Shake It Up

by Kenner, J.

  He took her hand, then held it to his heart.

  “And I’m sorry about your mom. But Taylor, whatever happens with Beau, I’m seeing this through to the end. You can take that to the bank.”

  She nodded, those damn tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

  And still the one big question remained—when exactly was the end? And would they still be together afterwards?

  * * *

  By seven o’clock, Taylor was a live wire of anticipation, so hyped up that not even the Fizzy Watermelon she was sipping took the edge off her nerves.

  By eight o’clock, she was parked at the cocktail table by the stage squeezing Megan’s hand so tight she was probably shattering bone.

  By eight-thirty, her body had started to feel cold, even though she’d started to sweat. She caught Landon’s eye from where he stood on the stage, having just walked the red carpet as contestant number six. He made a campy silly speech about protecting and serving the community by displaying himself half-naked at the contest, then proceeded to strip off his shirt to a chorus of wolf whistles and applause.

  If she’d been paying more attention, she might have been jealous of the high level of female appreciation compared to the previous contestants. As it was, she hardly noticed. All she could focus on was his subtle shake of his head. And her own disappointment reflected on his face. No sign of Beau.

  By nine, she was so frustrated by Beau’s failure to show that she didn’t even hear when the emcee announced that Landon was the winner, and it wasn’t until Megan shoved her forward that she leaped to her senses and started applauding.

  He did the usual bow-taking, then hurried down the stairs to her side.

  Immediately, the nearby women surrounded them.

  Megan, thank goodness, swooped in, telling everyone to give Mr. August some space, and he’d circulate for autographs and pictures in just a minute.

  “Nothing,” Landon said to Taylor. “Not even a hint of a sign. Goddammit.”

  Her lips felt cracked and dry, her entire body cold. She’d been so certain that the nightmare would end tonight. “I can’t—I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder.”

  “He may have left town. Realized we had a bead on him, and gotten himself lost. He knows he’s got a stack of warrants following him. He gets caught, he’s in a cage.”

  “Maybe.”

  He took her hand, then held it tight in his own. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  She exhaled. “It’s just that even if he did leave, he’ll be back. When does it end, Landon—” Her voice broke, and she felt like a fool. But, dammit, she wanted this to be over.

  “I know, baby. But we’ll—shit.” He cursed the interruption, then grabbed his ringing phone out of his back pocket. “We were supposed to silence them for the contest, but with a ten man team inside and outside the building, I wanted to be able to get calls.”

  Now, he frowned at the screen, then lifted the phone to his ear. “Go ahead, Sanchez.”

  He was silent for a minute, and even in the noisy bar, Taylor could hear the beating of her heart. Something was happening. She didn’t know what, though. His face was blank. Or at least it was until he looked at her. Then a wide smile lit his face. “Baby,” he said. “We got him.”

  “What?” The squeal broke out of her at the same time she launched herself at him. He caught her and spun her, barely missing one of the speakers.

  When he put her back down, she was breathing hard, but deliriously happy. “Tell me.”

  “The team outside identified him and grabbed him. Smooth as silk. They’ve already notified Louisiana and Arkansas, and he’s currently in a cruiser on the way to a holding cell.”

  “It’s over.” She held his arm, because if she didn’t, her legs probably couldn’t support her weight. “I can’t believe it.”

  He bent to her, his lips brushing her ear. “Let’s get out of here and go celebrate.”

  Laughing, she danced backward. “Oh, no. You have to spend time with your adoring public. And I,” she added with a wink, “need time to get ready. My apartment. Come when you’ve finished here. I’ll make sure I’m ready.” She stepped closer, then rose up on her toes to kiss him, slow and deep and very thoroughly. “Make sure you’re ready, too,” she whispered.

  She broke away then, blowing him one last kiss before she hurried out the door to a street that was safe. A town that felt like hers again.

  She’d loved her days with Landon, but dear God how she’d missed the freedom of not feeling like she was under a microscope.

  Since she still didn’t have a car, she caught a rideshare home, using the short drive to think about the various pieces of sexy lingerie she owned. Or, maybe she should just meet him naked at the doorway…

  She was considering all the possible outcomes of that lovely idea when she reached her door and slid her key in, only then remembering that she had a security system that she didn’t know how to use. For a second, she hesitated, then recalled that she was supposed to have come back with Landon so that they could arm the system and he could make sure she knew all of its features.

  Which meant the place hadn’t been locked down. But, she thought gleefully, that didn’t matter since the supreme asshole jerkwad of her life was on his way to a long and fruitful life in prison, where she hoped he’d enjoy his new status as the butt-monkey of someone named Brutus.

  With that happy thought dancing in her head, she opened her door and stepped inside—then screamed so loud it felt like she’d ripped her vocal cords as Beauregard Harkness grabbed her by the ponytail, slid the cold blade of a knife against her throat, and whispered, “Hey there, little girl. Bet you missed me, huh?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was no doubt that the women gathered around him begging for selfies were good for his ego, but after fifteen minutes, Landon had his fill of the adulation. He wanted Taylor, and only Taylor. He wanted to hold her, touch her.

  And, yes, he wanted to tell her he loved her. Something his mother had realized even before he had. But Gayle Bartlett was a smart woman, and she knew her son. Because he was head-over-heels. And the sooner he told her—the sooner he learned if she felt the same—then the sooner their life together could begin.

  Brent came up to him and slapped him congenially on the back. “Congrats. Couldn’t have happened to a better man.”

  Landon chuckled. “Be careful what you say. You know you’re not getting out of playing this game, right? Eventually, either Jenna or Megan’s going to talk you into standing exactly where I’m standing now.”

  “But until then, I’m the one wearing a shirt.”

  Landon rolled his eyes and grabbed his shirt off the stage. He was pulling it on when his phone rang, and he missed the damn call. As soon as the shirt was over his head, he pulled his phone out, then frowned when he saw that it was Sanchez. He was about to hit the number to call the detective back, when the phone rang again.

  He answered it, an icy dread curling through him.

  “Christ, Ware,” Sanchez said. “I just got word. It’s so fucked up. There was a wreck. Hell, almost half an hour ago, and—”

  “Beauregard Harkness,” Landon’s voice was as taut as a wire. “Where the fuck is Harkness?”

  “That’s just it,” Sanchez said. “We don’t know.”

  * * *

  Landon sprinted for the door, Brent right beside him. “Call dispatch,” Landon barked. “Get hostage rescue to her apartment. Hell, get the whole goddamn department there. I’m going to call Taylor. Maybe we got lucky and she hit the grocery store on her way home.”

  “Already on it,” Brent said. “Go.”

  Landon went, ordering Siri to dial Taylor’s number, and praying that she hadn’t gone straight home. That she’d gone to buy wine. Cheese. Something slinky to wear. Anything to keep her away from that apartment.

  No answer.

  Fuck.

  His car was equipped with a dashboard light, and he activated it the i
nstant he got in the car. But the damn thing couldn’t clear a complete clusterfuck of a jam, and he ended up waiting through two lights as he edged forward, squeezing in as the logjam of cars maneuvered enough to let him squeeze through.

  Three more attempts to call. Three more rolls to voicemail.

  He pounded on the steering wheel so hard he bruised his hand.

  When he’d finally inched the car forward until he was so close he could almost smell the clear path ahead, he found himself blocked again. He spat out a fresh string of curses, then remembered the tracking app. If nothing else he could at least check her location. And maybe, just maybe, that would prove that she was safe.

  He opened the app, hit the button, then waited for his phone to locate hers.

  Nothing.

  And then—

  Fuck.

  Her apartment. As big as life on his screen. And she wasn’t answering her phone. And he was stuck in goddamn traffic.

  Motherfucker.

  He abandoned the car, sprinted into the intersection, lifted his badge, and flagged down the first car. A college-aged male in a sports jersey who looked scared shitless. “I need a favor. About a mile that way. As fast as you can. Understand?”

  Now the kid nodded, looking scared and excited.

  “Go.”

  The kid went, hauling ass, then turning on a dime when Landon ordered him to, and finally screeching to a halt in front of the larger complex that abutted Taylor’s tiny one.

  “Turn around here,” Landon ordered. “Don’t go forward. That’s an active crime scene. And thank you,” he added, as he practically fell out of the car, his gun now drawn as he raced the short distance to Taylor’s complex.

  He saw Beau the second he turned the corner into the long driveway off which the individual parking spaces were located. The slimy bastard was standing in front of the trunk of an ancient Chevy—presumably stolen—and was about to slam the hood.

  Landon caught a flash of movement and felt sick—the bastard had put her in the trunk. But if she was moving, she was alive.

  “Freeze, Harkness,” he called, as Beau turned just enough so that he could look back at Landon. The trunk was still open, and Beau held one hand over the open space, a large kitchen knife clutched in his meaty paw, its blade pointed down at Taylor.

  “You move, the bitch dies. Think I give a shit? I already got her to tell me where she stashed my money. Amazing what hearing your own bones break will do to someone’s desire to cooperate.”

  Bile rose in his throat. “Drop the knife. Step away from the car.”

  “Yes, sir, Officer.” He started to slowly raise his hands, the knife still in one.

  Landon watched, his finger ready on the trigger. He’d kill the fucker in a heartbeat if it came to that—and damn, but he hoped it came to that—but he couldn’t do it if the man was truly surrendering.

  And then it happened. A swift blur of motion and Beau turned, the knife starting down.

  Landon fired at the same time his mind processed what had happened. Taylor had thrust her bound legs up and kicked. And Beau had acted the way he always did—he attacked.

  Landon’s bullet had caught him on the turn. A chest wound that knocked him back against the car, then had him rolling to the ground into a pool of his own blood.

  Landon didn’t even realize he’d started racing for the car until he was already there.

  He glanced in the trunk, saw Taylor’s sickly twisted arm and her bound body. But she was alive and she wasn’t bleeding. She nodded, unable to speak behind the gag. He carefully untied it, then crouched to check Beau.

  No pulse. No respiration.

  The bastard was dead.

  In the distance, he heard the approaching sirens. He closed his eyes and took a moment—that had been too damn close. Then he stood and untied her legs. “I’m leaving the arm tied, baby,” he said gently. “I don’t want to touch that until you’re with a doctor.”

  She nodded, her face a mass of rising bruises. “I knew you’d come.” Her voice emerged soft and gravelly. “Some wild police action totally trumps horny women drooling over you.”

  He laughed. A real laugh. “God, I love you,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered, her eyes bright with meaning. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Taylor sighed as Landon carried her into her apartment, careful of her broken arm that, for reasons she couldn’t remember, they’d had to cast in old-fashioned plaster. Even after the horror of the last time she was here, it was nice to be home after two full days in the hospital.

  He took her into the bedroom, then put her down gently on the bed before sitting gingerly beside her. “What can I get you?”

  “You’re here. What else do I need?”

  He took her hand, one of the few body parts that wasn’t bruised. Beau had beat the shit out of her, then broken her arm by twisting it behind her back. The pain had almost been unbearable, but she’d been able to stand it because she knew that for every moment he tortured her, that was another moment of time for Landon to come closer.

  She’d never doubted he was coming. And in those long, horrible stretches with Beau, she also knew that being with Landon was the only thing that mattered. Any debate left in her head about where to live had completely vanished. The only place she wanted to be was with him.

  And when he’d said those three little words to her, she knew what it was she was surviving for—them.

  “In that case, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Her smile hurt, but was worth it. “More than that you love me?”

  “I’ll tell you that as much as you want. And that’s part of it. I want us, Taylor. And I hope you do, too.”

  She nodded, then saw the relief in his eyes.

  “I know you want the Hollywood thing. Or New York. What theater grad doesn’t? And I just want you to know we can make that work. I can do private security. I have contacts in both places. So don’t think that you have to be tied to where I am. I can move. For you, I’m happy to move.”

  “But you love your job.”

  He nodded. “I love you more.”

  Her body felt light with happiness. “Well, I guess we have that in common.” She lifted the side of her mouth that didn’t hurt into a smile. “But I don’t want New York or LA.”

  “But—”

  “I did,” she continued. “But I changed my mind.”

  He cocked his head as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Really,” she said. “And not just because you love your job here. It’s because I love my life here. Our friends. Your cute little house. Your parents. I never expected when I became Taylor that I’d grow roots here, but I have. I don’t want to be Eulalie again. I don’t want to start over. Not now, anyway. Especially when Austin has tons of film and television opportunities.”

  He was studying her face. “You mean that.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded anyway. “I’d been thinking about it before Beau did his horror movie routine on me. But that solidified it, you know?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I definitely do.”

  “If we want to be coastal later, we can. But we can make the decision together.”

  “Have I mentioned that I love you?” he asked.

  “I think I heard something along those lines.” She flashed a quick, pained smile. “But feel free to repeat it as often as you want.”

  With a sigh, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Tired?”

  She nodded. “And achy.” She opened one eye. “I think there’s only one place on me that’s not bruised—and thank God for that.” She shuddered at the thought of Beau touching her sexually. “But I’m in no condition to take advantage of it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, his tone full of mischief as his fingers went to the tie of the oversized sweatpants she’d put on to travel home from the hospital.

  “Landon,” she protested
. “I can’t … you know … do anything for you.”

  He had her half-naked now, and he moved between her thighs, looking both sexy and devious. “That’s okay. We have our whole lives for me to collect a rain check. Besides, I really want to taste you. So close your eyes and let me help you relax, baby. I promise, my turn will come.”

  She really didn’t have the strength—or for that matter, the desire—to argue. So she did as he said and closed her eyes, letting herself float as his mouth danced over her skin, and his clever tongue teased and tasted, and lifted her up to the heavens.

  He was right, she thought, as the pressure inside her built. As the aches and pains fell away under the rising pleasure. They had their whole lives together to make love.

  And as soon as she was well, she intended to get right on that.

  Epilogue

  The last thing Easton wanted after his unexpected night of debauchery and sin was to be mingling at one of the many charity balls that served a dual function as a political mating ground, hooking up potential candidates with potential endorsements with as much efficiency as a finger swipe on Tinder.

  And considering he could barely walk straight today, he wanted to be here even less.

  Still, he was his firm’s golden boy—the man they were trotting out and endorsing as their candidate, and with the firm’s power behind him, it would be a huge red mark against him if he didn’t manage to bring in at least three more stellar endorsements in the next few months. Ideally with significant funds behind them.

  Which meant that despite the fact that Selma had essentially rode him to the moon and wrung him dry, he was at this party to work.

  He drew a breath, straightened his tie, and stepped into the chaos of the ballroom. Immediately, a waitress handed him a glass of bourbon, and he took a sip, impressed by the smooth taste with just enough burn to make it worth drinking. He looked up, intending to ask her what label the whiskey was, but instead he froze. Because there she was on the other side of the ballroom.