Which meant he could go see Andi without worrying somebody would see them together. After Andi hadn’t sought him out, he figured it would just be best to let everybody think they’d fought. It was obviously what she had in mind.
But, damn it, he needed to see her.
Rounding the corridor, he headed down the hall, his feet silent on the tile. He was nervous, Jamie realized, recognizing the twisting in his stomach. God knew he had felt that emotion enough in the past few weeks to be very familiar with it.
Soon, thank God, soon, it would all be over.
He reached the door and stopped.
Voices.
Jamie’s heart froze.
Letcher.
Jamie felt the reassuring weight of his gun, but before he could draw the 9 mm, he stopped himself. Andi’s words drifted through the door.
“Is ninety thousand dollars really worth killing somebody?” Jamie’s eyes closed as the fear started to echo in her voice.
“I’ve done it for less.”
They’d been wrong. All their data indicated that Letcher was a nonviolent sort and Jamie would have pinned him as being too weak to take another life.
They had been wrong and now Andi’s life was on the line.
“We’re going to take a ride, my dear,” Letcher said. “Now, I’m going to have this pointed at you at all times. Should you decide to bolt, I’ll shoot. Try to use any of your pathetic martial arts on me, and I’ll shoot. Do anything other than what I tell you, and I will shoot.”
Fuck! The bastard had a gun pointed on her. Which was why Andi hadn’t done anything to get herself out of the mess.
Jamie retraced his steps, praying Andi wouldn’t do anything stupid. He couldn’t do anything, not without being able to see them, not with a gun pointed at Andi. He continued to back up, breathing shallowly through his mouth, taking care to be as silent as possible.
Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he hit a button on it for Mick, making sure it was on silent mode and then hit send as he reached the end of the hall, eyes on the door. Please, God, let Mick remember how to use the damn phone.
And the messages…
He turned the corner only seconds before the door opened. He could hear Andi talking. “Is there any hope I can talk you out of this?” she was asking. Her voice was shaking, but she hadn’t frozen.
There was really no place to hide. Just a Coke machine and the stairwell.
And Jamie couldn’t let Letcher get her into a car.
“Just keep walking, Ms. Morrow.” Letcher’s voice was softer, quieter. “I still have this gun pointed at you and I will—”
“I know. I know,” Andi interrupted, dryly. “You will shoot. You’ve been watching too much TV. You sound like a badly written villain.”
“You’d think a woman in your position wouldn’t be quite so cocky,” Letcher mused.
Their voices were drawing closer. Jamie could picture them. Letcher would be a few feet beside and behind her, his gun in the pocket of his blazer, or maybe in his hand, with his blazer draped over his arm, hiding the gun he pointed at Andi. He wouldn’t dare get too close, not until they were out of sight of the security cameras that lined the hall and stairwell.
Once in the parking lot, he’d get a little closer, take that chance. By then, he’d be almost home free.
“In my position, what have I got to lose?” Andi replied.
Shit.
They were almost on the Coke machine by now. Jamie waited, pacing himself, and when he could see her shadow on the floor, he reached out, snagged her arm and jerked her over as he pivoted and stood facing Letcher, his own gun drawn, the muzzle pointed directly at Letcher’s face.
“Stand down,” was all Jamie said.
Letcher’s face was a florid shade of red, but the gun now pointed at Jamie was steady. “I don’t think so.”
“Security will have already called the cops,” Jamie said, gesturing to the cameras with his head. “And plant security will be on their way.”
Letcher smiled. “You idiot. Do you really think I left those cameras enabled?” Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Jamie heard Andi whisper, “Mick, thank God.” Letcher glanced at the older man. “Excellent timing, my friend,” he said.
“Not for you,” Mick said, sighing, his own weapon in his hand. “Stand down, Letcher. I’ve called the cops.”
Jamie watched as Letcher’s eyes started to narrow. With a smile, Jamie said, “Do you really think he was actually interested in that money? Good ol’ Mick’s loaded. His momma and daddy left him with a fortune.”
In his free hand, Mick held up his ever-present tape recorder and pressed the button. Voices poured out, Mick’s and Letcher’s, the first meeting that Letcher had said anything incriminating.
“Looks like you haven’t been in the game as long you thought,” Jamie said. Then in a harsh voice, he ordered, “Put that damn gun down.”
Jamie could see his knuckles whiten as he started to squeeze the trigger.
“Art, I called the cops,” Mick repeated levelly. “They will be pulling up any second. I described you, your car. Right now, plant security is covering the exits. Yeah, yeah, you rigged the cameras, but you don’t seem to know that my boy here is a computer whiz and everything you did, he can undo, without even blinking an eye. The moment you touched the computer system, bells and whistles started going off in our office and I knew what you were up to. The game is over.”
Harshly, Mick said, “You can’t get out.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Art said, his voice almost soundless with rage.
Mick shrugged. “Don’t take it personally. I had a job to do,” he responded as he pocketed the recorder. “Besides, I really hated your cologne. Do you have to marinate in it?”
From the corner of his eye, Jamie could see Andi, still pressed against the side of the Coke machine. She was pale but steady. Probably in better shape than he was. He was shaking inside, and petrified—desperate to get that gun from Letcher, desperate to keep her safe. “We already know you think the money is worth killing for.” Softly, Jamie said, “But tell me this, is the money worth dying for? Because I’m ready to pull this trigger.”
Distantly, they heard sirens.
And Letcher’s hand dropped, the gun falling from his hand.
Jamie’s eyes closed with relief as Mick took position behind Letcher, taking his hands and cuffing them. Glancing up and said, “Good work, kid.”
Jamie looked at Letcher. “I’d like you to meet my cousin, retired from the Indianapolis police force, Detective Michael Dole McAdams. He likes to go around incognito when we work embezzlement cases. He must look shifty or something— crooks are always offering him a cut.”
As Andi stepped out from behind the Coke machine, Mick grinned. “Taught the boy everything he knows.” Then he nudged Letcher forward, scooping up his gun. “Come on, Letch. I got some colleagues I’d like you meet.”
Andi stared at Mick, at the wide grin and pale green eyes, the face that was usually so somber. Her gaze flickered over to Jamie and he shrugged, his hands spreading wide. “I look more like my mother,” was all he said as Mick headed down the hall.
Mick’s voice floated back. “Thank God.”
Staring at her, Jamie reached out, touched her pale cheek. “Are you all right?”
Shakily, she nodded. “He didn’t hurt me,” she said numbly.
God, I’m starting to lose it here, Andi thought as her body started to quiver. The fear-induced sweat had dampened her body and now she was cold, freezing. Shock.
Jamie saw her wide, dark, unfocused eyes and he took his jacket off, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her close. He returned his gun to its holster and banded his arms around her. Cupping her head in his hand, he whispered, “You’re fine. I’m fine. It’s all over.”
Softly, she asked, “You think they need another nurse anywhere in Indy?” Pulling back slightly, she looke
d around, dazed. “I don’t think I want to come back here.”
Jamie laughed and tucked her head under his chin, soothing her back with his hands, stealing what moments he could. Already, he could hear the sound of police issue shoes on the stairs. “I love you,” he told her as somebody called out their names. Reaching up, she traced a finger down his face and said, “I know. I love you, too.”
♥
Jamie looked away from the ceiling as the door opened. The room was dim, and with the light of the bathroom shining behind her, Andi’s face was in shadow. The light turned her nightgown translucent and he could see every curve, highlighted and touched with gold. Her hair lay in a fat, loose braid on one shoulder as she moved away from the bathroom.
This was his wife.
His wife of four hours and fifty…two minutes.
Slowly, he sat up, watching as she paused by the little alcove off the bathroom. The huge king-size bed, soft as down, waited and Jamie was dying to lay her down on that bed and bury himself inside her body.
But she was holding something out to him.
It was a long flat package.
Looking up at her, he said, “I already got what I wanted.”
She touched one hand to the gold charm at her throat and smiled. “So did I. But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep this,” she told him, lowering herself down to sit beside him, holding the package out.
He started to open it but paused when she spoke.
“The day I listened to that tape, I was wandering around the house. I kept telling myself I didn’t know what to do, but I did. Open it,” she urged.
As he stripped away the simple navy paper, he saw creamy ivory paper, pale blue lettering, and the words, Love Is, in darker blue. It looked like that piece Andi had hanging over her fireplace.
He read it, even though he remembered the verse from childhood. Even though he had listened to the minister say those words only hours before as they pledged their lives to each other.
He ran his hand down the smooth glass before looking up at her.
She was studying the frame, and the verse. “I kept wandering over and reading this, over and over. And then I got so mad at myself. I hadn’t listened, hadn’t forgiven. I thought I had failed you.”
“Andi—”
She laid one hand over his lips, took the frame from him and set it aside. Then she hiked her gown up until she could straddle his lap. “It took me a little while to figure it out, but if love is patient, you’d understand that I had to work it out before I could let it go. I was only failing you if I couldn’t put it aside.”
He slid his hands up her back and found the band that secured her hair. Undoing the braid, he smoothed the heavy, shining curls out over her shoulders and breasts before looking up at her. “You could never fail me,” he finally said, his voice soft and rough.
Lowering her head, she kissed him, her hair falling around them, blocking out the light. “Love me,” she whispered, grasping his hands and guiding them to her breasts.
“For the rest of my life,” he swore, shifting and turning, until she lay beneath him, cradling his body with hers.
“The rest of our lives,” she whispered, tugging his head down to hers.
Jamie had one last coherent thought, before need, love, and lust, completely fogged his brain.
I won, after all.
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Wrecked
In the nineties, Abigale Applegate and Zach Barnes were the most beloved sitcom child stars in the world. Then they grew up and left Hollywood behind…
Whatever happened to Abigale Applegate?
She’s been wondering the same thing.
With her Hollywood dreams long gone, Abigale now has a nice, neat, uncomplicated life—until the day her perfect fiancé needs to talk. Dumped, a little more than shattered, and totally confused, Abigale turns to Zach, her best friend since forever, to help her pick up the pieces. He does it with a gift—a copy of Wreck This Journal. She can vent her frustrations, and sketch out a new plan. Zach just hopes he’s part of it. Because he’s been in love with Abigale his entire life.
When the journal falls into Zach’s hands, he discovers Abigale wants a new man. And fast. Nothing more than a hot distraction. Zach has a strategy, too. He’s going to be that man. It’s his last chance. Abigale might be out to shake up her life, but Zach's out to reinvent it. Now, all he has to do is convince Abigale that life can go as planned.
Read on for an excerpt from WRECKED
the first book in Shiloh’s WRECKED series
♥
“Hey, Zach.”
She glanced down and he followed her gaze, saw that she had the journal he’d picked up for her. “Did you bring that here to beat me up with it or something?”
She laughed. “Well, there is something about an unexpected action . . .” Then she shrugged. “Nah. I actually figured out a plan. It’s a weird one, but I’m here to ask you to help me do one of the things on the list.”
“Okay . . .” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and waited.
“I want a tattoo.”
Zach closed his eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed his right ear and then said, “You want what?”
“A tattoo.” She wiggled the book. “I wrote it down and everything. I did it last night and I’ve thought about it all day and I’m sure I want to do it, so stop looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, okay?”
“You wrote a plan that includes getting a tattoo,” he said slowly. His mind was churning at the very idea of it and his blood was boiling. Putting his hands on her...focus on the issue at hand, Barnes! “And you want me to do it.”
“Well . . .” She grinned at him and the dimple in her chin winked at him. “The tattoo part is in the plan. And who else would I ask? You’re my best friend, right?”
He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “You sure about this, sugar?”
“Yes.” She tapped the book against her leg, looking around. “Ah...does that mean you’ll do it?”
“Like I’d let anybody else,” he muttered. “Do you know what you want?”
She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought it through that far. I was kind of thinking you could help me figure it out.”
He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced around. The parlor was empty. “When did you want to do this?” He could take some time to think up some designs for her. Take some time to get a grip and—
“Now.”
So much for taking time to get a grip.
“Okay.”
Bent over the table, she watched as he sketched out another image. Keelie had left, locking up the front door and lowering the blinds. Zach seemed completely focused on the task at hand. “You got any idea where you want to put this?” he asked.
“Ah...well, I was thinking that I’d rather have one that doesn’t really show. It’s for me, not anybody else.” She scooted back from the desk and went over to the design wall, studying some of the pictures. The back of her shoulder seemed innocuous enough, but this was something she was doing for herself. Not to show off and she wanted it personal. Completely personal. She saw one woman’s picture—the woman was pretty damn clearly showing off—she was sexy as hell, Abigale had to admit, but did she really have to have her jeans open like that?
Although one thing was clear. She wasn’t about to have him doing it on her hip like that. She’d have to all but pull up her skirt. Considering the way she was having trouble thinking clearly around him just now...? Yeah. Not happening. “I guess my lower back.”
Glancing down at her skirt, she frowned and turned around to find Zach staring at her. His gaze dropped back down to the sketchbook in front of him. “Will this skirt work okay for this?”
“Yeah. You’re fine. You wanna take a look at any of these?”
She crossed the floor to study the designs and frowned. They all looked so...simple.
; “What’s wrong?”
“Well...they’re pretty, but . . .” She glanced at the vivid color on his arms, the intricate detail and then back at the sketches. “Aren’t they kind of plain?”
“Sugar, you’ve never had a tattoo before. Trust me. You want simple. They hurt. And the more intricate it gets, the longer it takes.”
“Oh.” Well, technically she realized it wasn’t going to feel good. But having it pointed out to her made some of the nerves inside her flare to life.
A warm hand brushed down her arm and she turned her head, found Zach watching her closely. “You know, this isn’t anything you have to do,” he said quietly.
“Yes, it is. I want to.” Tearing her gaze away from his, she looked at the designs. One in particular had caught her eye the second he’d drawn it. Simple or not, it was lovely. The stylized dragonfly made her smile. It was pretty, fantastical, and silly.
“I think that one is just about perfect,” she said, tapping it with her finger.
“Okay.” He checked the clock. “I need some time to get this ready. Don’t suppose you feel like ordering us in some pizza or something, do you? You can put a movie in while I do this.”
“Sure.” She tugged her phone out and then glanced at him as he pushed back from the desk. “I...ah, well, I didn’t know it was anymore complicated than you just doing it.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “Well, if you had the design in mind already or brought one with you, we could move a little quicker. But yeah, it takes a little while.” He gestured down the hall. “The number for the best local pizza place is hanging on the fridge in the break room if you want to use them, or we can use Rosatti’s.”
Once she left the room, Zach dropped his head down on his desk and groaned. He had to do this. He knew he did. And he wasn’t going to deny a very huge part of him wanted to do this—wanted it so bad, his hands were shaking from it, but how in the hell was he supposed to handle this without losing his damn mind?
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