by Aleah Barley
Across the glittering ballroom, waiters let out sighs of relief, glad the confrontation was over and no one had asked them to break things up.
They were probably the only ones who were happy that the fight was over. There were more than a few disappointed looks in the crowd. They might try to act fancier than everyone else, but all it took was the hint of blood to turn these Black Palm Park snobs into kids on a playground, eager for a showdown.
Carlos was struggling to get away, calling out for assistance, but Jack didn’t appear to notice. The look on his face was one of grim determination.
“Jerk,” Honey snarled. “I hope he gets tossed in a cell with a seven-foot biker with ‘Crazy’ as his first name.”
A laugh. The man standing next to her must have heard. “Carlos isn’t going to jail. They’re just boys letting off a little steam.”
“Oh, he’s going to jail.”
And Jack would be going with him. Honey had been arrested enough times to know that there were hours of paperwork involved. Jack would be tied up for the rest of the night, which meant her big night was effectively over. Any chance at reconciliation had disappeared the instant Carlos walked into the room.
Twenty minutes ago, she’d been full of hope and all the vibrant possibilities that came with wearing a good dress and better shoes. Turning around and seeing the look on Jack’s face, the way he was staring at her with lust in his eyes, she’d felt so damn powerful.
This was why women wore sexy dresses.
Walking over, she’d had every intention of telling Jack the truth. She loved him more than words could truly express, and if he’d agree to love her back, then everything would be all right. But the words had caught in her throat. Those few short syllables had been enough to choke her.
Then they’d been dancing, talking, and his anger had been palpable. A physical force that scared her more than any death threat could. What if he pushed her away? What if they never saw each other again?
She should have told him how she felt while she had the chance, but she’d thought they would have more time. They should have had more time. At least until the end of the song.
“Ogden looks pretty angry,” the man standing next to her said. “Remind me not to get on his bad side.”
“My advice? Don’t hit his sister.”
“I could have told Carlos that was a bad idea, although I really would have expected Amelia to take care of it. Some poison, a knife to the gut, maybe a little pleasant conversation.”
Honey bit back a laugh.
Maybe the man next to her was more than a fitted tuxedo. She glanced sideways, taking in a lethal combination of golden skin, tawny hair, and white teeth. He was older than she’d expected, the silver streaks at his temples and wrinkles by his eyes belying his youthful voice. Something about him seemed familiar. Like she’d seen him before, but she couldn’t quite figure out where.
“Honey Moore.” She stuck out a hand.
“No need for an introduction.” His smile didn’t make it to his eyes. “You’re the woman with her hands on Logan Burrows’s family jewels.”
“Excuse me?”
“Those emeralds have been in the family for almost two hundred years. They’re passed from father to son and worn by strong, capable women who commit themselves to the Burrows name. They are not trinkets for floozies and whores.”
Two digs in less than a minute. Any more and Honey would think the guy didn’t like her.
The stranger’s friendly mask slipped. “You might think you hit the mother lode, taking him to bed, but I know what you are. Trash, pure and simple.” His hand latched onto her arm. “We’re leaving.”
“Not a chance in hell.” A sharp bolt of fear drove its way through her body. “You’re him, aren’t you? Clay Parsons.”
“I’ve come too far to let you get in my way.” His breath came out cloying and sweet, thick with the alcohol he’d used to marshal his courage. “We’re going to walk to my car, and you’re going to look happy about it. If you don’t, I’ll kill Logan. A man that old is vulnerable. If he skips one pill, he could have a heart attack. You’re his mistress. You’d know that. You’ll be a suspect even if they don’t arrest you. They’ll never let you inherit.”
It took every ounce of self-control Honey had not to break the man’s nose. It would be so damn easy. Throw a punch, cry out, fall down. If she did anything to attract attention, this horrible event would be over. Jack would arrest Clay Parsons, and everything could go back to normal.
Her head turned slightly, following the path that Jack had taken across the room. He was already gone, vanished through wide double doors.
Besides, what if Parsons was right? He was a state senator, and everyone knew she was a bad apple. She’d tell her version of the story, and they’d laugh.
Then Parsons would go after Logan.
It had been less than eight hours since Honey had knocked on Logan’s door, unsure of what kind of man she’d find on the other side, but in that short time she’d grown attached to him. He wasn’t her grandfather, and he never would be, but that wasn’t going to stop her from adding him to the chaos that was her family. In her mind, she’d already planned Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas surprises. There was no way in hell she would let some two-bit state senator in a tuxedo mess with his medication. Not if she had anything to say about it.
“You’re a jackass.”
“And you’re a fool fighting something unavoidable.” He adjusted his grip so that anyone watching would think they were friends, maybe even lovers. His free hand ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, and for the briefest moment, he cupped her face in his palm.
“You’ll come quietly. Won’t you, Honey?”
…
Arresting Carlos was supposed to make Jack feel better. It was supposed to provide him some much-needed satisfaction and closure, the same catharsis he’d felt years earlier when he’d been fighting in the boxing ring.
It just made him feel old and tired.
He didn’t want to be taking the other man down to the station. Spending his night filling out paperwork and explaining things to his boss. He wanted to be with Honey, exchanging rough barbs and verbal blows. Explaining to her the difference between “borrowing a car” and “grand theft auto.”
“You should have just stayed home,” Jack muttered angrily. Forcing Carlos down the country club’s long foyer and out the front hall, he took a deep breath of cool night air. He could smell the ocean. Salty. Tangy.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Go on.” Jack shoved the other man forward, biting back a laugh when Carlos stumbled on the gravel drive and fell to his knees. “Get lost.”
“You idiot—”
“Shut up, Carlos.” Jack blocked the doorway, preventing the other man from coming back in. The view from the Black Palm Park Country Club was incredible. In the daylight, he would be able to see all the way down to the beach. At night, he could just make out the streetlights that lined the Pacific Coast Highway. “Just be grateful I’m not dragging your ass downtown.”
“Come on—” Carlos stopped short, suddenly aware of the gravity of his situation. “Fine.” He spat on the ground. “I’m leaving. Give my best to your sister.”
“Uh-huh.” Jack didn’t move an inch. He stood there and watched the other man walk away, enjoying the scenery. The flicker of lights in the distance. The soft rustling of palm fronds moving in the breeze.
A car drove past. A luxury sedan zipping around the side of the building. Jack couldn’t make out the driver, but he could see the passenger.
Honey. Shoulders slumped forward. Her eyes wide. Her face pale. Fear making it so she didn’t even recognize him.
That couldn’t be right. Why would she leave now? And what could make her look so scared?
Jack spun, no longer caring what happened with Carlos. He raced back into the ballroom. He had to be mistaken. His gaze swept the crowd for Honey, searching for a flash of blazing hair or a sc
rap of that ruby dress. No such luck.
All he saw were the disapproving looks of the Junior League. Fine. He’d been disappointing them since he was nineteen years old.
It hadn’t been a mistake. It had been Honey in the car. Scared. Terrified.
Logan stood beside Jessica. The perfect guest, drinking champagne, holding Honey’s purse, and making polite conversation.
“Logan.” Jack’s throat was dry. He swallowed, trying to regain the ability to speak. “Logan, who did Honey leave with?”
“Leave? She didn’t leave. She’s right here. Right—” Logan glanced around, too, his lips pulled downward by worry. “Honey?” A gnarled voice that had commanded captains of industry and conversed with presidents twisted itself with confusion. “Honey?”
Hell. A dozen possibilities raced through Jack’s mind, none of them good.
Maybe his mother had finally gone homicidal.
Maybe aliens had attacked.
Or maybe he’d been wrong when he’d believed Honey had changed.
Returning a car for money was one thing, but the emeralds around her neck were worth millions. She might not be able to fence them for their full value, but there’d still be enough left over to start her off in a new life.
Only, he couldn’t imagine Honey anywhere except Los Angeles, where it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk and dogs roamed street corners. She was a California girl, like the song.
And the look in her eyes when she’d told him she’d given up theft had been determined, unyielding. She was a different person than she’d been in high school, or even a few years ago. She had a house she needed to get fixed, a garage she ran herself, and a position she’d carved out for herself in the community.
If he crossed her, she’d probably dye his hair blue again, but she’d stick around afterward to make sure he didn’t get any dye in his eyes.
He could count on her. He knew it.
“Jessica, something’s happened to Honey. Who did she leave with?”
“Are you sure she isn’t in the bathroom?”
“She wouldn’t go to the bathroom while there was still the possibility of a fight.”
No, she wouldn’t miss a chance to watch him fight. Closing his eyes, he remembered the last time he’d seen her smiling after a fight. It hadn’t been a boxing match. They’d both been on the playground. There must have been a hundred kids shouting, cheering him on, but the only one he’d seen was Honey.
Jack Ogden, she’d hollered, hands on her hips. You beat the tarnation out of that man.
That’s one way to put it.
I could take you. She’d held up both hands in loose fists. I know you’re bigger than me, and I know you’re a man. It doesn’t matter. I could still take you. Do you know why?
Because you cheat?
Because you don’t know what you’re fighting for. You’re good, but you won’t be great until you find something worth fighting for.
In retrospect, Jack knew it was true. As a kid, he’d been fighting for recognition and to prove he was something more than his mother’s son. At the time, it had been enough.
His breath caught in his throat. This entire week he’d been so angry, so mad at Honey for leaving. He’d never thought about the good times. He’d never wondered what had made her go.
There was more to life than his name in lights. There was the quiet time in the morning before the world was awake when Honey nestled back into his arms. That was something worth fighting for.
“She’s gone. I saw her in a car outside. Someone else was driving,” Jack said.
She’d looked so damn scared pulling away from him.
“Take a deep breath.” His sister’s voice.
Impossible. He wouldn’t be able to breathe until Honey was back, safe in his arms.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Jessica said.
“She wouldn’t leave with anyone dangerous,” Logan said. “She’s a smart girl.”
“That’s a major understatement.” Jack said. “Honey’s brilliant.”
She knew things he couldn’t even imagine—and not just street smarts, either. There’d been an essay competition every year at the Black Palm Park Academy. Honey had won twice, and English wasn’t even her favorite subject. She liked science, knowing how things worked.
She could have gone far.
College, graduate school. The fact she’d stopped with high school was a tragedy. When he found her, he’d offer to send her back to school.
Honey was a great mechanic, but she’d be great at anything she did. She deserved to be an engineer or an inventor, someone who did more than take things apart. She deserved the chance to build something new.
“She’ll be okay. She has to be okay.”
All of the confusion he’d felt over the last week left him, replaced by the certainty that he needed Honey in his life. If something happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself.
“What kind of a car was it?” Jessica asked.
“Expensive. A luxury sedan. A cream-colored BMW, a couple of years old.” There had been something else. Jack closed his eyes, concentrating. “There was a parking sticker on the rear window. A gold medallion.”
“The state seal?” Logan demanded roughly. “Clay has a car like that.”
“Clay Parsons, you’re sure?”
What the hell was going on? Parsons was powerful—a state senator—and rich.
Only, he wasn’t actually rich, was he? He dressed well and drove a fancy car, but everyone knew he wouldn’t have any actual money until Logan died.
Damn. Jack’s breath started to come faster. That was a possibility he hadn’t considered. But he hadn’t known how deep the connection between Logan and Honey went until a few minutes ago.
This possibility was worse than all the others put together. If Parsons saw Honey as a threat to his future inheritance, he’d have a motive for murder. More like a billion motives for murder. There was no telling what he’d do.
“Hell,” Jack swore.
He needed his gun, but he’d left the weapon locked in his apartment. The only resource had had to draw on was the badge in his back pocket, a solid reminder of the power he could summon.
Jack pulled out his cell phone. Dispatch was the third number on his speed dial.
It took him a long minute to explain the situation, but it was time well spent. The call would reach a dozen different law enforcement agencies. Every cop in the area would come running. They had to. Attacking a police officer’s girlfriend—his family—was as bad as attacking a police officer. In a lot of ways, it was worse. Family members were vulnerable, unarmed, and off-limits.
But Honey wasn’t his girlfriend. Ten minutes earlier, he would have happily thrown her to the wolves.
Things had changed. The fear that gripped Jack was all encompassing. It didn’t matter that she was a fighter, one of the rough-and-tumble Moores. He wouldn’t be able to breathe right until she was safe.
“I need a car.”
Without the Super Bee, he’d been stuck using a department car at work. To get to the party, he’d called a cab. His grand plan for the evening had involved catching a ride home from his sister. “Let me borrow your car.”
“Wait.” Logan fumbled in Honey’s purse for a moment, retrieving a valet slip. His hand shook when he dropped it into Jack’s hand. “We drove the Super Bee. Please— Please bring her back safely.”
All this trouble because of a lonely old man. It was Logan who’d gotten Honey into this mess in the first place, drawing her into a world she didn’t understand without even warning her.
Jack wanted to rage at the man, to scream and gnash his teeth, but that wouldn’t be helpful. He grabbed the slip from Logan’s leathery hand.
“I’ll do my best.”
He just hoped his best would be good enough.
Chapter Fifteen
“I didn’t think senators went in much for kidnapping these days.”
The m
oment Honey climbed into Clay’s car, she’d known she’d made a giant mistake. Screaming in the country club might have put Jack and Logan in danger, but it also would have given her the opportunity she needed to escape. She could have thrown her arms around Jack, begged him to help her, and started planning the best way to defend Logan against Clay’s attacks.
Instead, she’d followed the state senator out to the parking lot and folded herself neatly into the BMW’s front seat. Did that make her a willing participant in her own kidnapping?
Everything was spiraling into chaos around her. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Clay hummed, the sound bright and cheerful.
The bottom had dropped out of Honey’s stomach the second the sedan’s engine came to life with a throaty purr. There was no going back now, no matter how much she wanted to—no way she could attract attention from the people still floating around the country club’s ballroom like pale moths gathering at the light.
She was on her own.
No one could find her to rescue her. Not even Jack—the hero who haunted her dreams.
“I didn’t want to have to do this. But you had to be stubborn.”
“What can I say? I’ve got a real yen for staying alive.”
Honey tried to calm herself with a few deep breaths. Her uncle had always insisted that was what tripped people up more than anything else—when things started to go wrong, they forgot how to breathe. They’d squirm, stall, and their faces would turn bright red. She’d seen the signs a dozen different times, in barroom fights, holding cells, and fancy dinner parties where people knew they were in over their heads.
Honey knew how to breathe. She just didn’t know what to do next.
Clay kept humming, steering the car along the dark road. With every passing second, they got farther from the country club’s glittering lights.
What had started out as an unpleasant experience was rapidly turning into her worst nightmare.
The steering wheel spun beneath his hands, and the car rocketed out of Black Palm Park onto the dark Pacific Coast Highway.
With mountains rising on one side and the ocean glistening wickedly on the other, the PCH was no place for an angry driver. The stretch of California’s Route 1 that traveled through Ventura, Los Angeles, and Malibu counties was known for hairpin turns, blind corners, and celebrity car crashes on the six o’clock news.
