by Lori Foster
Her smile looked a little sad, but she stretched and then sat up. “It’s still early. Want to go watch a movie with Cash?”
He’d had a shit day that had put him in a shittier mood—until he’d gotten home to Alice. And now, after being with her, he felt...content.
Very soon, he needed to tell her how he felt, maybe get her input on a house for Cash.
He also needed to expose drug dealers who were heinous enough to tattoo women the same way ranchers branded their cattle. He had to protect Alice from men corrupt enough to kill a woman rather than let her escape.
But for right now, tonight, Alice and Cash would fill a void he hadn’t known existed until only recently.
“That sounds perfect.” He smiled at her. “As long as I get to pick the movie.”
* * *
FOR OVER A week he’d waited, spending many sleepless nights drenched in the sweat of his own worry. Hour upon hour, he’d sat in his car, afraid to leave, eating cold fast food and pissing in a cup so that he wouldn’t miss it, if or when Cheryl finally left the safety of her parents’ small home.
Luckily they lived in a congested area with a lot of side streets. Each day he parked in a different spot, sunup to sundown, cursing her and that goddamned busybody who’d interfered.
For a while there, he’d thought maybe Cheryl hadn’t gone home after all. Or that she was so spineless, she’d never leave the house again.
Unacceptable. He had to get her.
Woody Simpson was not a man you wanted to disappoint. His wrath was so volatile, he could kill as easy as laugh.
But now, finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Hickson saw Cheryl as she slipped out the front door.
“Cheryl, you stupid bitch,” he muttered to himself. It was because of her that the other one had been able to get the drop on him; because of Cheryl that he’d been made to look like an incompetent fool.
Using Cheryl, he’d find the nosy broad who’d dared to turn the Taser on him, and then he’d deliver her to Woody. That’d ensure she got what she deserved.
But Hickson wanted to dole out the punishment to Cheryl. And he would. Soon, very soon.
He started his car, staring as Cheryl walked out toward the street. She looked jumpy, watchful.
Probably still scared after running from Woody. Hickson snorted. Women were so fucking easy to intimidate, even easier to control.
Looking up and down the street, car keys in hand, Cheryl headed for a little yellow Civic. Hickson didn’t see anyone else around, so he put his windows down, pulled away from the curb and rolled right up to her.
The second he approached, she went wild-eyed and started to run.
“Do it,” he told her, “and I’ll go talk to your family instead.”
Big tears filled her eyes. She looked around, probably hoping for help.
Hickson didn’t have time for her dramatics. “Call the police, scream, make a single wrong move...” He shrugged. “And they’re dead. Every fucking one of them. Don’t doubt it.”
The tears spilled over. “Wh-what do you want?”
“Get in the car and we’ll talk about it.”
She didn’t want to—but she also didn’t want her family murdered. He’d been mostly bluffing about that. He didn’t mind doing what had to be done, but he wasn’t dumb enough or reckless enough to slaughter a whole family.
But Cheryl was too chickenshit to realize that.
Patience running thin, he leaned across the seat and shoved open the passenger door. “Get in. Now.”
Shaking all over, she joined him in the car.
The second her ass hit the seat, Hickson drove off. “Shut the goddamned door. And stop that sniveling!”
She obeyed the first but not the second.
Hickson rode to a quiet park, not stopping until he found a secluded area. He turned to face Cheryl, looked her over. She wore jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. For only a moment, that amused him. “Hiding your tat?”
She rubbed her forearm as if it still hurt. “I...I...”
“Where were you going?”
Confusion mixed with the stark terror.
“Today,” he said, impatient with her hesitation. “Just now. You were slinking off somewhere, right? A new boyfriend?”
She shook her head hard. “No, I...” Swallowing, she swiped away her tears and met his gaze. “I had an appointment to see a doctor.”
“Yeah?” He looked her over again, but she didn’t look sick or hurt. “What’s wrong with you?”
That trembling chin went higher. “I was going to have the tattoo removed.”
Anger expanded. “That’d be a big fucking mistake.” Before she could move, Hickson grabbed her wrist, then hauled her half over the console. He shoved up the sleeve of her shirt. “You see this? It stays, bitch. Do you understand me?”
Snuffling and sobbing, she fought to get away from him. Hickson tangled a hand in her hair and held her still. Now, with her truly hysterical, he said, “The one that helped you get away. What’s her name?”
Cheryl bawled and fought—until he tightened his hand in her hair. “Who is she?” he demanded.
“I—I don’t know.”
He snatched up her arm—the arm covered by a long sleeve even on what promised to be a blistering day. “Wanna do it the hard way, huh?”
“I said I don’t know! Alice something. She—she never told me her last name.”
Hickson read the truth of that in her wide eyes. “All right.” He rubbed his thumb over her wrist. “Tell me what you do know. And, Cheryl, honey, I hope it’s enough. Otherwise you and I are going to take a nice long drive to the river.”
Her slender throat worked before she finally got the words out. “She—she gave me a number to call.” Frantically, Cheryl dug in her purse until she found the scrap of paper. Hand trembling, she offered it to him.
“A number? What the hell for?”
“She said...in case I—I needed her.”
Hmm. Interesting. So the busybody had thoughts of playing in the big league? “That just might work.” He pulled out his cell phone and offered it to her. “Call it.”
Cheryl treated the phone as she would a two-headed snake. Hands pulled back to her chest, her expression horrified. “What—what would I say?”
Hickson grinned. “That you need her, of course.”
“Oh.” Tentatively, Cheryl accepted the phone.
“Ask her to meet you at the bus stop across from the tattoo parlor. And Cheryl? Pray that she agrees.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ALICE WOKE THE next morning in the usual way—or at least the way that had become usual now that she had Reese and Cash in her life. Reese spooned her from behind, one brawny arm over her waist, and even in sleep, his hand curled around her breast.
She loved his hands so much. Big and strong and so incredibly capable, whether he cooked, brushed Cash, or drove her insane with sensual need.
Cash rested at the foot of the bed, his head over her ankles.
She could hear both man and dog breathing heavily in their sleep, and a softball-sized lump of emotion lodged in her throat.
She loved them both so much. But last night she’d blown it. She’d gotten so caught up in the incredible pleasure of sex with Reese that she hadn’t uncovered his feelings about her. She hadn’t discovered if he was in it for the long haul, if his heart had gotten as involved as hers.
Sure, some of the things he’d said were nice. Bett
er than nice. But they didn’t give her a clue about a future together.
Swallowing down her worry, Alice put her hand over his, marveling at the size of his wrist, his fingers. She touched him gently, tracing along the seam of his middle and index finger—and suddenly felt the rise of his interest against her rear end.
She turned her head toward him. “You’re awake?”
“Mmm.” His hand contracted carefully, caressing her. “Awake and wondering what you’re thinking.”
Cash grumbled, snuffled away from her feet and stretched out again with a lazy sigh.
Alice turned to face Reese. He adjusted, moving his hand around her to her backside, pulling her half up onto his chest as he went to his back and stretched out his free arm.
Toying with his chest hair—another thing she loved about him—Alice said, “I was thinking how nice your hands are.”
“Mmm.” He traced the shape of one cheek, teasing her. “How nice my hands are when they’re on you?”
“I do love that.” Levering up to his chest, Alice gave him a long, serious look. “And I love waking up with you in the morning.”
He brought her down for a kiss. “I’m fond of that myself.”
“Before you, before this, I couldn’t imagine myself being this comfortable. I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I have to pee, and I know my hair is a mess.”
Reese grinned like a rascal. “Ditto on all the above.”
She smoothed down his short blond hair, now sticking up at odd angles. Her hand automatically went to his jaw, to the beard shadow that rasped against her fingers. “You are so natural about everything that when I’m with you, it feels...okay.”
He put both hands on her butt. “It?”
Life, love, the entire world. Alice sighed. “Everything, I guess.”
“You feel safe with me.”
Very safe. Even if he didn’t love her, she knew Reese would never purposely hurt her, and that he’d do everything in his power to protect her. “Yes.”
“I’m glad, but Alice, I don’t want you to get too comfortable.”
Her heart stuttered. “With you?”
Scowling, Reese did a sudden turn, and Alice found herself under him.
He put his mouth to hers for a quick, whiskery kiss. “With me, I always want you comfortable. Always. Do you understand?”
She didn’t, not really, but she said, “I think so.”
Still looking far too grim, he searched her gaze. “You need to continue being cautious, Alice. There are dangerous people out there—”
“There always are.”
“—who want to do you harm,” he stressed, overriding her objection. “You have to understand the reality of what you did. By interfering with—”
“Rescuing.”
“—Cheryl, you drew their attention. They could be looking for you right now. Until they’re caught and their operation is shut down, you’re in danger.”
Today, she would not get distracted. Today, she would find the answers she needed.
Alice cupped his face. “Please, tell me, Reese. Does all this concern mean that you—”
A cell phone rang.
With a look of confusion, Reese turned his head toward the sound. “What is that?”
Like a dash of ice water, the sound of that particular ring froze Alice for a few seconds. Then she pushed at Reese’s shoulders. “Move. It’s my phone.”
“Your phone?” He gave her enough space to wriggle out from under him. “It doesn’t sound like—”
“My other phone.” Worried that she’d miss the call, Alice stretched from the bed until she got the nightstand drawer open. On the fourth ring she finally snatched up the cell. She was very aware of Reese going quiet beside her. “Hello?”
“Alice? It’s Cheryl. Y-you said I could call.”
Dread made her light-headed. Alice scrambled to sit up against the headboard, her breath stuck in her throat, her stomach cramping.
Beside her, Reese came alert. “What is it?”
She put a finger to her lips, cautioning him to be quiet. “Cheryl,” she said aloud, so Reese would know. “Is everything okay?”
Cheryl started to cry—and stammer. “Y-yes. Everything is...”
With her free hand to her mouth, Alice held her breath.
“...just p-peachy.”
Oh, God. Alice could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. “I see.” She didn’t dare look at Reese. If she did, she’d lose her concentration—and her nerve. “Then I’m glad you called.”
Cheryl gasped for air. “I’d love to—to see you.”
Think, Alice. Don’t waste precious time. Just react. She nodded to herself. “Are you back in the area?”
“I can b-be. Tonight?”
Alice chewed her bottom lip. “Does it have to be tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
Cheryl would surely prefer it be sooner rather than later, but rushing into this wouldn’t save her.
It would only put others at risk.
Reese sat up beside her, not touching her, but close enough to let her feel his concern.
“If it could wait until tomorrow evening, that would work for me.” And it would give Reese time to come up with a plan. Please, God, let him have a plan.
Reese stayed silent beside her, listening, waiting.
Trusting her.
“What do you say, Cheryl? Tomorrow evening?”
“I don’t... Let me check my...my schedule.” Cheryl breathed heavily, then it sounded as if she muffled the phone. Finally, when Alice feared she wouldn’t come back, Cheryl said on a sob, “I’ll call you back.”
“No! Cheryl wait—” The call ended, and the silence seemed louder than a scream. Alice started shaking. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no.”
Reese took the phone from her hand, put it to his ear then closed it. “It was Cheryl?”
Numb, afraid that she’d just left Cheryl to a god-awful fate, she nodded.
“What did she say?”
Alice bit her lip. Obviously Hickson, or whoever had Cheryl, wanted to get to her, too. Why else would they have Cheryl call?
Maybe they’d only promised to have her call back to give them time to think through a plan. Perhaps to avoid having the call traced.
Could you trace a cell phone call? She didn’t know.
Please, please, she thought, let her bluff for more time be enough to keep Cheryl safe.
Reese caught her shoulders, turning her toward him. He’d shifted into cop mode. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he held himself even while naked in bed. “Alice? I need you to tell me everything. Right now.”
Dreading his reaction, she nodded. “About that tattoo business...I hate to say you were right....”
“Tell me.”
“I could be in trouble after all.”
* * *
ROWDY STOOD OUTSIDE a tattoo parlor, waiting as the morning fog dissipated. Oppressive heat already wafted from the blacktop. By noon the humidity would feel like a sauna.
Last night, he’d signed the final papers on the bar. It was his. He’d take ownership in a few more days. The current owner only needed a little time to clear out.
Owning property wasn’t new to him. He’d bought the apartment building his sister had used while hiding from murderers.
But that was for cover.
This would be his livelihood. A legit occupation. Roots. Stability. An honest living.
A fresh start.<
br />
Exhilarating and terrifying—he couldn’t wait to get started. He hadn’t yet told Dougie, the bartender, that he’d be replaced. He didn’t want anyone sabotaging things before he was settled in and supervising. And he didn’t want anyone giving Avery a hard time.
Avery. Every damn time he thought of her, he breathed harder. How fucked up was that? He wanted her, sure. She was hot in a “play it cool” way. But he didn’t breathe hard over the thought of a woman. Ever.
At least, he hadn’t until Avery Mullins.
Now that he officially owned the place, would it be unethical to sleep with her? Not that she’d agreed, anyway.
Yet.
And not that he got all that hyped up over ethics. But he also didn’t want to do anything to cause problems at his own establishment.
Hands in his pockets, his head down but his eyes up, Rowdy strolled to a lamppost and took in the surrounding area. A light shone inside the tattoo parlor even though it wouldn’t open for hours. Interesting.
The other nearby establishments—cigarette shop, cash advance, alterations and a novelty store—remained locked up, dark inside and out.
He didn’t see a car near the tattoo place, but then maybe, like him, whoever was inside had parked down the street, out of sight.
Another light came on, this one in a back room. Rowdy badly wanted to go in, to check out things on his own. It’d be a piece of a cake. Locked doors rarely slowed him down. He could be in and out with no one the wiser.
But Reese had been clear about shit like that, and on the off chance he had the right place, he didn’t want to dick up any of the legalities.
There weren’t many cops he trusted, even fewer he’d assist. But Reese and Logan were different.
Good thing, since Logan would soon be his brother-in-law. He was starting to get used to that idea. Now, when he thought about it, it didn’t make his stomach roil or send ice down his spine.
He even enjoyed working with them. Having been a street rat most of his life, Rowdy blended in more easily than cops did. Using stealth for a reason other than mere survival made it somehow less caustic and more meaningful.