Hell, he shouldn’t think of her that way, he guessed. She had, after all, saved his life. If she hadn’t gone into that bathroom first, he woulda been the one to set off that bomb. Meaning he woulda been the one who ended up splattered all over the inside of that crappy old house.
“Sorry, Frankie, but she says you gotta go tomorrow.”
He looked at his friend Winkie, who had taken him in off the street and gave him a place to crash while he figured his shit out. “Who runs this house? You or that bitch?”
Winkie had been a badass when they met. Now he was a pussy-whipped daddy who worked at a bottling plant. Some shit like that.
“Don’t talk ’bout my wife like that. She let you come in, let you sleep on our couch, even though we both know what kind’a trouble you’re in.” Winkie had settled down some since the old days, but he still flew off the handle pretty easy, and right now he was bunched up and ready to defend his bossy-ass wife.
“No, no, man,” Frankie said, holding both hands up to make peace. “Sorry, you done me a solid. Both of y’all. I’ll get outta here tomorrow.”
It pissed him off to play so nice, but he knew Winkie was a changed man. His wife hadn’t even wanted to let Frankie walk through the door when he’d come knocking, half deaf and bleeding from the explosion. He’d been allowed in on the condition that he not go upstairs to the kids’ rooms and he had to be out by Monday—now tomorrow.
He’d taken the offer, not having any other options. He couldn’t go to his place; the guy trying to kill him knew where he lived. And so did the police. He didn’t have many other friends who’d take him in, other than Winkie. But he knew that wasn’t gonna last for long, and he had to figure out a way to get away from Southern California. Far away from the charges pending against him. Not to mention far away from the freak who liked to hire people to kill women who pissed him off and then blew up houses to cover up their shit.
“I need money, man,” he told Winkie. Seeing his friend frown, he quickly added, “No, not askin’ for it, bro. I can get some, just gotta figure out the best way.”
“Don’t be bringing any trouble into my house, Frankie. I let you in ’cause of the old days. But I don’t want any street garbage coming to my door. I got my kids to think of.”
“It won’t,” he insisted. “I just…gotta get some money somebody owes me.”
Not that it was gonna be easy getting the guy who had tried to kill him to pay up. If he knew where the fucker lived, he’d go there at night and carve what he was owed out of the sonofabitch’s skin. But he didn’t.
There was one address he knew, though.
Where the woman lived. The writer. The one who’d fought back.
Frankie had nothing against her. She’d done what any woman would do, and he didn’t take it personally. He just wondered if there was any way to get her to give him what he needed.
The man who’d hired him had given him a piece of paper with her address on it. He could get hold of her. He just wondered what somebody like her would pay big money for.
It didn’t take long to figure it out. There was one thing she would definitely want.
Information.
And that Frankie Lee had a lot of. Like the name of the fucker who wanted her dead.
He just had to figure out how to safely get her to pay for it so he could get outta California forever.
* * *
By Sunday night, Rowan had grown so used to having Evie in his place that it felt like she’d been there forever, rather than a little over twenty-four hours.
She was the best houseguest, not that he’d ever had one here before. But if he had, she would definitely be the best. Especially because they had barely left his bed since the night before, getting up only to eat and drink before going right back to bed again.
She was tired, emotionally and physically. So she slept a lot. Rowan watched her, liking the way her lips parted when she drifted off. Even liking her occasional little snore.
Most of the time, though, they had crazy, hot, sometimes slow and sweet, sex.
As soon as they finished, she would move a certain way, look at him from below half-lowered lashes, or laugh her soft, husky laugh, and he’d want her all over again. He wasn’t entirely sure how his legs were still functioning, but in truth, he’d never felt better in his life.
“Okay, I have to take a bath,” she said Sunday evening after they’d finished a spaghetti dinner. He’d cooked this time. There wasn’t much to screw up about boxed pasta and canned sauce, and he even impressed her by chopping up some fresh basil and tossing it in the pot.
“You do that,” he said. “I’ll just get you dirty again later tonight.”
“You could take a bath with me.”
He chuckled. “Maybe if we were at Reece and his fiancée’s place. They have that big sunken tub. Mine’s much more standard.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “Fiancée?”
“Yeah,” he said, remembering the good news he’d gotten at lunch yesterday. The call from Candace had interrupted that lunch; he’d left within two minutes of receiving it. He’d never even gotten around to telling Reece what was going on. All he had been able to think about was getting to Evie. “They got engaged last weekend.”
She smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
“It really is. She’ll keep him on his toes…but down to earth.”
“I think that’s what wives are for. At least, that’s what my mom has always done for my dad. He’s a doctor; he’s pretty cocky. But he scuffs his toe like a little kid when she catches him doing something stupid like washing reds with whites.”
“They sound great.”
“They are.” A shadow crossed her face. “I sent them a text letting them know I was fine, but I guess I’m going to have to pick up the phone and call them soon. I know they’re going to hate that all this is starting again.”
“I don’t know them, but just knowing you, I have no doubt they can handle it. They raised a strong, determined, powerful woman. I can’t imagine they’re not all of those things too.”
She sighed a dreamy little sigh. “Do you ever not say the right thing?”
“Ha. Ask my brothers that question.”
“I will. I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
He nodded, realizing he really needed to finish the conversation he and his siblings had never gotten around to concluding yesterday at lunch. He wanted them to meet Evie, and wanted her to meet them, but not if they were mistrusting and she had no idea why.
“Okay, off to my bath.”
He picked up the glass of wine he’d already poured for her and put it in her hand.
“I could get used to you, Winchester,” she said before sipping appreciatively.
“That’s my strategy.”
“For what?”
“For getting you to keep me around. If I can’t talk you into letting me be your bodyguard, I’ll just have to ply you with wine.” He grinned. “And sex.”
She shivered lightly. “Ply away.”
“Definitely.” He turned her around and gave her a little push toward the bathroom. “Go. Bathe. Get those thigh muscles loosened up. I expect acrobatics tonight.”
“Sorry, I never even tried out for the cheerleading squad.”
“That’s okay. You’re very limber anyway.”
Oh yeah. Very.
Laughing, she went back down the short hallway. Rowan cleaned up the dishes and put them away, and then got online to see if there were any updates on, well…anything.
One of the first things he spotted was an email from his twin. The subject line, You’re such an idiot, gave him a pretty big hint as to what it was about.
He double-clicked, opened it, and read. The message was short and not very sweet:
Raine told me what’s going on. You dumbass.
I’d say you were being led around by your dick, as usual, but Raine says you’re different when you talk about this Evie. And Jess has her romantic antennae
up and says you know what you’re doing. Hope that’s true, that this woman feels the same way and isn’t using you for information. Because if she drags this all up again, I am gonna fucking kill you.
Talk soon—
R
Okay. Not as bad as he’d anticipated. Maybe being called away so quickly yesterday, before he could say what needed to be said, had been a good thing after all. Raine had spilled his guts, probably bearing the brunt of Reece’s anger. By the time his minutes-older brother had written this email, he’d obviously calmed down. A lot.
“Thank you, Jessica,” he murmured, sure that his future sister-in-law had a lot to do with this. She was, apparently, the one looking for any signs that Rowan had a love life. Knowing her, she’d almost certainly viewed this situation as a tragic conflict in the middle of a grand romance—she wanted to write films, after all. She must have convinced Reece to remain calm and give Rowan—and Evie—the chance to prove the situation wasn’t a major calamity.
Which was exactly what he intended to do, and he put it on his list. That list was getting pretty fucking long. It included things like finding out who had broken into Evie’s house.
Getting in touch with the prosecutors back East to see what could be done to keep Angstrom from contacting Evie again.
Helping her with her research for her book.
Finding out what new information Raine had found regarding Harry Baker’s murder.
Continuing to work on this flower murder case, which had captured his thoughts and had his cop senses popping and his brain spinning.
Keeping Evie Fleming as safe and close as she’d let him.
Oh, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.
He’d just finished loading the dishwasher, thinking about that happy thought, when he heard a sharp knock at his door. Not expecting anyone, he approached it cautiously. His backup weapon was on his ankle, back where it belonged, and he immediately thought about it. Which said a lot about how on edge he had been ever since he had realized Evie was being stalked in her own damn house.
Peering through the peephole and seeing a familiar figure, he opened the door.
“This is a surprise.”
Raine didn’t wait to be let in; he simply walked past him. “I needed to talk to you. I was nearby and figured I’d come over and talk to you in person. You raced out of lunch so fast yesterday…”
“Yeah, it was an emergency.”
“I figured. Everything okay?”
He gave his brother a quick rundown, seeing Raine’s forehead furrow in anger when he heard what some psycho bastard had been doing to Evie. He didn’t know her, had never met her, but Raine was a protector, with an especially soft spot for women and children.
Maybe it was no wonder, given what he’d seen and heard, starting the night Rachel had died. They all wanted to know the truth, which was why Raine had been trying to find the girl who’d also been in Baker’s house that final, violent night.
“You need help keeping watch over her?” Raine asked. “I’ve got a couple of guys. We can take shifts.”
Rowan shook his head. “Not now, but thanks. She’s safe with me.”
His brother’s mouth opened, but then closed. He simply shook his head as he realized what Rowan was telling him.
“It’ll be fine,” Rowan said.
“Uh-huh. She here now?”
“In the bath.”
“Okay. I’ll get outta here.”
“Why did you come by?”
“I wanted to fill you in on Marley, or whatever her real name is.”
According to Steve, Marley had been the teenage girl his father had raped the last night of his life. She had outed herself to Steve, looking for money and pointing the finger of blame at the Winchester brothers.
Raine, Rowan, and Reece wanted to know why.
They also wanted to find out what else she knew. She might just hold the key to the mystery of who had killed Harry Baker.
She might even have done it herself.
“She keeps a really low profile. Goes by Sugar on the stripper circuit now.”
“You think she’s in hiding? Is she scared of us?”
“If she really believes we killed Harry Baker, she just might be.”
Behind them, Rowan suddenly heard something shatter.
He swung around and saw Evie standing in the hallway, her eyes wide with shock. Wearing just a towel wrapped loosely around her body, the top tucked in above her breasts, she had apparently finished her bath. On the wood floor, around her bare feet, were the shattered remnants of her wineglass. She had been surprised into dropping it.
Surprised by what she had obviously heard.
“Evie, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
She held up a shaking hand to her face, brushing back the wet hair. “You? It was you? That’s why you don’t want me writing about Harry Baker’s murder, because you and your brothers were involved?”
“Oh shit,” Raine muttered.
Rowan strode toward her. “Evie, you have to let me explain.”
Her blue eyes were wet with tears, her face red from her hot bath or from shock. As he came toward her, she looked ready to turn and dart back toward the bathroom. With the glass around her bare feet, however, he wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
He swung her up into his arms.
“Put me down,” she snapped, smacking him hard on the shoulder.
“You’ll cut your feet. Let me clean this up and then we can talk.”
“I’ll see myself out,” Raine called.
“Yeah, you do that.” Rowan knew it wasn’t his kid brother’s fault that Evie had overheard their conversation and come to the wrong conclusion. But he was still pretty fucking pissed off. The situation couldn’t be much worse.
He carried her into his bedroom and put her down. Evie glared at him. “You lied to me.”
Huh. He’d expected her to accuse him of being a murderer or something. So things were starting out a little better than he’d figured they would.
“I didn’t lie…”
“Yes, you did. You said you didn’t want me writing about Harry Baker’s murder because of the reminders of your sister and how you would all feel being questioned about it.”
Yeah. She was a writer. She took notes, and she had a good memory.
“Damn you for deceiving me, Rowan Winchester. I expected better.”
“Um, you’re not upset thinking that I murdered someone?”
She rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, you’re no murderer.” She put both hands on his chest and shoved him. “But you’re a liar. You wanted to shut me up to protect whatever secrets it is you and your brothers are covering up. Is that why I’m here? Did you make love to me so I’d fall even harder for you and would never give you up?”
Holy shit. Here he’d been congratulating himself that the woman he was crazy about knew him well enough to know he wasn’t a murderer, and she’d just accused him of fucking her to shut her up. That was almost worse.
“Evie, listen.”
“No, I’m not listening to you. Not tonight, Rowan. I’ve had about as much as I can take.”
She shoved him again and he backed up toward the door. One more push and he was through it, standing in the hallway.
“Please, give me the chance to explain,” he told her, his voice soft, as honest and open as he could be. “I’ll tell you everything. I’d planned to anyway. But you have to believe that what’s happening between us now had nothing to do with that.”
She blinked a few times and those blue eyes looked wetter. He knew she was still shaking with anger, but there was a glimmer of heartbreak in her expression, and he knew he’d put it there. She doubted him, doubted his feelings for her.
Considering he hadn’t told her how he felt, he supposed that was natural.
“I’m falling for you, Evie,” he told her.
Obviously not expecting to hear that, she sucked in a surprised breath.
“I know it’
s only been a week. I know it’s way too soon. I know right now you’re feeling like you’re on a roller coaster, not knowing when you’re gonna be taken up or when you’re going to plunge down. But, please, believe me. Making love to you was about how much I wanted you, and how much I’ve come to care about you. Nothing else.”
She didn’t respond. Not for a long moment. She simply stared at him, trying to find the truth in his expression. She did not reveal what she was thinking or what she was feeling. Didn’t ask any questions or make further accusations. No.
Instead, after a silence that seemed to stretch across a century, she slowly closed the door in his face. He was left standing outside his own bedroom, wondering how the hell things had gone from almost perfect to a fucking mess within a span of ten minutes.
One thing he knew—he had a new number-one thing on his to-do list.
He had to make things right with her. Had to explain and make her believe he didn’t give a damn about the book or what she wrote. He wanted her. In his bed, in his life. Wanted to figure out what they had and where they were going to take it.
But first, he had to get her to talk to him again.
Which, he realized as he cleaned up the glass and then grabbed a blanket, tossing it on the couch, probably wasn’t going to happen until morning.
Chapter 11
By all rights, Evie should have felt guilty about kicking Rowan out of his own bedroom.
She didn’t. Not for a long while, anyway.
Instead, almost all of Sunday night, she had lain in his bed, tossing and turning, crying a little, wondering if he really was the man she’d thought he was…and being lonely.
When she woke from a short, restless sleep and saw it was almost four a.m., she realized he would have to go to work soon and could probably use some real rest. So, although she hadn’t forgiven him for what he’d done, she went out into the dark living room. He was, as she’d thought, sprawled on the couch, a blanket tangled around his legs. His head was awkwardly bent to lay on the armrest, and she wondered how much his neck was going to hurt in the morning.
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