Up in Smoke (Kisses and Crimes Book 2)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  “Aw, hell, Pea. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. No respectable New Yorker passes on food; I don’t care how much work is involved. Now how many New York pizzas do I have to stuff down your throat before you revert back?” She narrowed her eyes. “But seriously… how was France? I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “France was…” I thought for a second, looking up at the ceiling. “French.” I laughed. “And don’t give me that shit. You’re in Hoboken. You’re the one who needs converting.”

  “Jersey is a hop, skip and a jump away.”

  “Sure it is,” I commented innocently. “Just take a right at the chemical plant, swim over the sea of hoagies and hairspray, and you’ll be right back in the City. But I swear to fucking God, if you came back here with a spray tan, I’ll…”

  Delilah chuckled. “Get outtaaa here,” she drew out in the thickest New York accent I’ve ever heard.

  My sides were hurting. It felt so fucking good to crack up in the presence of someone who understood, someone who got me, someone who knew how elated—and terrified—I was to be back home.

  “Soooo,” Del sighed on a trailing laugh. “Have you seen him yet?”

  I wiped a tear, giggling. “Him? Him who?” I huffed. “Bishop? Del, you already know the situation, and I…”

  “No,” she interrupted. “Not Bishop. The other him. Jax.”

  I stopped. “You mean the ‘bane of my existence’?”

  “Pea…” she started to warn me.

  “No. Okay?!” I cut in. “I haven’t seen him yet.” I kicked off my high heels, sitting. “But I’ve tried.”

  “And by tried, you mean ‘made the least amount of effort possible’?

  “Well…” Shit, Del knew me all too well. “I’ve been doing what I can.”

  “Well, try harder.” She blew out a long breath, analyzing me through the camera. “Look, Peabody, I know why you’re back. And I’m not saying that I agree with it, but I know you can’t do it alone. Stop carrying the world on your shoulders. Let someone else help you with the weight.”

  I crossed my legs, placing the edge of my index finger on my bottom teeth.

  “Don’t put your fingers in your mouth,” my sister warned warmly. “They’re dirty.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’m for real, Pea.”

  “I know,” I pouted.

  “Call him…” Her brown eyes bored into mine through the FaceTime.

  I rolled my own eyes. “I will.”

  She threw up her little finger. “Pinky promise?”

  I exhaled loudly, sitting up straighter. “Del, what? We’re way too fucking old for that. I mean, you are…”

  “Pinky promise!” she squealed shrilly over the line. She squeezed her eyes shut, and I almost burst out laughing into tears again.

  “Fine. Shit.” I threw up my own pinky. “I pinky-promise.”

  “Good. Now bring your stiff, skinny-minny ass closer to the phone and give me a kiss.”

  I smiled and pretended to kiss the camera.

  “Take one for yourself,” I mentioned. “And give one to my Melanie.”

  “Will do,” she left off. She stuck out her thumb and pinky, placing it to her face, mouthing “Call him” before she ended the face chat.

  I gave her one final smile, placing the phone face down before she could see the absolute fucking fear in my eyes.

  Call him.

  Like it was so easy. Jackson and I had an arrangement. I was a businesswoman; I always made good on my arrangements. But technically, if I wanted to be a stickler about it, I guess this time didn’t count, because technically…

  The two of us had “unfinished business.”

  The last time I’d seen Jackson Reed, I’d been his hostage. The first time? His woman.

  And I didn’t even want to think about the time in-between those… Back four years ago, when everything changed.

  It was all my fault, really. I was the one who roped in Bishop and Jackson on my “master plan”… and it had failed epically. After that, none of our lives would be the same.

  And so, we made a dangerous deal—Jackson and I.

  Four years ago, I’d promised to stay the hell out of his life.

  Today, he broke his promise…

  And now I’m breaking mine.

  SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

  JACKSON

  She’d broken her word.

  Five minutes ago, I asked my secretary, Mable, to leave my office phone on “Do Not Disturb” and here I was, five minutes later, getting disturbed.

  A call from “Fast Taxis” made its way through. A voicemail from Jeff had found its way to my phone, blinking as annoyingly as the kid himself, and by the time, the third call came through, I was ready to blow a gasket.

  I nearly ripped the cord from the wall.

  The only thing that stopped me was my internal reminder that it was lunch. My growling stomach was right on time, and I called out to Mable for the fourth iteration from a small opening in my large office door.

  “Mable?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What’s the word on the Chinese?”

  “The Chinese?”

  “Yeah. The Chinese.”

  “Oh. Boozi chulli,” she answered.

  Bulls-eye what? What the… What the fuck was that? “Excuse me? I didn’t quite get that.”

  She huffed. “Mandarin. Means ‘it’s not here yet.’”

  I could hear her smile through the door. I wasn’t amused… Well, yeah, I was, but I didn’t want her to know it. She was old enough to be my mother, but I was still the fucking boss.

  “Smart-ass,” I called through the crack in the door.

  “Hey, hey, hey! Watch your language, young man. I can still put you across my knee.”

  “And I’m sure you would, Mable. And please… no more calls this time. Not even those spammy e-mails I keep getting. Not unless it’s Chinese. I’ve got a splitting fucking headache.”

  And who wouldn’t? A potential lawsuit from the taxi company, a week-long suspension of one of my most eager associates and Reed Investigations Agency wasn’t looking too good this quarter.

  Not to mention the Harrison assignment had gone bust. I was fucked. I might have even had to give up Mable….

  And I wasn’t too keen on handing over my favorite girl “Maybelline” to just any crock-of-shit company.

  I had to figure something the fuck out.

  And that’s when it happened. She crossed my mind. Again. She always did at the weirdest fucking times. This just happened to be one of my most reasonable ones. Because, well, she was a lawyer… and technically, I had one heated cabbie who wanted to sue my ass.

  But, speaking of asses…

  I got up from my desk, strolling over to my open front door before closing the soundproof wood quickly.

  I settled back in my seat, stressed, and let my mind play with the one stress reliever that never disappointed.

  It had been fifteen years, and she was still my go-to, a fact that should have bothered me, but never did.

  She was soft, firm in all the right places, and the skin I had once caressed had only gotten softer with time. Teenage muscle had melded into tight, delicate curves, sloping lines that flared out enticingly at the ass and hips.

  Sinewy arches had turned into handfuls that I could sink my fingertips into. She was a runner. Always had been. And her body had shown the marks of her hard work.

  That mouth, lush and scathing, was another beast when it was opened in the ways I liked most. When it was receptive. Receiving whatever I had to give…

  I unzipped my black slacks.

  Her kiss was as intense as everything else about her. Her attitude. Her passion. Her love-making.

  I released myself from the unzipped hole, gripping my growing cock with a tightening fist. I stroked.

  Her hair, strawberry-colored and cool to the touch, had strands that were made for pulling, and pulling is exactly what the fuck I d
id. As often and as hard as I could to let her know one thing.

  That she was mine.

  Versions of her—young and older—flashed through my mind. Swapping places. Switching faces. And every one of them was beautiful.

  Fifteen years ago. Four years ago. Two months. It was all the same to me… because hers was a rejection I never forgot.

  I wanted to hate her, love her, fuck her and then repeat.

  And in my mind, I could. So that’s what I did. Pumping my dick into a fist that had magically become her tight center.

  And it shouldn’t have been happening. I should have been imagining bending over a newly-single Mrs. Harrison, the coffee girl at the local shop, any-fucking-body but her.

  I was insane. You weren’t supposed to dwell on women you had been with a decade and a half before; you were supposed to forget them. I’d been with more women than I could count, using them to scrub the memory of her from my body, and it never fucking worked.

  I still couldn’t get fucking rid of her.

  She had worked her way under my skin… and I tried to convince myself that the passion for her I felt was only disdain.

  That goddamned Penelope. Warm—soft in all of the places that mattered. Her courtroom resolve meant nothing in my bedroom. Between my sheets, her tenacity melted. She melted… and I remembered what it was like to test and feel every wet inch.

  I stroked so hard I thought I might explode.

  And when that drop of moisture appeared at my tip, signaling the intensity of my arousal, I took my thumb and rubbed it around the head. Now slick around the tip, my cock slid smoothly between my fingers, pulsing as it prepared to reach its well-earned peak.

  I felt Penelope’s name on the edge of my lips… and I didn’t hold it back.

  And just when I felt myself begin to come, just when my climax threatened to crash and ruin me, that fucking office phone rang.

  I growled so deep that it was animalistic. Enraged, I snatched the black oblong headpiece from my office phone off the receiver.

  I had to tell myself to take it easy on the Chinese delivery man.

  “Man, I’m telling you, Wu… my lunch better be piping fucking hot.”

  There was a pause on the other end.

  “Sadly, darling… This isn’t Wu and, even more sadly, this isn’t lunch. But I don’t think you’ll mind in a few minutes.”

  Surprise stole my voice. For the first time in a long while, I faltered for words.

  A feminine voice—breathy and genteel—spoke on the other line. It definitely wasn’t Wu, and I didn’t recognize it. But I did recognize the immediate reaction it gave me.

  It was something about that voice.

  Maybe it was the intonation—proper and regal. It spoke of power, barely-concealed patience and a smugness that I knew all too well. The woman on the line had a smokiness in her voice that reminded me of Mable… and a latent threat that could only be the working of a Bureaucrat.

  The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle.

  This was the type of voice I’d been used to… back when I was in “the Agency.” And I didn’t need another Fed fucking up my life. Hell, I wasn’t even going to let one fuck up my afternoon, let alone delay my next order of General Tso’s Chicken.

  My reply was as short as I could make it.

  “Ahhh, another agent. Well, you’ll pardon my French, ma’am, but I’ve already spoken to you boys—and girls—enough now. I don’t know anything about what happened to Bishop. So, you’ll appreciate my frankness when I suggest that you and the Bureau quite literally suck a cock. I have nothing else to say to anyone.”

  She laughed. It was a warm, curious sound, surprisingly without snootiness. I prepared to hang up the phone, but as soon as I begin to replace its receiver, she called out.

  Her next words shocked me. In fact, they were downright chilling.

  “You’re still a southern gentleman, aren’t you, Mr. Reed? Sixteen years removed from Georgia, and, still, you call me ‘ma’am’ while you’re insulting me. Amazing. But this call isn’t about Mister Bishop, Mr. Reed. I’m not interested in fugitives. I’m interested in you.”

  I balked, narrowing my eyes at nothing in particular. What did this woman know? And why did I have this overwhelming feeling that she already had the upper hand?

  “What about me?” I gritted.

  “I want to help you.”

  I snorted. “Sure you do.”

  “I do,” she cut in. “I want to save your company, Mr. Reed.” My heart started to beat a little harder. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Success with your own business?”

  Anger made my arteries feel as if they were hardening. I could barely breathe. My chest felt tight. My lungs felt tight.

  And I’d never been so mad while my dick was hanging out of my pants. This was a first.

  I tucked my cock back in.

  “What exactly are you calling for, Missus, uh…?”

  “My name doesn’t matter,” she interrupted. “What I can do for you does.”

  I sniffed. “And what exactly can you do for me?”

  The line went silent. She hesitated, and I got the distinct impression that she had done so for effect. She wanted to draw me in, and given all of the information she had just divulged, I’d say she’d played her cards exactly right.

  Her teasing reeled me in. I was completely hooked.

  “I do lots of things, Mr. Reed, for lots of different people. Mostly? I offer opportunities. And now I’m offering you one.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I never asked for one.”

  “You never thought to,” she drawled. “And that’s okay… because technically, I would be your client, and you would be my hire.”

  “And—what if my roster were full?” I bluffed. I stood from my chair, sitting on the edge of my desk. “I don’t just take anybody, ma’am. There’s a vetting process involved. You don’t hire me. In my agency… I’m the one that chooses you.”

  “That could never happen, Mr. Reed. This would have to be an anonymous deal on my part. I can’t promise that we’ll meet. Only that if we do… I’d prefer to keep things quiet. But I am more than happy to send my representative.”

  “I don’t deal with representatives, ma’am.”

  “I think you’ll make an exception this time…” Her tone was smug. “I think you’ll find Mr. Benjamin much more agreeable than me.”

  “Mr. Benjamin?”

  Confused, still fucking oblivious, I gave myself another minute to entertain this conversation before I ended it.

  “Actually,” she corrected herself. “It’s more accurate to say Mr. Franklin instead. Benjamin Franklin.”

  Now was my turn to laugh. I laughed so hard I thought I might fall off my desk. The bewilderment of my afternoon had made a sense of humor hard to come by… but this offer, so small and insignificant, gave me the release I sorely needed.

  I laughed until I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. I sighed.

  “Alright, look, lady. I appreciate your offer, but frankly, Mrs. Franklin?” I laughed again. “Mr. Benjamin isn’t going to cut it.”

  The woman’s patience was steely. I caught a chill… just before she spoke again.

  “How about twenty thousand of him?”

  The laughter died quickly in my throat. I coughed, standing slowly. I said the first words that came to my mind.

  “Bull-shit.”

  She inhaled. Loudly. “Two million dollars, Mr. Reed. All cash… All yours.”

  She continued.

  “You’ll receive instructions within the next three days. I advise you to use the down payment I’m giving you wisely, Mr. Reed. You’ll need it… if you really want to get to him.”

  “Him? Him who?”

  She snorted softly on a quiet laugh. “Why, the guest of honor, of course.”

  My head hurt from all of the confusing puzzles. I didn’t know “up” from “down.”

  “Wha…? None of this makes fucking s
ense. How do I know that this conversation, this whole call, isn’t a line of horse shit?”

  “Well, I can assure, Mr. Reed… the invitation that has just been left with your secretary is not horse shit. And neither is the briefcase at her desk with your down payment.”

  I got the sense that she was smiling.

  “Wait for my instructions, Mr. Reed. Three days…”

  She paused.

  “I’ll let you get back to your…” She took a deep breath. “Personal business.”

  And with that, she was gone, the line clicking softly on her end.

  LIKE A MOTH TO A FLAME

  PENELOPE

  The invitation was simple.

  Halloween. Party. Costume.

  I could do that. I could do all three of those; I had done all three of those. Some people would say really well…

  So why did I feel this overwhelming urge to vomit?

  It was just another party. A small, intimate gathering… of two hundred and fifty CEOs, heads of state and more rich people than you could shake a dollar bill at.

  No big fucking deal, right?

  You danced with dignitaries, ignored their advances as their wives got drunk off expensive champagne, and pretended not to notice when people disappeared, when spouses split up into separate rooms, when private affairs took a public stage.

  It was politics. As usual. But I convinced myself I was going to have a good time.

  I was going to dance. I was going to mingle. And I was going to steal from one of the most powerful men in the country.

  Just thinking about it made my upchuck reflex start to tickle. I slammed my hand down on my desk, using every swear word in the English language… and a few in French.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  There weren’t enough “shit’s, fuck’s, and goddamn’s” in the world to calm me down. I was an amateur at this. I always was.

  Bishop was gone. And how the hell was I going to pull this off without Jackson?

  Taking a swig of my own water bottle, I exited my office, pouncing on my New York secretary the minute I opened the door.

  “Any luck today, Sienna?”

  My question was an unintended growl.