The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  “Well, shit.”

  Her expletive made Aiden raise his brows. “Problem?”

  “Only if you consider lowlife bugs problems.”

  Aiden watched as the silver Lexus coupe pulled to a stop in front of her house.

  At least the police were attempting to do their jobs. He took a sip of his unsweetened coffee and wondered briefly if Barney—and she was right, the guy looked like Barney Fife—would arrest this new guy. And who the hell was this new guy?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jesslyn stiffen ever so slightly, the pull of her brows, the way her hands tightened around her coffee cup. Then she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She only shook her head, looking at him. “I’m fine.”

  The edge of her mouth was tight, her knuckles almost white. Shallow breaths.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, starting to rise.

  On a deeper breath she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  The voice of the new man and the policeman carried on the wind across the yard. After another second, he turned his attention from her to the two men.

  “I can’t let you see her,” the cop tried.

  “Who the hell are you? Her damn bodyguard?” The man was dressed in a rumpled suit and his blond hair stood in spikes as though he’d run his fingers through it.

  Appearance was important, Aiden had always believed it. First impressions had an adage for a reason. And on appearance alone, this man would not win any points.

  “It’s all right, Merrick. Let him say what he wants and then he can leave,” Jesslyn spoke beside him.

  The man stalked up the sidewalk and stopped at the bottom step. “Do you have any idea where I spent all damn night?” the man asked through his teeth.

  Jesslyn took a sip of coffee.

  Silence stretched.

  Was this an old lover? A pissed ex-boyfriend? The man was definitely upset.

  “I’m shaking with anticipation,” she drawled, her twang more pronounced. “Please, don’t leave us in suspense. Though, I’ll warn you, if you came to gloat about your latest screw, I don’t care.”

  “You’re such a bitch, Jesslyn,” the guy said.

  Aiden shifted, the rocker creaked.

  “Another guard dog?” the guy asked, his lip curling derisively.

  “If you like.” Jesslyn didn’t move.

  “What I’d like is to know why in the hell you couldn’t bother to pick up a fucking phone and call me last night.” He stepped up the first step.

  Her stare was dark and razor sharp. Aiden would bet lesser men backed down at that stare. The man stepped back down into the yard.

  Jesslyn uncurled out of the rocker and stood, the blanket falling off her shoulders. “Honestly?”

  “Are you anything else?” the man asked.

  “Aiden?” she asked.

  “Yeah?” He stood.

  “Would you excuse us please?”

  “What? Don’t want to introduce me?” the man asked.

  She shrugged. “Aiden Kinncaid, CEO of something important, meet Kirk the Jerk Roberts, the estimable president of one of the local banks.” She turned back to him and Aiden saw the anger and humor dance in her eyes. “Personally, I use the other bank just so I don’t have to deal with Kirk. I’d do the same if I were you.”

  “Why you . . .”

  “Now, Kirk,” she admonished, “don’t whine. It’s annoying.”

  A muscle bunched in Kirk’s jaw, a vein pounded in his forehead. Aiden eased a bit closer to Jesslyn, who stepped to the edge of the porch.

  “I didn’t call you because I didn’t think about it.”

  Aiden could hear the man grinding his teeth from here.

  Kirk balled his hands into fists. “More like you didn’t want to. If not for you, Maddy would have married me.”

  “And divorced you the first time she caught you fucking your newest secretary.” Jesslyn set her cup on the railing with an ominous thunk. It toppled and fell off the railing. “Well, hell, there went a perfectly good cup of coffee,” she said, looking at her cup on the ground. She gazed back at Kirk the Jerk. “Why don’t you go home, Kirk? What the hell are you doing at my place at this time of morning anyway?”

  “I loved her!” he yelled.

  “No,” Jesslyn’s voice held no mercy. “You didn’t love her. You used her to complete your ideal picture. And if you wonder where I got that, remember what you told me back in October.”

  Kirk’s eyes raked Jesslyn up and down. Aiden lounged against the railing.

  “They think I killed her,” Kirk bit out. “I spent all night at the goddamn police station being questioned!”

  For one long moment no one said a word, no one moved.

  “Do you have any idea how this looks?” Kirk asked, raking a hand through his hair.

  Jesslyn straightened as though jolted. “Excuse me?” She stepped down two steps, getting closer to the angry man.

  Aiden didn’t really care for the move.

  “How it looks? You are such a lowlife, sorry-assed son of a bitch. Who gives a shit how it looks? Maddy is dead! Dead! Somebody used her chest as a goddamn pincushion and you’re worried how it looks?”

  Kirk pointed a finger at her. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  “No,” she grabbed his finger and twisted. “You don’t come to my house and take crap shots at me. I really don’t give a damn how you spent your precious night.” She let go of his finger and Aiden watched as the man’s eyes darkened. “Where were you, Kirk, when you heard? Did the cops find you at home with the kids?” She shook her head. “Nope, my guess is that they found you somewhere else.”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. But whatever you and Maddy had or didn’t have, she did care about your kids and they cared about her. Have you once thought about how the hell this is going to affect them?”

  At Kirk’s confused look, Jesslyn continued, “Nope, that would be too much to hope for in your case.”

  “You keep my kids out of this.”

  Jesslyn held up a hand. “Kirk, go home.”

  “I can’t. They’re searching my house as we speak.”

  Jesslyn tilted her head. “Really?”

  Merrick stood at the edge of the yard yawing, but still watching the spectacle on the front porch.

  Before Aiden turned back, he saw the blur of movement. Kirk reached out and grabbed Jesslyn’s arm, jerking her close. “What the hell did you tell them?”

  Jesslyn looked at his hand on her arm then back at Kirk.

  Aiden stepped forward. “Let her go.”

  Neither of them paid him a bit of attention.

  “What do you think I told them? Let me go, Kirk. Now.”

  Again a muscle bunched in his jaw. Aiden saw his fingers tighten, but before he reached them, Jesslyn fisted her hand, reared back and sucker-punched him right in the nose.

  Kirk let her go.

  Aiden stopped, impressed as she backed up one step and said, “I told you to let go of my arm.”

  “You bitch.”

  “Leave,” Aiden said, stepping down beside her, and easing in front of her. Lot of good it did now.

  Bloodshot eyes glared at Jesslyn then at him before zeroing in on Jesslyn again. “You broke my nose.”

  “Aren’t you the smart one,” she muttered.

  Merrick puffed up beside them. “Come on,” the policeman said. “Mr. Roberts, you really shouldn’t be here.”

  “No,” Aiden said, “he shouldn’t.”

  Kirk held his nose with one hand, blood dripping from his palm, while he dug something out of his pocket. He pressed it against his nose. “Ja godda pay fer dis.”

  Aiden stepped down the last step and still looked down on the—what had Jesslyn called him? Oh yeah—sorry-assed son of a bitch. Woman had a way with words.

  “Careful what you say, Roberts.”

  “Who the
fuck are you to care?”

  Aiden only smiled, and he knew it held no amusement. “You don’t want to find out.”

  Fear shifted in the other man’s eyes. Good.

  Merrick grabbed Kirk’s arm, but the rumpled banker jerked it free and stormed off to his Lexus. Gravel and dust spit into the air as he spun away from the house.

  Jesslyn sighed. “Well, that was sure fun. Wonder what’s next on the day’s agenda.”

  Aiden watched the car swerve onto the highway, barely missing another car. He looked to Merrick. “Wasn’t that a traffic violation?”

  Merrick smiled. A siren chirped, once, twice, and then an SUV with CBPD followed down the hill.

  “Yep,” Merrick said, “and now he gets to deal with the other one.”

  “Other one?”

  “Stephens. Don’t know which is worse. Black in a bad mood or Stephens. Would rather not deal with either one of them if I could help it.”

  No, Aiden would guess not. He turned around and saw Jesslyn gather her dumped cup, a mug and blanket up. The door squeaked as she opened it and stalked through it. He watched as she paused at the threshold, her hand fisted to her stomach.

  Aiden raked his hand through his hair. Nothing like the Rockies. Was it always like this? Working vacation his ass. If this was any indication of what the next several weeks were going to be like, he’d need a real vacation after this.

  He followed Jesslyn inside. Water ran in the kitchen. She turned from the sink and looked at him, her dark eyes shifting from anger to hurt to confusion. “Sorry about that.”

  Aiden shook his head and stood beside her at the sink. He reached out and took her hand, pushed the sleeve up. No bruise showed. Thank God. He really didn’t care for brute force against anyone. But in her case, with Mr. Roberts, he’d make an exception all the way around. He turned her wrist one way, then the other, his fingers grazing along her arm, the soft inside skin of her wrist. He traced one blue vein from the inside of her elbow to the pad of her thumb. Her breathing quickened.

  Aiden looked up at her, saw the shock in her eyes glazing over the anger. “You’re no damsel in distress. Remind me to never really piss you off.”

  Her half grin warmed him and he let go of her hand as she eased it away. “I’d need a step stool to deck you.” Then her face contorted and she leaned forwards, holding her breath, her other hand pressed to her stomach.

  “Jesslyn?” Her shoulder felt small beneath his hand. “What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep breath and slowly straightened. “Nothing.” She blew her breath out.

  He bent his knees to look her in the eye. “Don’t give me that. What?”

  “Arrogant, pushy and bossy too.”

  “Fine CEO qualities. Since I’m renting the place, I’d like to know if I’m about to catch a stomach virus. Now what’s wrong?”

  She was pale. “I’m fine, really. Though the idea of giving you a stomach bug has merit.”

  Again she fisted a hand against her stomach and bit down.

  “Uh-huh. Tell me.”

  “It’s nothing.” She tried to pull away, but he didn’t take his hand off her shoulder. “Fine,” she huffed. “Sometimes when I get really stressed out, my stomach hurts.”

  Hurt looked as though it were an understatement.

  “Do you have an ulcer?” he demanded.

  “Depends who you ask,” she sassed with one of her half grins.

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Then, no, I don’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you ate?”

  All he’d seen her put into her system was coffee.

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling as though she’d decipher the answer from there. Finally, she shrugged. “Sometime yesterday? Yeah, a muffin yesterday before my meeting. But it wasn’t very good and—”

  “A muffin?” He looked outside, checked his watch. There were perks to owning hotels. It was almost seven and his staff had better be running the hotel properly. “You need food.”

  “Yeah, I know. Whatever is in those pills I took earlier for my headache, it’s trashing my stomach.”

  “And the stress isn’t helping. Nor is the coffee.” He sighed and straightened. “Where are your shoes?”

  “Shoes?”

  “You do have some?”

  “Yeah, and amazingly I even manage to get them on my feet upon occasion.”

  He stared at her.

  “They’re in the closet over there.”

  “Get them on. We’re going to breakfast.”

  She arched a brow. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Ulcers are nothing to mess around with.”

  “Figures. You would worry about everything too. No wonder you CEO types are known to burn out. And I don’t have an ulcer.”

  “Your shoes.” He crossed his arms.

  Her jaw jutted out. “I’m fine.”

  “Your shoes.”

  She threw up her hands. “God, you’re like a damn bulldozer.” Jesslyn marched to the corner closet, sat on the tiled floor and mumbled to herself as she put on a pair of tennis shoes.

  Aiden shook his head and wondered what perversity in him liked trading barbs with her.

  Whatever it was, he didn’t care. The woman needed food and he was going to feed her.

  Chapter 5

  He paced. No answers had come to him in the night. But the police couldn’t find anything, at least he didn’t think so.

  Crimes were not as easily committed as they once were, even with all the precautions he’d taken.

  Perhaps the last one had been a mistake. Someone might put it with one of the others. Though why they should, he couldn’t guess. The possibility though lingered and he didn’t like that.

  They might link one other to last night’s victim, but the others . . . The others were all long forgotten.

  Well, he never hunted here. Went out of his way to find those that would hardly be missed.

  Last night had just gone all wrong.

  The question that plagued him was why?

  To prove he’d made a mistake?

  Or something else?

  A horn blared out on the street and he startled. The smells of the early morning here wafted on the air. Pine and exhaust mixing faintly with coffee and baked goods.

  He sniffed, rubbed his hand down his leg. He needed to think, some quiet to figure out what he was supposed to do about everything. The idea of going after Ms. Black did not exactly appeal to him. Not unless it was supposed to.

  The problem was knowing if it was supposed to or not. She was innocent. Not like the others. He knew that.

  But still . . .

  He shrugged and hoped the answers would come to him soon.

  • • •

  Jesslyn mopped her last bite of waffle through the lake of syrup on her plate and popped it in her mouth. She leaned back and sighed.

  Aiden, his plate pushed to the side, stacked his hands on top of each other and watched her. “Better?”

  It would be churlish to lie. “Yes,” she admitted on a grin.

  “Food does wonders.”

  She shrugged. They’d come to his new hotel. The old Sharlaton, a massive log and stone complex, four stories tall, set in the middle of the resort community. For some reason she’d expected to see people remodeling.

  He’d laughed and asked what she expected in the foyer. Paint cans and scaffolding? Okay, so she had. And though she couldn’t see the paint and lumber, the traces of it still lingered in the air.

  The overall décor was what seemed to predominate all these mountain resorts. Heavy unfinished wooden furniture. Ranch motives mixed with a Southwest flavor. Seemed normal to her. Lots of stone and wood. “Nice place you have here,” she said. “Did I already tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words.” He took a sip of coffee.

  She looked at her tea, very weak tea too. “You are cruel.”

  “Next time you can have coffee if you don’t run yoursel
f to the ground.” The lines around his mouth tightened.

  “Are you always like this with people you rent a place from?”

  The man gave a new meaning to the word dominating. He all but sucked every extra space out of an area and he didn’t even move.

  “I told you, I’m fine.”

  His head tilted, the early morning sunlight shining through the skylight glinted off his black hair. “So you did.”

  “I’ve eaten. Lots of carbs, bready stuff. Today’s dietitians would cringe. Can I have some coffee now?” Truthfully she was craving orange juice, but knew better. Coffee, her stomach could probably handle, but not O.J.

  “No.”

  She looked at his left hand, noticed again it was unadorned. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I can see why.”

  Though he grinned, it was cold and did not reach his eyes. “Can you? I doubt that.”

  The serious CEO was back.

  Jesslyn leaned up and propped her elbows on the table, her hands under her chin. “I hear a story.”

  “And you’ve a story yourself.”

  So she did.

  “Why do you like to write?” he asked. “You do write, don’t you? Tim mentioned it.”

  Jesslyn chuckled. “Yes, I write.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Books.”

  Those breathtakingly blue eyes narrowed and she inwardly sighed.

  “What kind of books?”

  “Mayhem and danger. Girl finds herself in bad situation, sometimes saves herself and sometimes hero saves her, sometimes she saves hero. They, of course, live happily ever after, but that’s a must in romance.”

  His gaze roamed over her face and she felt it like a caress. “Romance, eh?”

  “Yep.”

  “You don’t seem the romance writing type.”

  She sat back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I think it’s your attitude that ruins the image of some author dreaming up happy endings.”

  “What a stereotypical thing to say.”

  He grinned. “Who was it that remarked on CEOs and burnouts?” For a moment neither said a word. Then he asked, “How long have you been writing? Do you enjoy it?”