Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)

by Jen Frederick

  CHAPTER 19

  “If you’re looking to leave a threatening note, my suggestion is by the sink in the kitchen. We generally have coffee in the morning.”

  The intruder’s head jerks up at my lazy drawl. I’m shrouded in the shadows at the top of the stairs, while the figure downstairs is illuminated by the moonlight shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The figure glances back toward the entrance and the stairs that lead to the first floor.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I lift my gun and direct my uninvited guest toward the dining room. “There’s a car outside with someone waiting to take you to the police. Or you can take a seat, and we’ll talk this out.”

  As if on cue, Tanner’s security person pulls up. We both turn and watch the headlights flicker across the windows. With slumped shoulders, the intruder trudges over to the table.

  A door slams outside and then footsteps tromp up the stairs. A disheveled Steve appears at the top, wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt and jeans. A gun is in his hand as well.

  “I’ve got this.” I scowl at him.

  He merely grunts and moves into the living room. With a flick of a switch, the television pops on and he appears as if he’s doing nothing more than settling in to watch a few rounds of infomercials. But it’s apparent from the tension in his shoulders that he’s ready to leap over the back and subdue our quarry.

  As I flip on a couple of lights to illuminate the room, the intruder settles in and drags off the mask. Despite the short haircut, there is no mistaking my intruder’s femininity. Steve sucks in a breath of surprise, but I’m unmoved. Tiny’s earlier revelations unspool in my mind like a two-foot-long parchment.

  “Table 57 doesn’t pay its wait staff enough, so you’ve been forced into a life of larceny?” I ask lightly, setting my gun on the center island and releasing the magazine. Steve stands up, hands on his hips, and frowns at us. No one has updated him, so it’s understandable he’s confused.

  Lauren is an attractive young lady, probably in her early twenties. Her figure is boyish, but I wonder if some of that is due to restricting undergarments and part of her disguise. Strands of reddish brown hair stick up due to static from the hat. I peg her height to be close to five-nine. Model proportions, which I can see attracting a certain percentage of male attention. Idly I wonder if her black slacks and top are also part of her restaurant uniform. Doing double duty, so to speak.

  It’s her turn to be shocked. Or maybe she has been all along. She sits there dejectedly, and the note she was to leave falls out of her grip and onto the table. Steve is there to grab the paper before I can open it.

  “Anthrax,” he grunts in warning.

  “It’s just a letter. I put it in the envelope myself.” She sounds tired. No, that’s not the right word. Defeated. Her shoulders are slumped, and her head hangs so far down I wonder if her neck is broken. Steve pulls out two pairs of plastic gloves and hands me a set. Holding the envelope up to the light, we check for signs of excess powder.

  “It’s only got my fingerprints,” she says sullenly. “I printed it out at the local copy shop.”

  The envelope is cheap—the kind that bills and political flyers come in. Confident that there isn’t a white powder risk, Steve slits the envelope open with his HK knife, a large wicked-looking thing. I roll my eyes at the unnecessary threat, and Lauren doesn’t even look up to see it.

  He hands it over when he’s satisfied the letter and envelope present no danger.

  “See? Nothing,” she says spitefully.

  “You’re pretty mouthy for a girl who’s a phone call away from being put in jail,” he shoots back.

  “You’re pretty thickheaded for not listening to anything I’m saying.”

  “Why should I? You’re all over security feeds fumbling around the house and trying to break in with a second-rate lock pick set. You didn’t even see the cameras,” Steve says, putting together more words in one sentence than I’ve ever heard him use before.

  “Excuse me for not being a professional thief,” she rages back. “Not all of us can go to Thugs “R” Us and buy all the cool larceny tools.”

  This display of instant attraction disguised as repugnance between the two would be amusing if the girl hadn’t tried to break into my house and threaten the safety of Tiny.

  “No glued-on newspaper letters, or is that so 1980s?” I quip. The letter has only a few sentences.

  The decline in Kerr stock could be much worse. Think about that when you’re deciding who to socialize with. Hope you and your slut enjoy the poor house. There’s much worse where that came from.

  “Someone doesn’t like you, Steve. Look at the insult. I shouldn’t be socializing with you.” I hand the letter back to him and strip off the plastic gloves.

  “It’s Kaga they don’t like then because you hang around him more than anyone.” Steve sticks the letter into a plastic baggie and sits down across from Lauren.

  “True,” I muse. “Nightclub business can be cutthroat.”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything, so you might as well just call the police.” Lauren interrupts our jests. Scowling, she adds, “And it’s not a fucking joke.”

  “You’re not very good at this,” Steve says. “First, there are cameras at the door. Visible ones. Second, you were noisy as fuck. We could hear you on the exterior video feed coming down the alley.” He shakes his head in disgust.

  “I’m a fucking waitress, not a spy,” she retorts.

  “You should stick to waiting tables.”

  “Oh, what great advice. Next time I have someone forcing me to do things, I’ll be sure to tell them I’m only good at waiting tables. I’m sure that will go over swell.”

  “Worth a try.” Steve turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Louis?”

  “No, Richard Howe, I think.” My gaze hasn’t turned away from her, and I see her flinch slightly. Yes, Richard Howe. Tiny needs to come down.

  “Just a minute.” I stride over to the stairs. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

  I leave the two glaring at each other. Tiny will be sorry she missed the fireworks. I saw more sparks between Steve and this stranger in the last few minutes than I ever have with Steve’s sullen girlfriend.

  Upstairs in the darkened bedroom, Tiny is sprawled out on the bed, her arm over on my side as if she’s searching for me. The sexy hollow of her spine leads down enticingly to the rise of her ass, barely covered by the sheet. If there’s anything I should be angry about, it’s that I have to wake her from slumber. She should be allowed to rest after the workout I gave her. I nab her the blue silk embroidered robe.

  I like it on her because there’s no easier access to her tempting charms than through an ill-fitting robe. On second thought, given that we have company, the sex robe should be shelved. I pull out a pair of knit shorts and a tank. She can put the robe overtop of those two items.

  “Bunny,” I whisper, stroking the hair out of her face, “we have some company.”

  She mumbles something into the mattress but doesn’t move. Her exposed back is too tempting to resist, so I place a few kisses down the column. Downstairs there are murmurs. The two are still talking. I hear a scrape of a chair and then running water. Steve is probably making tea. Aussies love their tea.

  “Wake up, Tiny,” I say with regret. I’d love to climb back in bed with her, but we’ve got an issue to deal with.

  She rolls over, squinting at me. “Are we poor?” she asks sleepily.

  “Poor?” I’m baffled and give her a confused chuckle.

  “Did you lose everything in the Asian markets?” She sits up, grasping the sheets to her chest and looking like an adorable little owl.

  “No.” I stifle another laugh. “We can still afford a few homes and takeout. But we do have a guest, and I’d like you to come down and talk to her.”

  “Is it Sa
rah?” She swings her legs to the side of the bed and starts to pull on clothes as I hand them to her.

  “No, it’s Lauren.”

  “Lauren?” Because she’s sleepy, it takes a few seconds for the battery leads to connect in her brain but once they do, her head snaps up. “Table 57 Lauren?”

  I nod.

  “Holy shit.” Tiny jumps up, grabs the robe out of my hands, and runs out of the room while struggling to wrap it around herself. She hops down the stairs and skids to a stop at the sight of Steve pouring hot tea into mugs.

  “Tea?” he asks, holding up the pot.

  Tiny shakes her head no. I can tell by the way her gaze swings from Steve to Lauren and back again, she’s not sure who is the more interesting and surprising entity in her dining room. I give her a small nudge, and she plops into a chair at the head of the table.

  “I’m Victoria.” She holds out her hand to Lauren.

  Lauren grasps it gingerly, as if Tiny might shock her. “Lauren Williams.”

  “Nice to meet you. I understand you knew Richard Howe at one point. Me too.”

  Lauren gasps and covers her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment of staring.

  “No need. I have Ian.” Tiny replies and holds up a hand toward me. I grab it, standing behind her chair with my other hand on her shoulder. Lauren’s eyes eat this all up, and neither Tiny nor I miss the under-the-lashes sideways glance Lauren shoots to Steve as he comes over with two mugs of tea, placing one in front of Lauren. “I know that you’re in some trouble, Lauren, and we can help.” She gestures around the table. Steve grunts his agreement, back to his closed-mouthed self.

  “You want to help?” Lauren shoots back.

  Tiny nods and leans forward. “Yes, we do.”

  “Then back off. Whatever it is you’re doing that Richard Howe doesn’t like, just stop. That’s how you can help.”

  “We aren’t doing anything. We’d have to stop existing,” Tiny protests, but I cough.

  “What?”

  “I forgot to tell you that I’ve called in some of Howe’s debt.” Tiny narrows her eyes at me. Holding up my palms, I add, “I swear that’s everything.”

  “They’re dangerous,” Lauren warns.

  “They?” I ask, turning toward her.

  She looks down at her hands as if worried she’s given too much away. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry. Just call the police.”

  Her implacable response reminds me of Big Guy, who refused to give anything up as well. Their silence isn’t purchased by money, though. I couldn’t have bought their words. They’re bound by something more powerful than money.

  “What happened tonight?” Tiny finally asks me.

  “I saw this young person fiddling with the lock. I let her in so that I could confront her.”

  “God, Ian, that was so dangerous.” She slaps my arm, and Steve grunts in agreement.

  “I had a gun.”

  “You have a gun?” she asks and looks around wildly until she spots it on the kitchen counter. “Put that thing away!”

  “It’s not hot. There’s no bullet in the chamber, and the magazine is lying right next to it.”

  “Seriously, can you put it in a drawer or something? It’s making me nervous. What if it just accidentally goes off?”

  “How?” I ask, perplexed.

  “Just put the gun away, mate, and get on with this,” Steve snaps.

  Tiny raises both eyebrows and mouths “wow” at me. Shaking my head, I push away from the table. I drop the gun in the drawer beneath it, which happens to be the utensil drawer, and stick the magazine in my pocket. “Good?”

  She makes a face at me but nods.

  “Sorry,” she apologizes to Lauren. “We can help you. Ian has more money than small countries. Tell us what the problem is, and we can solve it. It’s your brother, right? Richard Howe is threatening your brother?”

  Lauren sucks in her lip and then bites it, as though that will prevent her from spilling the story, so Tiny forges on.

  “Your brother got into some trouble, and he’s out on parole. Maybe Richard helped with that, and if your brother breaks parole, he goes back in and serves more time, right?” She doesn’t wait for a response this time. The question is clearly rhetorical. “You don’t want him to go back in, but since Howe got him out, he can send him right back. Howe has a cop, maybe someone on the parole board, in his pocket, so he says keep your mouth shut or your brother’s parole will be revoked?”

  Lauren’s mouth is hanging open, and even Steve looks on with some approval. Me? I’m starting to understand why Jake thinks Tiny is wasted behind a desk.

  “Can you fix this with money?” Tiny demands of me.

  “I’m not into bribing cops,” I admit. “That’s a high-risk proposition. Maybe if we knew more about your brother’s situation, we could think of another resolution.”

  Lauren stands up. “I see you’ve done a lot of investigating, but talking about possibilities isn’t enough for me. I’m going to go now. Either call the police or let me leave. Otherwise, this is kidnapping.”

  Steve whistles. “You got some balls accusing us of wrongdoing when you’re guilty of breaking and entering.”

  “I didn’t break in.” She sniffs. “The door was unlocked.”

  “We have you fiddling with the door. You’re dressed in all black, and you’ve delivered a threatening note.”

  “What threatening note?” Tiny looks around and then grabs the plastic baggie that is now holding the letter Howe had Lauren deliver to me. I’m not sure how much of it she can make out, and I’ll read it to her later. Her face takes on an ashen quality; maybe she can make it out just fine.

  I glance at my watch. I need to check the markets again. “I hate cutting this party short, but it’s late. Or early, however you want to look at it. Steve, you take Lauren home. Lauren, this is my card. You change your mind, let me know. I think between the four of us, we can come up with a solution to your problems.”

  Steve nods and reaches for Lauren, who jerks away. As she stomps toward the exit, he gives me a wave, and then the two disappear downstairs.

  I turn to Tiny. “I want you to get some sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep now,” she grumbles as I lead her up toward the bedroom. “How many times do we have an intruder in the house? This is kind of exciting.”

  “Only you would think this turn of events is stimulating.”

  “I have something to tell you, and I think you’re going to be mad,” she says as we stop at the bedroom door. The serious tone in her voice has me pausing.

  “Let’s go to the office.” My gut clenches.

  She settles into one of the chairs in front of the massive desk, and I drop into the chair next to her instead of rounding the desk and sitting in the office chair.

  “Tell me,” I order. And then, because I don’t want to argue, I add, “Please.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you because . . .” She pauses to pinch the bridge of her nose, and I take the time to practice my deep breathing so I don’t get to my feet and start throwing things around in frustration and fear. “Oh god, I have no good reason. At the time, I thought I had it all planned out, but now that I’m thinking about how best to explain it to you, I realize that my plans are really, really stupid.”

  “Please tell me,” I say quietly. The even tone in my voice is a fucking miracle.

  “I’ve got two other notes.”

  “I’m sorry, but I thought I heard you say that you have received two other threatening notes and are just now telling me about them.” I can hear myself yelling even as I try not to, but the terror of what she’s saying is breaking down all my self-control.

  “I know. I’m so sorry.” Her words are muffled because she’s placed her hands over her face. “I should have told you before, but I thought . . .
I thought I could help you. Find something on Howe, and then we could put it all behind us.”

  “Tiny,” I say, my voice hoarse with the shouts I’m trying to keep suppressed. “We are a team. I told you about the men who attacked me. You are my fucking world. If you are gone . . .” I trail off. Her body is convulsing from harsh silent sobs. In short order, I have her on my lap. “Stop. I’m not mad. I promise.”

  “I’m not crying to make you feel bad for me. I’m not manipulating you.” She cries, her frame is shaking.

  “I know, bunny. You’re breaking my heart here.” I run my hands over her arms and legs and head to reassure myself that she’s whole and unhurt.

  “It was wrong. I see that now. I should’ve told you, but I didn’t because I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “All right,” I try to soothe her. “What’s done is done. Tell me so we can figure out what happened.”

  It takes several minutes before she’s composed enough to recount the fucking foolhardy plan that she and Sarah had cooked up and the two notes she’s received. “We need to get those to Jake.”

  She nods and hangs her head. No doubt Jake will be yelling at her too. I’ll go with her in the morning because no one gets to yell at Tiny but me.

  “The bodyguard is going to come tomorrow. Promise me you will use her. That you won’t go anywhere without her. That you won’t endanger your life. Promise me this.”

  “I promise,” she vows solemnly. “I promise I will protect myself because I am your heart.”

  “Thank you.” I close my eyes and clutch her to my chest. She finally gets it.

  CHAPTER 20

  Tiny refuses to go to sleep in the bedroom, so we make a nest of blankets and she falls asleep on the sofa in my office while I handle international calls and watch the Asian markets. Before the morning light filters in, I get a text from Jake that the new bodyguard will be arriving soon.

  At precisely seven in the morning, there is an alert from the back door. Outside I see a woman with short dark hair wearing a lightweight parka, jeans, and soft-soled shoes. She matches the picture Jake sent. Quietly, so as not to disturb Tiny, I speak into the intercom. “Name, please.”