The room wasn’t big, but it did take up a corner of the building, the tall, arched windows set into the two walls, letting in a lot of light. But that wasn’t what made him stare. It was the fact that the room smelled fresh, that the old, threadbare red carpet had been vacuumed recently and the various surfaces had been dusted. And weirdest of all, his stuff was still there. The bookcase that held his collection of vintage superhero comics. The band posters on the wall: Nirvana and Green Day and Radiohead. The desk against the wall with his old computer on it. His electric guitar still on the stand by the window. The poster of some bikini-clad model he couldn’t remember the name of but whom he’d fantasized about a lot.
Jesus Christ. It looked exactly as it had the day he’d left it, except cleaner.
What had the old man been thinking? Had he deliberately kept it like that, or had he just not bothered to pack it all up? Okay, so that was a stupid question. Of course the old man wouldn’t have bothered. After Rush had gone to jail and Quinn and himself had left for the military, Joseph Redmond hadn’t cared about anything at all.
Not even his fucking company.
Zane dismissed the weird feeling that threaded through him, one that was almost homesickness yet wasn’t quite, scanning the room for Iris instead.
She wasn’t there.
About to launch into a full-scale hunt, he stopped when he saw her duffel bag sitting on the floor near the dresser. Okay, if her bag was still there, then perhaps she hadn’t gone far.
He stilled, listening.
The door to the bathroom was shut, but through it he could hear the shower going. And was that singing? Half against his will, he found himself drifting over to the door and leaning against it.
Yes, it was indeed singing. The tune was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it, mainly because she was singing so off-key it rendered whatever song it was unrecognizable.
He didn’t know why he smiled. There wasn’t anything inherently funny about a woman singing tunelessly in his shower. But there was something about the sound that reached inside him and held on tight. A certain lightness, a carefree quality that he found intriguing.
Being a soldier suited him, and yet there was nothing light or carefree about the missions he’d been given or about the kills he’d had to take. And even though he enjoyed the camaraderie of his unit, he didn’t like to be distracted. His head was always full of his next mission, his next strategy, the next thing he had to do in order to stay alive. His buddies gave him shit about it all the time—Relentless Redmond who didn’t know when to switch it off. But being so focused had saved him more times than he could count, so he wasn’t about to stop doing that anytime soon.
Iris was under threat too and yet, here she was, singing in the shower as if she were safe in her own home and not a fugitive from justice and the cartel who wanted to kill her. How did that work? Did she not understand the danger, or did she just not care?
He leaned his head against the doorframe, remembering the fear in her eyes as that asshole at the bar had opened fire on them in the parking lot. Oh, she understood the danger all right, so maybe it was that she just didn’t care.
Or maybe she hasn’t got anything more to lose.
Zane frowned at the thought. He didn’t like that idea, not one bit.
Abruptly the bathroom door opened in a cloud of heated steam, and there was Iris, her hair hanging in a glossy, wet fall down her back, wrapped in a small white and rather threadbare towel.
He stared, unable to help himself.
Her skin was flushed with heat and beaded here and there with water, and it was as if she were glowing, as if someone had switched a light on inside her. Dark eyes met his, liquid and deep, the shadows of exhaustion beneath them making the protectiveness that had gripped him ever since he’d met her tighten its hold.
“You okay?” The question was curter than he’d meant it to be.
A flicker of surprise chased across her features. “I’m fine. How long have you been out here for?”
“A minute or two. And yes, I heard you singing.”
The flush in her skin deepened. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”
He had a sudden, irresistible urge to tease her about it, which made no sense at all. Instead he straightened, trying not to look down the length of her body to where the towel ended at the tops of her thighs. “Quinn said—”
“I know,” she interrupted before he could finish. “I heard. He’s going to call Dallas tomorrow morning.”
“How did you hear that?”
“I eavesdropped.” She looked up at him from beneath long, thick black lashes. “I hope you didn’t mind me using your shower. I needed to get changed anyway and wanted to get rid of the blood.”
“No, of course not.” God, she smelled good, of soap and clean skin, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to an almost-naked woman. He wanted to reach out and pull that towel away…Almost growling, he pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Don’t worry about Quinn. I’ll handle him.”
“Uh-huh.” She gave him an impenetrable look, then moved past him, going over to where her duffel bag sat on the floor and bending to pull some clothes out of it.
Zane cursed under his breath as her towel pulled higher and shoved himself away from the bathroom door. He really did not need the view of the perfect, round curves of her ass. Not tonight, not when nothing was going to happen.
“You don’t sound very worried,” he said, his earlier irritation with his brother and the whole situation suddenly returning full force.
She didn’t look at him, examining a T-shirt she’d pulled from the bag. “What do you want me to say? That I’m terrified out of my mind?” Raising the T-shirt to her nose, she gave an experimental sniff. “Ugh. I need to do some laundry.”
Showering. Singing. Complaining about laundry. Was the woman insane?
Zane stalked over to where she stood and jerked the T-shirt out of her hand. “I’ll handle that,” he said, his bad temper flaring. “You do know that if Quinn had his way, you’d be heading to Dallas right now?”
“I realize that.”
“So why the hell are you worrying about your goddamn laundry?”
She eyed him, her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s it to you? Either way, whether I end up being shipped to Dallas or escaping, I’m screwed, right? The cartel is going to get me eventually. Might as well be shot in clean clothes.”
Her calm acceptance of the situation annoyed him and he didn’t know why, because he certainly didn’t need her going into hysterics. Maybe it was because she’d seemed to be so keen to get away from him before and yet was completely happy with taking full advantage of his hospitality now.
That’s not the reason, moron.
The fabric of her T-shirt was soft in his hand, and he had a bizarre impulse to lift it to his face the way she’d done earlier and inhale the scent of it.
You fucking weirdo. Get out now while you’ve still got your dignity.
Yes. He really needed to.
“Leave any other laundry that needs doing in the hallway outside,” he said shortly, turning toward the door. “You should also stay up here and out of the way tonight. If we’re lucky, Quinn’ll forget you’re even here.”
Her straight, dark brows lowered. “Are you going to lock the door too?”
“No, of course not. You’re not a prisoner.”
“But I could get out. Escape.”
He stilled, glancing at her. “What? You want me to handcuff you?” He shouldn’t like the idea of handcuffing her to his bed. He really shouldn’t.
A slight stain of red appeared on her cheekbones. Interesting. Very interesting. “No. I was only…figuring out where I stood.”
“You’re a bail-jumper, that’s where you stand. And if you want to escape, be my guest. The cartel will find you in seconds flat, so good luck with that.”
Another quicksilver flicker of emotion crossed her face, though what it was, he didn’t know
. “I guess I’ll be staying here then.” She let out a breath and scanned the room. “There are worse places to be stuck in, I suppose. Though I have to say, this is a pretty strange-looking hotel room.”
“It’s not a hotel room. It was my bedroom.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” She took another glance around. “Well, Radiohead I can see, but Nirvana?” This time when she looked back at him, there was a distinct gleam in her eyes. “You’re way too clean-cut for them.”
Zane blinked. She was a skip, a criminal escaping from justice and sought after by a group of seriously bad men, and now she was giving him crap about his teenage music choices.
And you like it.
No, he didn’t like it. He didn’t have time for it. What he needed to do was get out of here and start figuring out his next move, work out a back-up plan, because he was going to need one if he couldn’t convince Quinn to change his mind.
He curled his fingers around her T-shirt. “Like I said”—he kept his voice cold—“stay here. I’ll go out and find you some dinner.”
She was flushed and pink, and her eyes were far too dark. And for some reason he kept thinking about that blow job offer, and what that soft red mouth of hers would look like wrapped around his dick…
Fuck.
Without another word, he headed toward the door.
“Hey,” she called from behind him. “What did I say?”
Zane kept on walking.
“Look, I’m sorry about Nirvana. I just couldn’t see you wearing flannel.”
Ignoring her, he went through the door and let it slam shut behind him.
Chapter 6
Iris woke with the distinct feeling that something was wrong, which was pretty much business as usual. Except this time she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly was bugging her.
Cautiously she opened one eye. A baby in a swimming pool reaching for a floating dollar bill looked back.
Oh crap. Nirvana. Teenage boy.
Zane.
She groaned and threw an arm over her face. She’d been hoping yesterday had been a bad dream, just like she’d hoped that when she left Dallas things would get better. But apparently not. Apparently life hadn’t finished screwing with her.
Not only had she gotten the cartel on her tail, but she was now the prisoner of a bounty hunter whose brother wanted to send her back to jail.
And she still hadn’t figured out how she was ever going to get her sister back.
Don’t blame it on life, Callahan. This is your own stupid fault.
Iris swallowed and took away her arm. Yes, so it was her own fault. She’d been the one to get herself into this situation, and if she hadn’t been so set on getting the money for that house for Jamie, she’d never have taken Dylan up on his offer to help her out. That had been her own stupid decision. God, so many stupid decisions…
She stared up at the incongruously ornate ceiling above her head.
Perhaps not escaping the night before, after hearing Quinn and Zane argue, had been another stupid decision.
Quinn had sounded pretty certain about what he wanted to do with her, which meant she could either stay here and let herself be delivered back to jail or escape and take her chances with the cartel. She’d chosen to stay here mainly because, despite the long sleep she’d already had yesterday, a deep exhaustion had settled into her bones, and the opportunity to have a shower and a sleep somewhere safe was just too good to pass up. Even if Zane had obviously not been thrilled with that decision.
In fact, he’d been pretty damn irritated with her.
Why? Because she’d been fairly calm about her situation? Seemed a weird thing for a guy as cool as he was to get irritated about. Or was it only because he’d had to do her laundry?
She’d put all her clothing in the hallway outside and, sure enough, he’d taken it all away twenty minutes later, at the same time as he’d delivered a burger, fries, and Coke. It was like a weird kind of room service, though he hadn’t appreciated the joke when she’d offered to tip him, giving her an icy look from underneath his dark lashes instead.
He’d left her alone the rest of the night, which she’d found vaguely disappointing. Though she couldn’t imagine what she wanted from him. Not sex, that was for sure, not when she’d only just met the guy. He was already helping her, so there didn’t seem much point in screwing him anyway. Instead she’d amused herself by poking around in his room, looking at his books and comics, fiddling with his guitar.
It was odd, this whole hotel setup. The bounty hunting business downstairs, with the bedrooms upstairs. Odd, too, that this room was still like a teenage-boy shrine or something, as if it had been this way for years and no one had touched it. Clearly he hadn’t been back here since, so why keep it like this? And how long, exactly, had he been away?
Her mounting curiosity about him unsettled her, so she’d put herself to bed not long after that, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep very like the one she’d had earlier that day. As if she didn’t have to worry about anything. As if she knew, deep down, that she was protected, safe.
Safe? Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Iris scowled at the reminder and sat up. On a chair by the window sat a small pile of clean clothes. Her clothes. Holy hell, he really had done her laundry. There was also a tantalizing, familiar smell in the air.
She turned her head and there it was, sitting on the nightstand. A large coffee in a take-out cup, a paper bag resting next to it. Coffee and…She reached out and grabbed the bag, peering inside. It was a cinnamon roll and it was still warm.
Something clenched tight inside her. He’d done her laundry and he’d brought her breakfast. Jesus. She didn’t need to think about how long it had been since anyone had done anything for her, not when she already knew. Dylan. He hadn’t done her laundry, it was true, but he’d bought her coffee. Had taken her to dinner. Fixed up a few things around the trailer. Small acts of kindness that had gotten under her guard, little by little, gaining her trust until…
Yeah…until he ruined your life. Remember that?
Iris stared down at the paper bag with the delicious pastry inside. She should put it aside, grab her stuff, and get out of here. Get out now while she could. Then again, that wouldn’t solve her situation with her sister. Jamie was still in foster care and she was no closer to a plan on how to get her back out again.
She sighed. Staying here and letting Zane Redmond and his hostile brother decide her fate sucked, and all this caretaking stuff Zane was doing for her was confusing and troubling. But it was better than being dead. And who knew? Maybe sticking around would give her a plan on how to deal with the whole drugs-charges thing. She just had to keep her guard up, stay wary, and not let Zane get under her skin by doing laundry and buying her food.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t eat this cinnamon roll though. It would only get cold and stale if she didn’t, and the same with the coffee. Be a shame to waste it and after all, she was very hungry.
Iris tore open the bag and devoured the pastry. Then she grabbed the coffee, taking sips of it as she pulled on some clean clothes.
Might as well go downstairs and see if Zane had managed to change his stupid brother’s mind about shipping her to Dallas.
Once she was dressed, Iris made her way along the hallway and down the stairs, looking around to see where Zane might have gotten to.
The foyer was empty, but voices could be heard through an open doorway that led to another room or something, she didn’t know what. They were deep, male, and sounded very, very annoyed.
Iris paused, curious in spite of herself.
There was Zane’s cool timbre, mixed with Quinn’s rougher, grittier tones. And a third voice, smooth and warm as honey. Was that the third brother he mentioned?
All three men were definitely arguing and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were arguing about. Her.
“You take her to Dallas and you’ll have to go through me,” Zane was saying icily. “I�
�m not going to have another woman’s death on my conscience.”
Another woman’s death? Iris drifted closer to the door, intrigued.
“Charlie again?” Quinn sounded as pissed off as he had the night before. “Yeah, we’re not going to talk about that. We made a vow on it, remember?”
“You and Rush and Dad made a vow,” Zane snapped. “I didn’t.”
“Hey, come on, Zane.” The smooth voice this time, easygoing and relaxed. “Redmonds stick together, remember? Don’t be such a fucking dick.”
“Yes, well, you have to believe that, don’t you?” Zane’s voice was barbed. “Or else you would have spent eight years in jail for sweet fuck all.”
There was a crashing silence.
Oh crap. Some serious shit was going down from the sound of things, and she appeared to be caught in the middle of it. Wonderful. Zane was arrogant, cold, and had been a bit of a dick, but still. He’d saved her, cleaned her up after she’d scratched herself, and now she had clean clothes and was fully caffeinated thanks to him. She didn’t want to be the reason he was now having a major falling out with his brothers.
Maybe she should leave after all. Maybe that would be easier for all concerned.
She turned from the doorway, already forming plans for running quickly back upstairs to grab her duffel bag and leaving.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Iris stopped dead, Zane’s cool voice somehow wrapping around her and holding her tight.
Damn. Too late now.
“I…” She stopped and turned around.
Zane was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest. He was in a suit today and for some reason she couldn’t stop staring. Which didn’t make any sense because she hated guys in suits. But Zane…God, he was a total package.
The suit was dark blue, the fabric obviously expensive and perfectly tailored to his wide shoulders and lean waist. He wore a crisp white shirt with it, the top couple of buttons undone to reveal the tanned skin of his throat, and the white seemed to make the intense sapphire of his eyes stand out even more.
Take Me Deeper Page 8