The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  “Uh—Pete. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “I would have . . .” Helped seemed the wrong word. Damn.

  Pete cleared his throat. “It was a matter I had to see to personally.”

  With that, the man hung up.

  Ian took a deep breath, a chill dancing down his back.

  Just when he thought he was as far into the darkness as he could go, he was reminded there were shadows he still hadn’t journeyed.

  It was a matter I had to see to personally . . .

  And those shadows Ian didn’t want to visit. Ever.

  Turning back around, he looked through the doors at Darya wrapped in a quilt on the couch, leaning against Rori.

  Maybe, just maybe their lives could get on the right track now.

  Whatever that track was. He didn’t want to push it. Didn’t know, suddenly, what the hell to do. What did he do?

  About anything?

  He had no orders. No one needed to be found right this moment . . .

  Rori looked up at him and smiled.

  And then he knew. Ian opened the door and walked into the living room just as his parents came in.

  “You two simply have to go to the hospital,” his mother said. “Have you gotten your brother and Taylor anything?” she asked.

  Ian shook his head and shut the door behind him. “I thought I was supposed to get the baby something.”

  Rori didn’t turn to look, but he caught her grin as she watched the television and stroked her hand over Darya’s head.

  His mother handed him a piece of paper. “Go take a shower, take your wife out. We’ll watch Darya.”

  He looked at the paper and saw it was a list. “What is this?”

  His mother shrugged. “Things Darya needs.”

  Dollhouse. Barbies. Books. Several stuffed animals. Bedding (something pink or purple—though blue or silver would work).

  His mother tapped the bottom of the list. “If you don’t want to pick out the bedding, that’s fine. Rori and I can go sometime next week.”

  Ian shook his head. Rori jerked around and met his gaze. He caught the plea in her eyes.

  He wiggled a brow at her and turned to his mother. “Well, you know us men. We’re likely to choose the wrong fabric or color or something.”

  She nodded. “I know.” His mother glanced over at the couch. “Rori and I will get what we need Monday or something.” She put her hand on his arm. “Now go and get ready. I’d also like you to pick up some nice flowers before dinner tonight.”

  “We need more fever-reducer medicine . . . whatever it’s called,” Rori said, standing.

  Darya was asleep on the couch. Ian shook his head. “I just got back. I don’t want to go out again, Mother.”

  “Bah. Go see your brother and the baby. Aiden and Jesslyn went by, but Brayden’s in Louisiana and you just got home.”

  “Quinlan?” he ventured. “You should let him know—”

  Her green eyes narrowed on him. “He’s been by. Last night. Promised to come tonight to dinner. He called earlier and said he was bringing a date.”

  Jock muttered something that sounded vaguely like a hired woman.

  Ian hid his grin, leaned over and said, “Mother, I love you, but—”

  “No buts, go see your brother. If you leave now”—she glanced over her shoulder at Darya and then back to him—“she’ll be asleep most of the time you’re gone.” Her eyebrow rose. “You worried I can’t take care of a sick child?”

  He knew better than to argue that one. “I couldn’t trust anyone more with her health, Mom.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Some mothers might take issue with that wording. Considering the goings-on of late, I’ll just leave it alone.”

  He laughed and pulled her close, kissing her on her forehead. “Well, I just learned the leak was found and taken care of, so the guards will be leaving.”

  “Thank God,” his mother said, patting his chest and taking a deep breath.

  “Who?” his father asked.

  Ian looked at Rori as he said, “I don’t know. They just let me know the matter was taken care of.” Squeezing his mother, he added, “I decided to leave that alone and take it at face value.”

  No one said anything for a moment. Then his mother said, “So Roth will be leaving?”

  He chuckled. “Not just yet.”

  Jock asked, “Why not? You said guards.”

  “Not my men.”

  At his parents’ confused looks he added, “Tanner, Roth, and several others work for John and me. Or they do now.”

  “What?” his father asked.

  Ian shook his head. “Never mind. Just know, Roth will be here a bit more. Tanner is staying with Brayden, Snake with Gav, and Gar with Quinlan.”

  “Why?” his mother asked.

  He looked at Rori. “We should get going if we’re going to go to town and get back before dinner.”

  They quickly walked out of the room before his parents bombarded them with more questions. To save time, they shared the shower, their bodies melding, sliding, holding and reaching until both moaned, peaked, and shuddered in the aftermath.

  Ian stood in the bedroom, tucking his shirt in, and watched Rori—his wife—put lotion on. A simple thing that. Over-the-counter white lotion. She sat on the bed, her hands rubbing down her leg, gliding her knee, sliding over her thigh, grazing her belly before she squirted more and then rubbed it into one arm, then the other.

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  She grinned. “Too bad we don’t have all afternoon to ourselves.”

  He laughed and pulled her to him, kissing her again, feeling the cool lotion, her hot body molding against his.

  “We don’t have time,” she said and pushed against him, and he let her go.

  “Tonight.”

  She grinned over her shoulder, her naked back long and lean, graceful as a dancer’s, her backside and thighs as tight as a Vegas line girl’s. Damn.

  • • •

  5:06 p.m.

  Quinlan Kinncaid drove the car. He kept rubbing his head. She watched him.

  “Headache?” she asked, sliding her hand over the console and touching his arm.

  He nodded. “Yeah, again.” He blinked and shook his head.

  “Why don’t you let me drive?” she tried. This would be all she fucking needed. This damn close and he wrecks the car, all because he was a male and thus had to drive.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, shaking his head again.

  Alla shrugged and looked out the window. At least she’d taken care of the guard, Gar, while Quinlan had dressed for the evening. If anyone found the man, he might live, but the sedative dose had been high. She’d stuffed him in the spare room in Quinlan’s penthouse.

  Reaching down for her purse, she opened it partway, saw the 9-millimeter Glock inside, and smiled. Reaching past it, she pulled out her pill bottle. “I’ve got some aspirin. Would you like some?”

  The man was so predictable. He shook his head.

  Taking the female approach, she said, “Please, for me. I don’t want to meet your family practically alone, and if you’re nursing a killer headache, you’ll look like you hired me to come along. I don’t want your parents thinking I’m a whore.” She held the white pills aloft in her hand.

  They looked like aspirin. She had wanted them to, with the same initial coating so that they tasted the same—or rather had no taste at all.

  But the ingredients were very different and practically tasteless, an accomplishment for her lab techs. Something the drug market and vice scene would love.

  Ecstasy plus roofies. Basically. Bit of enhancement thrown in to keep things ready. The chemical makeup had to be altered a bit. But the feel-good of X with the disinhibiter of roofies and the ready-to-go of Viagra made for a wondrous little pill.

  She could fuck someone all night long, and they wanted it. And the poor souls didn’t really
remember all the details the next morning.

  The bright side? Supposedly the downer wasn’t as bad as X. She should make a killing off this little creation.

  But then her techs were still trying to perfect it. She wanted buyers, not diers.

  He finally took the pills and glanced at her with a narrowed gaze, as if trying to decide, then tossed them back.

  He’d already had two others half an hour ago in his coffee. Hopefully he wouldn’t have a reaction. But if he did . . . then she’d deal with it.

  She smiled at him and leaned over, the shoulder harness pulling on her, and kissed his cheek, then wiped her lipstick off. “Hope they help.”

  He nodded and stared at the road as he turned off. He shook his head again.

  “Quinlan, quit being a man and just let me drive. You don’t feel well, and if you pass out, we could both be injured.” He nodded, slowed and put the car in park.

  “Poor baby.” She glanced either way down the driveway. A house sat back beyond the trees and no one was behind them.

  She climbed out of the car and walked around. By the time she opened the driver’s door, he was already half unconscious. Smiling, she leaned into the backseat and grabbed her shoulder bag with the lovely little bomb in it. Time to get to work before meeting the family . . .

  • • •

  Ian held on to the “oh shit” bar as Rori took another curve. “Damn it, slow down.”

  She laughed. “God, I miss driving. And I just have to say, this right side of the road is really off. You Yanks should have stayed with the left.”

  He shook his head.

  She rounded another curve and the lights cut across the road.

  “Oh, shit!” She swerved to miss the little eyes in the road and Ian felt the tires thump over whatever the hell it was.

  Rori slammed on the brakes and looked in the rearview mirror.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, looking back behind them. No cars were coming. He looked in front of them as she pulled the car to the edge of the road.

  “Rori?” he asked.

  “What did I hit?” She looked at him, her face creased with . . . he had no clue, he’d never seen it.

  She opened her door and the interior light popped on. He rolled his eyes, unbuckled his belt and climbed out.

  She stood in the center of their lane dressed in her jeans, squared black high-heeled boots, and a black jacket, looking down at a dark spot in the road. Her hands were clasped to her chest.

  “I killed it,” she said brokenly.

  Ian shook his head and stepped toward her, looking down. What was left of—a rabbit?—was a squashed area of brown fur, blood and guts.

  “Uh, yeah, looks like you were successful there.”

  She choked a breath out and looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “What?” he asked, his hands rising, palms up. “What is with you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I just killed bloody Peter Rabbit.”

  Ian licked his lips. “Rori, it’s a damn rabbit. Some farmer is glad the thing won’t be eating his vegetables or some such.”

  “But I just mowed down a bunny!”

  This from the woman hired to kill him. Sighing, he turned and said, “Rori, get in the damn car.”

  She stood for another minute and he turned, waited until she wiped her eyes. “I think you should drive.”

  He chuckled then quickly swallowed it as she shot him a look.

  Without a word, he waited until she shut the passenger door. He looked back at the dead bunny and chuckled, shaking his head.

  Ian climbed in, put the car in gear and continued on.

  She was adorable. Completely adorable. The woman was one of the best assassins, and she freaked when she ran over a rabbit.

  Smiling inwardly, Ian drove up to his parents’ house near dark. Quinlan’s Lexus sat in the driveway.

  Rori hadn’t said a word.

  When she reached for the door handle, he grabbed her hand. “What are you thinking about?”

  She took a deep breath. “Sorry I flipped back there. I’ve had a lot on my mind all afternoon and Mr. Rabbit just . . .” She huffed out a breath.

  “What?” he asked again, running his thumb over the ring he’d placed there on her finger.

  “You come from all this,” she muttered. “Kinncaids are all about family.”

  And he wanted her to be a permanent part of it. “So?”

  “So, I realize I don’t know . . . that is . . .”

  “What?” he asked, something in him tightening.

  She took another deep breath. “Half the damn time I don’t know what I’m bloody doing with Darya. I wonder if I’m doing it wrong, what it is, how to do it better, how to make her feel safe . . . And then other times . . .”

  “Other times?” he prompted.

  “I can see why people have kids. Like at the hospital. The baby was . . .” She frowned. “Well, different, all . . . little.”

  He chuckled, leaned over the console and kissed her. “They’re supposed to be.”

  “I can’t ever have one.” Her voice wavered. “When the doctors told me, it didn’t mean anything.”

  Her eyes filled with a pain he couldn’t take away. But wanted to. God, he wanted to. He held her hands and waited. “Never thought about it. Never wondered until last year when I went in for my physical and my doctor started to run tests.”

  “Why?”

  She shook her head. “I had a cyst. Nothing major, nothing he was worried about, but felt I should know I was sterile. From the rapes, or from an infection, he wasn’t certain. But I won’t have kids.” She looked out the windshield. “And it never really bothered me until today.” Then, looking at him with a sad smile, she asked, “Isn’t that pathetic?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s normal. We’ll adopt more.”

  She blinked, then shook her head. “You come from this.” She motioned to the yard and everything. “Kids and heirs and begetting and all that.”

  He grinned. “I never wanted kids, Rori. Never planned to get married.”

  She snorted.

  He took her chin and turned her face to him, studying the angles, the long lines that showed more strength than any woman he knew, because some of her roads he’d traveled and others he could imagine only too well. “I never wanted to put someone in that kind of danger,” he admitted softly.

  “After being shot at, almost blown up, and left behind, I can appreciate that decision.” She shook her head. “We are so fucked up, luv.”

  He laughed. “I love it when you say that.”

  “That we’re fucked up?”

  “No, luv, all British on me.”

  They climbed out of the car and walked up the driveway. At the door he paused, held her hand and rolled the wedding band on her finger. Looking at it, he said, “You know, I’m glad I got this when I saw it.” The gold reflected in the soft outside lights. “It fits you. You. Us. Whatever.” He held her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the finger that held his mark. Ian leaned in and kissed her, held her face in his hands and tried to show her everything he couldn’t put into words.

  He finally reached behind her and opened the door. And the first thing he smelled was Elianya—a mixture of heavy, dark floral and musk.

  He almost jerked back, but thankfully didn’t. Still standing with Rori, his hand still on the doorknob, he scanned what he could and catalogued it as surely as he would any other hostile situation. He saw the coat, and glancing in the hall mirror caught a flash of a woman with a gun. God help them all.

  Leaning closer, he whispered into Rori’s ear, “Follow my lead. Get pissed, scream at me, call me names and then leave. Whatever you do, do not go in the house, don’t even look in the house. Take the car, call John, and get your ass back here.”

  “Why?” she asked, tensing against him as he pressed the car keys into her hands.

  “Tell John to call Pete. Elianya Hellinski is here with my fam
ily in the living room. From the gun in her hand, I’m pretty damn certain it’s not a friendly sit-down. How the hell . . .”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Damn it!” he yelled, pushing her toward the yard. “I’m not asking you, Rori. I’m fucking telling you.”

  She took a deep breath, her eyes flashing. “This is so bloody like you! Everything is always Ian’s way. On Ian’s time. At Ian’s convenience. Well, I’m tired of it! Sick and bloody tired!”

  “Lower your voice,” he said, still loud.

  “I don’t have to. I’m tired of this game. Tired of being at your bleeding beck and call. It’s not my fault if you can’t accept the truth.”

  “What truth?” He still didn’t look behind him, but left the door open enough that anyone in the living room beyond could hear, if not all, at least enough to understand the disagreement.

  “You don’t listen!” she yelled. “I’m leaving!”

  “No, you’re not. Rori, come back here! Rori!” he yelled and hurried after her even as she jumped in the car, spitting gravel up into the air.

  He prayed to God she got to Johnno. Taking a deep breath and making certain he had his extra gun in the small of his back, he turned and slammed the front door as hard as he could. “Damn it all to hell and back anyway,” he said.

  He strode past the living room, as if intent on going upstairs. And as he knew she would, her voice floated out.

  “Ian, do join us.”

  He halted, stopped in the middle of unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, and slowly turned.

  “Elianya.” Her hair was jet black, styled shorter, her eyes a dark brown, thanks, no doubt, to colored contacts. Still, she shouldn’t be here. There was no way she should have gotten past all the damn guards.

  He glanced quickly around the room. His parents sat on the couch, Darya between them. Quinlan was tied to a chair, his head hanging. Was his brother alive? Where the hell were Gar and Roth?

  To Elianya he said, “You’ve a new hairstyle and color, I see. The spa did a wonderful job.” He nodded. “Not many can carry off that hair color.”

  Taking another deep breath, he stepped into the room. How much time did they have?

  His heart thundered in his chest. One last mission. This one last job. Please, God, don’t let this be his failure. He had way too much at stake.