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Cobblestone Press
www.cobblestone-press.com
Copyright ©2007 by Samantha Lucas
First published in 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In the Still of the Night
Copyright© 2006 Samantha Lucas
ISBN: 978-1-60088-088-9
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Editor: Leanne Salter
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
www.cobblestone-press.com
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Author Bio
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Dedication
To Lucius Alexander, for always keeping me going with your gift of encouragement.
To Dad and Natalie, for being excited with me. To Z, just because I love you.
And as always, to David, because without your encouragement, I never would have started on this path and without your daily support, I'd never stay on it. Love you.
Lastly, thank you, Leanne. You made me a better writer through editing. Every person who publishes, edits or reads anything by me from here on owes you thanks.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
Jayden knew they were after her. Even through the scent of fresh rain on pavement, she could smell them. As lightning streaked across the northern sky, she knew she had to find shelter. A place to hide and stay dry. The first spattering of rain lay thick in her dark hair, and her T-shirt and cotton pants clung to her skin. Her only hope was that the rain would wash away any evidence from her body.
Ducking around a corner, Jayden decided to stick to back alleys for a while. A tremor snuck up on her.
I killed a man.
The enormity of the situation still hadn't registered, but as she pressed her slight frame against a brick wall, she began to shiver. She couldn't be sure if it was the rain, or the shock wearing off.
Don't think about it. Besides, maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe they saved him.
She closed her eyes to blot out the images assaulting her, then jumped at a loud crash of thunder that banged her skull hard against the bricks.
Jayden, you need to stay calm. You need to get away. You cannot let them catch you.
With slow, deep breaths, she managed to calm down and make herself move again. The rain now fell in earnest, drenching her to the skin. Lightning streaked the sky in a brilliant show of fury only rivaled by the angry peals of thunder. She couldn't remember a storm like this one. It was as if even God hated her. That He'd seen what happened. Every arc of lightning seemed to write across the sky, Thou shalt not kill.
She was more out of shape than she thought. Running across the large expanse of lawn that had been her first obstacle winded her. Now, as she tried with all her effort to haul her ass over a chain-link fence, she would have laughed if she wasn't certain the laughter would turn to a hysterical bout of tears. She didn't have the time for the luxury of tears. Not until she was safe.
Or dead.
Fabric ripped as she dropped to the other side. Her thin cotton pants tore from mid-thigh to below her knee; blood beaded at the surface of the scratch. She made a quick check, determined it wasn't bad, then turned her attention to the top of the fence. If she had left any evidence of her presence up there, she would have to go back for it. Lightning lit up the sky, and she saw no fabric left at the top of the fence.
With no time for even a sigh of relief, she hit the pavement again, running from a nightmare.
* * * *
"That is one bitch of a storm out there."
Mica Devane looked up from the inventory sheet to which he hadn't been paying much attention. He tried hard not to snicker as his best friend and business partner stripped off wet clothes. He bore a marked resemblance to a wet Chinese crested—possibly the scrawniest, ugliest, dog on the planet.
"You laugh, but I didn't see your ass out there pulling down three thousand dollar silk banners so they wouldn't tear in this wind."
"I didn't ask you to do it, either, Vasquez. Didn't we become owners so we wouldn't have to go out there and pull down anything in weather like this?"
Vasquez set aside his sodden T-shirt and ran a hand towel over his dark hair. “I became owner because you offered me a deal of a lifetime I'd be jackass of the century to turn down. You, on the other hand, became owner because you're driven. One might even say obsessed."
Mica smiled but didn't respond. He supposed there was some truth to it; poverty had never sat well with him. It was what it was, but as soon as he'd taken charge of his own destiny, he'd made damn sure he would have money. He set the inventory aside and glanced out the window. A bolt of lightning lit the sky in an impressive display.
"It's beautiful,” he said on a breath as awe filled him. He loved storms, but this one was truly spectacular. He missed the huge electrical storms from home, so nights like this made him feel less lonely and far away.
Vasquez sat on the edge of a visitor's chair, trying not to drip. “It wasn't so beautiful ten minutes ago. It was damn scary."
Mica chuckled and turned his attention back to his friend, one brow raised. “For three thousand dollars, they should come with some kind of guarantee not to tear in the wind."
Vasquez shrugged.
Mica got up and paced to the window. He'd been rather agitated all night. Maybe it was the storm, but he felt somehow it was more, that some momentous event was about to happen, and—for whatever reason—he was involved.
"You okay, pal?"
He turned with an easy smile, tugging the gold hoop in his left ear. “Yeah, course. Listen, I'll make sure the guys in the kitchen got all that stuff out all right."
Vasquez stood up. “Let me. I'm already drenched, and that's one of your best suits."
Mica glanced down at his dark plum silk shirt under his Armani suit jacket and shook his head. “I'm restless. I'll put on kitchen whites.” He patted Vasquez on the shoulder and gave him one of his trademark smiles that had earned him a good deal of money. “'Sides, haven't you had enough of the weather tonight?"
Halfway down the hall Mica heard him call out, “Well, when you put it that way...” He rounded the corner and took the stairs to the kitchen with a smile on his face. For seventeen years they'd been friends. Ever since the day Mica had stopped Ritchie Paine and Greg Sacks from harassing the new wetback. That term never sat well with Mica. In fact it made his blood rage in his veins. He'd wanted to kill those asses that day.
Mica still wasn't sure what made the Vasquez family set
up their hacienda in a small southern town where they'd be the only people of ethnicity, but he was glad they had because Miguel Vasquez was the best friend a guy could have.
They had hitched up their wagon the day after high school graduation, set out for New York City, and never looked back. Both had left behind high school honeys and worried families. For years, they shoved aside personal lives to fulfill a dream, but—in the end—every bit of it had been worth it to Mica.
Always the more driven one, he'd found his fortune early on. Lady luck had smiled on him, but he'd worked his ass off as well. Vasquez was a good guy, but he lacked the drive Mica had. When Mica made it, he pulled his friend along with him without question. Now, in a city that ate its own young, they were making it. In fact, of late, they'd rapidly become the toast of the town.
Already the owner of several clubs and hot spots around the city, Mica had dreamed of owning an upscale restaurant. Good food—at prices just outrageous enough to draw attention—and ambience out the wazoo. Amaris was his dream come to life, and people had started to sit up and take notice.
Clothes changed, he made his way below to the kitchens. It was a large space of organized chaos, a lot of noise, and hotter than hell. There was no place Mica would rather be. He'd started this dream in the kitchen at Aunt Mavis’ Country Kitchen back home, and a part of him would always be in the kitchen.
"Hey, Flavio, how's Hannah's ankle?"
"Good, boss. Thanks. She'll be back on the soccer team in no time."
He gave Flavio a pat on the back as he squeezed by. Big time New York Restaurateur or not, he was a good southern boy, and his mama had taught him manners. His employees had given their blood, sweat, and tears right alongside him and Vasquez these past three years. As trite as it had sounded in the Sunday Times interview, his employees were family, and he treated them as such.
As Mica flung open the heavy, metal door to the alleyway, a gust of cold wind threw rain in his face. He laughed. “Un-fucking believable. There you go, Vasquez. Mother Nature gets even for you.” He grabbed one of the solid oak barrels from beside the wall and pushed it outside. The cold bit at him. Winter might be almost over as far as the calendar was concerned, but he wasn't sure the weatherman had gotten the memo. At this rate, the rain could turn to snow by dawn.
Mica settled into a comfortable rhythm of hauling crates and miscellaneous packaging from the back kitchen into the alley, refusing offered help several times; he was almost done when he caught a subtle movement from the corner of his eye. He might have brushed it off, but a bolt of lightning lit up the alleyway like midday at that exact moment, and Mica found himself staring into the most amazing pair of crystalline blue eyes he'd ever seen—eyes filled with terror
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Jayden had been so still for so long while the guy had done his work. If her damn foot hadn't cramped, or if the lightning hadn't struck right then, he would never have seen her.. Despair filled her as she choked back tears and tried to control her trembling. Rain soaked her to the skin, the cut on her foot made every other step an ordeal, and her breaking point loomed closer by the minute.
Being a hunted animal was bad enough, but the fear and adrenaline that coursed through her veins made her jumpy and careless—and now she was caught. She pressed her spine against the stone wall as he walked closer to her.
"Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and gentle, as if she were a scared kitten. She imagined she looked like one, too. He held out his hand, his gaze locked on her. “Do you need help?"
No one can help me.
One tear ran down her cheek. She drew a deep breath to stop the next one.
"Honey, you're bleeding. Come inside and let me help you. I can call someone if you like."
Although he had the most tender voice she'd ever heard, and golden eyes that told her to trust, Jayden shook her head and pressed herself even harder into the corner. She could not go inside with this man. She couldn't trust anyone. And she couldn't get caught, not now. She held his concerned gaze and shook her head again, praying, pleading for him to understand.
Mica became more and more concerned for the lady. Blood soaked through her flimsy canvas sneaker, and she was rain-drenched to the skin. Sadly, she'd chosen to wear a matched set of electric-blue-and-black bra and panty under her now see-through white ensemble. He pulled his jacket off and moved forward to wrap it around her shoulders, but stopped when she flinched.
"It's okay. It's down.” He held it up for her to see. “I just want you to be warm, and, uh...” He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. “In case you weren't aware of it...” He motioned with one finger the length of her body. “...white goes transparent when wet."
With a soft gasp, as if she hadn't been aware of her erotic appearance, the woman cautiously took his jacket. At least we're getting somewhere. His jacket covered her from neck to knees. When he got her inside, no one would gawk at her. He figured she wouldn't take well to that at the moment, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her more.
Mica tried to rein in his imagination. In this city anything could have happened to her, and of course he imagined the worst. The situation must be dire indeed to make her run into the night half-dressed, with no jacket, and wearing bad shoes. It also wasn't lost on him that she hadn't said a bloody word. Was she able to speak but too frightened? Or had ... then it dawned on him. Mica smacked his forehead with his palm. He laughed. “Of course. Habla espanol?” Nada. “Uh, parlez vous francais?” Tears started to form in those beautiful eyes, and Mica's heart contracted. “Okay, okay. Parlo italiano? I'm not so good at that one, but we could manage."
Frustrated, Mica ran his hands through his hair. He would have paced if he wasn't convinced that the second he gave her the opportunity, she'd run like the wind and he'd never see her again. Outside of the obvious fact that she desperately needed someone's help, he knew his heart wouldn't be able to take it if he never saw her again.
That thought hit him so sharp, from such an unexpected angle, that he straightened and leaned against the wall for a second. Un-fucking believable. He shook his head, blinked a couple of times, and went back into handle-the-crisis mode.
"Look, honey, you don't know me from Adam, and you've obviously been through some kind of trauma tonight, but I want to help. I own this restaurant, I'm a member of the community, I have family, friends ... Oh! I'm not even from New York."
Oh, brilliant, Mica. As if that somehow makes a difference. Idiot. He rubbed his head, his breath misting as he exhaled into the still night air. Grabbing at straws, he took a step closer, unable to miss how his action caused a tremor to rip through her. He ached to hold her and make everything all right, but he knew he needed her trust first.
"Did you ever see the movie Sweet Home Alabama?” She stared at him like he had an oozing rash on his forehead. He smiled at her and continued. “Well, my home town's like that. We're all nice, normal people who take care of one another. We have a few crazies, but nothing out of the norm for a small town. We bring in the paper and get the mail when our neighbors vacation, walk dogs in the park without leashes, have town barbeques every Friday night down at the firehouse.
"Then one of the local bands plays and folks dance in the street. High school kids sneak off to the duck pond to watch stars fall and submarines race. Though between you and me, there's not much serious watching. Lost my virginity at that damn pond."
He ventured a nervous laugh, and she seemed to drop her terror alert level from red to orange.
"I'm not Lancelot or Galahad or anybody, but I'm a good guy from a good family.” He dared to take another step closer; he could see the wheels in her mind spin as she took in this new information. “Let me take care of you, honey."
Jayden blinked, shocked at the unexpected offer from this total stranger.
Take care of me?
God, how long had she waited to hear those words? Only he couldn't; she couldn't let him. If she let him help her, he'd be dead by noon. Everything
inside her ached to fall into his arms and forget the world, forget her problems, forget Jerry and his blank-eyed stare, the bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. She didn't think she had much chance to be saved from that. As much as she wished it otherwise, Jerry was dead. She'd killed him, and if she hadn't been so freaked out by the whole ordeal, she would have brought the gun with her.
All that aside, all she could do now was wonder if a place like what he described really existed, and was he as wonderful as he seemed. Her home life had never been a fairytale, but the past seven years had been a nightmare of epic proportions. She thought she would gladly give up the rest of her life for five minutes in his hometown.
Even while drowning in her own thoughts, she hadn't missed him edging closer. Engulfed in his heat and scent from his jacket, along with his story of home, she felt herself being lulled into a false sense of security she couldn't afford.
Fight, Jayden. You've been through too much to go back now.
The problem was, she had no place to go. She'd trapped herself in a corner, and the only way out was past the gorgeous man that smelled of expensive cologne and fried foods—a surprisingly comforting mixture.
So fast she didn't even seen it happen, it was over.. His fingers brushed her cheek with such kindness that the walls around her heart broke, and she fell into his arms.
* * * *
Down boy.
Mica took pains to separate the lower part of his body from hers. The last thing she needed was to feel his hard-on and become convinced he was some type of back alley pervert. He would have passed it off as too long without a woman, if Marlene hadn't stayed over just last night. Even for him, twenty-four hours wasn't long enough to account for this kind of reaction.
Here he was with a woman in need of help, security, and understanding, and he was hard and ready without any preliminaries. Maybe he was some type of back alley pervert.
"Okay, love. It'll be all right now. I won't let anything bad happen."
She burrowed her face against his chest, clutching the front of his shirt like a lifeline while her body shook.
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