Ultimate Kill (Book 1 Ultimate CORE Trilogy) (CORE Series)

by Kristine Mason

  He laughed and held up a hand. “Not sure if your neighbors would appreciate the experiment.”

  “The widow next door might,” she said with a chuckle. “But you’re right. Help me take the dishes inside, then strip.”

  He’d always been ready to ditch his and her clothes. Anytime. Anywhere. Their sexual chemistry had never been a problem. He’d never not wanted her, had never left their bed dissatisfied. And he was more than ready to take her to bed again right now.

  Rising, he reached for his plate. “You really have gotten bossy over the years.”

  “Have I?” she asked, her eyes innocent and teasing. “Sorry. But I know what I want. At this moment, it’s you. Naked.”

  Now fully aroused, if she didn’t stop with the naked talk, he’d strip her and take her against the kitchen island. Actually, that’s exactly what he’d do. Bend her over and—

  His cell phone rang. Releasing a sigh, he grabbed the phone off the patio table and checked the caller ID. Rachel.

  “I’m sorry. I have to take this call. The gal I work with is arranging my flight for tomorrow.”

  Although Naomi smiled at him, she caught a hint of disappointment at the mention of his leaving tomorrow. “Go ahead. I’ve got the dishes. But when you’re through, prepare for me to get all kinds of bossy on you.”

  Smiling at the prospect, he answered the call and entered the house. “Hey, Rachel. How are you?”

  “Wow,” Rachel began, “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number. The guy who I’m looking for is a total crab-ass, not…perky.”

  Perky? “I don’t think anyone has ever called me perky. Quite frankly, I’m good with that.”

  “You’re right,” she said, the keyboard clicking away in the background. “Perky isn’t a very manly word. How about sprightly, bouncy, buoyant or—”

  “How about closing out of the thesaurus and sticking with happy.”

  “Jake Tyler is happy? Wow. Stop the presses, this is big news.”

  Grinning, he shook his head and headed into the guest room where he’d stowed his suitcase and laptop. “I don’t know how Owen puts up with you,” he said, and pulled a pen and notepad from his briefcase.

  “He loves me so much he tells me all the time that I’m a work of art.”

  “No. He tells you you’re a piece of work. Meaning, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “Why do you hurt me?” she asked, her tone teasing. “Especially after I just took time out of my Sunday—my day off by the way—to help take care of your travel arrangements.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re not a pain in the ass. At least not all the time.”

  She chuckled. “Okay, I’ll take that. As for getting out of there tomorrow, the earliest nonstop flight I could find out of Jacksonville leaves at twelve-thirty. I’ve emailed you your e-ticket.”

  The drive from Woodbine to Jacksonville was about forty minutes. Calculating the time it would take to drop off the rental and check in at the gate, he’d need to leave around ten-thirty. He wished he could stay longer, but at least he’d have tonight and tomorrow morning with Naomi.

  “Great. Thanks for taking care of this for me. I owe you a couple of spools of yarn.” Since Rachel gave up chewing pencils, a bad habit she’d started to help her stop smoking, she’d taken up crocheting. Thanks to Rachel and her new hobby, everyone at CORE owned an uneven, unraveling afghan.

  “I’m holding you to it. So…are you going to tell me why you’re happy, or are you going to make me wait? Considering how our conversation went on Friday, I assumed the worst.”

  He set the paper and pen on the briefcase, then popped his head out the door. Water ran from the kitchen faucet and dishes clanked. “I’m not going to get into it right now, but let’s just say that Naomi admitted she changed her name and we’ve hashed through a lot of issues.”

  “She changed her name and her social security number?” Rachel asked, her voice holding disbelief.

  “Yeah, why?”

  The keyboard clicked away in the background. “What’s her real name?”

  “Lisa Monroe,” he said and looked out into the hall again. “Why? What are you doing?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m about to dump a big bucket of ice cold reality onto your head.”

  He tightened his grip on the phone and closed the guest room door behind him. “What’d you find?” he asked, taking a seat on the bed. A large part of him didn’t want to know. He’d just rediscovered Naomi, had rediscovered his feelings for her and they’d made tentative plans for the future. The other part of him wanted the truth. And not the sugarcoated version which, based on Rachel’s bucket of ice cold reality remark, was what he was about to receive.

  “As you know, anyone can change their name. But their social security number? That’s not easy.”

  He did know that and Naomi had backed all of this up yesterday morning. “Right, Naomi told me.”

  “Sorry, Jake. She’s still lying.”

  “Bullshit,” he said with resentment. Rachel hadn’t been here. She hadn’t listened to what Naomi had to say, or what she’d had to deal with for the past eight years.

  “Look,” Rachel began, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. We can talk about it—if you want—when you’re back in Chicago. Enjoy your time with Naomi.”

  “Nope.” He had to know. If what Naomi had told him was nothing but a lie…he wasn’t going to go there. Not yet. “You started this, now I need you to finish it. How is she lying?”

  She let out a sigh. “If she changed her social security number, there would be a paper trail. Guaranteed. There isn’t one leading back to Lisa Monroe or anyone else linked to Naomi McCall. The only way you can have your social security number changed and not have a paper trail is with a government agency.”

  “Witness Protection? She said her reason for the name change was because she had a stalker.”

  “The Witness Protection Program is for witnesses. Not stalking victims. They wouldn’t be involved with this.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window. There had to be an explanation. Maybe there wasn’t a stalker and that was the cover she was giving him to keep him…happy.

  “Can you run a search on Lisa Monroe? Check the Pittsburgh area, that’s where she said she was from.”

  “Jake, I can check, but it’ll take a while. You can’t be sure of her exact birthday and who knows, maybe she’s lying about being from Pittsburgh. Then again, maybe not. Maybe she’s using the stalker as a cover up for something bigger and she really is in Witness Protection.”

  “Those were my thoughts.”

  “Jake?” Naomi called and knocked on the guest room door.

  “I have to go,” he said to Rachel.

  “Gotcha,” Rachel replied and blew out another sigh. “I’m really sorry I dumped this on you. We’ll sort it out when you’re back here.”

  “Don’t be. I’d rather know the truth.” After saying good-bye, he disconnected the call. He needed to think. He needed to swallow his disappointment and give Naomi the benefit of the doubt. So she couldn’t have changed her social security number on her own and not leave a paper trail. So she might have lied about the stalker and was actually in Witness Protection. If that were the case, he didn’t like it, but he understood. She wouldn’t have been allowed to tell him the truth.

  Still. They’d been together for three years. Lived together, had been engaged to marry. While he hadn’t known then that she’d been lying about her past, he’d found out her version of the truth yesterday morning. He’d accepted her answers. They’d made sense and…he’d wanted to believe her. He wanted to be with her so damned bad. Forget about the past and start fresh. He’d missed her, had grown tired of coming home to an empty place.

  Rachel had punched a huge hole into Naomi’s story. Before he began demanding more answers from Naomi and caused a potential rift between them, he needed to figure out what to do with the information Rachel had given him. He
could confront Naomi, but would rather wait until he had all the facts first. Last night, they’d decided to continue to see each other even after he went back to Chicago. What if Rachel was wrong? The bigger question, what if Naomi was in Witness Protection? Did he care?

  Yes and no. No, because her safety came first. Yes, because she obviously didn’t trust him. She didn’t have to hide from him and could bare her secrets. He would never judge her and never do anything to hurt her. Although he had nothing to hide from her, he understood the past could be painful. Even now, seven years after his final tour in Iraq, he didn’t like to talk about the Humvee explosion that had killed, injured and deformed the men he’d been with, and that had ultimately landed him in the hospital for two months. The memories were too painful, the guilt that he’d come out better than the rest still too raw.

  He glanced to the closed door. Before the call from Rachel, he’d planned to spend the afternoon naked and making love to Naomi. He’d been aroused and ready to bend her over the kitchen island and take her. The problem was, he still wanted to spend the afternoon naked and making love. What the hell did that say about him?

  Without any answers, he shoved off the bed and opened the door. When he didn’t see Naomi in the hallway, he called for her.

  “I’m in here,” she answered from the bedroom.

  His body responded. He’d spent all night in her bed, making love and holding her. Last night had been heaven. He’d lived out dreams and fantasies that had been tormenting him for years. Despite his conversation with Rachel, he wanted to continue to live out those dreams and fantasies. Because deep down, the pathetic, foolish side of him didn’t care that he was in love with a liar.

  Fucking pathetic.

  He headed into her room, then froze. Naomi was lying on the center of the bed. Completely naked, her long brown hair spread across a small stack of pillows.

  “Did you get everything squared away?” she asked, running a hand along her stomach. When she reached her breast, she gave her nipple a tug.

  He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, all set.”

  She moved her other hand over her stomach, then to the small patch of dark curls above her sex. “Good,” she said, spread her legs and dug her heels into the mattress. “Any other business calls you need to attend to?”

  His erection throbbed as she rubbed her fingers along her heat. “No.”

  Keeping her gaze on his, she slipped a finger between her thighs and parted her lips. “Very good,” she said, her voice breathless, sexy. “If I recall correctly, you suggested I should see you naked at least a dozen times before coming up with a conclusion about your weight.”

  Unable to resist, he stood riveted, staring at her sex, at the way she eased her fingers in and out of her body. His conscience, heart and body warred with one another. His conscience told him to walk away and find out the truth before things between he and Naomi became deeper. His heart, although betrayed because she wouldn’t be honest with him, didn’t want to miss out on any chance of being with her. His body had a mind of its own. Fully aroused, his stomach quickening with need, he tore off his shirt and quickly shed the rest of his clothes.

  His eyes on where she pleasured herself, he moved across the room and settled his body between her outstretched thighs. Dipped his head and kissed, nipped and licked her fingers and her heat. When she groaned and spread her lips for his taking, he knew, despite the war going on inside of him, he’d always want her.

  Liar or not, Naomi would always hold a piece of his heart.

  *

  “Santiago just called,” Ric said, as he entered the luxurious custom built bar and game room. “They’re back in Norfolk.”

  Not looking up, he eyed the black eight ball left on the pool table, lined up his shot and then sank in it in the corner pocket. He picked up his empty glass and made his way behind the bar. “Very good,” he said, pulling out the bottle of fifty-year-old Glenfiddich he’d been saving. “I think this calls for a celebratory toast, don’t you?”

  “Didn’t Liliana give you that bottle for your birthday last year?” Ric asked.

  He poured three fingers worth of the whiskey into a glass and handed it to Ric. “She did. And I think it’s rather fitting that we drink the whiskey my pathetic wife had bought and celebrate the woman I will soon possess.” He filled his glass, then raised it. “Cheers.”

  “Damn, that’s good,” Ric said, setting the glass on the bar and taking a seat on the high back bar stool.

  “For twenty grand, it’d better be.” He topped Ric’s glass with another shot. “I’m assuming Santiago knows to continue to keep the brothers on a short leash.”

  “He does. He and Vlad took them to the Marriott for the night. They’re going to ply them with food, alcohol and women.” Ric rolled his eyes and picked up the glass of whiskey. “Vlad insisted. He’s looking at tonight as something akin to a prisoner’s last meal before execution.”

  “Vlad’s something else,” he said with a chuckle. “I actually like the idea. Keeps those boys happy and unaware. Just make sure Santiago and Vlad don’t allow the brothers to have too much fun. We have a schedule to meet and I need the smart one focused, not hung over.”

  “Already warned Santiago.” After taking another sip of the whiskey, Ric leaned back. “He and Vlad will bring the brothers to the warehouse at six-thirty in the morning.”

  The old warehouse, a combination of cinder blocks, steel and wood, had been in his family for generations. Due to the undesirable, high crime location and the cost it would take to have kept the building up to code, it hadn’t been in use for the past ten years. At least that was what most people would assume. The broken windows had been boarded. The doors locked and chained. But inside, he had created a perfect hideout for his somewhat…illicit affairs.

  While he hadn’t been willing to drop a dime into bringing the warehouse up to code, he was accustomed to certain luxuries. Several years ago, he’d spent quite a lot of money making sure one of the building’s floors had been renovated into an apartment to fit his standards. He’d paid handsomely for a custom kitchen, office/TV room, several bedrooms and bathrooms, all properly wired, all elegant and completely secure.

  “You and I will be there at six,” he said and poured whiskey into his tumbler. “I want everything ready for the big show.”

  Ric grinned and raised his glass. “It’s going to be one hell of a show, too.” As if it was some no-name shitty swill, rather than worth twenty thousand dollars a bottle, he finished his whiskey in one swallow. “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. Only…never mind.”

  He leaned against the bar. “Only what if my plan doesn’t work?”

  “I have confidence it will, don’t get me wrong.” Ric ran a finger around the rim of the crystal tumbler. “One thing I’m worried about though is what if she doesn’t take the bait and instead goes to the cops?”

  He’d thought of that, too. For a millisecond. “She won’t.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  He shrugged. “Because I remember what her brother looked like after you finished with him. I’m sure she does, as well. More?” he asked, holding the bottle of Glenfiddich.

  “Not if we have to be at the warehouse at six.” Ric said with a shake of his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “What if she’s out for revenge? If she comes to you, you’ll never be able to turn your back on her.”

  Smiling, he placed a hand over his heart. “I’m touched by your concern,” he said with sarcasm. “Never fear, Ric. Once I have her, once she learns the rules, she’ll be a good girl.”

  “How can you be sure?” Ric countered.

  “Because I have you. And what you did with the maid will set a good example.” After the maid had pleasured him with her mouth, he’d turned her over to Ric and had given him the rest of the day off to play. His right hand man lived in the three thousand square foot guest cottage located five hundred yards from the sprawling estate house he’d lived in his entire
life.

  A tunnel, once used during the Civil War to hide Confederate soldiers from the Yankees, ran from the cottage to the house. Ric had transferred the maid from his office to his cottage via the tunnel, taking her belongings with him. Because Alison took the bus or caught a ride to the estate, there’d been no need to worry about disposing of a vehicle. The body was another story, but Ric had taken care of that. He also hadn’t needed to worry about his housekeeper, Mrs. Burrows. Alison hadn’t been in his employment for long and Mrs. Burrows assumed the girl had simply walked off the job.

  But she hadn’t. Ric, the perverse sadist, had kept her in his cottage and played with her until the wee hours of the night. One thing he liked about Ric, he never hid secrets and was always eager to share gory details. The ones Ric had shared with him this morning were definitely gory. The pictures Ric had showed him, the proof.

  He smiled. “It’s a shame the labyrinth was too full. Alison admired the magnolia tree at its center and it would have been quite fitting as her final resting place.” After Ric had choked the life out of her, he’d buried her broken body behind his cottage. Considering the center of the maze held dozens of skeletal remains—many courtesy of his great-grandfather—they would have to start using many other parts of his property to bury their secrets.

  Excitement brightened Ric’s eyes. “Yes, it would have been quite fitting. And you’re right. I’m sure once you’ve drawn her out from wherever she’s been hiding, if she gives you trouble, I can convince her that she belongs with you.”

  “You’ll convince her she belongs to me,” he corrected. And she did belong to him. From the moment he’d seen her working at that shitty club, he’d wanted to possess her. Her body was the type a man could enjoy for hours on end. Her smile had transported him to another time, to when he’d been a naïve child seeking adventure and treasures. To before he’d found the center of the labyrinth and his great-grandfather’s boney surprises. More than that, the light in her eyes carried hope, dreams and innocence.

  He hadn’t hoped for anything in more than twenty years. Hope was for those who were afraid to risk, dreams were for the ignorant who would rather fantasize than act, and innocence…. He’d lost his innocence in the maze that hot, sunny day when he was nine. The dead had spoken to him that afternoon, along with his great-grandfather. If he planned to make something of himself, be stronger and more powerful than his enemies, he would need to shed his naivety, be ruthless, be a conqueror.