On Borrowed Time (Men of Honor book 3)

by Rhonda Lott

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON BORROWED TIME

  (Men of Honor book 3)

  RHONDA S. LOTT

  Copyright

  Copyright © July 2016, Rhonda S. Lott

  All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint of this material is strictly prohibited.

  Table of Content

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOUGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  ALANA

  Alana was going to prison for sure. Swinging away from the mirror behind the bar to avoid her reflection. The specter in the glass held no resemblance to the old Alana Ruiz. Gazing at her appearance gutted her insides. Six months ago, life was just beginning for her. A twenty seven year old woman with all her hopes and dreams coming true. Now, she had the lackluster appearance of a crone. Her once bright green eyes were as dull as swamp water, with small wrinkles traveling out from their corners. A visual road map of her misery. Soft brown hair, oily and dull, hung limply down her hunched back. Life sucked, literally. All she held dear was hacked away from her. Waking up with her best friend Rosa’s dead body on her bedroom floor. The bloody knife that killed her gripped in her own hand. That was only the intro to her nightmare. Rosa’s butcher lurked in the darkened room calmly demanding that if she didn’t do exactly as instructed, she was going away for murder. Alana hung her head, allowing her hair to obscure her face completely. Coldness closed in, warmth, safety, and happiness was a distant memory. She was staring at life in prison for something she didn’t do.

  Deafening, heavy drumbeats of house music vibrated through her chest. People packed the Solo Club. Hot young bodies gyrated like a human wave on the dance floor. She pulled her old leather jacket across her chest. Sweat beaded her forehead and trickled down her neck. She refused to remove her jacket, though. Beautiful women strutted about in strapless and backless outfits. Slender dazzling bodies on display. Alana wore a long skirt and old peasant blouse. She focused all her attention on the door, instead of how out of place and frumpy she appeared. Hell, who had time to be fashionable with killers around every damn corner.

  The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and a hundred different perfumes all combined to bring her nervous stomach to a riotous boil. Alana pressed her hand down hard on her knee to still the tapping of her foot on the barstool. Too many people, a cold shiver slithered down her spine. Goosebumps flared up along her arms. She scanned the room. No one was paying her any extra attention, but someone was watching. Everywhere she went the same prickle of apprehension followed her. Of course, with the cops after her, she had more than enough reasons to worry.

  With her head lowered, shoulders hunched, she cast a sideways glance to the entrance once more. Where was he? Ace Jackson, the son of a bitch was supposed to meet her here. The Solo Club wasn’t a place she would ever step foot in. Crowds scared her shitless. The popular nightclub overflowed its max capacity every night of the week. Sitting in this crush of people for over an hour had her nerves frayed. Alana didn’t dare wait in one spot too long. Crowds scared her to the point of madness. She had to hook up with the detective, not only for her own safety but for his as well.

  “Here you go love.” The bartender said, placing a drink in front of her and quickly turning to leave.

  “Hey, I didn’t order this.” Alana held up one hand to stop him and pushed the glass back across the bar.

  “The guy sitting three chairs over ordered it for you. Enjoy.” He jogged down the bar to fill more orders.

  Alana quickly shifted her attention to the right. A pale, angular faced man with dark brown eyes stared intently back at her. A tingle raced across her skin, as if ants were crawling all over her. Something about him sent her internal alarms blaring. He smiled and nodded as if he was interested in her, but, Alana knew this shit was off. Mr. White face seemed out of place in this sort of club. The Solo club was nothing more than a happy hook up spot. This man was too old and too intense to be a part of this crowd. He belonged in a, check your gun at the door, biker bar. No, this shit was way off.

  She casually dipped a finger in her drink, clinking the ice cubes around. Her black nail polish was designed to detect the presence of GHB in alcohol. Thank God for her friend Rosa’s insistence that they buy it months ago. Alana never imagined she would ever need it. Now she wore it in Rosa’s memory and because she needed every little bit of help she could get. Her nail color changed to a deep purple. Someone tampered with the drink. Fear washed over her like a freezing rain shower. He was one of them. One of the men detective Bates continually sent after her. For six weeks, she’d been evading these guys. This one was close, too close. He would be on her ass the minute she tried to break and run. Alana gave him a wide stiff smile. Her heart beating double time, inner alarms ringing. Her mind screamed run.

  Tilting the glass up and pretending to take a sip of the drink, Alana kept her eyes on him. She rose slowly to her feet on shaky legs. The guy stood. Oh fuck, what was she going to do? If she went for the front exit, she would have to go pass Mr. Scary. Alana spun around and squeezed herself through the crowd towards the back of the club. There had to be another way out.

  Glancing over her shoulder, her pursuer was lost in the crowd. She kept moving. It was slow going through the crush of bodies. Someone grabbed her jacket.

  “Hey, you wanna dance?” Slurred, a red-faced college boy with a beer in one hand and a fist full of her jacket in the other. He wobbled so damn bad he almost toppled over onto her.

  “No, sorry. Let me go.” Alana shoved the kid a tiny bit and down he went. She jerked her head up. The “date rape” guy was closing in.

  Eyes darting around, she searched frantically for a way out. The red rear exit sign was just off to the right, but he was right on her tail. Alana gave up nudging and squeezing past people. She stuck her elbows out, linebacker style, and barreled through the crowd. He was right there a few steps behind her, so close she swore she felt his breath on her neck.

  Alana was a thick, curvy woman with substantial strength. She ducked her head, and bulldozed her way to the door. Please Lord, let it be unlocked. Hitting the door without stopping, her heart leapt for joy when it swung open. Alana flew into the street, eyes trained on the door. Terror gripped her. Not wanting to be back in Bates’ clutches, she ran for her life.

  She didn’t see the truck until her body slammed into it full speed. The power of the impact sent her flying back and her head cracking on the pavement. What the hell? Her vision blurred and her heart was a jackhammer in her chest. Two feet came into her fuzzy vision and then the face of an angel.

  Fucking Ace Jackson ran her over with his truck. Great, now he shows up, she thought, as darkness reached up and grabbed her.

  Ace

  Hunted by killers, who meets up with a person in an overcrowded nightclub? Ace was having a hell of a time wrapping his head around that. Alana Ruiz must be some nut job. The real question nagged at him, was she a murderer?

  Peachtree Street was a parking lot, as usual for a Friday night in downtown Atlanta. People crowded the sidewalks. Couples strolled hand in hand alongside groups of college kids drinking and being obnoxious for no damn reason. Ace remembered when he worked night shift
downtown. As a rookie, life was fresh and exciting. Back when he enjoyed his job, when he convinced himself he made a difference. Now some nine years later, the glamor had long worn off. Cops were in bed with criminals and the farther up the ladder you went, the dirtier the men behind the desk were. This shit was not what he signed up for. After his military career, Ace was anxious to join the force. His dad was a chief detective, his grandfather a beat cop, and Ace was proud to follow their example. He’d promised his dad to give all he had to the force and he had done that. Now was his time to get out. The thing that sickened him the most was that there was no stopping the spiraling deterioration of his department. For tonight, he would meet this Ruiz woman and bust her ass for killing Esteban Blanco, then take up the plush executive position waiting for him at McAdams Securities.

  His brothers, not of blood, but of life, were ready to have his ass around full time. The true reason they needed him on board as head of Intel was obvious. They trusted him to run the company while they spent more time with their soon to be wives. David and Kane hit the lottery when they found Alex and Dawn. Yeah, they came with some dangerous baggage, but they were two loving and loyal women, who fought hard for the happiness they now shared with his brothers.

  Driving up to the club, Ace clenched his teeth. There was a line around the damn building and he was already late. Alana Ruiz wanted to tell him about a plot to get rid of him by some dirty cop she was working for as an informant. Ace was unsure if any or all she was saying was a bunch of bull. Six months ago, he had arrested Timothy Bates for the murder of his wife. The brother, a vice detective, Mason Bates, hated him with a passion. Ace suspected the bastard had a hard on to kill him.

  Not bothering with parking and standing in the ridiculously long line, Ace wheeled his truck into the alley behind the place. There was a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He hit the brakes as something slammed into the side of his truck with a solid smack. Someone crashed into him. Ace jumped out and crouched down to the moaning woman on the ground. She had long brown hair with bright purple bangs, a pretty face with a tiny diamond stud in her cheek. What the hell just happened? His truck was old, and loud. Why the fuck didn’t she see him?

  Before Ace could decide what to do next, the metal door of the club burst open and a man rushed out. Ok, that explains why she was running. The guy didn’t see them at first and that gave Ace a chance to lift the woman into the cab of his truck, obscuring her from her pursuer.

  The man's eyes scanned the alley, then set on Ace and his truck. Ace stood, placing one hand behind his back, fingers gripping his gun. A tug of warning pulled at him. This guy struck him as strange, not because he was obviously chasing a woman, but because of the intensity of his black eyes. Yeah, something was about to kick off.

  “Hey buddy, want to tell me why you’re chasing women tonight?” Ace said in his official officer voice.

  Without hesitation, the huge fucker rushed Ace, tackling him to the ground. Ace’s head collided with the concrete. Sparks flashed before his eyes. Cold thin fingers clamped around Ace’s throat. He forced back the rush of panic as his air supply slowly dwindled. Adrenaline spiked as his highly trained body responded on reflex, blocking all emotion and focusing on his next move. Ace managed to lodge his forearm under his attacker’s neck, twisting to get his other arm and his gun free. Panting, he put all his weight into it, increasing the pressure against Ace’s windpipe. Dark eyes bleak and focused stared out from a pasty face, his intent clear. His attacker was a determined fucker, killing Ace his goal.

  The dank stale smell of the alley filled Ace’s nose as he tried to pull air into his lungs. Rolling to his side, Ace repositioned his body for maximum advantage. The man’s fingers squeezed tighter. Ace felt the familiar hum of adrenaline pulse through him. He had to get the fucker off him before it was too late. The street light was narrowing, growing dimmer by the second. Shoving both his arms between the man’s arms, Ace broke his hold. He brought his elbow up hard into the man’s nose. A loud crunching sound followed as warm blood sprayed out across Ace’s face. Yowling in pain, he rolled off Ace, hands gripping his face as his blood seeped through his fingers. Ace hoped his nose was shattered. Ace pulled himself to his feet, steadied his stance, and drew his weapon.

  “Hands up, you’re under arrest.” Ace rasped out, his throat on fire and ears ringing. Grime from the alley dripped from him.

  “Fuck you rat. Your time is coming.” The man spat, with a gurgling laugh, before he pivoted and sprinted off down the alley.

  Ace wanted to give chase, but the unconscious woman in his truck needed his attention. When he poked his head into the cab, the woman was still out, but moaning something under her breath. She was a looker for sure. Thick and curvy exactly the way he liked his women. She had creamy tan skin, a heart shaped face with thick lashes. Ace wondered what color her eyes were. As he was about to take out his cell phone to call paramedics, the woman’s eyes slanted open. They were hazel, her eyes, bright green warmed with a splash of brown, beautiful. She seemed to be having trouble focusing. A heartbeat passed and then her eyes widened.

  “Fucking Ace Jackson.” She murmured, and then promptly passed out.

  Ace shook his head, so this must be Alana. Wonderful, He didn’t dare call in this shit. No, the beautiful suspect had a whole lot of explaining to do. Yup, fucking Ace Jackson, the man who just saved your ass, Ms. Informant. Sliding behind the wheel, Ace headed out of the alley. Alana was not what he expected in an informant. He pictured some drugged out, bone thin, lost soul, but this woman had a sexy as sin body and was achingly beautiful. Yep, a beautiful killer. Just what he needed in his life right now.

  Alana

  Warmth enveloped her; Alana snuggled into the comfort of it. Her body felt weightless, floating on a summer breeze. What happened to her? Did Ace kill her with that ugly ass truck of his? Was she dead? A banging sound caused a stabbing pain to throb in her head. Alana slowly opened one eye. Thick arms cradled her and her head rested on solid broad shoulders. She peeked up at the face of the man holding her.

  “Ace Jackson.” She gasped. Her heart stuttering a bit. He was even more handsome in person than in all the photos she’d seen of him. Shortcut, extremely black hair, heart stopping masculine features all arranged to please the female eye. Ace in real life was power incased in human skin. He was there. So close to her, a dream come true. He played the starring role in all her late night erotic dreams and now she was actually in his arms. Well, this wasn’t exactly how she dreamed she would be in his embrace, but a girl had to take what she was given.

  “Yeah, that’s me. I thought you were a goner for a second.” He shot back, gazing down at her as he stepped up to a door.

  “Where are we?” Alana wiggled in his arms, her head throbbing with every movement.

  “Careful there woman or I’ll drop you. You’ve been banged up enough for one night.” He opened the door and carried her into an apartment. There was a light coming from somewhere, but Alana couldn’t tell from where, her head was swirly and her vision blurry. He placed her on a sofa gently and stepped away. Alana shuddered at the loss of his warmth. The separation of his body from hers annoyed her. She wanted his embrace back. His arms felt safe. She hadn’t felt safe in quite some time.

  Alana glanced around. The apartment was small but clean what little she could see of it in the dim light. Ace was in the kitchen area. He returned and clicked on a lamp beside the sofa. The light blazed in her face and nausea clenched her middle. Raising her hand up to shade her face, Alana let out a groan. The man ran me over with his truck, now he’s blinding me, what’s next? Alana flopped back as tears of pain misted her eyes.

  “Here, let me take a look at your head.” Ace drawled, voice so smooth, like southern comfort on the rocks. “How’s the pain? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

  “No, no hospital.” Alana rushed out, then inhaled sharply as the cold of the ice pack touched her skin. “Not safe there.”

&nb
sp; “Who’s after you?”

  “Can you cut off the light please?” Alana said, glancing down at her hands.

  Ace clicked off the lamp, then knelt beside her, pressing the ice pack to the back of her head. His face was so close she saw golden flecks in his rich brown eyes. His raven black lashes were thick and long, making her want to place kisses on them. Her heart began to pump a bit faster.

  Ace leaned back, examining her face. “Ms. Ruiz, who is after you?”

  Alana remained quiet, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to jump right into this with Ace. He would have to wait. The McAdams’ brothers were the only ones who were able to help her now and telling Ace first would be a colossal mistake. He was in danger. From the information she got from her background checks, he was not the kind of man to place his friends in danger. The McAdams would undoubtedly stand behind Ace no matter what, but the people after them were not drug lords or cartel. They were cops and someone in a position of power was covering up their illegal activities. If they wanted them dead, then they would be dead and it would all somehow be legal. She wasn’t sure if David McAdams was even powerful enough to handle this.

  “Can I please rest a moment?” Alana dared a gaze up at Ace. He had his head tilted to the side those bright brown eyes of his regarding her with concentration.

  Ace moved away, settling in a chair across from her. He was one of the best detectives on the force. Alana feared he knew exactly how to wring a confession out of her. Alana held her breath.

  Ace’s fingers drummed rhythmically on the arm of the chair. Deep silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of the clock on the wall, ticking. Click by click, impossibly loud clicks as it marked the seconds, dooming her with each pass. Click, click, the weight of his stare and the sound of the clock had Alana ready to jump off the sofa and get as far away from him as possible.

  She dug up the courage to face Ace. His eyes locked onto hers and he still didn’t say one word. This must be the “keep silent and scary until the suspect spills all the beans” technique. It was working like a fucking charm, Alana would have told him anything to break loose from the tension.