by Brenda Novak
“Or someone,” Cruz added, thinking they’d might never know who.
Chapter 63
November, Present Day
Frankie Jones became the worst kind of recalcitrant patient – a medical doctor forced to become dependent on others.
Slater insisted she recuperate with him at his ranch home at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Tending Cole Hansen as he gradually mended filled the short, winter days.
Cruz visited Frankie nearly every day – she insisted he kept her sane.
He insisted Dr. Frankie Jones was distracting. Very distracting.
“I’m thinking about moving back into my father’s house,” Frankie declared one day when the snow fell lightly on the distant mountains. “Do you think I should?”
Cruz thought she looked lovely in the early evening light, in spite of the weight she’d lost. “Would you feel safe there, after what’s happened?”
She shrugged and abandoned the topic. “What’s going to happen to Cole now that he’s nearly well? Will he be safe out there?” She gestured vaguely in a southward direction.
“As much as anywhere,” Cruz answered. “He can’t hide out at Slater’s house forever. I’m working on finding him a transitional house, and Slater has a job lined up for him.”
“Good.”
His glance dropped to her mouth. He was thinking about kisses – getting distracted again.
“I’ve given notice at Pelican Bay,” Frankie continued. “Put the Crescent City house up for sale.”
“Oh?”
“I can’t go back there,” she insisted. “There’s too much of the story that hasn’t been written yet, and I – well, I want to be near my father.”
Frankie wasn’t ready to reveal her father’s connection to the man his gang members called the Professor, but she wanted to be honest with Cruz. “I need to find out what really happened when my mother died.”
She had shared what little she knew of her mother’s death, her father’s conviction for her murder, and his sentence of fifteen-to-life for second-degree murder. Cruz tried to imagine the strain of that event on a seventeen-year-old girl, but he couldn’t. “Where did you go after it happened?”
“My mother’s sister – Aunt Elaine,” she replied shortly. “Of course, she was completely convinced – still is – that Dad killed Mom. She didn’t make life easy for me.” She turned away from his steady, dark eyes and gazed out the window to the lightly snow-dusted trees surrounding Slater’s property.
Cruz got up to make cups of hot cocoa. When they’d settled down again, he asked thoughtfully, “Do you think Stark had anything to do with your mother’s death? Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. It happened so long ago. What reason would Stark have to harm her? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe not to you when you were seventeen, but we might be able to uncover reasons from an adult perspective,” Cruz argued.
Frankie leaned forward and took one of his hands in both hers. She liked his saying “we,” as if they were a team. “We’ve got more – more pressing concerns.”
He returned the pressure, bumped knees with her. He enjoyed the contact, however slight.
So far there had been no more deaths in Bigler County or the surrounding ones.
She shook her head thoughtfully. “They’re pinning everything on Jeffrey Rawley, but I keep thinking about those organs. The skill and precision it took to remove them. I can’t see Rawley doing that.”
“We’ve got our killer,” Cruz assured her. “We know Rawley killed Dickey Hinchey because we have physical evidence from his apartment. Angie ID’ed him as her kidnapper.”
However, Frankie was convinced Jeffrey Rawley hadn’t committed all three murders. Maybe he was responsible for the kidnapping of Angie Hunt and the death of Dickey Hinchey, but she didn’t believe he killed the Hightower girl or the Sacramento woman.
“The District Attorney isn’t going to pursue another line of investigation,” Cruz continued. “He doesn’t want to damage the case against Rawley.”
“So any further work on the case will have to be done by the three of us,” she declared.
He laughed. “Good luck with getting Slater on board. Rogue agents in a civilian capacity?” He rose, took Frankie by one hand and tugged her to her feet. “Let’s take a walk.”
They wrapped themselves in coats and scarves, even though the temperature was mild despite the snowfall. They followed a well-trodden path into the woods, Cruz still holding her hand. He wasn’t going to let go.
Not right away. Not any time soon.
“I need to feel settled somewhere – not here,” Frankie confessed. “Here I feel so ... unanchored.” She ran her fingers through her loose hair. “I can’t let Anson Stark control my entire life. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder, afraid all the time.”
“You know, Slater would be all right with you staying here indefinitely.”
“I know, but I – ”
“Or you could stay with me,” Cruz interrupted. He leaned close to her, their legs touching now, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Even though my apartment is the size of a postage stamp.”
When she didn’t pull back, he tipped his head to one side. His breath was warm and sweet on her face, his mouth inches from hers. She understood he was waiting for a signal from her. A yes.
His lips grazed hers and he pulled back, looking into gray eyes, usually calm and clear, now stormy and filled with an emotion Cruz hadn’t seen before, but recognized as passion. “My place is small,” he added inanely, “but no one would ever suspect you were living there.”
Frankie wrapped her arms around his waist, smoothed her hands up his broad back, and tilted her head, pulled him closer. “Or – or maybe we could find a place together. You could protect me there.”
He laughed softly. “Or you could protect me.”
Their breaths mingled and became a whirlwind she lost herself in. This was crazy – too soon, too impetuous – all things, as a doctor and a scientist, she wasn’t.
He kissed her, tentatively at first, and then with greater pressure. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him. The whirlwind grew into a hurricane of emotions, her head swam with feeling, raw and gripping, and she stood on tiptoes to place her hands on either side of his face.
She felt as if she were home at last.
Epilogue
“Reverse the orders,” Anson Stark said, his sallow face as hard as marble. “They don’t know enough to hurt us.”
“Both of them – Jones and Hansen?”
“Yes.”
Griff looked skeptically at the Professor’s carved profile. “You sure? I know you don’t like leaving loose ends.”
Stark smiled slyly, the first time Griff had ever seen that particular expression on his boss’s face. “Ah, but I’ve left no loose ends, my friend. None at all.”
Griff frowned, looked puzzled and not at all sure of what was going on. As the Professor had always known, the brute was good for muscle, but little else.
He clarified for his slow-witted lieutenant.
“Dr. Frankie Jones is like her father. She knows when to fold her cards. She won’t bother us anymore.”
Griff nodded, turned to leave, but Stark’s voice halted him.
“And, Griff, be sure our next physician understands the, ah, terms of his employment. I don’t want a repeat of the Dr. Jones fiasco.”
After Griff left, Stark was returned to his SHU cell and lay down on his bunk, contemplating the concrete ceiling.
Yes, indeed, Dr. Frankie Jones was very much like her father.
Roger Milano returned to Folsom Prison where he recovered in the hospital ward there. He wouldn’t die. He experienced only mild relief at the prognosis. Actually, he didn’t much care one way or the other. The only thing that concerned him was the future of his daughter.
He’d bet his life Anson Stark was behind this – all of it.
; But he wouldn’t bet Frankie’s life.
After another week in the clinic, Roger was transferred to a cell, not his former one, but a new one where he had a different cellmate, an old-timer named Douglas Houser. The other inmates called him Doogie, for obvious reasons.
The man was older than Roger by several decades, and had spent most of his life in jail or prison. One look at the man’s tired, faded eyes, and Roger knew the man was there both as informant and bodyguard. Although what good the short, wiry fellow would be for protection Roger doubted.
On the third day with his new cellmate, Roger received a message inside a library book which he hadn’t ordered. The inmate librarian handed the book through the bars, lowered his voice, and murmured, “Page 187.” He moved on without another word.
Police code for homicide was 187.
When Roger opened the book to the designated page, a brief, handwritten note read, “‘Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.”
Shakespeare, of course, the play Hamlet.
The bloody bastard always did like his Shakespeare, and the warning was clear to Frank. Whatever Roger knew would have to remain locked in his memory.
His silence was the price for Frankie’s safety.
Watch for the exciting sequel to “Without Malice”
Coming July 2015
“Without Fear”
Follow Jo Robertson on her website at
http://jorobertson.com
Other Books by Jo Robertson
The Watcher
The Avenger
The Traitor
Frail Blood
Weak Flesh
The Hitman Series
Storm of Crimson, a Young Adult Novel
“The Perfect Gift,” a Christmas Novella
“Willing Seduction”
An Historical Novella, w/a Temple Rivers
“Improper Seduction”
An Historical Novella, w/a Temple Rivers
Turn the Tables
A Kathleen Turner Series Novella
by Tiffany Snow
Also by Tiffany Snow
The Tangled Ivy Trilogy
In His Shadow
Shadow of a Doubt
The Risky Business Series
Power Play
Playing Dirty
Play to Win
The Kathleen Turner Series
No Turning Back
Turn to Me
Turning Point
Out of Turn
Point of No Return
Companion Novels
Blane’s Turn
Kade’s Turn
Blank Slate
For those readers who call Blane
and Kade their book boyfriends.
Prologue
“You are hereby banned from the MGM Grand. Your names and photos are on record. Should you show your faces here again, you will be escorted from the premises in a very unpleasant way.”
Blane Kirk gave a curt nod, eyeing the seven linebacker-size security men flanking him and his brother in the nondescript room located in the bowels of one of the most well-known and largest casinos in the world. Tourists usually didn’t see this side of Sin City, and he’d rather not have either.
“Room service sucked anyway.”
Blane shot his brother a look at the comment, but Kade looked unrepentant, his gaze sharp and cold as he surveyed the men surrounding them.
“We’ll just be on our way,” Blane said, giving Kade a nudge.
The man in charge of the casino didn’t smile as he opened the door. Blane prayed Kade would keep his mouth shut as they walked out, but alas, it wasn’t to be.
“Coulda said thanks for providing something more for you guys to do than intimidating little grannies at the slots,” Kade said. “You’re welcome.” He rolled his eyes at Blane. “Some people.”
“Come on,” Blane muttered, grabbing Kade’s elbow and yanking him out the door and down the hall. He could practically feel the security guy’s eyes on their backs. “I’m not really in the mood to get my ass kicked.”
“Aw, we could’ve taken them,” Kade protested, pulling out of Blane’s grasp. He glanced back and grimaced. “Okay, maybe not.”
“Let’s not find out,” Blane said.
They hit the outside of the casino and Blane took a deep breath of the hot, dry Nevada air. Though still a couple of hours until sunrise, it was still a sauna even without the blazing sunshine.
A valet opened the door to a taxi and the men climbed inside. In minutes they were on their way to the airport and he heaved a sigh of relief.
Blane had known from the start that coming to Vegas was a bad idea, he just hadn’t known how bad.
Chapter One
Three Days Earlier
“We’re going to Vegas.”
Blane looked up from the file he was working on at his desk as his brother plopped himself down on the leather sofa in his study.
Dressed in his usual black T-shirt, jeans, and black boots, Kade appeared every inch the bad-guy, a look that notoriously drew women to him like candy. His hair was as black as his shirt and fell in a careless wave over his forehead. Even from this distance, his eyes were a piercing blue, framed by thick dark lashes and wickedly arched brows that women spent thousands of dollars in beauty products trying to achieve.
Even as his half-brother, Blane was hard-pressed to find a physical similarity between the two of them. Where Kade was dark, Blane was fair-haired as a dirty blond, his eyes a shifting gray-green rather than blue. Both were tall, though Blane topped Kade by a couple of inches. Blane was broad while Kade had a lean build, though both men pumped enough iron to be layered in muscle. Not for vanity’s sake, but for survival—a lesson being a Navy SEAL had taught Blane; a lesson the school of hard knocks had taught Kade.
Perhaps the brothers’ similarities were underneath the skin, rather than something that could be seen with the naked eye. Now that Blane could believe.
“Who’s going to Vegas?” he asked, tossing down his pen. Obviously, he wouldn’t be getting any more work done while Kade was there.
“We are. You and me,” Kade said. “A brother bonding trip.”
Blane’s brows flew up. “A brother bonding trip?” he repeated. “Really?”
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” Kade’s dry rejoinder made Blane’s lips twitch.
“I just didn’t realize you were in need of some family time,” Blane teased.
“We haven’t hung out in a while,” Kade said with a shrug. “I thought we could ditch ice cream cones and tossing around a baseball for tequila and showgirls with a side of blackjack.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Have you been to Vegas before?” Blane asked.
“Nope. You?”
“A bachelor party a couple of years ago.” Blane shrugged. “It was all right.” He hadn’t been that impressed with the town or its visitors—people there to gamble away their life savings in the vain hope of hitting it big. Others were desperately looking for a diversion from the dullness of their lives, and still more were searching for something they couldn’t name—be it happiness, a future, or love.
“All right? Just all right?” Kade snorted. “Obviously, you didn’t do Vegas the way it should be done.”
“And you think you know how it should be done?” Blane grinned.
“I think the two of us could make one helluva dent in Sin City, brother.”
It wouldn’t hurt for Blane to take a couple of days off from the law firm—his current cases could wait—and this was a first, Kade wanting to go on a trip with him. Blane considered his brother for a moment, eyes narrowing.
“You’re telling me the truth, right?” he asked. “This is a pleasure trip, not…business?” Especially Kade’s business. Too smart for his own good, Kade had been writing computer code and hacking into places he shouldn’t since before it was a “thing.” Now, he made a living doing it for people Blane didn’t even want to think about. And on the side…well, on
the side he hired himself out as someone who could track anyone down for the right price. What he chose to do with them once he found them was also something Blane didn’t want to dwell on.
“You don’t think I’d just want to go somewhere and hang out with my big brother?” Kade asked. “I’m hurt.”
But Blane wasn’t fooled by the non-answer. He gave Kade a steady look until he caved.
“All right, it may be a little business, but that won’t take long and then we can enjoy ourselves,” Kade said.
“Will this…business…be dangerous?”
“Nope.”
“Could we go to jail?”
“Only if we get caught.”
“Kade—”
“Kidding!” Kade interrupted Blane’s warning. “Just kidding. You really should loosen up. You need to go to Vegas more than I need to go to Vegas.”
Blane rolled his eyes.
“So are you in or what?” Kade asked.
Blane hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “All right. I’m in.”
Which was how he found himself walking in to a suite at the MGM Grand the next day. Kade had booked the hotel, saying a client had comped him an upgrade. Blane hadn’t asked which client.
“I’ve gotta do some shopping,” Kade said, popping in the door to Blane’s bedroom in the two-bedroom suite. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He pointed his finger at Blane. “Don’t drink everything in the minibar before I get back.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blane tossed back, though a drink did sound good.
He was on his second scotch and water by the time Kade returned, carrying a garment bag.
Blane frowned. “What did you buy?” he asked.
“A suit,” Kade replied.
Considering the Tom Ford logo on the bag, it looked like Kade had also spared no expense.