by Lori Foster
No, it wasn’t normal. It was exactly as the man at the hotel had behaved, smiling at Jack without a care.
“He was alone?” Ronnie asked.
“Had a hooker with him, but she split an hour before he did.”
A hooker? “Did he visit with Marge?” Jack asked.
“No, but he kept looking toward the hall that leads to her office. At one point, he asked about her—or about the owner of the bar. I told him to go fuck himself. He grinned like a little prick, but finally left.” Higgs mopped his perspiring face with the rag. “Bastard must’ve come back, though, because the back door was pried open and Wallace, who guards it, was out cold.”
Ronnie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“No bruises or blood, but Wallace was limp as a noodle. One ambulance already left with him.”
Drugs? Could someone have spiked a drink? Or maybe injected him—
“I have to go.” Higgs looked at Jack through the windows. “Get her out of here and keep her away.”
Before Jack could offer assurances, Ronnie growled. “You know I look after myself.”
“Then use that good sense I know you have and forget you ever knew Marge.” Higgs paused. “Mention any of this to the cops, and I’ll deny it.”
Ronnie’s chin shot up.
“But if you have a name,” Higgs continued, his eyes narrowed beneath bushy brows, “give it to me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
At that, Ronnie deflated. “I wish I did.”
Reluctantly, Higgs nodded. “If I can be of use, let me know. Otherwise, I don’t want to see you again.” With that, he turned back to the bar.
Once he was gone, Ronnie murmured, “This is a problem.”
That had to be the understatement of the year. Jack wheeled the car around, anxious to get out of the area. “You realize it’s the same man.”
“We don’t know that.” She fretted with the rings on her fingers. “Yes, they sound similar, but going to the police would not only break my word to Higgs—”
Jack snorted, letting her know what he thought of that.
“—but it would implicate us in...” She gestured behind them at the bar receding in the rearview mirror. “Murder.”
Jack sawed his teeth together, fighting to keep his composure. “Could this be the same man who attacked you when you were a kid?”
“What? No. He’s in jail. I told you that.” She lifted a hand before he could question her more. “I’d have been told if he was free.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes.” Putting her head back, her face filled with strain, she rasped a humorless laugh. “Apparently, I’m just doomed.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What are the odds, Jack? I mean...why me? I know I can be abrasive, but am I so bad that people want to kill me?”
As she’d spoken, her voice had gotten smaller and it both broke his heart and infuriated him. “Listen to me, Ronnie. You’re fucking perfect.”
She turned her head to stare at him, her eyes wide. “Is that a joke?”
You’re perfect—for me. Knowing she wasn’t ready to hear it, he shook his head. “None of this is your fault, so don’t ever think that.” From one second to the next, he made a decision. “I’ll hold my tongue.”
Looking oddly dubious, she said, “Thank you?”
“On one condition.” They turned a corner, Brodie not far behind them, and still Jack felt like he couldn’t put enough distance between them and the bar to outrun the fear. “You go nowhere without me. You don’t leave my sight.”
Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut with an audible, angry click. “Until when?”
“Until we know the lunatic responsible is either behind bars or dead.” This time he dominated the conversation, cutting off her automatic protest. “Take off, and I swear I’ll follow. If I have to, I’ll camp in the hallway outside your apartment. I’ll sleep on the hood of your car.” He knew his voice had risen and he wrestled it back to a moderate tone.
“That’s...” Ronnie blinked fast. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
Hell yes, he knew. “Someone is targeting you, Ronnie. Someone is after you.” And he was willing to kill others to get her. Jack slowed the car, slowed his breathing and the growing fear, and he took her hand. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
She didn’t pull away, and after remaining silent for far too long, she finally nodded in agreement.
* * *
NORTH WAS CAREFUL not to smile as he milled with the crowd, staying to the outskirts but managing to blend in. After turning his coat inside out and pulling on a stocking cap, he felt sure he looked innocuous enough. Why not enjoy himself for a few minutes?
It had been so easy, too easy. When Veronica Ashford hadn’t shown up for her appointment, he’d let his frustration get the best of him. It was a shame, because Marge might have proved useful again. After all, without meeting him or knowing his motives, she’d agreed readily enough to calling Veronica, to arranging the meeting.
After hiring thugs to terrorize her at the abandoned house—an incident she’d somehow escaped without injury—he’d gotten impatient. That was the problem with hiring others to do those things he’d enjoy himself. Imagining Veronica’s terror wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as seeing it in person, watching her face pale, her limbs tremble, her eyes fill with tears.
Knowing he couldn’t wait any longer, he’d come up with the perfect lure to get her to the bar, and an even better plan to take her afterward.
If only Veronica had shown up.
If only, if only. Always, with that one, she thwarted his carefully arranged plans.
It was her fault that he’d grown tired of waiting, her fault that he’d changed course and entered the bar from the back instead of waiting on her. Her fault that he cut that bitch’s throat.
If he hadn’t, he probably could have used her again. She was the type of woman easily swayed by money.
Or rather, she used to be.
The giddy smile almost came then and he had to bite his lip to keep it at bay.
No, killing the bar owner hadn’t given him the rich satisfaction he craved, the satisfaction he needed. Veronica was the one who’d taken what was his. She was the one who had to ultimately pay. But like a delicious appetizer, sliding his knife over Marge’s throat had taken away the edge of his hunger.
Maybe it was better this way. He’d continue to let the excitement build—for both of them.
Veronica had been out there, looking around in confusion and fear. It wasn’t the obvious yellow Mustang that had clued him in. No, it was that every nerve in his body had tingled the moment she’d arrived with the driver.
Staring would have been rude and might have drawn unnecessary attention to him, so instead he’d flicked a casual glance or two that way as they’d left.
Wise of her to run. Futile...but wise.
Veronica would be extra wary now, on her guard as she waited for something more to happen. It heightened the exhilaration for him.
The idea of toying with her, just a little, held a lot of appeal. Yes, he’d get his property back, but until then, as she waited for her reckoning, fear of him would be her constant torment, a living nightmare.
His blood sang with the pleasure of it.
* * *
RONNIE PACED AROUND Jack’s home, from the bedroom down the hallway, around the living room and through the kitchen. Four days had passed since Marge’s murder and they’d barely left the house. She was about to go stir-crazy, both from boredom and from uncertainty. Drake and Drew, who didn’t know all the details but were again horrified at the way trouble seemed to find her lately, had insisted they call a halt to all activity until “issues could be resolved.”
What the hell did that even mean?
How could something so
indistinct ever be resolved? They didn’t know for sure if the murder had anything to do with her, and in fact, Higgs reported that the cops were blaming one of Marge’s other “associates.”
God knew, Marge made a lot of shady deals with a lot of crooked creeps. Anything was possible.
Not that Jack would be convinced. He believed Ronnie was a target and refused to budge from that assumption.
Ronnie didn’t know anyone who might want to hurt her. She sure as hell didn’t know why. Hadn’t she been through enough?
No! Damn it, she would not feel sorry for herself. If anything, it was Jack who deserved the sympathies. She’d brought him nothing but trouble, and now she knew he was dodging other jobs to stay with her, like an around-the-clock freaking sentry.
True, thanks to the way he’d rearranged his time, he was about done with the renovations on the interior of his house. She’d enjoyed helping out, learning new skills, but still...
He and Brodie had a business to run.
And she couldn’t stomach being a charity case.
After another day spent on home improvements, Jack had finished retiling the hall bathroom around nine o’clock. She’d heated up a frozen pizza for their late dinner, and then taken her shower while he put away his tools.
Now, dressed in a loose T-shirt and panties, she tried to outpace her discontent while he took his own shower. At least he afforded her that much trust. Ronnie snorted to herself. At first, he’d been like a shadow, staying so close it equally unnerved her, and made her feel... Well, it made her feel. Too much. Of everything. Comfort, security. Warmth and affection. Guilt. Worry.
God-awful worry.
If someone was after her, what if Jack got in the way?
Of course he would. He thought of himself as a buffer, her own personal bodyguard. She knew he would willingly, gladly, step between her and danger.
And if he got hurt, it’d be her fault.
Ronnie shook her head hard, unable to bear thinking of it.
The house was cool, leaving a chill on her bare arms and legs. She hugged herself while stopping to lift a curtain, gazing out at the well-lit yard. The moon turned every bare tree into a long shadow that shimmered with the wind. A sprinkling of snow was in the forecast.
Before long, the holidays would be here.
And then what?
She was an independent, self-sufficient person used to spending Thanksgiving and Christmas alone. A card from her mom, a call from Skylar was all she expected. No gifts, no visits, no big elaborate meals. An undefined sort of dread tried to bloom in her chest. Jack and his family would all get together. Where did that leave her?
As an interloper?
Yes. That’s exactly what she would be at a family gathering, because she wasn’t family. She didn’t have family.
His or her own.
They’d laugh and hug, exchange gifts and enjoy each other... God, she couldn’t bear it. She dropped the curtain and went up the hall, pausing in the living room when she heard Jack emerge from the shower. Rubbing her arms, she waited for him.
“Ronnie?” he called from the bedroom.
Hearing that particular note in his voice, the one that said he was still afraid for her, she closed her eyes. “I’m here.”
He came into view looking better than a man ever should, wearing casual athletic pants and nothing else. He’d left the drawstring waist loose and they drooped on his muscular hips.
With one look at her face, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
What a joke. She was wrong. This relationship was wrong.
Her life was a complete mess.
Unwilling to dump all that drama on him, Ronnie shook her head as she gazed at his chest. She loved the soft, springy hair there, lightly sprinkled from one flat brown nipple to the other. It was thicker in the middle of his chest, disappeared as it went down his torso, then resumed beneath his navel where it arrowed down and into his pants.
The things she felt for him weakened her, but she couldn’t seem to resist.
“Ronnie.”
He sounded so strained, she met his gaze. No, she wouldn’t burden him with her uncertainties and indecisions, but she couldn’t help asking, “Aren’t you bored?”
Bored with me, with the wait-and-see threats, with my crazy bullshit?
At first the question lifted his brows, but as his eyes drifted over her, he smiled. “How could I be bored when you look at me like that?” His chest expanded. “Hard, sure. But not bored.”
Of course her attention zeroed back in on his junk, and sure enough, he sported partial wood. A hot thrill cut through her morose worry. She’d never get used to the idea that she, Ronnie Ashford, estranged daughter and victim extraordinaire, could turn on Jack Crews with just a look.
How long can that possibly last?
She didn’t want to think about it right now.
“So...” Trailing a finger between her breasts, back and forth, Ronnie watched his gaze track the movement. Before Jack, she’d never have thought to do such a thing, but in so many different ways he’d shown his sensual appreciation for what little she had.
Now, thanks to him, she knew, at least in this, she was enough.
If nothing else came out of this brief episode of her life, she’d always have that.
His smile turned wicked. “So?” he prompted.
For now, by his own design, Jack was stuck with her, but he was far from complaining about it. Might as well take what she wanted. “I was thinking about something.”
He folded his arms. “I’m listening.”
Yes, he was. Jack always listened to her. Better still, he heard her, what she said, and sometimes what she didn’t say.
God, she would miss that when things ended. And if they didn’t? Could she dare to hope for more? Would the disappointment be worse if she didn’t even try? Probably.
Ronnie checked that the curtains on the living room windows were still completely closed. Jack had made a point of buttoning up the house each night, ensuring everything was secured.
Ensuring she was safe.
It had been a very long time since she’d had that much concern directed at her. So long, in fact, she’d forgotten the comfort of knowing she mattered to another person.
That’s what she valued most of all.
Strolling up to him, she went on tiptoes, hands braced against his chest, to kiss him. She made the press of her mouth soft but sure, lingering for the space of three heartbeats before switching to feather a kiss over the corner of his mouth, along his jaw, then down to the side of his neck.
He smelled of masculine soap and shampoo, but it didn’t conceal his own unique scent, a complex combination of earthy warmth and basic man that made her nipples tighten.
She opened her mouth against him, stroked his hot skin with her tongue, grazed him with her teeth, sucked lightly—doing all the things she wanted to do...in another place.
Taking him by surprise, she wrapped her fingers around his cock through the soft cotton of his pants.
On a hissed breath, Jack’s hand covered hers, pressing her more tightly to him.
She bit his throat, a soft, delicious love bite.
Cursing, Jack forced her hand to stroke, slowly up and down. “Let’s go to bed.”
“I like it right here.” She licked the spot where she’d marked him, then nibbled her way over his upper chest, down to lick one nipple.
“Ronnie...” His fingers threaded into her hair and he tugged her back. “You can kiss me all you like, but you’re wearing too many clothes.”
“You first,” she said, slowly going to her knees and tugging down the pants. His erection jutted out, thick and hard, his balls drawn tight. She smiled. “Want me?”
He stared down at her with that fierce expression she loved so much, showing emotion so intense it could
be rage or red-hot lust. Either was sexy, in her opinion, since it far surpassed his usually moderate manners, but right now, she wanted the lust.
When she brought her attention back to his cock, he stilled. Ronnie studied him—all up close and personal—without saying anything, letting the anticipation build, until she wrapped her fingers around the base of him.
Dragging in a breath, he tightened his muscular thighs.
“I was wondering...”
He said nothing.
With her hand clenched around him, she slowly pumped, once, twice. “You and Brodie are alike in a lot of ways.”
That made him choke. “Jesus, Ronnie.”
“Not that I’m interested in your brother or anything.” She looked up to meet his glare. “I’m all about you, in case you can’t tell.” Hoping he wouldn’t take that too seriously, she rushed on. “I’m just wondering if this is something you guys got from your father, like a superior ‘big dick’ gene or—”
His fingers stabbed into her hair and lightly clenched. “Yes, in this, Brodie and I resemble him. But I do not want to talk about my family right now, not when I can feel your breath.”
“How would you like to feel more than my breath? Like maybe my...” She leaned in and licked him. Not a timid lick. Timidity wasn’t in her nature. She flattened her tongue and dragged it up the underside of his erection, all the way to the crested head where she lapped up and over him. “Tongue.”
His body rigid, he growled low. Nice.
He tasted salty, especially at the tip where she found a drop of fluid. His scent here was stronger, muskier, and so potent she felt herself getting wet.
Of course she wanted more. After all, this was Jack.
“Or how about my mouth?” She closed her lips around him, drawing in the sensitive head, sliding him in deeper so that the side of her hand and her lips met before she pulled back.
His gaze burned down on her, nostrils flared, mouth hard. “Yes.”
Hmm. His voice was pure gravel and she’d barely gotten started. She liked this. She liked it a lot. “Yes to which?”