“I’m free to go now. What did you have in mind?”
“Maybe a cup of coffee or something?”
Ally slipped out of her uncomfortable stilettos and put on the pair of flats that she carried in her bag for walking. Jack adjusted his long stride to match her shorter one as they strolled along the streets of downtown in the dying daylight. They walked side by side in awkward silence, bumping shoulders occasionally, watching each other with covert sideways glances. His eyes strayed to evaluate every woman they passed, each of whom returned his stare with equal appreciation.
“That!” Ally exclaimed after his eyes had lingered an inordinately long amount of time on a curvaceous redhead. “That is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What?” Jack’s head snapped back to her. “Did I miss something?”
“It’s disgusting,” she continued. “The way you ogle after women. It’s disrespectful.”
He laughed despite her warning scowl. “She had an awesome pair of tits. Not as nice as yours, mind you, but very nice. Round, perky…” He raised his hands in front of him, palms facing outward, as if turning the dials on a radio.
“It’s like you’re never satisfied with the woman you’ve got. You’re always looking for the next best thing. No wonder all your girlfriends are neurotic psychos. The moment they give into you, you’re already after someone else.”
“And yet, here I am.” She bumped her shoulder against his in reproach and he laughed. His fingers twitched at his breast pocket as if seeking the cigarette pack that wasn’t there. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You make it sound like some kind of battle between good and evil. It’s not like I’m a crazed sex fiend raping and pillaging the city.”
“But that’s the thing…you’re all sweet and attentive like a girl is the center of your world. You make a girl think that she might be able to change you…that there’s hope… that she might be the one to make you settle down. But as soon as something bright and shiny and new comes your way, you’re out the door.”
“Geesh.” He sounded thoroughly offended. To demonstrate his distress, he ran a hand back through his hair, disheveling the glossy dark locks in an attractive way. “If I’m such a terrible person, then why are you here?”
“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry about everything I said the other night.” She put her hand on his arm. “You were really sweet and I ruined the whole thing. I feel terrible about it.” Unable to look at him, she concentrated her attention on the storefront beside them. “I sounded like a total bitch. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Yeah, you did. Hurt my feelings, I mean.” He stopped walking and waited until she raised her gaze to meet his. “At least I know that you’re human.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a smile then brushed a tendril of hair back from her face. They started walking again.
“You hurt my feelings too, Jack.”
“I know. I was an asshole. I don’t think either one of us is too surprised about that.” He shrugged and shot a shy sideways glance at her. “I guess you took me by surprise.”
Jack reached out to touch her again, gripping her arm just above the elbow and sending shivers of pleasure up her spine. He guided her into a little café that she had never noticed before.
“How is it that I’ve lived here all my life and never knew about these places?” He laughed as they stepped through the entrance into a small, narrow room just wide enough for an old-fashioned counter and a few tables with bright yellow and blue tablecloths.
“Because you are a popsicle and I am not. You have to actually leave your comfort zone once in a while to find places like this.”
An almond-eyed barista took their orders with a smile of appreciation for Jack. The pair engaged in a few seconds of light banter before he took Ally’s hand and led her through a set of French doors that opened into a delightful brick-walled courtyard filled to overflowing with a riotous profusion of flowers. Pink and yellow roses tumbled from a trellis overhead and emitted a scent so heady that she nearly lost her balance. In the center of the courtyard, a fountain splashed and tinkled as a cherub poured water from a pitcher into the basin at his feet.
“Oh,” Ally whispered in awe.
He grinned at her shock. “Pretty awesome, huh? I come here sometimes to get some mental peace and quiet.”
With his hand returned to the small of her back, he guided her to a corner table where they were partially obscured from sight of the doors by the fountain and a giant urn filled with trailing vines and geraniums. Instead of sitting across from her, he pulled his chair next to hers so that he could drape one arm across the back of her shoulders and press his thigh against hers.
“Do you know her?” Ally asked, nodding toward the barista who had brought sugar and cream to their table. As she spoke, Ally dumped three spoons of sugar and a generous amount of cream into her coffee and stirred.
“I come here a lot,” he said. She glared at him. “Oh, you mean in the biblical sense? Then the answer is yes, I know her. She has her tongue pierced,” he added as if that explained everything.
“Is there anyone in this city that you don’t know in the biblical sense?” Ally rolled her eyes and tried to shift away so that they were no longer touching, but Jack followed her movement, keeping his thigh pressed tight to hers. The misunderstanding by the lake simmered between them.
“Let’s just get this over with and off the table,” Jack said, his voice tinged once again with anger. “Yes, Ally, I have slept with lots of women. I’m not ashamed of it and I’m not going to apologize for it. It’s old news. Get over it already.”
“It’s hard to get over it when it’s thrown in my face every five minutes.”
“I like sex and I like women. Two of my favorite things in life. Don’t be a hater just because my lifestyle has been different from yours. Sometimes different is good.”
“I know I said that I didn’t want a relationship the other night but I was wrong. It made me realize that I’m not wired like that. I can’t have sex with someone and not have feelings for them. I don’t know how you do it.”
He stayed silent for a moment, dark eyes watching her with serious intent.
“Maybe I don’t want to be like that anymore.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m not stupid, Jack. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I’m serious.” The brown eyes stared unblinking into hers until she was forced to look away.
“You said that you wanted sex without strings. You were perfectly clear about it. People don’t change like that overnight. Don’t tell me that you’re suddenly afraid of going to hell.” She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling.
He laughed, a warm sound that made her insides clench with pleasure. “Maybe. Mostly I’m afraid that the better part of my life will slip away when I’m not looking and I’ll wake up alone and unloved on my deathbed.” He shifted back in his chair and rubbed the bearded stubble on his chin. “Maybe it’s just time for me to grow up. Maybe you make me want to grow up.”
The sincerity in his words made her look up at him again. This time she didn’t look away, spellbound by this rare moment of disclosure. His sudden vulnerability brought a rush of sympathy followed by shame over her behavior.
“I really am sorry about the other night. I made an ass out of myself.” The words came out with difficulty but their release brought a flood of relief. “I don’t know why I acted like that.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a casual shrug. “I was kind of an ass too.”
“No. It’s not okay. I’m not like that – not really. It’s just that you – you…” Her voice trailed off as she stumbled for the right words. “You freak me out a little.” She expected him to laugh but his expression remained serious. “Not in a bad way. I don’t mean it like that. I just don’t have much experience with guys like you. Brian’s the only guy I ever dated or slept with.”
“Seriously? You’ve only been with the one dude? Ever?” His e
yebrows shot up to his hairline as if she’d just confessed a mortal sin. “How old are you anyway? Twenty-four?”
“Twenty-five,” she corrected.
“How can you be twenty-five years old and have only slept with one guy?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing and it’s not.” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “You said you won’t apologize for all the women you slept with. Well, I’m not going to apologize for being faithful to one person.”
“Of course it’s not a bad thing. I didn’t mean to imply that it was.” He ruffled his hair with his free hand, eyebrows raised. “I’d like to try it – with you.” She put her hand on top of his; he turned his hand over and entwined his fingers with hers.
Things were going well between them. Too well, Jack thought with a twinge of self-doubt. Once they got past the awkwardness of their previous argument, Ally chattered about her recent promotion at work and girl things like shoes and dresses. Hell, she could talk about the most boring subject in the world and he’d still be fascinated. Her low, well-modulated voice commanded all of a man’s attention, the mole on her left cheek acting like a punctuation mark next to her lips. He’d like to hear that husky alto soprano in the dead of the night, calling out his name in a moment of ecstasy. A voice like that could bring a man to his knees.
As she spoke, he studied her face, admiring the regal sweep of sculpted cheekbones and the smooth flawless skin stretched over them. The green eyes, surrounded by inky lashes, sparkled with conviction and cut around the courtyard, taking in details that most people would never notice. One in a million, he thought. You’ve hit the damn lottery, Jameson.
“Jack? Are you listening to me?” He watched her lips as she spoke, wondering just how long he needed to wait before he kissed.
“Take me home with you.” The words slipped from his mouth without forethought. “Let’s go back to your place, Ally. Let me make love to you tonight.”
The lovely face went pale then flushed an attractive shade of pink, although her expression remained impassive. He lifted her hand to his lips.
“Uhm, I have to work tomorrow.” She bit her lower lip in contemplation. “But…okay.”
Her sudden acquiescence caught him off guard. One minute she was as sharp and unyielding as the edge of his switchblade; the next minute she was as soft and compliant as a down pillow. Once past the careful mask she always wore, he’d witnessed the vulnerability she protected so carefully. As she sat next to him with her hand in his, he felt the overwhelming desire to shield her from wrongdoing, to ward off bastards like that douche bag Brian.
The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket broke the siren spell she had cast. Without looking, he knew who the caller was. He switched the phone to mute but made the mistake of looking at the text message as he did so.
Fuck! That message could only mean one thing. Chelsea had mired herself in deep shit and needed him to clean up her mess. Why in hell couldn’t he be rid of her? The only thing that bound them was his guilt. He knew if he didn’t go to her, she could wind up dead and it would be his fault. Ally stopped talking mid-sentence, alarmed by his expression. He forced a smile and urged her to continue. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her now when they had just started to make some headway in their relationship.
“Who is that?” Ally asked.
“It’s Chelsea – an old friend.” He frowned at the phone. “She’s got problems. Look – I’m going to have to take a rain check for tonight, but promise me that you’ll come to Felony this weekend.”
Jack left Ally at the parking garage and walked the few blocks back to Jameson’s where he’d left his truck behind the building. Compared to the sexy curves of Ally’s BMW, his 1968 Chevy pickup looked like a rusty bucket of shit. He rubbed his temples in a feeble attempt to stave off a burgeoning migraine. Randy had been right; the girl was miles out of his league. How could he ever hope to impress her with a fold-out sofa bed and a piece of shit old truck that started with a screwdriver in the ignition? The only thing he had to offer her was sex, and a girl like Ally needed much more than a roll in the hay to keep her attention.
He needed to make her see that he was serious about changing. Maybe he should take her out on a real date, pull out all the stops. The next time they parted, she’d know the meaning of ecstasy or he’d turn in his man card. She saw through his bullshit; he liked and respected her for it, but she didn’t know the real him. What he really wanted seemed a much more daunting task. He wanted her respect and that required a whole different skill set, one he wasn’t sure he possessed.
His cell phone vibrated again.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked when he saw the caller ID. “I said I would be there in a minute.”
“Jack, I’m scared. Please hurry.” Chelsea’s voice sounded small and uncertain.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might be in the middle of something? That maybe I can’t just drop everything the minute you call?”
“I’m in trouble. I messed up. Please come and get me. I’m scared.” Her voice quivered, thick with tears, words slightly slurred.
“Fine. I’m on my way. Just hold tight.” He sighed and turned the screwdriver in the ignition of the old truck, willing it to life with a half dozen pumps of the gas pedal.
He made a quick stop at Felony to pick up his gun and prayed he wouldn’t need it. Randy was there, stocking coolers and cleaning the bar. He raised a ruddy eyebrow when he saw Jack take the gun from the safe. Something in Chelsea’s voice scared Jack, made his gut clench as it did when danger lurked. The cadence of her speech made it evident that she was using again. God only knew what he would find when he reached her. The address she gave him put her somewhere around the abandoned glass factory near First Street. A derelict part of town littered with crack houses and prostitutes, it was nowhere any self-respecting person would visit in broad daylight, let alone at night.
Even though he knew better, he couldn’t help but blame himself for this fiasco. He’d been the first one to put a needle in her arm and she’d liked it way too much. Some people were like that. He’d been able to break the cycle, but Chelsea… Remorse and guilt squeezed his gut until he could barely breathe. The moment Chelsea arrived on his doorstep he should have put her on a bus back to Chicago or – better yet – driven her home himself. Not that she had anywhere to go when she got there. Her parents had washed their hands of her years ago. That left him to pick up the pieces every time she fell apart and he was so very tired of it.
CHAPTER 9
JACK STOOD on the curb of Eighth Street between his pickup truck and the burned out chassis of a Cutlass Supreme with Randy at his side. He had tried to persuade his friend to stay behind, but the stubborn ass had insisted on coming along. For the third time, he pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket to check the address written on it. He looked from the paper to the house and back to the paper with a growing sense of unease.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Randy pressed his lips together in a tight white line, worry clouding his gray eyes.
“God, I hope not,” Jack said and felt a rush of gratitude that Randy had come along. By the looks of this place, he might need some back up. Chelsea had a tendency to walk hand in hand with disaster.
The house sat back a ways from the narrow street, cloaked in shadow and looking a good deal shabbier than its dilapidated neighbors. The moon receded behind troubled clouds, leaving the overgrown yard obscured by darkness. Plywood covered the doors and windows, the grayed wood splattered with red graffiti like splashes of blood on a corpse. No signs of life existed beyond the rusted tricycle resting against the broken porch steps, an eerie reminder of better days.
Jack removed the gun from the waistband of his pants and checked the clip one last time as he moved up the sidewalk, and prayed that he wouldn’t need it. Randy followed on his six, stealthy and dangerous as a lion stalking its prey. It was like old times, back on the streets of Chicago, when they’d
walked on the wild side.
The front door was boarded shut but the covering over the back door had been pried away and swung to the side when Jack tested it. Randy pressed flush against the back wall of the house, pistol in hand. Jack raised a hand indicating that his friend should wait. Randy frowned but jerked his head in acknowledgment.
Jack thrust aside the plywood and took a tentative step into the house. He stopped for a second inside the threshold and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. At the same time, the moon emerged from its hiding place. Beams of moonlight filtered through the cracks of the boards over the windows and cast eerie pools of blue and gray light into the room. The floor was littered with trash; fast food wrappers, dirty clothing, and wads of aluminum foil used for cooking up the drug du jour. A sickening sweet scent overlaid the heavier odors of human excrement and unwashed bodies. Jack took a deep breath and pulled his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth to keep from gagging.
His heart sank as he peered through the kitchen and into the vacant dining room. Dirt and age smudged the once white walls, checkered by light square patches where pictures had once hung. Someone had spray painted a man’s face, twisted in an expression of agony, mouth open and garish in the moonlight. It stared at him in surreal disapproval. He thrust an arm out the door, motioning Randy in behind him. He had seen this kind of place before and knew the dangers that lurked behind every corner. Junkies could be freakishly strong and irrationally violent when stirred up. The two men moved silently through the debris into the living room as carefully as if moving through a mine field. Two dirty mattresses rested on the floor covered with a pile of rags. Not rags actually, but bodies wasted by drug abuse, barely recognizable as human. They didn’t stir as Randy and Jack approached and Jack wondered if they might be dead.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Randy said in a choked whisper and crossed himself.
Jack bent down and placed a hand on the nearest shoulder, shook it roughly, and was greeted by the upturned face of a boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. The snub nose and hollowed cheeks were smudged with dirt, the sunken eyes glazed and unseeing. An unhealthy gray tinged the boy’s skin as if he hadn’t seen daylight for a very long time. No doubt he was a runaway. Jack had an unsettling vision of the boy’s mother, sitting at her kitchen table sick with worry, staring at her telephone as she waited for a call that might never come. That boy could have been him if he hadn’t changed his ways, he realized, and felt a rush of sympathy.
Felony Romance Series: Complete Box Set (Books 1-5) Page 9
