time to stick around and eat it,” she couldn’t help but needle. “I’d made a pie as well. But with a five-hour drive ahead of us, I suppose going through a drive-thru is the best option.” Better to end on a conciliatory note, she decided. She’d made her point.
A low bark of laughter tumbled up his throat and he shook his head, a smile on his lips. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
She blinked innocently, though she knew exactly what he was talking about. “I’m sorry?”
“No, you’re not,” he said, seemingly mystified. He chuckled darkly. “You are lots of things, but ‘sorry’ isn’t one of them.”
She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that. What did he mean by “lots of things”? Good things, bad things? It was so ambiguous and, despite his tone, she couldn’t get a true bead on the meaning behind it.
“The most important thing I am right now is hungry,” she remarked matter-of-factly, the back of her neck prickling as she watched him negotiate another lane change. His hands were large and long-fingered, capable at the wheel. Capable of lots of other tasks as well, she imagined. The thought of them sliding along her jaw suddenly materialized in her mind’s eye, making a shudder stream through her.
“Yes, I heard,” he drawled, darting her another sidelong glance. “There’s an energy bar in the console to tide you over,” he said, gesturing to the space between them. “We’ll stop in the next town.”
“I can’t eat an energy bar without something to drink,” she said. “I’ll choke. I have a strong gag reflex.” Good Lord, had she really said that aloud? Mortification stung her cheeks and she inwardly winced, horrified. The silence in the cab suddenly swelled with tension, one of those awful pregnant pauses that seemed to lengthen impossibly with every second that rolled by.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. Hesitated. Cleared his throat, presumably of a laugh. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Chapter 6
Sophomoric or gutter-brained, call it whatever you want, but typically when a man heard the words “gag reflex”—much like those association card games shrink’s liked to use—his first thought was “blow job.”
Butter—biscuit.
Peanut butter—jelly.
Gag reflex—blow job.
It was just the way most men were wired and, though he liked to consider himself a little more e
volved than most men—certainly above the curve, at any rate—evidently he was not.
Because when she’d said gag reflex, he’d immediately imagined her lovely raspberry bow-like mouth wrapped around his dick, her fiery hair spread out over his bare thighs, and the resulting image had made him harden past the point of pain, made his hands involuntarily tighten on the wheel. The only thing that prevented him from shifting into a more comfortable position was the fact that he knew she would notice—despite the high color on her peachy cheeks—and, more importantly, the she-devil would know why he’d moved and then she’d have even more power over him.
She already, after less than an hour in her company, had him turned upside down and inside out. The idea that she could potentially have him eating out of her hand the same way she’d had those mindless pups back at the safe house doing it was just enough incentive to keep him in check.
He would not allow it.
He couldn’t afford to be that reckless, not when her life and his future at Ranger Security hung in the balance. Naturally, her life was more important—he could get another job if he needed to—but he sure as hell didn’t want to have to seek alternate employment.
I am a professional, Judd told himself. An adult. The ultimate master of my actions.
Evidently hungry enough to risk choking, she shifted in the darkness, then turned to open the console. Her bare fingers brushed his arm in the process, shocking him with a crackle of static. He gritted his teeth, feeling the jolt rush through his balls.
She jumped a little and quickly withdrew her hand. “Sorry.”
“There’s a case of water in the back,” he said. “It hasn’t been refrigerated, but it sat in the truck overnight, so it should be cold enough.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d better get a bottle.” She adjusted her seat so that she could put her basket onto the floor, then unhooked her safety belt and scrambled between the two seats, her lush rump narrowly missing his head as she wriggled past.
Over the Top (Ranger Security Book 2) Page 5