She shouldn’t have gone out for drinks with Tiffany after work last night. But she’d had a hard week, and making wise decisions had never been her strong suit. She was better than she used to be, miles away from perfect.
The video game paused like a record skipping. “Mom!”
She startled, almost slamming her hand in the kitchen drawer where she stashed her extra cigarettes. “What?”
Jamie and his friend, Pablo, were sitting on the couch. Pablo’s eyes widened at the sight of her bare legs. She was wearing her typical pajamas, a T-shirt and panties. Her son looked mortified.
How was she supposed to know he had company?
“Get ready to go to your grandma’s,” she said, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too bad.”
“I have soccer practice!”
Damn. She juggled the soda and cigarettes, nearly dropping both. Jamie had begged to join a competitive soccer team all summer. Eventually she’d conceded. He was a good boy, smart and athletic, with that elusive responsibility gene she lacked. She didn’t like him staying by himself when she was at work, but so far he’d been fine. He rode his bike to soccer practice with Pablo, their neighbor. The games didn’t start until fall.
“You can miss one practice,” she said.
He jumped up off the couch, incensed. “This is the most important practice. The first game is next weekend.”
Already? Jesus, time flew.
“You said I didn’t have to go to Grandma’s anymore.”
“I changed my mind.”
“I can stay with Pablo.”
She glanced at Jamie’s friend, who didn’t protest this suggestion even though it wasn’t very reasonable. His family lived next door in a trailer smaller than hers. Jamie was always welcome there, which was nice, but Pablo had more brothers and sisters than she could count. There was no room for Pablo, let alone Jamie. If she said yes, Pablo and Jamie would just hang out here, like they always did.
“No,” she said.
“This sucks,” he yelled. “What about the game next week?”
“If you don’t watch your mouth, you’ll miss that, too.”
Scowling, he threw down the video-game controller. It bounced off the coffee table and knocked over a bag of chips. Nuclear-orange particles spilled across the carpet. Pablo tried to pick them up. He was a sweet kid. He probably never talked back to his mother. The behavior was unusual for Jamie, too.
Janelle didn’t want to argue in her underwear, so she walked away, aware that her T-shirt didn’t quite cover her butt. At least she wasn’t wearing a thong. Inside her room, she cracked open the soda and took a fortifying sip.
What if her son turned out like Shane?
Maybe Jamie’s outburst was a harbinger of things to come. Once he hit puberty, his hormones could take over. He’d change from a sweet kid into a surly teenager. He’d have poor impulse control and violent episodes.
“No,” she said, denying the possibility. “No, no, no.”
After a quick shower, she got dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Lighting a cigarette, finally, she shoved her feet into cowboy boots and grabbed her bag. She looked awful, but it didn’t matter. She did her hair and makeup at work, piling on the products like a sexy mask. By the time she was ready to go on stage, she almost couldn’t recognize herself. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.
She fished around for her big sunglasses and put them on, along with her straw hat. “Ready?” she asked from the hallway, hoping Jamie had calmed down.
He came out of his room with his backpack. It was stuffed with superhero comics and video games, maybe a real book or two. By some miracle, he liked to read and write. She wished she could say the same. Every page of her college course work had been a struggle for her. It had taken her four years to earn an AA degree.
They completed the drive to Niland in silence.
“I won’t do it again,” he muttered.
“Damn right,” she said, glancing at his sullen face. He had Shane’s blue eyes, paired with her freckled nose and brown hair. He was growing like a weed, taking after his father. In a year he’d be taller than her. “Do what?”
“We only looked at it once.”
She gave him a blank stare.
“The magazine.”
After a long pause, her sluggish brain supplied the answer. She’d found a Playboy stashed in the recycling bin the other day. She’d thrown it away without much thought. A short chain-link fence separated their tiny front yard from the sidewalk. Anyone could have tossed the magazine into their bin.
Apparently it was Jamie’s. He took care of the trash and the recycling. If she hadn’t been digging around in the bin, searching for an empty water bottle to wash and refill, she wouldn’t have seen it.
She studied her son with a mixture of chagrin and concern. He was only eleven. She’d had boobs when she was eleven, but he was a boy. They matured at a slower rate. He wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t ready for this.
Oh, God. Jamie and Pablo had been ogling pictures of naked women. This morning’s underwear accident seemed so much more inappropriate now. Her cheeks heated with shame. She hadn’t even known they were curious about sex. They didn’t talk about girls. They played sports, geeked out on comics and ate junk food.
Janelle suppressed the urge to crack the window and light up another cigarette. She tried not to smoke in the car with Jamie. It was a million degrees out, anyway, and her air conditioner couldn’t keep up. Her side window was still broken. She’d covered it with clear plastic and duct tape, praying the highway patrol wouldn’t pull her over for the violation.
A ticket was all she needed.
“I don’t care about the magazine,” she said, glancing in her rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t punish you for that.”
“Then what did I do?”
“Nothing, baby. I just didn’t feel like leaving you alone.” When she reached across the cab to ruffle his hair, he shied away from her. Sighing, she returned her attention to the road. Although she didn’t want him to think he’d done something wrong, she couldn’t tell him about the scary phone call. He had no idea his father was out of prison. Shane wasn’t supposed to be paroled for another year.
At first she’d felt a twinge of guilt for refusing Shane’s requests to visit. Now she knew her instincts had been spot-on. He was already in trouble again. And she would never let him bring that trouble to her son.
Never.
“You weren’t worried last night,” he said.
That wasn’t true. She’d checked on him before sneaking out with Tiffany. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone at all, but she had so many responsibilities, and so few opportunities to cut loose.
“I’m always worried. My car got broken into at work, and I heard there was a home invasion on the other side of town.”
“Who would rob us? We don’t have anything.”
“You have an Xbox.”
His eyes narrowed. “We should buy a gun.”
She laughed, even though she felt like crying. “Maybe I can work something out with Pablo’s mother.” The only other option she could think of was Shane’s mother. Sally Jackson lived in Salton City. They’d never had much of a relationship, maybe because Janelle hadn’t felt comfortable around Shane’s father. That wasn’t an issue anymore. According to Owen, Sally worked long hours as a nurse’s aide. She also had a drug problem. She wasn’t an ideal babysitter, but Jamie didn’t need close supervision.
They arrived at her mother’s house a few minutes later. Renata Parker had rheumatoid arthritis, which limited her mobility. Her second husband had left five years ago, after the diagnosis. She lived on disability checks.
Renata wasn’t affectionate or attentive, but she was steady. With Janelle’s father and stepfather out of the picture, her mother’s home was safe. Janelle appreciated that. It was what she’d longed for most at Jamie’s age.
She stared at the pristine white gravel in the front yard, remembering.
“I’m already bored,” Jamie said.
“There are worse things in life than being bored.”
He glanced at her, contemplative. “Take me to work with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I can scrub floors or do dishes for money.”
“You’re underage.”
“I’ll hide in the back.”
He thought she was a waitress in a sports bar. She wondered what he’d say if he ever found out the truth. Imagining that moment made her die inside, just a little bit. “Is there another reason you don’t want to stay here?”
“Like what?”
“Someone hurting you?”
“Grandma, you mean? She can’t hurt a fly.”
“You could tell me if she did.”
He gave her a puzzled look. She was glad he didn’t know what she was talking about. Glad he didn’t have to go through what she had.
“You can talk to me about anything,” she said, feeling awkward. “Is there a question you want to ask me...about girls?”
Now he understood where this was going. He flushed red, shaking his head.
Janelle’s face got warm, too. Despite her lack of modesty and her sleazy job, she wasn’t comfortable with this topic. It was a conversation a boy should have with his father. Shane had let them both down in so many ways.
“What about your uncle Owen?” she asked, struck by inspiration. “Would you talk to him?”
“Oh my God, Mom,” he said, getting out of the car. “Just stop.”
“Should I call him?”
“No!”
“Okay,” she said quickly. “I love you.”
He mumbled the words back to her and slammed the door, hitching his backpack on one shoulder. She watched him walk to the front door, his unruly cowlick sticking up. He needed a haircut and new clothes, badly. His backpack was worn and frayed. Her mother answered, waving at her before they went inside.
It took Janelle several moments to pull herself together. When she felt as though she was in control again, not spiraling toward an emotional breakdown, she placed her hands on the steering wheel and drove to the club.
CHAPTER NINE
OWEN ENDURED THE TORTURE for as long as he could.
After Penny had cried on his shoulder, she’d surrendered to exhaustion and drifted off to sleep. His arm ached from holding her, and his right hand had gone numb. Still, he didn’t move, merely flexing his fingers until they tingled.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the feel of her body against his. He did. But his sexual frustration was at an all-time high.
His contract wasn’t the only reason he kept his distance. Their connection was unlike anything he’d ever known. Her gaze seemed to cut right through him, delving into places he kept hidden. Her touch went deeper. As much as he ached to be with her, he feared the experience would break him. He imagined falling on her like a ravaging beast, unable to control the flood of pent-up desire. Every dirty thought and horrible memory would converge. The emotions he held inside would come pouring out, drowning them both.
Maybe that was a little overdramatic. The bottom line was he’d rather die than hurt her. He couldn’t have casual sex with her; they were too close. His response to her was too intense. And her father would disown her. Owen refused to be responsible for a rift between them. They were a nice family. She was a nice girl.
He was supposed to be protecting her.
Sex shouldn’t have been an issue with Penny. She was his client. Even if he’d been capable of a healthy relationship, she was off-limits. He hadn’t considered asking her out before he’d taken the job with her father, either. Their mutual friends had teased him about her, saying she was interested, but he hadn’t believed them.
Why would drop-dead gorgeous Penny Sandoval be infatuated with him?
He’d realized that she liked him as a person. They’d bonded during the earthquake. She was still close with Cadence and the others. A special friendship, even one between members of the opposite sex, didn’t have to develop into something else. He’d always assumed that his lust wasn’t reciprocated.
Her behavior just now suggested otherwise. Owen was no Lothario, but her signals seemed clear. When a woman put her arms around his neck and pressed kisses on his face, she was looking for more than a platonic hug.
He replayed her actions, searching for an alternate explanation. She’d turned his head toward hers, kissing the tender spots on his cheek and jaw. Then she’d inched closer to his lips, as if begging him to kiss her back.
Last night, before going on stage, she’d asked him to kiss her, point-blank. Her mouth had been as red and ripe as a cherry. He imagined that mouth all over his body, leaving marks on his skin. He couldn’t decide which was sexier, bare lips or painted. Bare, probably. Bare and natural and sweet-tasting.
He studied their surroundings for a moment before turning his gaze on her. Now that she was asleep, he felt safe ogling her. When she was awake, he tried to keep his eyes averted. He was usually more successful. The stress of the past twenty-four hours had taken its toll, weakening his resolve.
The dress she was wearing had been provocative in its original state. Not too provocative, but revealing enough to make a man look twice. “Tasteful cleavage,” she’d called it. The enticing hint of fullness invited a closer inspection. Although he couldn’t see much more from the waist up, he had an extensive mental catalog to refer to. His go-to favorite was of Penny’s soaked blouse after the water-balloon incident. The wet fabric had clung to her breasts and exposed the dark circles of her nipples. His erection grew impossibly stiff against his damp pants as he continued his perusal.
From the waist down...he smothered a groan. Her panties were visible beneath a thin, ragged layer of fabric, which only covered her to midthigh. Her legs were long and luscious, honey-smooth. He’d love to feel them wrapped around his hips as he slid into her. Pulse throbbing, he glanced away.
It seemed as if he’d wanted her forever. The idea that she might want him, in return, was almost beyond his comprehension. He’d learned at a young age not to get his hopes up. Her desire was too good to be true—and too hot to handle.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything. She was scared and vulnerable. She’d needed comfort, and he was available.
Wincing, he moved his arm out from under her and scooted away. She murmured a protest and curled up on her side, facing the other direction. Unfortunately, the position offered another visual feast. Against his better judgment, he engaged in a more thorough inspection of her legs. Her tattered skirt and lacy panties didn’t do a very good job of covering her pretty ass. She had pebbles and leaves embedded in her flesh.
His fingertips itched to remove them.
Instead of reaching out to her, he ground the heel of his palm against his hard-on. It didn’t help, of course.
He stood and focused on surveillance for a few minutes. He was trained to study an area section by section in regular intervals. By the time he’d done two complete sweeps, the blood had cooled.
Penny slept for about an hour. He thought of several other reasons why he should stay away from her. The situation was inappropriate. He should be concentrating on survival. He didn’t want her to see his tattoos. They weren’t as offensive as before, but the reminder of his checkered past was disturbing.
He felt ugly, inside and out. Tainted. She was beautiful and innocent and pure. His touch would defile her. A hand that had once been marred with a swastika didn’t deserve to caress her honeyed skin.
He was like the Salton Sea. Better at a distance. Filled with old skeletons, toxic to the depths.
Penny woke with a start, sitting up and searching for Cruz.
“He’s still asleep,” Owen said.
She went to check on him anyway, brushing off her bottom as she rose. He clenched his hands into fists, envying the dirt that fell from her skin. Her eyes wer
e puffy and her hair was tangled. She looked a little wild and unkempt. He was fascinated by the sight, perhaps because she was usually so put-together.
What would it be like to see her every morning before she showered or brushed her teeth? To sleep beside her every night, to know her as no one else did?
He accepted the fact that he couldn’t have her. He’d never touch her or give her pleasure or make her his. But as long as they all got through this alive, he’d be okay. Keeping her and Cruz safe was enough.
He lifted the binoculars to do another sweep. A flash of movement caught his attention. Pulse racing, he searched the same section again.
There.
A man ducked into the dwindling midday shadows near the canyon wall. Owen couldn’t see his face, but he recognized the orange trucker cap. Roach sat down and stretched out his legs, as if planning a short rest.
Owen had considered best-case scenarios as well as worst-case. The worst was that Shane would deal with Brett by killing him. With Brett out of the picture, Shane and the others could catch up quickly. The fact that the group of men hadn’t already arrived suggested that the worst-case scenario hadn’t occurred.
Neither had the best-case.
Owen was hoping Shane would take Brett to the hospital and abandon the kidnapping plan altogether. Roach’s skulking presence indicated that Shane hadn’t quit. His brother tended to be tenacious, stubborn and greedy.
Owen lowered the binoculars, noting that Roach was difficult to spot without them. Owen doubted Roach could see him standing in the shade of the palms. Roach probably suspected they were hiding out here because it was a convenient stopover. He’d followed their tracks or caught a glimpse of them hiking.
Maybe Shane had taken Brett back to camp, where he was suffering in slow agony. Maybe they were waiting for nightfall to attack. Maybe they’d attack within the hour. Time was of the essence in a ransom situation. If the exchange didn’t happen the first day or two, complications ensued.
Owen weighed their options, feeling grim. They could leave now and try to lose the tail. Or he could be more proactive and make certain they weren’t followed. Ambushing Roach carried a greater risk, but it was always more advantageous to pick off opponents one by one, rather than taking them on as a group. He didn’t think Roach was armed. Shane wouldn’t have given him his weapon.
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