by Ann Bruce
Dean scowled at her. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“You’re staying with him?” asked Brenda, looking from one to the other with a fascinated expression on her face, like they were exotic animals at the zoo.
“Only until my place is set to rights,” said Parker.
“Until whoever wants to harm you is behind bars,” Dean corrected. “We already discussed this.”
“That was when you were convinced the perp was Tyler. It’s not.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
Frustration sharpened Parker’s tone. “Yes, it does. At this point, I don’t think the NYPD can do much unless the perp attempts something else. If he doesn’t, he’ll probably never be caught.”
“Like I said,” Dean began calmly, his eyes steady on hers, “that doesn’t change anything.”
Parker went still, afraid to move because a cliff visible only to her had just opened up at her feet. Even worse, every cell in her body was urging her to take that single step forward and go into a free fall. A free fall that could only end with her broken, she reminded herself harshly.
Brenda came to her rescue. “Parker, didn’t you say you need to borrow some clothes?”
Parker dragged her eyes away from Dean’s and stared blankly at her sister. Brenda looped her arm through Parker’s and started drawing her across the kitchen and toward the stairs.
“We’ll be a few minutes,” Brenda tossed over her shoulder at Dean. “Please make yourself at home.”
Parker let her sister lead her up the stairs and through the second door on the left. Brenda nudged her into the center of the bedroom, which was decked out in pastel fabrics, Mission-style furnishings and discreetly printed wallpaper.
“Do you know what you’re doing with him?”
A scowl marred Parker’s brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You had the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on your face downstairs,” Brenda said bluntly.
Parker’s expression eased. “I think the man enjoys throwing me off balance.”
“He throws you off balance?”
Feeling a little off balance at this particular moment because of what she’d just admitted, Parker went to the bed and sat down. “Bren, don’t look at me like that. Not too long ago, we established that I’m basically human.”
“It’s reassuring to hear you admit that.” An impish smile curled one side of her mouth. “So, does that mean you’re going to need to borrow something from my black lace collection?”
A pillow flew at her face, muffling her burst of laughter.
“Why did my sister look all flushed and guilty when I came downstairs?”
“She apologized.”
Parker tipped her head back to look at him, dark brow arched. “Really?”
“She tried to—started to—but I told her it was over and done with.”
“Thank you for going easy on her.”
Dean glanced down at the woman beside him. “I didn’t do it for her.”
“I know,” said Parker, and she braced a hand on his shoulder, stretched up and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth.
Dean turned his head, caught her lips and deepened the kiss. When he pulled back, his breathing was as uneven as hers.
Parker settled back against the leather backseat of the Maybach and kept her eyes lowered as her chest rose and fell with her breaths. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, reddened from his teeth, and Dean nearly groaned and wished he’d thought to have a tinted glass partition installed in the sedan. It would be a little cramped back here, but he didn’t think she’d mind once he had her naked and spread open for his hands and mouth.
He heard Parker’s voice. She was asking him a question, but the words escaped him. Dean blinked and gave his head a little shake.
“Did Detective Wade tell you anything else?” she repeated.
“Yes. The forensic team stopped by your place. I’ll let Katie know she can give the cleaners and contractors the green light.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Wade didn’t say. I don’t think they can make any statements until the technicians get what they collected back to the lab.”
She nodded. “You’re probably right.” She rested her head against the leather, eyes closed. “I need to go see my mom tomorrow.”
“We could’ve stayed and waited for her.”
“No, Brenda needs the alone time with our mom for her confession. Had we stayed, I would’ve introduced you to my mom and she would’ve lit into you for what she believes to be your transgressions against my sister.”
“So, it was for my safety that we left, and not because you want to delay telling her about your problems.”
She made a face. “Brenda knows to report any suspicious activities around the house and to keep Savannah inside for the next little while.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.”
Her lashes lifted and she turned to him, looking perplexed. “You’re going to keep Savannah indoors?”
“No. I hired security to watch the house.”
“Security?”
“Bodyguards,” he clarified, watching her reaction carefully. “There’ll be two men watching the house twenty-four/seven until this is resolved.”
She sat up and blinked slowly. “When did you do this?”
“I had Gordon set it up last night.”
“Thank you.” She paused, looked like she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
He breathed a little easier. “You’re not going to tell me what I did was high-handed? You’re going to be reasonable?”
“You’re keeping the most important people in my life safe,” she said simply, “so no. I’m so grateful that I’m not even going to take exception with you questioning my common sense.” She paused. “Why didn’t you tell my sister?”
“If someone other than the people I hired is watching the house, I don’t want your family to tip him off.”
“I’m more interested in scaring whoever it is off.”
Dean’s mouth hardened. “I’m more interested in payback.”
The twin lines formed between her eyebrows. “You worry me when you make those kinds of statements.”
Wordlessly, he gathered her to him and pressed his lips to her brow until it smoothed out. Parker resisted for a bit, then, with a sigh, she gave in and nestled against his side.
“What now?” she asked.
“You’re going back home to get some rest.”
“Your home.”
A twinge of annoyance shot through him. “Right.”
“Wait. You’re not coming up with me?”
“No, I have to run a quick errand. It won’t take long.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over the shadow she couldn’t completely disguise under one eye. “You take a nap and I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”
She turned into his touch, letting his palm cradle the soft curve of her cheek. “What kind of errand?”
“I have to pay someone a visit.”
With a sigh, she drew back. “You’re going to see Tyler, aren’t you?”
He let her see his displeasure and answered, “No.”
Dean knocked on the wide door of the loft. Earlier, he hadn’t lied to Parker. He’d planned on seeing and talking to Moore. And it would be a quick errand. Tracking Moore down had been a simple matter of calling the man Dean had hired to maintain surveillance on Moore. Moore, he’d been told, was alone and unwinding at the home of the woman who’d been so eager to be his alibi.
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, then chains being pulled back and deadbolts being unlocked. The door opened and Moore appeared in the doorway and stared at Dean quizzically for a moment. Dean saw recognition dawn in Moore’s widening eyes, followed by a smirk that made his hands ball into fists. Knowing Parker would notice bruised knuckles, Dean forcibly kept his hands at his sides.
“You don’t look like a happy m
an. Things not work out with Parker?”
“I’d choose my words carefully if I were you,” Dean said quietly.
Moore ignored the warning, and blithely continued. “Here for pointers? Of course, I didn’t have to fork over forty K to get Parker to sleep with m—”
Dean didn’t think. He couldn’t think with the red haze that clouded his brain. One moment he was dispassionately studying Moore to judge the best way to go about what he needed to make happen; the next, he was standing over Moore as the other man lay sprawled on the floor of the front foyer, both hands cupped over his nose and the lower half of his face. Blood slowly seeped from between Moore’s fingers as he stared at Dean with a mixture of shock, fury and hatred.
“What the hell!” Moore shouted, the words muffled behind his hands. “Are you crazy?!”
“No, just pissed off,” Dean said, and got down on his haunches. His eyes drilled into Moore’s. The other man quieted immediately, his skin sickly grey beneath the fake tan. “Let’s talk.”
Five minutes later, Dean straightened up and walked away, leaving Moore still lying on the floor, silent but fuming. Halfway down the stairs of the four-storey walk-up, he stepped to the side to let a tall, dark-haired, skinny girl cradling a large, brown paper bag pass him, wondering if he’d pissed off Moore enough for the man to target him instead of Parker.
Chapter Eight
Stiff and uncomfortable despite the luxurious leather chair on which she was perched, Parker eyed the fifteen-year-old girl who returned her silent regard, distrust and hostility in every taut line of her young body.
Cat-like green eyes narrowed on Parker. “Uncle Dean usually dates beautiful women,” said the girl, her voice deceptively light. “European and South American supermodels. Tall, tanned, curvy.”
Taking the implied insult in stride, Parker said, “I’m sure I’m just an anomaly. He’ll come to his senses eventually.”
Parker thought she heard a dissatisfied humph, but couldn’t be certain.
“When did Uncle Dean say he was coming home?”
Parker was wondering that herself. “He didn’t say,” she replied for the fourth time. “He just said he had an errand to run.”
“And he left you here alone.”
Rolling her eyes would bring her down to the teenager’s maturity level, so she stopped herself from doing it.
“Obviously,” she began, forcing the words through her teeth, “since I am here alone. And since you checked every room and closet in this mausoleum, you know I’m not hiding his unconscious body under a bed.”
Charlotte “Candy” Maxwell’s expression remained stubbornly hostile, as if she wouldn’t put it past Parker to have pushed Dean over the balcony railing to avoid the hassle of searching for a hiding place. This sullen teenager who stared at her was a far cry from the hyperactive teeny bopper Dean had described. She, however, was dressed the part in a mini-dress that matched her eyes and set off her blond-streaked, honey-colored hair and three-inch heels that allowed her to tower over Parker when she stood. Maybe the girl had gone for too long without sweets. Parker was on the verge of offering to raid the kitchen for sugar cubes when she heard the incredibly beautiful sound of the front door opening.
She jumped to her feet and saw Dean’s niece do the same. The young girl glared at her one last time, sniffed, then swept past Parker and from the living room. Parker followed her, stopping when she reached the hall that flowed into a foyer that was almost as big as her entire living room. Dean’s eyes met hers and Parker only had time to shrug.
“Uncle Dean!” his niece cried out, and promptly threw herself at him.
Dean’s arms reflexively went around his niece and he squeezed her once before lowering her to her feet.
“Candy, what are you doing here? How did you know I was back?”
Candy lowered her gaze, then artfully looked up at her uncle through her long, darkened lashes. “I called Gordon yesterday. He said you’d be home today.” She grabbed his wrist with both hands. “You need to talk to Mom for me.”
“I told you I would next week.”
“But you’re back now.”
“Next week, Candy,” he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. “Speaking of your mom, does she know where you are?”
A simple side table suddenly drew Candy’s undivided attention. “No,” she mumbled.
Dean pulled out his cell phone and held it out to her. “Are you going to call her or should I?”
She dropped hold of his wrist and her shoulders fell, but she took the cell phone from him and started dialing.
Dean glanced at Parker, who only gave another shrug and said, “I’m tired. I’m going to take a nap while you two discuss whatever needs discussing.”
Dean quickly closed the distance between them and blocked her way before she could disappear. He cupped her shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice pitched so his words reached her ears only.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” replied Parker, her eyes straying back to Candy for a moment. She paused, then grasped his hand and held it in front of her, her eyes darkening as she bent over the red, swollen and skinned knuckles. “What happened to your hand?”
“I had a disagreement with someone.”
Her head lifted and she caught his eyes, narrowed hers. “I don’t even need to ask who, do I?”
“Did I mention that your brain is as sexy as the rest of you?”
She pursed her lips. Keeping hold of his hand, she turned on her heel. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” he asked, letting her pull him along.
“The kitchen. You need ice on those knuckles to reduce some of the swelling.” Under her breath, she added, “And a slap upside the head to knock some sense into you.”
“I heard that,” he murmured, sounding too damned pleased.
“Good.”
Not willing to be left out, Candy followed them, cell phone still firmly attached to her ear. The kitchen was a stainless steel affair, from counter to backsplash to appliances. It looked industrial, like something that belonged inside a five-star restaurant. Parker went to the double sinks, pulled the lever and ran Dean’s knuckles under warm water, using her fingers to gently dislodge some of the crusted blood.
Surprisingly, Candy made herself useful and retrieved a reusable cold compress from the freezer.
“Thanks,” Parker said as she plucked the reluctantly proffered gel pack from the girl’s hand. She tore two sheets off a fat roll of paper towels above the sink, wrapped them around the compress and slapped it none-too-gently over Dean’s knuckles.
“Hey!”
“You deserve a lot worse for lying to me. This isn’t the Dark Ages, Dean Maxwell. I don’t need you running around town punching people out for me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Candy perk up. Parker bit down on her tongue and took a deep breath before she said anything else she shouldn’t be saying. She made a beeline for the doorway and said, “I need to find a first-aid kit.”
“I’ll get it, Miss Quinn,” Gordon said from the doorway.
Parker’s mouth worked. She wanted to protest, but she’d been so distracted that she hadn’t even heard him enter the apartment. If she went looking for the first-aid kit in her current frame of mind, Dean’s minor injuries would be healed before she returned.
“Uh, all right. Thanks, Gordon.”
Parker turned around slowly, not quite sure what to do. Dean was leaning back against the counter, legs stretched out and one ankle crossed over the other. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Had they been alone, she would’ve gone to him. She closed her eyes. Maybe kissed his hurts all better.
Her eyes opened, saw that his had darkened, and she barely managed to suppress that needy, achy sound just in her throat.
“Uncle Dean,” Candy said loudly, very effectively breaking the false sense of privacy, “Mom wants to talk to you,” and thrust the cell phone in his face.
“Vanessa,” he said into the mouthpiece as he straightened his frame. “Yes. Don’t worry. It’s not a problem.” A pause as he listened. “Yes, Candy can spend the night here.”
Parker tried not to wince as the girl shot her a triumphant look. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement, then Gordon was entering the room, carrying a white plastic kit sporting a red cross on the side. As he set the kit on the island counter and flipped open the latches, Parker sidled up next to him.
“Gordon, please tell Dean I’m going to call it a really early night,” she said quietly, head down to avoid Dean’s scrutiny.
“What about dinner? You’re not hungry?”
“Not particularly.”
Gordon faced her with a disapproving frown. “He’s not going to like that.”
“I know he’s obsessed with feeding me, but skipping one meal’s not going to hurt.”
“Not just that,” said Gordon dryly.
Parker sighed. “I know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re acting cowardly.”
“Cluck, cluck,” she said, and made her exit.
The wisps of her dreams shook and blended together, then dissipated entirely when large, male hands roughened with calluses spread open over her middle and pulled her back into a hot, hairy body that was intriguingly supple in some places and hard with muscles in others.
“Dean?” she mumbled drowsily, her voice a little hoarse.
The hand on her middle moved in small circles. “Who else would it be?” he said, his mouth close enough to her ear for her to feel his warm breath caress her skin.
She made a low sound in her throat and wriggled a little, earning a groan from him. He hardened, pulsing against her buttocks, and she came a little more awake.
“Had I known you sleep in the nude earlier, I wouldn’t have let you have your own room on the island.”
“Perv.”
He chuckled, his chest rumbling. “You wouldn’t have been able to keep your hands to yourself,” he murmured, and nipped her earlobe.