I've been lonely for too long. I needed human contact, to be touched, desired, fucked out of my brain.
I had to work today! I couldn't spend the day thinking about sex with Jake.
I wasn't opening the shop because firstly - I didn't have the energy or patience to deal with customers. And two - I had a mile-high stack of paperwork. Despite Annabeth's efficiency, my business trip put me behind in necessary business matters, while adding a load of extra work due to the new acquisitions.
For the first time in years, however, I wanted to play. Not work. And by play, I meant Jake. Deep inside me. So, the sooner I got everything done, the sooner I got home.
I wonder how he'd react if I knocked on his door, entered, and stripped off all my clothes?
Yes, I was getting that desperate.
I stopped for a cappuccino to help ease my nervous exhaustion, nodding at familiar faces as I left and headed to my store, going around back to enter from the rear. Easier.
I leaned back against the door, breathing in the scent of light jasmine oil sticks scattered throughout the store to blend with the indescribable smell of century old belongings.
I chose the most visually appealing pieces for visitors to see immediately upon entering, but all the serious stuff was in the back. A lockdown space made to look like a comfortable den. Not as secure as the vault, which wasn’t for customers to view, but still secure. Enough sensors, light beams, camera and auto tags to make sure someone with sticky fingers didn’t just up and walk out with my prize selections.
Invaluable silver pieces, rare books, ancient maps. The reasons I travel to estate sales. I had a knack for finding treasure where no one looked. Other than swindlers, of course.
I had one or two dealers that followed me around. For that reason alone, I kept my schedule private. Only Annabeth knew when and where I went. Paranoid, maybe. The estate sales were public, but those weren’t my only targets.
This kind of work demanded full focus and determination. A client list was hard to grow, and I worked hard to build my reputation, not only for skill but also for honesty.
"Time to get to work."
Heading to the office, I noticed a few things out of place. Not much, but not quite right. Furniture angles slightly off. The reception desk items in the wrong places, its drawers somewhat open when I knew from yesterday they hadn't been.
My pulse quickened, and with a rising sickness in my stomach, I hurried to my office. I stood in the middle of the room and searched every corner. Both visitor chairs skewed, not lined up with the plush carpet corners. A few books on my bookshelf out of order. I'm not anal, but I'd carefully arranged everything to make it a professional space.
Moving behind my desk, I opened the top two drawers.
That's when my nerves erupted. Pens, paperclips - all a mess. Invoices out of order. I crouched and opened the filing cabinet tucked beneath my desk. It was still locked.
I reached into my cross-shoulder bag, still slung across my chest, blindly searching for my keys. With shaking hands, I unlocked the cabinet.
The files were out of order.
"Shit!" I jump up.
The den. The vault.
I sprinted out of my office and down the hall. At first glance, both looked alright.
It wasn't alright.
The vault door was closed, but the locks were not. Flinging the heavy metal door open, I ran inside.
"Calm. Calm down."
How the hell could I calm down?
Thirty-plus minutes later, having combed the vault, den and the rest of the store, I confirmed nothing was missing. Nothing. Not even the most valuable items, even though some were worth well over one hundred thousand.
What the hell?
I pulled my bag up and over my head, dumping it on the desk, digging out my phone. Too keyed up to sit, I paced the room as I dialed Annabeth.
"Miss me already?" came her amused drawl.
"Um, question. Did you have cleaners in?"
"Well, hi to you, too," she chuckled. "Of course I didn't. I know how you get itchy about that. I dusted with that little fluff thing, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom as best I can with this ol' basketball where my waist used to be. Why?"
"You didn't open my under desk filing cabinet? Or go through my top drawers? Come back and open the treasure room and forget to close it?"
"No.” She paused. “What's going on, Hannah?"
"I'm pretty sure nothing is missing, but someone broke into my store.”
Hannah
I called the cops.
I wanted to call Jake. I tried the station he worked at, but the dispatcher said he was unavailable and asked if I wanted to leave a message. I didn't. What would I say? “Hey, this is your neighbor, remember kissing me yesterday?"
And I found out Jake worked homicide. So, breaking and entering wasn't his area, anyway. After explaining my situation, three cops and a crime scene crew showed up thirty minutes later.
Then began the endless questions, calls to my useless security company, Annabeth, photos, and ugly black smears of fingerprint dust.
Under observation, I'd once again performed an entire inventory search. Nothing was missing. Not a damn thing.
The cops stayed until I locked up - fat lot of good that did me - and drove me to my apartment. One even offered to escort me inside. Hell, I must look a mess. The offer was sympathetic, not a come on.
I unlocked and pushed open the apartment's security door. I was getting sick of locks.
"Hey, Hannah."
My shoulders slumped. Sleazy Larry.
I hurried over to punch the elevator button. Hurry up, I pleaded silently, even as I waved a purposefully dismissive hello.
"I was thinking -"
Crap. He always started that way. I barely acknowledged him. You'd think he'd get the hint, but no, not at all. The front door opened with a slight whoosh of summer air, slashing through the lobby's air-conditioning. I didn't bother to glance over and see who it was. Right now, any movement toward Larry would only encourage the jerk.
"I have tickets to -"
The front door slamming caught both our attention. It was a soft-close hinge, so the force required to make it slam must have been significant.
"She's busy."
I swung around at the snarl. Jake.
"But I didn't say what day," Larry protested. "Hannah, it's for this awesome band - "
"I said she's busy."
"But - "
Jake strode to me, slid my bag up and over my head, then tilted my chin up for a kiss. A long, searing kiss. He pushed a hand into my hair, tugging my braid free to cup the back of my head, and took the kiss deeper.
Larry gaped.
The elevator door slid open.
"Let's go up, sweetheart."
Sweetheart?
"Uh, ok."
Jake took my hand and led me in. He turned, stood in front of me, and stared down the dumbfounded Larry as the door closed.
Now, what to say? Thanks for getting rid of Sleazy Larry, oh, and for the kiss that practically melted my panties off? Plus, I think I have a thief wanting something of which I have no idea. Right. As if my day hadn't already been high-wire enough.
"Don't think so hard," Jake said calmly, tapping the button to our floor.
He dropped my bag at our feet, and pressed me up against the mirrored wall, retaking my mouth. His tongue swept in, rubbing against mine, devouring, marauding, taking everything he wanted, and giving so much more. I clung to him, my nails digging in. His muscles were tense, his whole body hard, almost vibrating with intensity.
He lifted me, freeing his hands to wrap my legs around his hips, grinding into me. His huge erection demanded all my attention.
"I've wanted to be inside you since I first saw you," he growled against my neck, licking the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
"What?" I managed.
"Since the day you moved in."
He kissed me again, biting my lower lip before sucki
ng it into his mouth.
A year?
I stared at our reflection in the opposite mirror. Jake's lean body holding mine captive. My legs twined around his hips.
"I tried ignoring it, but I'm done with that. I want you, Hannah. All of you. In my bed. In my life. Everything.”
The elevator jolted to a stop and reality hit. I dropped my legs, pushed until Jake finally let go, and snatched my bag off the floor.
"Hannah?" Jake took my hand, lifted it to kiss my fingertips.
"Uh. Well. Oh, hell. How the hell am I meant to speak after that?"
He threw back his head and laughed, pulling me into his side as the doors slid open. Stepping out, I saw Mrs. Grant from her apartment opposite mine. I stepped away from Jake. Or tried to. He didn't let go. My face flushed as Mrs. Grant smiled speculatively at us.
"There you are, Hannah, dear."
I rammed an elbow into Jake's side. He let go, grinning.
"Yes, Mrs. Grant? Can I help you with something?"
"Call me Sylvia, dear! How many times do I need to ask you?"
"A lifetime. You were my seventh grade English teacher. I'm never going to be able to call you by your first name."
She clucked. The sound of her tongue clicking against the top of her mouth took me straight back to seventh grade and late homework.
Not that I didn't like her, but had I known she lived in this building - let alone this floor - I'd have chosen a different place to live. Seeing a reminder of my childhood every day wasn't a way to make me feel like a successful businesswoman. Or even an adult.
It wasn't until my second week in when she returned from a Tahitian cruise that we crossed paths. In the pool.
I cleared my throat, asking again, "Can I help you with something?"
"Oh! Yes, that's right. Do you have anymore of that Lemon Zest tea I love so much? I'm fresh out, and my arthritis is protesting a trip to the grocery store."
I kept a buttload of Lemon Zest, carefully sealed for freshness, in my pantry. Mrs. Grant made this request often.
"I think I have a few more bags. Let me check."
Jake grabbed my hand. "I'm thinking order-in. What do you want?"
Embarrassment spread as Mrs. Grant's smile turned to a full grin.
"Chinese," I gave in, knowing he wasn't going to let up. "Kung Pao Chicken."
"Ten minutes enough? They're usually quick."
God, he didn't let up.
"Fine."
Thankfully, I'd put my keys in my bag's outside pocket and easy to retrieve. I needed out of this scrutinizing circle. I shoved the key into the top lock and turned the knob and the lock at the same time. Pushing it open, I escaped inside.
"Holy crap."
What had just happened?
Jake, the man I've been fantasizing over, had just kissed the socks off me. Had I been wearing socks. The kiss, oh God, his mouth on mine, his tongue battling mine. Then he'd lifted me, ground his erection against the place I wanted him most.
He'd all but staked his claim. Not just in the elevator, but also in front of Larry and Mrs. Grant. Then there was his statement about wanting me from the first time he saw me. Was that just a come-on line? Or honesty? I didn't know, nor did I care. My body certainly didn't care.
Three years. Definitely time for that dry spell to end. Screw the consequences. I wanted him. I wanted him inside me, over me, under me. Now.
Lemon Zest. Then I needed to clean up. I was dusty from the inventory. The thought brought everything back, and how I'd intended to talk with Jake about it straight off. I pushed away from the door, dumping my bag on the couch. I pushed back my hair, rubbed my hands over my face.
Anxiety warred with lust. Lust won.
Talk about what actions I could take to fix my professional problem? Or strip down and forget everything except how his body felt naked against mine.
No contest.
I went into the kitchen in search of Lemon Zest tea. If I remember right, I'd tucked it behind the pasta sauce and other tinned staples. I opened the pantry door and picked up the pasta sauce jar when rough hands grabbed me from behind, violently yanking me back.
The sauce jar fell from my hands, shattering on my white tiles, filling the small space with the smell of basil, and garlic sauce.
I screamed as loud as I could, instinctively kicking and struggling against the punishing grip.
"Shut up," a man's voice growled.
His hold shifted to my neck, cutting off all air. I clawed at the arm, digging my nails into his skin, going for blood.
He howled, throwing me to the ground. I screamed again, hoping Jake would hear. I kicked out, aiming for my side table, which held a glass vase.
He kicked me hard in the ribs, cutting off my scream as incredible pain ripped through me.
"Where is it?" he snarled.
My foot hit its target. Glass shattered loudly against the floorboards, and the man cursed.
"Where is it, damn you?”
He slapped me, hard. Dizziness fogged my vision. I held on, knowing blacking out meant bad, bad things.
He picked me up, holding me by the throat.
"Where the fuck is it?"
Jake
I'd picked up the phone to dial the Chinese restaurant when I heard a scream. Hannah’s scream.
It came from our adjoining wall in my kitchen. Only cupboards, sheet rock and wood separated us - nothing to block the terror in her scream. A man's curse, shattering glass, another shriek.
I grabbed my gun from the top drawer, along with my cell phone.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Detective Jake Lancaster, shield 2825. Assault in progress." I rattled off the address details. "Let the responding officers know I am armed and will be entering the apartment."
"Detective Lancaster, I advise you to wait for back-up."
"No fucking way."
Another scream and shit - that sounded like a grunt of pain. Someone was in Hannah's apartment, hurting her. No fucking way.
"I hear sounds of physical violence. Send an ambulance. Now!"
With that, I tucked the phone in my pocket. Protocol was to maintain contact. If someone had his hands on my woman, legalities would not factor into my actions.
I paused outside Hannah's door, only for the barest of moments.
Two doors down, a neighbor peeked out, blanched at the sight of my weapon.
"Cops are coming. Go let them in the security door."
The man nodded and hurried off.
TV shows made it seem easy to kick in a door, but that was not at all true, especially one as thick and heavily locked as Hannah's. So I shot off the lock, angling down in case they were on the opposite side. I shot off the handle next. Fuck taking the perp by surprise.
I kicked in the broken door, scanning the scene for Hannah and her attacker.
Hannah, held by the neck of one hell of an ugly pie-flattened face man. He outweighed me and had at least a foot on me. But I had rage, which took down all else. Hannah was gasping for air, struggling to pull his hand away, eyes going in and out of focus.
I raised the gun. "Put her down. Carefully. If you drop her, I'll put a bullet in your right knee."
He dumped Hannah and rushed me.
I didn’t shoot, worried the angle might near Hannah. Instead I punched low and up. I heard ribs shatter. He spun around like a pirouetting doll. He crashed to the floor, stunned.
Still aiming the gun at him, I tugged open a kitchen drawer. Damn it, if I'd hit on Hannah in the beginning, I'd know where everything was in her apartment - because it'd already be our apartment.
I knew what I wanted with Hannah, and seeing this asshole hurting her cemented that. She was mine. Mine. With a capital M.
Finding duct tape, I secured his arms behind his back, not bothering with his legs. He wasn't walking anywhere.
"Hannah."
She stirred, struggling to push herself up into a sitting position. Her breathing was shallow, but color was
returning to her beautiful face. I scooped her up, moving to the couch, placing my gun within easy reach on the coffee table.
"Jake."
"It's ok, baby."
She twisted to look at the man, whose screams were more gurgles of agony now.
"Don't worry about him. I got him in the knee, and the cops are on there way. Where are you hurt?"
She inhaled and grimaced.
"Ribs. He kicked me. My throat."
He'd hit her, as well. The left side of her face was already starting to swell. Rage boiled through me, hot and fast. Only her shaking body kept me from tearing the asshole apart.
What the hell?
It's not like Hannah was easy prey, her door open on a deserted street. Firstly, he'd have to get into the building, which had significant security measures in place. Not impossible, but not easy. Then, he'd have to go through those locks. I’d shot them off, so goodbye that evidence.
I wanted to question him. Demand to know what the hell.
Instead, I sat with Hannah, waiting. I'd have my turn later. For now, Hannah needed me.
Within moments, a commotion erupted through the fifth floor as cops burst from the evaluator and emergency doors. Hannah's door hung off its hinges, making their approach free and clear.
"In here!” I shouted. “Perp down."
Two cops peered in the door, angled with guns up in the trained method when entering a hostile environment. Upon seeing the guy panting on the floor, his hands bound, and the two of us sitting on the couch, the cops holstered their weapons and entered the apartment.
One, a guy I didn't recognize, yelled the situation to those still in the hall. He also pressed the mic on his shoulder, relaying an update to headquarters.
"Lancaster?"
My shield and all other identification were in my apartment. "Yeah. I.D.'s next door. I’m Hannah’s neighbor. I heard the attack through the joined wall.”
My partner poked his head in next. Flashed his shield at the hovering cops.
"Yeah, that's him."
“Andy? What're you doing here?" We didn't respond to calls anymore.
"You know how I like to listen to the dispatch radio. Puts me to sleep. Except, you know, when I hear my partner's name and address. That's different."
Hunting Hannah Page 3