by Aleah Barley
It was the kind of road Honey loved to drive—one foot hard on the gas pedal, classic rock blasting on the radio, and the breeze rushing through her hair.
She hated being in the passenger seat. Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms. All she could think about was the number of times she’d turned on the radio at work and heard about some jerk driving straight off the side of the road.
The posted speed limit was forty-five, but Clay’s car was pushing seventy, whipping back and forth along the two-lane highway to move around traffic. The idiot would get them both killed.
Where the hell was the state highway patrol when she needed them? She paid her taxes. Why weren’t there lights in the rearview mirror and sirens blaring? A burst of righteous indignation gave her the strength she needed to shift her head sideways and look at her captor.
Clay—freaking—Parsons.
Her lips twitched uncontrollably. The part of her that didn’t want to scream at the top of her lungs wanted to laugh.
“Stealing the damn Volvo was supposed to give me the money to pay off my debts. And you had to go and steal it back for him. All that money. All that power. You know how hard I’ve worked? All those years spent bowing and scraping for handouts. Asking Logan for just a taste—a glimpse—and when he finally shows me the will, it’s got your name on it.”
Clay laughed quietly. “You know how hard it is to find a murderer in Los Angeles? The crime rate this city has, you’d think they’d be hanging out on every corner. All that time, all that effort. All that money—I had to pawn my wife’s pearls. Who knows what she’ll do when she finds out?”
A long pause. The quiet was almost scarier than his maniacal ranting.
“Why couldn’t you just die?” he asked.
“I didn’t know. You should have asked!” Honey’s hand lashed out before she could stop herself, and she slammed her fist against the BMW’s gray dashboard in time with her shouted statement. “I would have talked to Logan if you asked. He could have redrafted his will.”
That was going to leave a dent. Not that anyone would notice after Clay crashed the car into a million pieces.
“Liar.” His hand fumbled, shifting gears. “Not that it matters much. You wouldn’t have given up the will anyway—all that money—not after you worked so hard to get it.”
That was a laugh.
“I’m not interested in money.” She liked the things that money could get her—fast cars and fancy food—but after a while, even they got old.
Walking into her garage each morning, she took pride in the fact that she’d worked hard to earn everything she had. If that meant she had to work a few extra shifts slinging beer for her uncle to pay off her electric bill, so be it.
“It was a complete surprise.”
“You really expect me to believe that?” Parsons’s voice cracked and sputtered. After a moment, he got command of himself. “It doesn’t matter now. Arson, kidnapping. There’s no way I can let you live. You know too much.”
What did she know? How to rebuild an engine without looking at a manual? The best way to throw a barbeque? The look on Jack’s face when he came inside her, his glistening muscles relaxing for one brief moment?
Her body warmed at the thought. Jack Ogden smiling down at her. That was definitely something worth living for.
A ringing noise interrupted her thoughts, once, twice. Not a popular song or a sound effect, but a real old-fashioned ring. Clay dug into his pocket, driving one-handed while he retrieved the cell phone. He jammed a thumb clumsily at the touch screen, hitting the talk button half a dozen times before the ringing finally stopped.
“Clay Parsons here.” There was an oily, practiced edge to his voice, and not even the bizarre circumstances could prevent him from completing his standard introduction. “Your state senator, hard at work. How can I help you?”
The voice on the other end came through high-pitched and tinny, but Honey couldn’t mistake the familiar cadence. Jack Ogden—big and bold—always sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong and trying to be the hero.
“I don’t know what you think is going to happen, Parsons, but you’re not getting away with this. I’m coming after you.”
“Jack. What a pleasant surprise. I was just talking to your mother the other day. She was recommending we get together for eighteen holes, talk about your future.”
“Where the hell are you? If you damage one hair on Honey’s head, I’ll—”
“You’re worried about this whore? I guess my cousin’s not the only one with his finger in the Honey pot.” Clay laughed, obviously pleased at his own joke. “I was planning on killing her fast, but now I think I might take my time. A woman who can keep you happy and get those emeralds off of Logan? This Honey must be something really special in the sack.”
Clay had obviously lost touch with reality. It was one thing to kidnap a woman—even to threaten murder and mayhem—and another thing entirely to tell a cop you were planning to do it. The man was crazy, and that wasn’t good.
A desperate man could be reasoned with. She could offer to tear up the will, move to Belize, and give him the emeralds that were hanging around her neck like a noose. But a crazy man wouldn’t listen to reason or accept bribes.
A crazy man would kill her without a second thought.
“The PCH! We’re on the PCH!” she cried, hoping Jack could hear her. “Come quick! The PCH!”
Clay wrenched sideways—a move that never would have been possible if he’d been wearing a seatbelt. He punched his finger wildly at the screen and then tossed the phone into the backseat, hard.
“Not very smart. You had a couple of hours to live. Now I have to kill you before he comes looking.”
She was dead.
Finished.
The End.
She’d never see Jack again, never run her hands across his chest, feel his lips against hers, or tell him how she really felt. Jack was everything she’d ever wanted—solid, dependable, and drop-dead sexy. If she failed to make it through the next few minutes, she’d never be able to have him. To live her dream.
Unacceptable.
Her entire life, Honey had only ever backed down from one fight, and in the end she’d made up for that when she told Jack the truth and took responsibility for her actions. She wasn’t about to let Clay Parsons murder her without causing some serious, irreparable damage.
“I’m not sleeping with Logan.” One last attempt at an explanation. Probably delusional, but she had to try. “I never slept with Logan. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not interested in him like that. He’s old.”
“He’s old, but he’s rich. A woman like you—”
“You don’t know anything about me, do you?”
Maybe if he saw her as a real person, more than an impediment on his way to power, he’d find it harder to hurt her.
“My name is Honey Moore. I’m twenty-seven years old. I fix cars for a living. I work in the same neighborhood where I live. When I was younger, I wanted to be Mario Andretti. Then I wanted to be Mario Andretti’s pit boss. Now, I like the fact that I’m fixing my friends’ cars. Not that I can charge them much. Most months, I end up pouring drinks to make ends meet. I’d never sleep with someone for money.”
“That’s why Logan brought you to the fund-raiser. Because you’re not sleeping with him.”
“Logan brought me to the fund-raiser because he’s lonely. Hell, that’s why he changed his will. He probably wouldn’t have done that if you bothered to call him up every once in a while, but that’s your mistake. It’s not mine.” Her cheeks had gone hot with anger. “Logan’s a good man, and he’s trying to make up for his mistakes.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not sleeping with Jack, either.”
“Jack’s different.”
The car was still moving fast, jerking from side to side. Nothing had changed. “I’m sure he is. I’m sure your affair with him has nothing to do with the fact that he’s richer than God o
r that he’s going to be a hotshot politician?”
Honey bit her lip to keep from swearing. The man was clearly insane. There was no use trying to reason with him, trying to explain to him that with Jack it had been lust at first sight and now—now it was a whole lot more than that.
“Please don’t kill me.” Outside the window, the street flashed by, long stretches of asphalt interrupted by the occasional rock, discarded beer bottle, and forgotten flip-flop. “Please.”
No response. Not even a laugh. That wasn’t a good sign.
Behind them, lights flashed.
A patrol car exactly like the one she’d stolen from Jack so many years earlier was following them, racing down the PCH at seventy-five miles an hour.
A blaring siren interrupted the calm, air-conditioned interior of the BMW. A few seconds later, another siren joined in. Then a third.
Honey turned to look. An entire convoy of police cars followed them, trying to box them in. One car stood out from the pack. Black instead of white. There were no words on the side and no lights blazing overhead.
It darted easily through the sea of other cars until it was driving along directly beside Clay’s BMW and Honey could see Jack riding high in the driver’s seat.
Her entire life, she’d never asked for a knight in shining armor, but there he was, like something out of a storybook.
“Stop. There’s no escaping now.” A warning blared over one of the police cars’ loudspeakers.
The only response was the roar of the BMW’s engine being pushed to the limit.
The next turn was coming up fast, the side of the mountain outlined eerily in the moonlight. At the speed they were going, the car would never make it. The wheels wouldn’t stay on the ground.
They’d skid sideways, crashing into Jack in the opposing lane. Both cars would spin out of control, their combined force sending them through the concrete barricades on the left side of the road and into the water.
Even if she somehow managed to throw herself free of the crash, Jack would die on the rocky coast below.
Her hands fumbling, Honey buckled her seatbelt. A breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding ghosted out from between her lips when the catch finally slipped home.
If anything happened, she’d be strapped safely to her seat.
And something was definitely going to happen.
“I’m telling you to stop now!”
Behind them, the police cars edged closer. The noise was a pounding roar, the sound of one siren indistinguishable from all the rest.
Honey reached out a hand and grabbed the steering wheel. She yanked hard, trying to tear the wheel out of Clay’s hands. The car skidded, once, twice.
Clay’s elbow thrust out, hitting her in the side.
She used her free hand to scratch at his face. Harder and deeper, she clawed at him, pulling at the steering wheel at the same time.
The wheel wrenched free from Clay’s grip and spun wildly.
Honey squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself in her seat as the BMW went careening away from Jack’s car and crashed straight into the mountainside.
Her body jerked forward, slamming against the seatbelt, and then she was forced backward by the air bag. Was it the force of the blow that had her ears ringing? Or the growing noise from the sirens as the patrol cars got closer?
She tasted blood.
When she got up the courage to open her eyes, broken glass shimmered across her skin. Her arms were sore, and there was going to be a bruise on her chest in the shape of the safety belt, but she was still breathing, still alive, and still in one piece.
The same couldn’t be said for Clay.
He was gone, and so was the windshield.
That explained all the glass.
The air bag began to deflate, allowing her escape. She reached into her lap and tried to unbuckle her seatbelt.
The door to the BMW stuck when she tried the latch. She had to throw her entire body against the crumpled steel before it popped open, allowing her to climb out and run away from the vehicle.
She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she had to run.
“Easy.” Strong arms closed around her, holding her still. “Easy.”
It took her a moment to recognize Jack, the familiar weight of his body and the smell of his shampoo. “Everything’s going to be all right. I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Jack?” A strangled sob escaped her lips. “I couldn’t help it. He was going to run into you, and he was crazy— He thought— He said—”
“It doesn’t matter what he thought.” Jack smoothed her hair back behind her ear. He turned her slowly until they faced each other, standing toe to toe only inches apart. “The only thing that matters is your safety.”
Honey pulled away slowly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. It had been a hot day in the City of Angels, but now it was over. The sky was dark, the ocean only a few feet away. The cold wind nipped at her skin.
She lifted her chin. “You need to get your priorities straight, Jack Ogden. There are more important things in life than personal safety. Sometimes having feelings for someone means that you have to take risks.”
Other police officers were climbing out of their cars. Some were walking over to the BMW. Others circled around her and Jack.
“You have feelings for me?” Jack beamed down at her, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hatred is a feeling.”
“Uh-huh,” Jack teased. “Tell me you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, I love you. I’ve always loved you, Jack, and just because I’m not the kind of woman your mother approves of is no reason to treat me badly. I made a mistake when I left your butt back in high school, and I made a mistake when I took off last week. People make mistakes. I don’t need your forgiveness. I don’t need anything—”
“I love you.”
Jack wasn’t laughing anymore. He was dead serious. His voice held a warmth that completely blindsided her, a heat that set her skin tingling.
“Back at the country club—I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted. My work, my career, that’s all important to me. I just didn’t realize what I needed, not until you were already gone. I love you, Honey Moore, and I need you in my life. You stole my heart a long time ago, and I never really got it back.”
Honey’s bright laughter rang out like a bell under the rising moon.
They needed to get one thing straight.
“I don’t steal anymore, remember?”
“Fine, I gave you my heart, and I don’t want it back.”
“That sounds better,” she said, slightly mollified. She launched herself into his arms, laughing when the force of the impact made his body falter.
“I love you.” She kissed him hard on the mouth. Fast, rough. Soft was all well and good for daydreams and lazy afternoons, but at the moment, she needed to feel him against her. “I love you so damn much.”
Epilogue
If Honey lived to be a hundred, she’d never understand how she had ended up tending a barbecue for an entire yard full of police detectives and hoodlums.
Even more surprising, the cops were just as loud, rude, and boisterous as her family. At the moment, she could hear Jack’s captain telling a dirty joke to her uncle Mike.
This was the third weekend in a row everyone had gathered in the San Fernando Valley to help rebuild her house. They weren’t only repairing the damage that had been done, either: Jack was overseeing the installation of a new bathroom, and Logan had insisted on buying all new kitchen appliances.
The way things were going, it wouldn’t be too long before she’d be moving from the apartment in Venice back to the Valley. Only, this time she wouldn’t be running away from Jack. His stuff was already packed among the sea of boxes that filled the apartment’s living room.
Jessica was taking over the lease on the Venice apartment, excited about living by herself for the first time in her life.
A hand snaked i
nto her field of vision, long fingers trying to grab at a hot dog.
“Not a chance.” She leaped forward, knocking the hand aside with her tongs.
The worst part about working the barbecue was the high incidence of hot dog theft. It was despicable. Everyone knew they weren’t allowed to eat until all the food was ready, but they all thought their hard work made them the exception to the rule.
Logan had tried it a couple of minutes earlier. After catching him salivating over a sausage, she’d sent him packing to ask Captain Roberts about his new alarm system. In the six months since Clay Parsons had been arrested in his hospital bed, Logan and Jack had become close friends. Logan came over at least once a week for dinner, but he still found it hard to believe a man as young as Jack knew what he was talking about when it came to personal security.
She glanced up, blushing when she saw Jack staring down at her.
“You think you can put one over on me?” She grinned. “I was stealing hot dogs when you were still dancing at cotillions.”
“Come on,” Jack pleaded. “I’m not stealing a hot dog. I’m borrowing it.”
That was just about the dumbest argument she’d ever heard. Borrowing was all well and good, but a hot dog was a hot dog. When he was finished with it, no one was going to want it back.
Still, his grin was bright and eager, and the hands that had covered her body when they’d made a run to the hardware store an hour earlier were reaching out for her. Briefly, she gave in to the sense of pure bliss that came from knowing she had everything she’d ever dreamed about and more. This amazing, wonderful man loved her, and she couldn’t love him back any more if she tried.
Even his mother was coming around. Amelia had been almost civil the previous week when they’d run into her at the country club. She’d been upset when Jack told her he was never going to run for political office, but eventually she’d stopped trying to force the issue. Now she started every conversation by asking when they were going to give her some grandchildren.
