Private Security

by Mallory Kane

  How was he going to keep her safe if she wouldn’t listen to him?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dawson cleared his brain of useless questions—like how to cure Juliana’s stubbornness. Checking his watch, he saw that it was after two o’clock.

  He’d questioned Hardy about any evidence found on the Molotov cocktail bottle, but Hardy had told him irritably that he’d have to wait until Monday. Just like me, he’d said.

  Dawson speed-dialed his brother Ryker. No answer. He tried Reilly.

  “What’s up, Daw?” Reilly said affably.

  “Hey, Reilly, where’s your brother?”

  “I think he and Nicole went to the aquarium. He said he was off duty, so he was turning his cell phone off. What’s going on?”

  “I need to check out a fire in Bay St. Louis last night. It was started by a Molotov cocktail.”

  “Something to do with a client?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “I’m off duty today, too. I could go in and see what I can find if you really need me to, but Christy and I were about to head over to Mom and Dad’s. We’re going to take them out to dinner this evening.”

  “No, you guys go on and have fun. Let me know what you think about Mom.”

  “I can tell you right now. She’s doing good. I see them about once a week. So does Ryker.”

  Dawson started to fire back a cutting retort, but he wasn’t in the mood. “Say hi for me,” he said. “Talk to you later.”

  As he hung up, he heard the guest-room door open and the bathroom door close. He started to jump up and check on Juliana to see if she needed anything, but he decided to wait. Was she just up for a moment to go to the bathroom? Or was she taking a shower?

  He heard the water turn on. She’d slept a couple more hours after sleeping nearly all night in the E.R., so maybe she wasn’t too drowsy to take a shower. He stood and paced, straining his ears, hoping he wouldn’t miss hearing her if she fell.

  Finally he heard the water turn off and about ten minutes later, she appeared in the living-room doorway. She’d dried her hair and it floated around her shoulders, framing her face, which was still pale. She’d put on a long-sleeved pullover shirt and gray pants and had on pink fuzzy slippers.

  Dawson’s mouth went dry at the sight of her. It didn’t matter that she was fully dressed. He had to clamp his jaw to stop the instant replay of the erotic vision of her all wet and glistening.

  “Did you get your nap out?” he asked, wincing when he heard the gruffness in his voice.

  A small wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Yes. At least I think so.” She yawned. “The hot shower made me feel drowsy again.”

  And it made me feel horny, Dawson thought. “You want to go back to bed?” he asked.

  “Actually, I’m hungry,” she said, crossing her arms and walking over to perch on the edge of the couch. “Got anything to eat?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t cook much, but I might have some cheese. I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “That sounds great. I don’t even remember when I ate last.”

  “Me either,” he replied. “It takes about ten minutes to make a really great grilled cheese. Get some coffee while I fix them.”

  Juliana followed him into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Wow!” she exclaimed after taking a sip.

  “Too strong?” he asked.

  “A little bit,” she responded. “Got any cream or milk?”

  He shook his head as he dug a skillet out and set it on the stove. “Just canned. In the refrigerator.”

  She poured some into her coffee and took her mug to the kitchen table and sat.

  “How’s your throat?” he asked as he put the sandwiches together and put them into the skillet where butter was sizzling.

  “Okay,” she said, sipping the coffee. “It just feels a little raw. When we finish eating, can we go over to my dad’s house? I want to see it, and I need to get those books.”

  “I told you last night, the police will let us know when you can get in there.” Dawson slid the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate and cut it in half.

  “There you go,” he said as he set the plate in front of her with a little flourish.

  “How long do you think it will be? I need those books.”

  “Maybe tomorrow.” He put the second sandwich in the pan and adjusted the heat.

  “Can we just drive by? I want to see how badly the house was burned,” she said, then took a bite of sandwich. “This is good.”

  “Told you.” Dawson grinned as he served up his own sandwich and sat down across the table from her.

  She devoured the sandwich in record time and drained her coffee mug. Dawson finished just a few seconds after her. She stood and took their plates to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said, standing behind her. “Get out of the way. I’ll wash them. You need to go lie down.”

  She turned on the hot water and squirted dishwashing liquid into the pan.

  “Come on,” he said, moving next to her and bumping her with his hip. “You’d better take advantage of me while I’m in a good mood.”

  She turned and plopped a handful of suds on his nose. The handful was too big for just his nose, though, so it got in his mouth. He sputtered, laughing. “What are you doing? You’d better watch out.”

  She laughed at him and blew on the suds. He felt her breath tickle his lips, and before he even thought about what he was doing, he leaned down and rubbed the soap suds from his face onto hers. Then he kissed her.

  She squealed and cried, “Eww,” but he didn’t stop. He urged her mouth open and thrust his tongue inside, kissing her deeply. Not even the taste of soap killed his desire. He felt her tongue on his, and a spear of lust hit him squarely in the groin. He hardened immediately.

  His hands cupped her backside. He pulled her against him. She gasped and rose on her tiptoes, pressing herself closer and returning his kiss with matching passion.

  “Damn it, Jules,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re killing me.”

  In answer, she ran her hand down his chest to his belly and farther, finally gripping the button on his jeans. She fumbled with it as she bit his earlobe and teased it with her tongue.

  Pushing her hand away, he opened his fly. She slid her thumbs inside his jeans and pushed them down a few inches, then she took him in her hand.

  He nearly cried out as his erection pulsed against her palm. “You’ve got to stop,” he begged her, but the only answer he got was a low, throaty chuckle.

  So he jerked her sweatpants down, and in one smooth motion, he lifted her and set her down on the kitchen table. Then he touched her, urging her legs apart.

  She moaned and thrust toward his hand. “Dawson,” she gasped. “Please—”

  It was all the invitation he needed. He pulled her to the edge of the table and entered her, smoothly and slowly. She was ready for him. She met him thrust for thrust. She lifted her face to his and kissed him hard and long, the rhythm of their kisses in sync with the rhythm of their lovemaking.

  Dawson felt her body change and open. She threw her head back and cried out as he allowed his own climax to overtake him. They came together.

  Afterward, Dawson held her in his arms with her head resting against his shoulder. Her hot breath whispered over his skin. When he finally pulled away, Jules looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Want to take a nap?” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his nose against hers. “No,” he said softly. “But I would like to go to bed.”

  * * *

  JULIANA WOKE WITH A START. Fire. Dawson. But she wasn’t in her dad’s house, breathing smoke. She was with Dawson in his bed. He was beside her, asleep.

  Then the real memories came back to her. Memories of Dawson making love to her on his kitchen table, proving to her that their first time hadn’t been a fluke. They’d gone to his bedroom and he
’d proven it to her again.

  She was a believer now. She turned her head and looked across the little mound of white sheets at him. His intense blue eyes were closed and his mouth was relaxed. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. She propped herself on her elbow and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

  He muttered something that she couldn’t understand, but he didn’t wake up. It occurred to her that while she’d been sedated all night in the emergency room, he’d been awake. He probably had not slept a wink. He’d been watching her.

  Watching over her.

  Tears filled her eyes. Oh, how wonderful it would be if she could have him to watch over her for the rest of her life. Well, and keep taking her to those incredible heights of pleasure.

  She slipped out of bed and pulled on her sweatpants and top. He might be exhausted, but she’d gotten all the sleep she needed. More than enough. She was feeling antsy.

  When she stepped into the living room, it was dark outside. If she added it all up, she’d probably slept close to twenty-four hours.

  The kitchen clock read after six. And she was hungry. Dawson’s grilled cheese sandwich had been good, but it was long gone by now.

  She went into the kitchen to look around for something to eat. In the refrigerator was more cheese, the canned milk, half a loaf of bread and some butter. The freezer yielded up little more. There was a pint of ice cream that was over half-empty. A bag of frozen French fries had definitely seen better days.

  In the pantry, she found a couple of cans of chili, a big can of peanuts and a bottle of pancake syrup. She shuddered to think about how all that would taste in one dish.

  She was considering chili and cheese when she heard Dawson’s cell phone ringing. She went looking for it, wondering if she should wake him. It was on the couch where he’d been sitting. She picked it up and looked at the display—and froze.

  The name on the display said Michael Delancey. For a couple of seconds, Juliana stared at it, numb with shock. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She blinked hard and looked at the display again, but nothing changed.

  Why would Michael Delancey call Dawson?

  She couldn’t think of a reason. Not a good one anyway. Was Michael Delancey his client?

  No. She shook her head. Dawson wouldn’t do that to her, would he? With a thumb that was shaking so badly she could barely control it, she answered it.

  Sirens and car horns screamed through the phone. Before she could draw breath to say hello, a panicked male voice was shouting.

  “Dawson, the house is on fire! Your mother and I are all right. Dear God, it’s a mess. Dawson?”

  Juliana opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Dawson! Are you there?”

  “Jules?”

  She looked at him. He stood in the doorway, his hair tousled and his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. But as soon as he saw the phone in her hand, he stalked over and took it from her, his fingers touching hers. She jerked them away.

  His jaw tensed as he glanced at the display, then held the phone to his ear. “Dad?”

  The single syllable stabbed Juliana in the heart. She heard Michael Delancey’s voice, and behind it the wail of sirens. “Son, did you hear me?”

  “No! Tell me.” His eyes were on her, burning like lasers in his dangerously scowling face.

  “The house is on fire!”

  “Are you okay? Mom?”

  “We’re fine. I just—”

  “Dad, I’ll be right there. Don’t worry.” He hung up and stuck the phone in his jeans pocket. Without a word he whirled and headed to his room.

  Juliana couldn’t think. Her brain was stuttering like a scratched CD. Michael Delancey. Michael—Michael. De—De—De—Delancey. She pressed her palms against her eyes and shook her head.

  Think!

  But all her brain would do was replay those words that had cut her heart like a knife. Son. Dad.

  Dawson came out of his room, talking on the phone. “I’m on my way. Have you talked to Reilly?”

  Juliana watched him. It was like watching a car wreck. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. He’d thrown on a sweatshirt and run his fingers through his hair.

  “Do you know how it started? No? Okay, I’ll see you there.” He hung up and stuck the phone in his jeans, then looked at her.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said. His eyes weren’t lasers now. He looked worried and—if she could read him—embarrassed. But she couldn’t read him.

  Why had she ever thought she’d seen sincerity and honor in this man who had lied to her from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him? She finally managed to tear her gaze away. She nodded once, stiffly.

  He headed to the kitchen, then turned back. “Jules, if you’re thinking about leaving, don’t. This has to be the same people who firebombed your dad’s house. It’s too dangerous out there.”

  She lifted her chin.

  “Promise me you’ll stay here.”

  “You lied to me. I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”

  “I’ll lock you in if you don’t promise me.”

  “I’ll stay here,” she said, her voice flat. “Just leave.”

  He studied her for a few seconds, then clenched his jaw, turned and left. She heard the kitchen door slam, heard his car start, heard the garage door open, then shut.

  For another minute or so, she just stood there, the image of the phone’s display still stuck in her brain.

  Michael Delancey.

  Then she went into the guest room and started packing. She said the words he’d demanded. I’ll stay here. But she’d seen in his eyes that he knew she was lying. She had to get out of here.

  But his words had frightened her. The same people. It’s too dangerous out there. She thought of everything that had happened, the attack at the post office, the falling beam, the fire at her dad’s house. Was he right?

  She shivered. Damn him. This was his fault. She’d come to depend on his being there to protect her.

  Why hadn’t she listened to her little voice? He had never intended to protect her. Everything he’d done had been to protect his father, Michael Delancey, the man who’d caused her dad’s death.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dawson sped over to his parents’ house in his Corvette, trying to focus on getting there and making sure his parents were all right. But his brain was spinning faster than the wheels of the Vette.

  The fire had to be the work of the same people who’d torched Vincent Caprese’s house, just like he’d told Jules. He’d tell Ryker, get him to find out what evidence the police had found on the bottle. Had this fire been the result of a Molotov cocktail? Thank God his mom and dad had gotten out without being hurt. Now if Jules would just listen to him and stay put. But he knew she wouldn’t. He should have locked her in.

  All that swirled in his brain in the thirty minutes it took to get to his parents’ house in Chef Voleur.

  He spotted the black smoke while he was still several blocks away from his parents’ street. As he whipped the Vette around the corner of their street his brain registered two fire trucks. He roared up to the curb, killed the engine and jumped out. As he did, a couple of firemen who were busy wrapping up the water hoses glanced his way.

  He spotted his mom right away and ran toward her. “Mom!” he called.

  “J.D.,” she cried and held out her arms.

  He grabbed her and hugged her. She smelled like smoke. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Look at my house,” she said. “Who would do this?”

  The flames were out, but smoke still drifted upward from the front door and the broken window. “Where’s Dad?”

  She pointed. “Over there talking to the fire chief.”

  The man his dad was talking to was the same man who’d been at Caprese’s house the night before. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine. You go talk
to them. Find out who did this.”

  At that moment a car roared up and screeched to a halt behind Dawson’s. He knew without looking that it was Ryker’s BMW. His brother sprinted across the lawn toward them.

  Dawson met Ryker’s gaze and nodded as his mom turned to her second son and hugged him. Then he headed over to where his dad and the fire chief were standing.

  “Dawson,” his dad said in greeting. “This is Chief Jeffreys. Chief, my son Dawson.”

  “Chief,” Dawson said, offering his hand. The fire chief took it.

  “We’ve met,” the chief said to Michael. “Last night, in fact.” He shook his head at Dawson. “How is it you’re involved with all this?”

  “I’m investigating the collapse of the Sky Walk at the Golden Galaxy Casino,” Dawson said. “Apparently, there’s somebody out there who doesn’t like my nosing around.”

  The chief nodded. “This is your parents’ house? And last night? Your girlfriend?”

  Dawson gave a short, unamused laugh. “No, hardly my girlfriend. Vincent Caprese was her dad. He was killed when the Sky Walk collapsed. She’s been nosing around, too.”

  “Maybe you two should stop nosing before somebody gets killed.”

  “There was a fire last night? Involving Vincent Caprese’s daughter?” His dad frowned at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Dawson sighed. “I’ve been a little busy, Dad.”

  The chief glanced at each of them in turn. “I tell you what. The police are on their way. They’re going to want to talk to you both about all this. I’ve got to get my men rounded up and make my report.”

  Michael held out his hand. “Thanks, Chief. I appreciate it. You and your men did a great job.”

  Dawson held out his own hand in turn. “That’s right. Thanks.”

  The chief eyed Dawson. “I don’t want to see you at another fire,” he said.

  “Trust me, I’m not planning to be at another one,” Dawson replied.

  Once the chief walked over to the fire truck, Michael turned to Dawson. “What was going on with your phone? Couldn’t you hear me?”