Pledged To Protect Complete Box Set: Three Romantic Suspense Romances

by Vella Day

Chelsea came up to their table and set down the drinks. “You boys ready to order?”

  “Give us a minute, hon, will ya?” Trace said as he snaked his hand up to her waist and squeezed.

  “I’ll give you anything you want.” Chelsea smiled, turned, and sashayed to another table.

  Dom watched his former partner carefully. “You don’t have the least bit of guilt leaving Emma and hitting on Chelsea, a girl much younger than you, do you?”

  “For one, Emma left me, and secondly I’m only twenty-nine. I hardly call the age difference, whatever it is, a problem.”

  “Fine.” Dom didn’t know why he even brought up the subject. Maybe he was trying to protect Chelsea despite her being the pursuer.

  Dom looked over the menu, but nothing appealed to him. All he could focus on was the case. “Back to your Atlanta murders. If I take out all the domestic violence cases in Hillsborough County, I can’t recall the last time we found someone shot in the head. And you said you had three in one month?”

  “Yup.”

  Dom’s mind sped through all the possibilities. “Could you ask someone to send down the case files? I’m thinking there may be a connection.”

  Trace laughed. “You’re reaching, Dom, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Dom caught Chelsea’s attention. She trotted over and they gave her their orders. While Trace flirted with her, Dom took notes on who sat at the bar. While he didn’t know any of their names, he wrote a brief description of each person.

  Two businessmen who seemed to be enjoying themselves sat nearest the cash register. Next to them was an older man who appeared to be by himself. Overweight, balding and hunched over his drink, his gaze didn’t extend past his beer. The seat next to him was vacant. Four men, all around thirty, hovered in the middle. They acted as if they were either close business associates or good friends. Dominic studied their ring fingers, but none sported wedding bands. Of course, the lack of gold didn’t mean they were single. They were probably out for an after dinner drink. At the far end of the bar sat two women in their mid forties, dressed in work suits, who chitchatted. Kind of late for an after dinner drink, but they too might be conducting business.

  As Dom rescanned the bar area, a skinny guy in an apron exited the kitchen. Tessa scooted over and spoke with him for a minute. Once he disappeared back into the kitchen, she returned to the cash register. The Jolly Green Giant continued to serve the drinks in a professional, yet none too friendly manner.

  Too bad he and Trace had sat so far away from the bar. The distance prevented hearing any conversations. Maybe after dinner Dom would have to join the drinking crowd and get in on the action.

  Tessa couldn’t keep focused. Her gaze seemed to wander to the back of the restaurant where Dominic sat nursing his Coke. He kept flipping through his notepad, making notes and checking out those at the bar as if he were some big casting director looking for the perfect leading man or woman.

  The evening had been uneventful until some drunk started to make a scene.

  She sidled up to Charley and kept her back to the man. “Who’s the man in the faded blue shirt?”

  “Doug Walsh. He’s a royal pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

  “Thanks.” So that was Doug.

  Tessa remembered Judd talking about this guy. Real smart, talented computer programmer, but he had the unfortunate knack of pissing off his bosses. Then he’d get fired and go on a drinking binge.

  Eventually, his wife would show up and drag him out of the bar. Let’s hope she showed up soon.

  It was time for a little intervention.

  “Hi Doug,” Tessa said in a non-confrontational tone.

  Doug’s lip turned up in a sneer. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Judd’s sister.” Her announcement seemed to get his attention.

  “Where’s Judd?”

  “Oh, you didn’t hear? I’m afraid his liver condition has worsened. He’s been in and out of the hospital in the last few months. I’m taking over for him.”

  A flash of concern filled his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell him you said hello. So what brings you here tonight?” She wasn’t in the mood to play therapist, but if it quieted down the guy, she’d listen.

  Doug ran a hand over his unshaven chin. “I lost my job today. Fucking assholes will be sorry when they have no one to fix the Project Management system when it goes down.”

  She didn’t dare ask for specifics. “So how’s your wife taking the news?”

  His eyes narrowed. “How do you know about my wife?”

  “Judd’s talked a lot about you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I guess he’s been out of the loop. Grace left me six months ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Open mouth insert foot.

  He slammed his empty glass on the bar. “You can make it up to me by getting me another drink.”

  “We’re about to close, Doug. Why don’t you come back tomorrow? The first one will be on the house.”

  “What is it with you people? This is a bar, isn’t it?”

  Tessa leaned toward him, aware of the notice he’d brought. “I think you’ve had enough. I’d like you to leave,” she said between gritted teeth. Yes, she knew as a therapist she should be nicer, but at the moment, she didn’t feel congenial.

  Before Doug could voice his opinion regarding her lightly veiled threat, Chelsea touched Tessa’s arm. “I’m going if it’s okay with you.” Tessa turned. Chelsea nodded in Trace’s direction, and he waved.

  Her aggravation whooshed out of her at the happy sight. “Sure, hon. Have a good time on your day off. And remind me to ask you about something.” Tessa had decided to see if Chelsea would be willing to move in with her. She would feel safer with a roommate.

  “Okay.”

  “You heard the lady,” Charley said. “Get going.”

  Doug held up his hands in apparent surrender. “If I can’t get another drink, I’m outta here.” He shoved back his chair and nearly stumbled.

  “Be careful, Doug.” Tessa watched him leave and blew out a sigh of relief.

  The kitchen door banged open, and she turned around. Mick waved to her. “I’m off, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, is kitchen’s clean?”

  “You betcha.”

  She waved him near. “Say, a rather inebriated customer just left. If you hurry you’ll see him. He’s a little shorter than you, big belly, and thinning brown hair. Would you mind following him for a few miles to see if he’s capable of driving? I couldn’t handle another tragedy.”

  “And if he starts to swerve?”

  “Good question. Maybe flash your lights and hope he pulls over.”

  “That or call the cops.” His jaw clenched.

  “Now you’re thinking.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Mick.”

  Her new short order cook had been a good find. Trusting her instincts had worked.

  Charley tossed down his rag on the bar. “Time to close up, I guess.”

  Her bartender looked tired. “Why don’t you call it a night? I’ll finish straightening up.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, you go on.” She was sure Dominic would stay until she locked the doors.

  Charley nodded and picked up his keys. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  Chelsea gathered her purse and sauntered back to Trace’s table. “Ready when you are.”

  A slow, lazy smile filled his face. God, he was the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  He turned to Detective Rossi. “Don’t wait up for me, Dom. Chelsea and I plan to spend the day together tomorrow.”

  The detective didn’t look pleased, but too damn bad. It wasn’t as if he’d taken her up on her offer to go out. Besides, she kind of figured he had the hots for Tessa. He must have since he was always looking at her as if he was sizing her up—or was it gobbling her up?

  Chelsea turned to keep from giggling. Tessa and the detec
tive. Now that would be a pair. They were perfect for each other. Both were straight-laced and uptight, but as they say, there’s a mate out there for everyone.

  Trace stood and wrapped a possessive arm around Chelsea’s waist, just as Mick shot through the kitchen door and stopped short when he saw her. She smiled and waved at her friend. No use pissing him off.

  The greeting wasn’t returned. Sheesh. What was up with people? Couldn’t a girl have a little fun? “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chelsea grabbed Trace’s hand and led him out to the parking lot. As she neared her car, Trace turned her around and hovered over her.

  “I’ve wanted to taste you all night.”

  “Oooh, Trace. You say the nicest things.”

  “This your car?” he said, nodding to her ten-year old Mazda.

  “Temporarily.” She didn’t want him to think she was nearly penniless, which she was.

  He grabbed her face with two hands and gently moved her backwards until her butt hit the car door. She closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch hers. With the gentlest of touch, Trace kissed her. She parted her lips in invitation, and he delved in.

  Every juice in her body electrified. What he did to her. Ohmigod. He tasted of sweet beer. Chelsea drew her hands around his butt and squeezed his hard orbs. What a fine, fine ass he had.

  Her tongue darted in and out of his mouth, trying to get as much contact with him as possible. His erection pressed against her, and her heart pounded in her chest as her breath sped up. Chelsea moved her hands up to his back and pulled him toward her, flattening her breasts to his chest. She wanted all of him—now—in the parking lot, in the backseat of her car, on the hood. She didn’t care where.

  Screeching tires raced past them, and Trace stiffened. He took a step back.

  “What the fuck?” he said following the car’s path out of the lot. “The guy nearly hit the light pole. Shit.”

  Chelsea needed Trace to focus on her, not on some stupid drunk. “Don’t worry. It’s just some idiot racing back to his wife.” She leaned up and kissed his lips, but he kept his head averted.

  “Who’s behind him?”

  She glanced at the white truck that had a cab on the back and shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t know what people drive.”

  Trace seemed to lose focus on the crazy guy and pulled her toward him. He ground his hips into her pelvis, demonstrating he was big and hard. “Let’s have some fun.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  He grabbed the keys from her hand and opened the passenger side door. “Get in.”

  Chelsea wasn’t going to complain. Trace raced to the driver’s side. As she leaned her seat back, Trace started the engine and peeled backwards, flying dirt slamming into the undercarriage.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to see how much trouble this guy will get into before he gets home.”

  Chelsea’s body sagged. “Why would you want to do that?” Despite her effort, her voice came out as a whine.

  “Oh, I don’t know. With the way the second guy was tailgating that drunk, I’m betting some tempers might flare. I want to be there when the fireworks begin.”

  “Great.” He’d rather chase a drunk around town than have hot, animalistic sex with her.

  Trace peeled out of the lot, his grip on the wheel intense. Well, if he was more interested in a stupid fight than in having her, she needed to ratchet up the heat a notch.

  It would be the supreme test of her sexuality if she could distract Trace enough to want to pull over and be with her.

  Trace looked over at her for a second. “You okay, baby?”

  “Peachy.” Chelsea reached beneath Trace’s seatbelt and rubbed her hand over his crotch.

  “Not now, babe.”

  Chelsea withdrew her hand so fast she almost got it tangled in his belt. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” Why did incredible hunks want to dump her so fast?

  Trace glanced over at her. “No, no. I want you real bad, but right now I’ve got this feeling something’s about to go down.”

  “It’s you and me that’s supposed to be going down.”

  “Holy shit. Look, Chels.”

  9

  Need help with the combination?” Dom asked Tessa. She’d tried to lock several times and had failed to open the safe.

  She looked up at him with a slightly creased brow. “When it says R-L-R, it means I’m supposed to go past the first once, correct?”

  “If it’s like your standard lock, yes.”

  Dom’s cell phone vibrated against his leg. He stepped back and flicked a glance at the number. It wasn’t the station. “Wrong number,” he mumbled.

  After closing the lid, he knelt besides Tessa to see if he could speed up the opening of the safe. A hint of fried chicken mixed with some scotch she must have spilled on her hand floated around her.

  The cozy scene made his groin ache again. Why did his dick have to twitch every time he got near this woman? She was the victim here. Remember that.

  “I got it!” Tessa announced with excitement.

  He thrilled at the lightness of her tone. Dom couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard her happy.

  Tessa dumped the register money into the safe, pushed the door closed, and spun the dial. Dom stood and when he held out his hand to help her up, her touch sent a violent need through him. Big mistake. He let go and planted his hands in his back pockets.

  Tessa placed the paper with the locker combination in her desk drawer before locking it.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to have the number written down?”

  She bit her lower lip. “I just bought the safe and I haven’t memorized it. As soon as I do, I’ll toss the paper. I sure as heck will never leave the cash in the drawer again.”

  “If you don’t learn the number soon, it will be the same as leaving the cash in the drawer,” he warned.

  “I hear you.” She stood and turned to him. “Who was on the phone?”

  “Wrong number.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Did they leave a message?”

  “For a wrong number? I didn’t look. I was busy watching you.”

  Her face held no reaction to his statement, as if she missed what he’d meant. “What if someone really needed to speak with you? You can’t let them dangle.”

  He smiled at her concern for the unknown person and grabbed his phone. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll check. Hmm. What do you know? I got a message.” He punched in his pin number and listened.

  Static mixed with a huffed voice. “Dom, it’s Trace. Send backup to Willow and Bayshore.” Then Trace disconnected.

  He knew his ex-partner. With such a short message, something bad was going down, and he needed help.

  “Shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Trace is in trouble,” he said as he dialed his office and relayed the information. “Listen, I’ve got to go,” he told her once he finished speaking to dispatch. “Will you be okay going home by yourself?”

  “Of course. But if Trace is in trouble, and he’s with Chelsea, I want to go with you.”

  In a flash, Dom grabbed her shoulders. “Listen to me. Trace is in trouble. Bad trouble. I can’t have you there. There could be violence. Do you understand?”

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t sound happy about following instructions, but from her slightly slumped shoulders he could tell she’d do as he asked.

  “Thank you,” he said, then expelled a long breath. Without a moment’s thought, he drew Tessa close and kissed her forehead. Her eyes widened, but before she had a chance to respond, Dom dropped his arms and sprinted out the door to his car.

  He couldn’t imagine what he’d find when he met up with Trace. His good friend was on a date for God’s sake, not assigned to some stakeout that had gone wrong. The intersection of Willow and Bayshore couldn’t be a ritzier area.

  Dom replayed the message, listenin
g for any signs of pain in Trace’s voice, wondering if he’d been shot. Trace would have demanded an ambulance if that had been the case. Shit. Dom was so tired he had to blink to keep focused on the road.

  With his light flashing on his roof, but his siren off, he raced down Gandy Boulevard to Bayshore Boulevard. At this late hour, the traffic was thankfully light.

  As he sped down the road that bordered the water, he normally would have marveled at the brightly lit Tampa skyline, but not tonight. All he could think of was that Trace needed him. For a split second, he considered his partner might be playing a practical joke on him, like he’d done once or twice before, but with Chelsea in tow, he didn’t think he would.

  As Dom rounded a curve going north, he saw enough wattage to light half the city. The police had blocked off the entire southbound lane. Dom pulled into the oncoming lane and drove toward the wreck. Could Trace have called about the wreck?

  A civilian car headed the group, but he didn’t recognize it as belonging to any of his men. Detective Fowler stepped in front of Dom’s car and waved him away. He pulled over to the side of the road, shut off his lights and stepped out. Holding out his badge, he trotted toward Fowler.

  “Pete, it’s Dom. What happened?”

  “Oh, hey, Dom. I couldn’t tell it was you for a sec. We’ve got two dead bodies. The guy in the car has a hole in his head, and the other was shot in the chest.”

  Dom’s heart raced. It couldn’t be Trace. He pushed past Fowler and halted at the sight of his ex-partner lying sprawled on the ground, part on the sidewalk, part on the road.

  “Noooo.”

  Dom dropped to his knees and gathered his bloodied friend into his arms. In a flash, two policemen pulled him away from Trace.

  “Dom. Dom. Let go. Come on. You’re contaminating the evidence.”

  It took a moment for reality to sink in. “He’s dead.”

  Pete Fowler knelt down beside him. “Who was he?”

  “My former partner, Trace. He was planning to move here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Dom lowered Trace to the ground and closed his partner’s eyelids. Grief welled inside him, but he forced it down. Then raw anger consumed him. He stood and backed away, but the image of Trace’s body would remain an unforgettable image.