Deadly Valentine

by Davis, Justine; Davis, Justine

  Option one was out. Because she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t do it. If Arlen were some unknown quantity, some stranger, and she didn’t know how far he would go, then maybe. But he wasn’t. She knew exactly what he was, and now she knew he was a coward to boot.

  Kincaid was the wild card. He’d fooled her, and others, including his uncle. He’d hidden this cool, quiet and apparently competent man beneath a demeanor that had made them all either chuckle or shake their heads in wry irritation. But would he go so far as to physically hurt her?

  She didn’t know. But option one was still unacceptable.

  Option two was to play at option one and try to lull them, then try to get away. The problem was that it would take time to accomplish, and she didn’t want to think about being here that long. No one would even miss her for some time; she’d bet if she didn’t show up at all tomorrow, it would just be assumed she’d taken the day off J.W. had told her to take. Her mom would call, but just figure she’d missed her and try again the next day. Same with friends, it would take time for them to realize they hadn’t been able to reach her.

  A vision of hours spent trying to convince them she was harmless and then escaping when their backs were turned was appealing and appalling by turns.

  Option three was to just go with her gut and become such a nuisance they couldn’t wait to get away from her. She liked that one. But Arlen had already slapped her, and it might not take much to prod him into worse. Maybe she should just test that water…

  And what? Trust that Kincaid wouldn’t use that gun?

  She told herself to just get a grip and put it all on hold; it would be foolish to decide on a course of action before she saw what she was dealing with in the way of surroundings.

  That Arlen had a key to the building was curious, but not particularly useful. He flipped on a light. Obviously there was still power to the small office building. And while there was no sign of any current occupancy, it was quite clean. She could even smell the faint, lingering scent of cleaning materials. Nor were there any broken windows to indicate it was abandoned, or had stood long empty. In fact, it looked ready to be occupied, cubicles and desks merely awaiting workers, as if the former tenants had just moved out and the new ones hadn’t moved in yet.

  Arlen had his hand on her left arm, gripping tightly enough to be painful. By contrast, Kincaid held her right arm firmly but not hard enough to hurt. She noted the difference, but tried not to read anything into it. And now that she’d seen him dressed…well, normally, she had no doubts he possessed more strength than she ever would have guessed.

  They passed through a waiting area furnished with a large couch and some end tables and chairs, and on into a spacious corner office Arlen had to unlock with a second key. As close as he would ever get to the boss’s office, she guessed. It was equipped with file cabinets, bookcases and couple of chairs opposite a big desk that held a laptop computer. It was connected by an ethernet cable to a jack on the wall, she noticed, so obviously some sort of internet access must also still be working.

  Arlen shut the door behind them. Once it was closed, Kincaid let go of her, while Arlen forced her toward one of the chairs.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  Begin as you mean to go on, Taylor thought, remembering her grandfather’s advice, given to her once when she’d been anxious about starting at a new school. She remained standing.

  “I said sit down,” Arlen said.

  She thought of telling him to go to hell, but put the idea on hold. Baby steps, she told herself.

  “I do not take orders from you,” she said instead.

  Arlen’s face flushed red. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Nor have you. Always wanting credit for things you didn’t do. Thinking you’ve earned something or deserve something when you’ve earned nothing and deserve exactly what you got.”

  Arlen made an inarticulate sound that she supposed was born of fury, but managed only to sound frustrated. But he reached out and shoved her into the chair. Kincaid never moved. He merely watched, but in a way that made her curious. It was almost thoughtful. Or assessing. As if he were—

  Arlen’s snarl interrupted her errant thoughts. “You’re nothing but Whitney’s lapdog, you little—”

  “John Whitney is worth a million of you. More.”

  “Shut up.”

  She ignored that order, too. “And he—and I—know how little you had to do with Watchdog. Everybody knows you were more hindrance than help. Mr. Whitney put up with more incompetence and laziness from you—”

  This time it wasn’t just an ineffectual slap, but a backhand with the force of a full swing. It was a moment before the shocking, sharp pain in her cheek receded enough for her to recognize the taste of blood in her mouth. And in that moment Angus Kincaid moved, and from the corner of her eye she saw him lift the gun.

  She’d pushed too far, she thought. She closed her eyes, and waited for the shot.

  Chapter 7

  T aylor realized how scared she was when, after the expected shot didn’t come, she kept her eyes closed, with the crazy idea that if she opened them she’d see that bullet headed straight at her.

  What you’re afraid of doesn’t go away simply because you refuse to acknowledge it’s there, she told herself sternly.

  She opened her eyes. Just in time to see Kincaid urging Arlen to sit in the big, executive chair behind the desk.

  “There’s a better way,” he was saying to his angry partner, his tone soothing. “Just relax.”

  “She needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Kincaid straightened, half turned to look at her. “Sure. But no need to mess up that pretty face.”

  That “Go to hell” rose up in her throat again, but again she choked it back. This was the guy with the gun, after all. He had put himself between her and the enraged Arlen, no doubt saving her from another blow. She wasn’t sure why, but until she knew more, she’d better keep quiet. Instead she lowered her eyes meekly, despite the anger seething inside. An anger that was only stoked by the lingering pain in her cheek.

  “See,” Kincaid said to Arlen placatingly, “she can be reasonable.”

  “She’s going to be more than that.”

  “She will.” Kincaid leaned in toward the man in the chair and lowered his voice. But not so low that Taylor couldn’t hear. “But more flies with honey and all that.”

  Arlen snorted again. But he, too, followed Kincaid’s lead and lowered his voice to about the same level, just above a whisper, as if trusting Kincaid’s judgment about how far she could overhear. They were both wrong; she could hear every word.

  “What? You think you’re going to charm her into helping?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Arlen laughed then. It would have made her shiver with distaste if she hadn’t been thinking so hard, trying to discern if Kincaid was just a lousy judge of how far lowered voices carried, or it was something else. The other option seemed implausible, that he didn’t care if she overheard.

  Then a third possibility, even more implausible, hit her.

  He’d wanted her to overhear.

  She was assessing that, turning it over in her racing mind, when Arlen’s next words, slightly louder this time, came.

  “The ice queen? Good luck with that.”

  He was sneering now. And his seemingly unassailable assumption that any woman not suffering from some kind of repression or disorder would of course fall at his feet infuriated her now as much as it had the first time he’d suggested they hook up for some fast, unentangled sex. He’d been literally stunned when she’d reacted as if he were an insane and repulsive creature that she’d found hiding under a slimy rock.

  Which pretty much summed up her feelings about him from then on.

  Kincaid whispered something she truly couldn’t hear to Arlen, then shoved the weapon into his waistband at the small of his back.

  “Why don’t you give me that?” Arlen suggested.
>
  Taylor’s heart nearly stopped at the thought of this man, with his anger and craziness, armed with a gun. Kincaid at least seemed in control. Arlen would likely shoot her the next time she said anything he didn’t like, which would be the next time she opened her mouth. Because there was absolutely no way she would help him steal Watchdog.

  “This is my personal weapon,” Kincaid said. “No one handles it but me.”

  Although she wasn’t sure how she felt about someone who had a personal relationship with a handgun, Taylor couldn’t deny the relief that flooded her.

  A relief that vanished when Kincaid turned to face her. The expression in his eyes rattled her even more.

  “You’ll never get anywhere,” Arlen promised him. “She’s cute, but not worth the effort to thaw her out.”

  She looked away, toward Arlen, needing to escape Kincaid’s intense gaze. And once she saw his smug certainty, she couldn’t help speaking, even knowing it could land her in even more trouble.

  “Some people just don’t have a big enough blow-torch.”

  Arlen called her the foulest name yet and surged to his feet. Her glance flicked back to Kincaid, who was still facing her, his back to his furious partner.

  He was grinning. “Nice shot,” he whispered, and this time it was so low that she knew there was no way Arlen could hear him.

  It was all Taylor could do not to stare at him in shock. Not just because of what he’d said and how he’d said it—proving that interpretation one wasn’t applicable, the man knew exactly how well voices carried—but because the grin changed his entire demeanor. It turned his face from forbidding to charming, his eyes from icy cool to inviting.

  And blasted any lingering images of the bumbling, fumbling Angus Kincaid out of her head.

  “You shouldn’t have to deal with her, Arlen,” he said smoothly, easily, in a tone of male understanding of the difficulties of dealing with a difficult woman. “Let me handle this for you.”

  A sudden image born of cop shows and movies hit her. Good cop, bad cop, she thought. Was that the game? Was that why he’d interfered, stopped Arlen from hitting her again? Was that why the startlingly unexpected quip about her insult to his partner? Was he trying to lull her into thinking she had a friend, that she’d be better off cooperating with him because he’d stand between her and the crazy guy?

  And if so, did he really think she’d fall for the abrupt switch? This was still the guy who’d slid into her car with a gun. Who had obviously plotted all this with Arlen. Who had betrayed his generous uncle.

  He crouched beside her chair, his back still to his partner, and looked up at her.

  “It’s not what you think,” he whispered.

  “What I think,” she said, not bothering to lower her own voice, which made him wince, “is that you’re a fool, and a—”

  “Told you she was a total bitch,” Arlen said.

  It was the note of satisfaction in his voice that sparked a realization in Taylor. He was pleased about something.

  Her mind raced. Pleased about what?

  Told you she was a total bitch.

  Pleased about…being proven right? Did he think she’d shown herself to be just what he said she was, by her reaction to Kincaid?

  The ice queen? Good luck with that.

  She remembered the way Arlen had spread that epithet around the office. He had tried to get everyone to adopt it behind her back, after she’d turned him down flat for the third time and told him he’d regret it if he persisted. When he’d finally been fired, he’d screamed to the rooftop that she’d been responsible, although in fact she’d never told J.W. about it. He’d threatened to sue for wrongful termination, but it had never come to anything. She had thought that when he’d cooled down he must have realized he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  Now she thought he’d probably just started planning his revenge. Or perhaps it had taken a while to build in his obviously twisted mind until this plan had taken hold. Whatever it was, she’d be damned if she’d let him win.

  For that matter, she’d be damned if she’d let him take a moment’s satisfaction in any of this.

  So if thinking she was proving him right to Kincaid gave him that, then she was just going to have to shove that satisfaction right back down his slimy throat.

  “You’re a fool,” she repeated to Kincaid, who had been watching her intently, as if he were seeing her racing thoughts, “because all you had to do was ask, if you were interested.”

  Kincaid blinked. “What?”

  “Did I tell you how much I liked my Valentine’s card?” she asked, purposely making her voice as syrupy as she could manage.

  “I…no, you didn’t.” He appeared puzzled, as if he were trying to figure out what she was up to.

  “Valentine’s card!” Arlen snapped. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  “He gave me the most perfect card,” Taylor said, in what she hoped was a fair imitation of gushing. “Made me look at him in an entirely new way.”

  That, at least, was the absolute truth.

  “And I never had the chance to thank him before you did this,” she said, allowing regret and distress to flow into her voice.

  Kincaid stared at her in a way that nearly made her wish she hadn’t said anything. She’d never felt a gaze so intense before, as if he were trying to look past her quickly thrown together facade of attracted female.

  And looking at those eyes of his, she wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he could indeed do just that.

  Diversion, she thought. She needed a diversion. Quickly. She leaned toward him as he was crouched beside her chair.

  “So, thank you,” she said quietly.

  And kissed him.

  She’d intended it to be just that, a diversion, a distraction and a fierce jab at Arlen’s bloated ego. And judging by the foul word she heard him spit out, it succeeded. Only then did she rethink the wisdom of prodding a man she’d already decided was unhinged.

  But she hadn’t intended what happened next at all. She hadn’t thought much beyond her initial move, hadn’t thought of what he might do in turn.

  She’d intended it to be a short brushing of lips. Just enough to toast Arlen a bit. Hadn’t thought Kincaid might kiss her back. But he did. He was.

  It had taken him a split second, an instant when he’d been apparently too startled to respond. But then, before she could pull back as she’d intended, he’d grabbed the back of her head and pulled her closer. And his mouth had gone warm, flexible, almost welcoming against hers.

  Some part of her mind screamed at her to pull back, to break the contact. But she didn’t. And telling herself she didn’t because she didn’t want to find out he wouldn’t let her go, that he would force her with that strong, steady hand, wasn’t helping much.

  Unintended consequences.

  The phrase shot through a mind that seemed to be spinning out of control. And it fit, shockingly. Because while she’d intended to distract them, intended for Arlen to be pissed off, intended to throw Kincaid off his stride, what she hadn’t intended was that he would kiss her back at all, let alone so fiercely, insistently—hotly.

  But all of that paled beside the biggest unintended consequence of all.

  She had never intended to like it.

  Chapter 8

  S he’d been wrong. Kincaid wasn’t the fool.

  She was.

  It was psychological. It had to be. It was the only explanation. It was some sort of fear reaction to her situation and the shock.

  Her reasoning sounded good, but didn’t help much. Because she couldn’t deny the sensations tumbling through her, and the incredible heat building inside her at the gentle but insistent pressure and probing of Kincaid’s killer kiss.

  Oh, God—alliteration, she thought with the tiny part of her mind that was still functioning.

  But the fact remained that she hadn’t responded to a man like this in a very long time. If ever. And she wasn’t sure what it said ab
out her that she responded now. Except that her track record of falling for jerks appeared to be safely intact.

  Before she even had a chance to deny that to herself, a loud crash accomplished what she had been unable to—it broke them apart. The chair, tipping over as Arlen leaped to his feet in obvious fury. Her hesitation about prodding the beast had been wiser than she’d known.

  “You bitch!”

  This time it was shouted at the top of his lungs. He repeated it for good measure, adding an obscene modifier. And then he was moving, coming at her, his face mottled with rage, his hands fisted.

  Kincaid stood up. In the action of turning to face Arlen, he moved to one side. Intentional? She had no idea. It was only a few inches, but enough to yet again put himself between her and Arlen, who was already raising a hand she was sure was intended to deliver a blow that would dwarf the earlier slap.

  “Easy, Arlen.”

  Kincaid’s voice was low, with an odd gruffness. Surely, her imagination, fueled by fear, gave her the impression there was a threat somewhere beneath the quiet words. A threat not aimed at her, but at his partner in crime.

  The spinning in her head didn’t stop, merely shifted direction. It almost seemed as if he were trying to protect her, she thought.

  Only then did she realize her fingers were at her mouth, touching her lips where his had been.

  Snap out of it, she ordered herself. It’s all part of it. Good cop, bad cop, it’s part of his plan. Maybe their plan, maybe they worked this all out ahead of time. Don’t be a fool yourself and fall for it.

  “Come on, Arlen. You’ve planned this for so long, are you going to let her distract you from the goal?”

  Amazingly, Arlen stopped in his tracks. His fists were still clenched, but he was no longer barreling toward her.

  “Don’t let doing something stupid stop you from getting what’s coming to you,” Kincaid said.

  Taylor’s breath caught. Had he used those words intentionally? She’d had the feeling Kincaid had known exactly what she’d been thinking when Arlen had used them.