Lover Undercover

by Samanthe Beck

  “Can’t you just be satisfied with the body?” she pleaded, her voice little more than a whisper.

  Heart heavy, he dropped back down beside her on the bed and took her hand. Yes, his dick insisted. Hell, yes. A huge part of his mind wanted to cast the same vote, the part thinking maybe she just needed some more time. But his heart, or his balls, or a combination of both, wouldn’t let him compromise on something so critical.

  “No chance. I’m falling in love with you, Kylie.”

  He watched her expression shift from confused to flat-out scared. “You’re not, Trevor. Don’t say—”

  “And you’re falling in love with me, too.” Normally he wouldn’t toss what a woman said in the heat of passion back at her, but he wasn’t feeling particularly fair at the moment. “Deny it to yourself if you have to, but I know the truth. So, no, I won’t let you use me—use us—for sex and pretend that’s all there is. If sex is all you’re willing to ante up, then I fold.”

  Those deep blue eyes looked so lost and wounded, he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and tell her she could have him on whatever terms she wanted.

  “Are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore?”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. If she dissolved into tears on his bed, he’d cave for sure and would never be able to face himself in the mirror again. “No. I’m saying I want to spend time with you somewhere besides there.” He gestured to the bed. “I want to send you roses. I want to see the way your skin glows in candlelight. I want to call you in the middle of the day, just to talk. I want all of that, and a hell of a lot more. But, if you don’t, if that’s too disruptive to your precious plans, then…” Drawing a deep breath while parts of his anatomy vehemently protested the ultimatum, he gathered his strength and finished. “No. Your body, amazing as it is, isn’t enough for me.”

  She lowered her head, but not before he saw her chin tremble. “Kylie…” Cupping his hand around her neck, he nudged his thumb along her jaw, lifting her face to his. Her chin had firmed, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “I should go.”

  Not the answer he’d been hoping for. Forcing a smile, he said, “Yeah, I had a feeling—”

  Her lips cut him off—fast, hard, a little bit rough, and then gone. Only the lingering scent of tropical paradise hinted she’d been there at all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kylie had tried walking meditation successfully on a number of occasions, but the trip home was her first attempt at driving meditation. She locked all her sadness, confusion, and fear away in her mental holding cell and concentrated on the quiet, almost traffic-free streets, the patterns of light dotting the valley below, the sound of warm night air rushing through her half-lowered driver’s side window. It worked pretty well, until she pulled up outside the apartment and saw Ian’s car parked in her space.

  That’s when her emotions made a break for it, with sadness leading the charge. Not that she resented Stacy’s good fortune. On the contrary, she couldn’t be prouder or happier for her twin. First the big career breakthrough and now, what appeared to be an actual relationship with a smart, handsome, reassuringly decent man. Ian saw all of Stacy’s layers—not just the pretty, chip-resistant surface she liked to present to the world, but the softer, more fragile stuff she kept hidden away—and he seemed to appreciate every single one of them. She wanted that for Stacy.

  You want it for you, too, a little voice insisted. But she also feared it. Feared losing herself in a relationship, the way her mom always did, letting her dreams fall by the wayside, and worse yet, allowing the haters in Two Trout the chance to say, “We told you so. We told you those Roberts girls would never amount to anything.”

  Stacy seemed well on her way to proving them wrong now, but Kylie had always intended to prove them wrong, too. She’d let the intention become the centerpiece of her life. So much so that she’d pushed away all distractions, including any men who expressed interest.

  And wasn’t that the most pathetic thought? Did she honestly give a damn what people she hadn’t seen or spoken to in five years said about her?

  Meanwhile, a man right in front of her said she could do whatever she put her mind to. Trevor hadn’t laughed or dismissed her goals when she’d discussed them with him tonight. The opposite, actually. He’d admired her aspirations, and believed in her ability to succeed. So why did she assume opening herself up to a relationship with him meant giving up her ambitions?

  Because of your mom. Curiously, a light popped on in their apartment, and, simultaneously, in her head. Okay, yes, her mom had dropped out of high school in order to move in with a boyfriend for a short-lived attempt at domestic bliss. And after that failed, she’d bounced from relationship to relationship, each time convinced the new guy was The One. But what big aspirations had her mom sacrificed in favor of this quest? None sprang to mind. Debbie Roberts’s main aim in life seemed to be finding the perfect man, and looking at it that way, her mom was the ultimate never-giver-upper.

  And Kylie was a big, screwed-up idiot. The only man she’d ever loved had bared his heart to her, and she’d rejected him! Oh, God, had she blown their chance at happiness? Searching her bag for her phone, she prayed he’d give her a chance to apologize…explain, or, at the very least, tell him what he already knew.

  She loved him.

  He deserved to hear the words from her, even if her self-protective behavior tonight had convinced him he was better off finding someone less…loco. She pulled her phone from her purse and started to dial his number. Rats, she’d turned it off before her first class today and never turned it back on. She did so now and watched as two new voice mail messages appeared in the display. She already knew one was from Stacy. The other was from Trevor’s number, received less than ten minutes ago. He’d also sent her a text… Urgent. Call me.

  Just then, someone knocked on her half-lowered driver’s side window. She let out a little yelp, turned, and then sagged with relief. “Holy smokes, you scared me.” Relief quickly turned to curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

  …

  Trevor violated just about every single provision of the vehicular code as he sped toward Kylie’s apartment, including the law requiring the use of hands-free devices when making calls. After failing to reach Kylie by phone or text, he dialed Ian’s cell.

  Ian picked up on the third ring, his “What’s up?” tired, but deeply satisfied. Trevor didn’t need any additional clues to know his partner’s exact location. Obviously Ian was still with Stacy.

  “It’s Benny,” he bit out, cutting to the chase as he made a sharp right onto Sunset.

  He actually heard the bedsprings squeak when Ian sat up. “Holy shit. How do you know?”

  “I got a reply on a check I made with a past employer of his—a strip club back in Boston. Look, I’ll give you the details when I see you. You’re at Stacy’s?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m on my way. Is Kylie there?”

  “No. I kind of figured she was with you.”

  “She was, but she should be home by now.” He couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

  “Hold on. Let me double-check she didn’t slip in while we were otherwise occupied…”

  Trevor held, listening while Ian mumbled something to Stacy. He heard the bedsprings squeak again as Ian stood, heard the jangle of a belt, heard the thump of Stacy’s cast on hardwood as they both searched the apartment. Finally, Ian said, “Nope. She’s not here—”

  Stacy’s scream cut him off. Trevor’s blood froze as he heard her cry, “Oh, my God. He’s got her. He’s got Kylie. Hurry, Ian, he’s getting away!”

  Trevor hit speaker and dropped the phone onto the console between the seats. Then he grabbed the wheel with both hands to make a right off Sunset at top speed without losing control of the Yukon. “Talk to me, Ian,” he called over squealing tires.

  “Shit. Benny’s backing out of the driveway right now, driving a dark blue or black older-mo
del BMW 7 Series. Heading south,” he panted, clearly running. “Stacy saw him put Kylie in the backseat. Says she was unconscious.”

  Ian’s careful wording wasn’t lost on him. Unconscious, or…? His mind refused to finish the thought. Benny’s kink involved protecting her, not killing her. He had to stake his faith on that. He held his tongue while Ian yelled to Stacy, instructing her to contact dispatch and call the situation in.

  “I’m going to blow by you in half a minute.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Ian replied, and Trevor heard the sound of an engine roaring to life.

  He caught a glimpse of taillights heading right at the next cross street and braked just hard enough to skid through the turn. “I see him. We’re going west. Can you cut him off? Force him into one of these alleys?”

  “Yeah. I’m parallel to you right now. How fast?”

  He glanced at the speedometer. “Pushing ninety.”

  “Okay. I’ll cut over in three intersections, which should give him enough reaction time. I don’t want him T-boning me at ninety miles an hour. Kylie’ll go flying.”

  “I know. Just slow him down. I’m calling for backup—shit…”

  That was all he had time for. Up ahead, a pickup truck entered the intersection from a cross street. Benny braked hard and swerved. The smell of burning rubber assailed Trevor’s nostrils as he followed suit, turning even more sharply. He let up on the brake and drifted to avoid slamming into the Beemer. The sedan skidded up the curb and came to rest with the front tires on the sidewalk.

  Trevor tumbled out of the Yukon at a dead run, gun drawn. He caught sight of Ian’s Highlander screeching to a stop in the middle of the intersection, but didn’t slow down.

  Gripping the gun with both hands, he approached Benny’s car. “On the ground,” he yelled when the driver’s side door sprang open. Benny stumbled out, hands in the air, and immediately sank to his knees. At the same time, an army of black-and-whites arrived, sirens wailing.

  Ian rushed around the front of the car and closed in from the other side. “I got him,” he said once he had his gun pointed at Benny’s head.

  Trevor needed no further assurance. He shoved his gun in the waist of his jeans and opened the back door. And there she was, sprawled half-on, half-off the seat, hair covering her face, and utterly still. For a frantic half second he stood frozen, praying to see her chest rise and fall. His own breath backed up in his lungs until he saw that telltale sign of life.

  “Kylie?” Relief turned his voice into a hoarse whisper. Before he could lean closer, two EMTs shouldered him aside, the larger of the two saying, “We’ve got her, Detective. Give us room. Let us take care of her.”

  Ian approached and put a hand on his shoulder. They watched in silence, staring mostly at the paramedic’s back as he leaned in and assessed her. She still hadn’t regained consciousness by the time they lifted her onto a gurney. When they wheeled past, the medic told Trevor, “Her blood pressure’s a little low. Other vitals are good. My guess is he hit her with some homemade chloroform because I smell acetone, but they’ll run tests at the hospital.”

  “You stick with our witness,” Ian suggested, and started walking backward toward the area where a couple of officers had Benny cuffed and facedown on the hood of a cruiser. “I’ll get our friend checked in to his suite and see if he feels like talking.”

  Trevor nodded. “Thanks. Keep me posted.”

  “Same goes.”

  Trevor backtracked to pick up Stacy and sped to the hospital. Once there, they got some good news. Kylie was no longer in the ER. With vital signs stable and within normal limits, she’d been installed in a room on the fourth floor. What he saw when they reached her room didn’t look quite as good. His heart clutched at the sight of her lying there, fragile and unmoving, in the hospital bed. They’d hooked her up to various tubes and wires, but she was still unconscious, and to his eyes, very pale.

  “Does she look pale?” Stacy whispered from beside him.

  He patted her hand, which clung to his arm in a tight grip. “It’s the hospital lighting.” Check him out, sounding so calm and sure despite the fear ricocheting through him.

  They stepped closer to the bed. “What’s this for?” She pointed to the wire running from under the front flap of Kylie’s hospital gown to a machine beside the bed.

  “It’s a heart rate monitor. Tells you how many beats per minute, oxygen level, and some other stuff.” Pointing to the heart icon flashing at regular intervals on the display next to the bed, he went on. “See here? Everything looks nice and normal.”

  “So why isn’t she awake?”

  “She’s awakened for short intervals, but mostly, she’s still sleeping it off.”

  They both turned and stared at the petite redheaded nurse standing in the doorway. She stepped into the room, checked the monitor, and added, “Don’t worry. She’s going to be fine,” before heading to the hall.

  “Tha’s a relief,” came a thin, groggy voice from the bed.

  “Oh my God, Ky!” Stacy rushed to her sister’s bedside, grinding Trevor’s toe under her cast in the process. He hobbled over to the opposite side.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  Drowsy blue eyes with pupils the size of planets turned to him, and then tried to roll up behind her eyelids. He took her hand, holding it carefully, as if the physical contact could somehow anchor her. “Stay with me, Kylie.”

  Her gaze steadied and locked on him. “Always.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Always,” she repeated, encouraged when her voice sounded less like it came from the far end of a long tunnel. She fought the dragging pull of sleep. Vague recollections of losing this battle a couple of times already, with the paramedics, a harried doctor, a nice nurse, danced through her mind. But this time she really wanted, no, needed to win. Because this time, it was Trevor.

  As the fog cleared, she pulled his heart-stopping face into focus. He opened his mouth to respond, but Stacy’s anxious voice swept into the silence.

  “Do you remember what happened? Benny drugged you and tossed you in the back of his car.”

  She turned her head and found Stacy on her other side.

  “Benny?” For a moment, her mind refused to connect the name with anything, and then, whoosh, it all came rushing back—the knock at her car window, surprise at finding him standing there, a chemical-laden cloth shoved in her face.

  That cleared the fog like a gale force wind. She struggled to sit up, only to have two sets of hands hold her down. She turned to Trevor. “Stacy’s right. I got home, I wasn’t paying attention, and then—out of nowhere—he was there, by my car, and—and—”

  “Shhh. I know. You’re safe. He’s in custody. Ian’s already got his confession.”

  “Can you believe it?” Stacy interjected. “It was Benny, all along. He killed Alex and Carlton. Turns out Benny had a sister who worked as a stripper at a club in Boston. She got him a job bouncing there. On his night off, one of her regular customers got good and loaded, cornered her in the parking lot after her shift, and when she turned down his proposition, beat her to death.”

  Stunned, she turned to Trevor. He nodded. “He never forgave himself for not being there to protect her.”

  She looked at Stacy again, but directed her question to Trevor. “Blond with blue eyes?”

  “Good guess. Benny moved to LA, landed the job at Deuces, and he’s been ‘protecting’ his sister ever since. At least in his mind. When we left the club together the other night, he realized limiting his efforts to the club wouldn’t cut it anymore. He had to be able to watch you 24-7 if he wanted to make sure nothing happened, so he decided to take you away. He rented a place outside Vegas, with some notion about you two living together, and eventually, working together at another club. He doesn’t have a clue he abducted you and not Stacy.”

  “My God, the whole thing is just…” Sad. Crazy. Terrifying. “…awful. What’s going to happen to him?”

  “H
e’s confessed to murdering two unarmed men, which means he’s looking at life in prison or worse. His attorney will probably offer an insanity defense. I’m no psychiatrist, but he’s got me convinced. Either way, Benny’s days protecting pretty blond strippers are over.”

  “How did I get here? I mean, I know I came in an ambulance, but I’ve got a black hole from the time Benny knocked on my window until now.”

  Trevor filled in the blanks, with frequent interruptions from Stacy. Kylie followed along as best she could. In the end, she found herself swallowing hard around a painful lump in her throat. Ian, Stacy, Trevor—she owed them so much, particularly Trevor. How could she have thought he would throw her life off course? He’d saved it, for God’s sake.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and clasped Trevor’s hand. “I should have owned up to this a long time ago—I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Stacy replied. “But don’t apologize, honey, none of this is your fault…”

  Kylie watched Trevor’s eyes shift to Stacy and let hers follow suit. Under two sets of pointed stares, Stacy blinked. “Oh, my. You weren’t talking to me. Jeez, look at the time. I should, um…call Ian, and tell him you’re awake,” she mumbled as she hustled out of the room.

  As soon as the door swooshed shut, Trevor turned to her. “You were saying?”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “Not that part. The thing about loving me?”

  “I do. I love you—”

  He cut her off with a slow, tender, and completely mind-numbing kiss. When he finally raised his head, hers was spinning.

  “I wanted to tell you, but I was too scared.”

  “Technically, you did mention it,” he pointed out with a grin. Then his expression sobered. “Don’t be afraid.” He kissed her again, quick and thorough. “I love you, too. I love that you have dreams and goals, and I would never do anything to derail those.”