Secrets

by Cynthia Eden

  “My father’s company was nearing bankruptcy at the time of his death,” Jennifer said as she lifted her chin. “But I promise I have money to pay you. I just...I need your help. You’re the only person I can turn to now.”

  Louisiana’s French Quarter and Austin weren’t exactly close on the map. “You drove all the way here, just to talk with me?”

  Her lashes flickered a bit. “You saved my life before. I was hoping that you could do it again.”

  He wanted to pull her into his arms. Because he wanted that so badly, Brodie didn’t move. “If you need my help, of course I’ll take your case.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Thank you.” Her relief was palpable.

  Now he frowned at her. “Did you think I’d turn you away?”

  “Three other private investigators have. I went to them right after the fire, but...they said there was nothing to link the two attacks. That it’s just random. Really random, terrible luck.” She eased closer to him. “But it’s not. I know when I’m being hunted.”

  Brodie nodded. “I’m sure you do.” She wasn’t the first client he’d seen who’d been turned away by other PIs in the business. Her fear was real, and he’d spend some time investigating to find out just what was happening in her life.

  “Thank you.”

  Those words were too familiar. He’d never wanted her gratitude. On that hot, desperate night, he’d only wanted her. He should have known better than to touch her.

  Desire had taken over. He’d never lost control—not before or since that night. Only with her. There was just something about Jennifer Wesley that pushed him to the edge, then over that edge.

  He glanced toward the clock. It was nearing 7:00 p.m. already. “We can go over the case tonight. You can tell me everything right now.” He’d stay with her until midnight, if that was what it took. “Or we can start fresh first thing in the morning.” That would give him time to go ahead and start pulling strings with the New Orleans Police Department so he could get their case files on her attack and the arson at her home.

  “Tomorrow...” She hesitated. “That’s fine.”

  He frowned at her. “I can stay here all night if you want.”

  She flashed him a weak smile. “Tomorrow is fine. I’m actually close to being dead on my feet right now.”

  His gaze dropped to her feet. Sexy high heels. Delicate ankles. Bright red toenails.

  “I drove straight from New Orleans today. After the last PI down there told me he wouldn’t take the case, I knew I had to come see you.”

  How had she even known that he and his brothers had started a PI business? But that wasn’t the question he asked, not yet. Instead, Brodie murmured, “You could’ve called.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I thought you were less likely to turn me down in person. And...”

  He waited.

  “And I needed to get out of that town.” Her voice lowered. “I told you, I felt hunted.”

  Stalked.

  But she drew in a bracing breath. “I think starting fresh tomorrow sounds great. When do you want me here?”

  He didn’t want her to leave him. Now that she was back, Brodie wanted to keep her close. “How about nine o’clock?”

  “Perfect.” She turned away. “I’ll see you—”

  “Do you want to get a bite to eat?”

  Her shoulders stiffened, and then she glanced back at him.

  Hell. He’d done it again. Why was self-control such an issue with her? “You said you drove straight through, so you must be hungry.” He hadn’t eaten since lunch, so he was near famished himself. “How about I take you out for dinner, for old times’ sake?”

  Red filled her cheeks. “Our old times didn’t exactly involve dinner.”

  No, they had involved danger and passion.

  The danger was already happening again. As for the passion, well, a guy could dream. “Just dinner,” he told her softly. “We both need to eat.”

  He shut off his computer and headed for the door. No, for Jennifer.

  He’d thought about her plenty during the years. Thought that...surely...things couldn’t have been as good as he remembered.

  He’d also thought that she would have gotten married over the years. In his jealous head, he’d seen her saddled with some rich society boy with more money than sense. Some guy handpicked by her father.

  Only her father was dead. And he knew her mother had passed away when Jennifer was just a child.

  As she stood before him, Jennifer seemed very much alone.

  Not anymore. “You don’t have a...boyfriend?”

  “No.” Her gaze met his. “There’s no one like that in my life.”

  The relief he felt was wrong, and he knew it. So was the thought that he had... I’m here now.

  In silence, they headed down to the main floor. The elevator ride was pretty close to torture. Mostly because the woman smelled better than sin.

  “I heard about your parents.” Her confession was hushed.

  He lifted a brow.

  “Okay, I found out when I did an internet search on you. Brodie, I’m sorry. So sorry for what happened to them.”

  Yeah, his family’s attack had been splashed all over the press in Texas when the murders occurred, and he knew there was still plenty to read about the horror online.

  “Did you...did you ever find their killers?”

  “We’re close,” he told her. Closer than they’d ever been before since they’d finally located the weapons used to kill his parents.

  Surprise flashed in her eyes for just a moment. “That’s great.”

  The elevator dinged. They stepped into the hallway and her high heels tapped against the gleaming tile. He nodded to the security guard as they left the building and the hot Texas night hit them. His SUV was parked right across the street. He caught her elbow in a light grip and headed for the vehicle.

  Just as they hit the middle of that street, bright lights flashed on, locking them in a too-stark illumination. A car’s engine revved and tires squealed.

  In that instant, Brodie realized the driver of that car was heading straight for him and Jennifer. Aiming for them. Jennifer yanked at his arm, as if she was trying to pull him out of harm’s way, even as Brodie grabbed tightly to her. They hurtled through the air, dodging that car—a long black car—by inches. The wind seemed to whip around them, and the acrid scent of burning rubber filled Brodie’s nose right before he and Jennifer crashed into the asphalt.

  The car didn’t slow down. It raced to the edge of the street and swung a hard right. The damn thing vanished into the night.

  That maniac just tried to kill us!

  “See...?” Jennifer’s husky voice yanked his stare back to her. She was sprawled right beside him on that asphalt. “I told you... Someone is hunting me.”

  Not just hunting her. Someone wanted her dead.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE STAYING HERE?”

  Okay, so Brodie McGuire wasn’t exactly impressed with her choice of lodgings. His tone of voice made that fact loud and clear. Jennifer headed out of the bathroom, a wet cloth pressed to her scratched elbow. That hard contact with the pavement had ripped her skin right off. “Well, seeing as how I had the key to the room and my things are here...” She motioned toward the bed and her one bag. “I’d say that’s a yes. I’m staying here.” Jennifer tried to put a teasing note in her voice.

  But Brodie glared at her. “I expected you to be in a five-star hotel. One with a guard downstairs, making sure that guests were escorted in and out of the place.”

  Ah, right. He still saw her as Jennifer Wesley, heiress. That was very much the wrong image to have. “There was no money left when my father died.” Her words were totally true. Jennifer hated lying to Brodie, so she was trying to stick to the truth as much as possible. “And when my home burned—” burned, exploded into balls of fire “—well, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of options available to me.” Her luggage bag was filled with clothes that
she’d bought during a fast and furious purchase in New Orleans. “I’m trying to save as much money as I can.”

  Because she was starting to think she might just need to vanish, and if that happened—cash would be vital for her survival.

  “You’re on the first floor,” he said, a faint line between his dark brows. “The lock on that window is broken.” He stabbed a finger toward the left.

  The lock was broken? Unease tightened like a knot in her stomach. The lock hadn’t been broken when she’d first checked in to the room. She knew because she had double-checked all the locks there.

  Brodie’s hand dropped back to his side. “Anyone could get in here.”

  She headed for the window. The lock was smashed all right. Maybe someone already has been in here. “I promise that lock was fine earlier.”

  He swore.

  She’d been aware of the furious energy surrounding him ever since that hit-and-run. There’d been no license plate on the car, at least not one that she’d seen, though Brodie had been able to easily identify the car as an older-model Mustang. He’d called the cops and spoken with a Detective Shayne Townsend. Brodie had told her that Shayne was a friend, someone he could count on to help him out with her case.

  No uniforms had come out to the scene in order to talk with them, though. Instead, Brodie had bundled her into his vehicle and gotten them away from McGuire Securities.

  “Is anything missing?” He pointed to her bag. “You need to check.”

  Right. She dropped the cloth back in the bathroom and hurried toward her luggage. Jennifer opened up the bag and—

  This time, Brodie’s curse made her flinch.

  Her clothes had been slashed. A black-and-white photo lay on top of the clothes, a photo of her. One that had been taken near the Saint Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.

  Someone had used a red marker and written across that photo. Two stark words: I know.

  She didn’t touch the photo. Jennifer knew they could send it to the cops, to that Detective Townsend, and get it checked for fingerprints.

  “What does he know?” Brodie asked, voice gruff.

  Jennifer backed away from the bag. “I have no idea.” She looked up to meet his stare. The rage glittering in his gaze had her sucking in a quick breath. “Brodie—”

  “You’re coming home with me.”

  That didn’t sound good. Or maybe it did. But she shook her head. “I’ll just get a new room. We can turn this over to the cops, and—”

  “I’ll get Detective Townsend down here with his crime scene team. If the intruder left DNA or fingerprints, he’ll find it.”

  “You...you trust him?” Her experience with cops hadn’t exactly been stellar so far. Back in New Orleans, they’d pretty much thought that she’d had a breakdown after the alley attack, that she was just imagining the stalking.

  I’m not imagining anything.

  “Shayne Townsend is a friend. We can count on him.” He pulled her farther away from the bed. “But you aren’t staying here. Your stalker is watching this hotel, watching you, and I’m not just going to leave you alone so he can attack.”

  The stalker had followed her from New Orleans. Had he been right behind her that entire time? On all those long twisting roads? Goose bumps rose on Jennifer’s arms. She’d actually thought that she might be able to just leave the guy behind in New Orleans, but, obviously, she wasn’t going to be that lucky.

  “You can stay at the family ranch,” Brodie told her. “My brothers and I installed the security system there. There is no safer place, and I promise, no one will get to you there.”

  Her gaze slid back to her luggage. A life shouldn’t be destroyed so easily, yet Jennifer felt as if that were exactly what this man was doing to her. Systematically destroying her life.

  “There’s plenty of space at the ranch,” Brodie continued in that deep rumble of his. “So you don’t have to worry about me...getting too close.”

  Just like that, her eyes were back on him.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I want you safe. I can keep my hands off you.”

  She’d never thought otherwise.

  “Come with me,” Brodie said. “Trust me to protect you.”

  Brodie McGuire. The years had carved him into an even more dangerous, powerful man. He was big, easily over six foot three, with wide shoulders and a solid build that told her the guy was definitely no stranger to a gym.

  He was handsome, almost ridiculously so with that hard, square jaw, that perfect blade of a nose and his green eyes. And the man had dimples. Dimples. They flashed when he smiled, and that smile of his made her stomach flip.

  He was a threat to her, in so many ways, but he was also the one man who’d never let her down. The one man who could actually keep her alive.

  Even if he didn’t know all her secrets.

  “Come with me,” he said again.

  She nodded.

  * * *

  JENNIFER WESLEY WAS making a deadly mistake. She thought that an ex-lover could protect her?

  She was wrong.

  He had her in his sights, and he wasn’t about to let her vanish.

  There would be no escape. No mercy, either.

  He watched as Jennifer and Brodie McGuire left the run-down hotel. Brodie was right beside Jennifer for every step she took, his body tense, protective.

  Jennifer had certainly blinded that man to her true nature.

  Brodie needed to be more careful. If he didn’t watch it, the ex-SEAL might just find himself targeted, too.

  You don’t want to die for her.

  Because Brodie didn’t even really know the woman he was protecting. She wasn’t some sweet, lost innocent.

  Jennifer Wesley was a cold-blooded killer.

  Chapter Two

  He had her in his home. Some of the desperate tension that Brodie felt should have eased since they were safe, but it hadn’t. If anything, the tension within him just seemed to be growing worse.

  He’d called his friend Shayne Townsend again—Brodie and the Austin police detective had been friends for years. He knew he could count on Shayne and his team to search Jennifer’s hotel for prints and trace evidence.

  He and Jennifer were in the main ranch house. A place that he and his twin brother, Davis, had completely renovated. Sometimes, the house seemed to be filled with ghosts.

  And other times, the place felt too damn empty.

  Jennifer stood in front of the fireplace, gazing around with wide eyes. The woman had pretty much been through hell in the past twenty-four hours, and she probably just wanted to crash.

  He cleared his throat. “The guest bedroom is down the hallway, second door on your right.” Brodie didn’t mention that his bedroom was behind the first door on her right. He didn’t want to spook Jennifer any more than necessary. Any more than she already is spooked.

  Her dark gaze slid toward the hallway. “Are we the only ones here?”

  He tapped a code in the security panel, making sure that the system was set for the night. “My brother Davis is usually here, but he’s working a case in North Carolina right now.” Since he and his brothers had formed McGuire Securities a few years ago, their business had started attracting plenty of attention. At first, their cases had primarily been in Texas, but as their reputation had grown, they’d branched out into the South and along the East Coast.

  She took a step toward the hallway, then hesitated. “This is going to sound terrible...” Jennifer glanced back at him. “But I’m starving.”

  Realization slammed into him. The woman never got her meal!

  “Can I raid your kitchen?” Jennifer asked with a quick smile that made his heart thump in his chest.

  He felt like an absolute heel. “I can—I can make you something.” Wait, had he just stuttered like some nervous teen? Hell, he had.

  The scent of lavender deepened around him as Jennifer eased closer to him. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  And he had the thought, J
ennifer Wesley is trouble with a capital T. He caught her hand and led her to the kitchen. Within his grasp, her fingers were soft and silky. Delicate. His hold tightened on her.

  The kitchen was cavernous, courtesy of his twin brother’s addiction to food. Brodie motioned toward the bar and started rummaging in the fridge. There was plenty of stuff in there that he could use to make her a meal.

  “Just a sandwich is fine,” Jennifer told him quietly. “After everything that’s happened, I’m not even sure I could handle more than that tonight.”

  He got the sandwiches—one for her and one for his growling stomach—ready in record time. Her smile rocked right through him when he offered the plate to her.

  The woman had to be used to dining on meals that were one hundred times better than a ham sandwich, but as they sat together and ate cold sandwiches at his bar, she acted as if she were in heaven.

  His gaze kept sliding over her as questions rolled through his mind. The police reports from New Orleans were on their way to him, courtesy of some pull that he had, but there were other answers that only Jennifer could give to him.

  Questions he needed to ask her.

  She finished her sandwich and flashed him a wide smile.

  He hated to make that smile dim, but he had to ask...“What secret do you have that a man would be willing to kill for?”

  He saw it then, the crack in her mask. Fear flashed in her eyes, and her golden skin paled. “I have no secrets.”

  Her lies sounded just like her truths, but her eyes had given her away. “That’s not going to work.”

  She rose, backed away. “I should get some sleep.”

  He followed her. “If you want me to help you, then you have to be honest with me.” They were back in the den. “What does this guy think he knows about you?”

  She didn’t look at him. “I have no idea.”

  “Then start by telling me your secrets. The things that you think no one knows. Tell those secrets to me, and I’ll work from there.”

  Now she did look back over her shoulder at him.

  He read her hesitation too easily.

  “I’ll find out,” he told her, voice soft, “sooner or later. It’s what I do.” What she wanted him to do. If Jennifer hadn’t wanted the truth to come to light, then she never should have come to his office.