Wicked and Dangerous (wicked lovers)

by Shayla Black

  “You’ve never been the kind to bury your head in the sand. Don’t start now.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Xander leaned into his face. “I’ve never seen you stick your neck out this far for anyone. I mean, I paid you for years to get me out of scrapes.”

  “I’m damn good at it, too.”

  “The best, which is why Javi and I hired you to help with the company’s security. But you wanting to protect Rachel, taking days and days to do it, practically moving in with her . . . I know damn well it’s not a platonic situation. In the past, you were always a blow-and-go kind of guy. Once the orgasm was over, you were pretty much done and gone.”

  How was that for an unvarnished truth? Pretty exact. Decker had gone through most of his life not making too many connections or calling anyplace home. The curse of the military brat. It had carried over into adulthood. But now, he had the oddest desire to plant roots and grow them. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. No, that wasn’t it. Being with Rachel appealed to him, even more than he would have thought. What if he made her his, had someone to come home to every day, got married and started a family?

  Decker didn’t hate the idea. And that just about floored him.

  “Maybe . . . things have changed,” he acknowledged.

  Xander grinned. “I knew it! One look at you and—”

  “But it’s not that simple, Xander. I’m just a fling for her.” And didn’t that suck? “Rachel thinks I’ll be gone in a few days, tops. I doubt she’ll miss me when I’ve gone. She’s only been divorced about fourteen months. She may not be ready to hear that I’m . . . falling in love.”

  “She has feelings for you. It’s all over her face.”

  “And when she finds out I lied to her about almost everything?”

  “She’ll forgive you.” Xander clapped him on the back. “Dude, you’re trying to save her life and preserve her peace of mind.”

  Yes, but would she believe that he’d wanted her for her and not just because he’d been playing the hero or fulfilling a responsibility?

  “If I haven’t solved this by Tuesday night, I’m going to have to tell her that someone wants her dead, that I picked her up for a reason . . . everything. I don’t want to scare her, but I need to come clean with her. I’d just rather do it once I know she’s safe.” He blew out a ragged breath. “I don’t want to lose her.”

  “Sounds smart. Who are your other suspects? What’s your plan?”

  “Some ideas have been brewing in the back of my head. I need to look into her neighbors and friends, just to make sure there’s no one I should zoom in on. Her ex might not have been the one to hire me, but my gut tells me the whole damn mess has something to do with him. I’ve just got to prove it.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Occupy Rachel for a few minutes and let me borrow a laptop.”

  “Sure. I’ll shut you up in my office at the back of the house for a bit.”

  Decker lifted his duffel, nerves biting his belly. “Perfect.”

  Xander shut him into the room lined with bookshelves. A sleek laptop sat in the middle of the leather-topped monstrosity. He tried not to think that the guy had probably done the nasty with his wife here more than once and focus on his task.

  A few clicks of his computer later proved that her friend Shonda had neither the money nor the motive to want Rachel dead. The woman had four hundred dollars in checking, and her rent was past due. Shonda never had so much as a parking ticket, and she’d been named teacher of the year at Magnolia Elementary last year. Saturday at noon, she’d been working on a Habitat for Humanity project about forty miles away. And the woman’s brother was still in the hospital. Decker scratched her off the list of suspects.

  He looked into her neighbors. The house next door to her on the east had actually been vacant for the last six weeks. On the other side lived Brian Boone, a man who traveled for a living. His girlfriend either lived there or took care of the place while he was gone because she always signed for his deliveries. According to Brian’s credit card statement, he’d just dropped a hefty sum at a jewelry store Friday afternoon, then sprung for a fancy French dinner last night. Twenty bucks said the guy was engaged now. Happy people didn’t usually solicit murder, especially in the middle of popping the question. Decker removed him from the list, too.

  A quick scan of all the occupants on her street and the rest of her coworkers didn’t turn up a single red flag. And this wasn’t some random psycho killer. They usually wanted to do their own dirty work just for the thrill.

  So he came back to Owen. Her ex seemed like the sort of guy who didn’t want to get his hands dirty. If he was so worried about repairing his relationship, why would he bother with Rachel? Did it have something to do with that expired marriage license?

  That was it. He needed to talk to Owen, man to professor, and find out what the hell was going on. While he was at it, he should meet Carly, too. Men were far more likely to murder than women, but hiring the work out was definitely a female’s style. She might consider an assassin something like a life adjustment handyman.

  But in order to talk to the struggling lovebirds, he would have to leave Rachel. Damn it.

  With a sigh, he cleared the computer’s cache, shut the lid, and picked up the duffel. A rough plan formed in his head. He’d no more stepped into the living room when the group shot his plan to hell.

  “I’d like that,” Decker heard Rachel say. “Tomorrow would be great.”

  “You’ll like my friend Delaney. She’s really kind. Just slap me if we get too deep into the baby talk. She’s been through this twice, and I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on with my body.”

  “Tomorrow for what?” Decker barked.

  Rachel welcomed him back with a smile. “London asked me to meet her and her friend for lunch.”

  He didn’t like it, but to balk might make him look controlling. Or force him to explain now. Decker took a deep breath. Rachel would be with two other women in a public place. As far as the guy who wanted her dead indicated, the job didn’t have to be complete until probably the day after tomorrow. A little breathing room. Decker vowed to take precautions and do everything possible to keep her safe.

  He forced a smile. “That’s awesome. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

  But the outing bugged the hell out of him over their early dinner. His fear for her caused him to reach for her three times during the night to make love to her, each time successively more possessive than the last. While she slept, he swiped her iCloud password and downloaded an app that allowed him to track her phone. Anxiety made him pull her into his lap over breakfast so he could hold her close. That same niggling worry urged him to hold her tight as they were walking out the door. He escorted her to her car and watched her drive off. Decker figured that she’d get angry or suspicious if he stalked her the three blocks to the restaurant. The roads were public. She’d be fine; he had to believe that.

  Straddling his Ducati, he made his way over to Carly’s older brother’s place. Christian Adams, age thirty, hadn’t been hard to track down. He was an auto mechanic with no priors. Divorced two years ago. No kids. Ho hum. Hopefully, Owen, Carly, and this dude would all be at his house, packing up and getting ready to head to the airport.

  When Decker pulled up in front of the place, it looked spotless and well kept, if a bit older. Mature trees swept over the roof in the breeze. A big dog napped on the front porch.

  A minute after he rang the bell, a short brunette with tousled dark hair, kind blue eyes behind a pair of studious glasses, and a kindly inquisitive expression answered the door. She wore a little sundress that hung off one shoulder and suggested that she’d donned it hastily. No evidence of a bra.

  Decker’s first impression was that this woman would never stoop to murder. Her capable, open air told him she’d rather deal with a situation head on.

  “Hi. Is Owen here? I’d like to talk to him.”

  She turned wary. “You are . . . ?”


  “Decker.” He put out his hand. “I’m his ex-wife’s . . . boyfriend.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened as if startled. “I . . . yeah. He told me about you.”

  So he’d made an impression on Owen. Nifty.

  “Are you Carly?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  No doubt from Carly’s tone, she was really confused about his reason for being here. In truth, he was now, too. If Owen hadn’t wanted Rachel dead enough to hire him, and Carly wasn’t that kind of woman . . . who did that leave? A few more questions, then he’d have to move on, turn his head inside out, and dig deeper to figure out who might want Rachel on a morgue slab.

  “Nice to meet you.” He stuck his hand out.

  She took it. “Same to you. Is something wrong?”

  Decker shrugged. “Just like to make sure Owen and I don’t have any problem.”

  He had no burning urge to get along with Rachel’s ex, but women usually understood everyone wanting to make nice. So he smiled and waited for her to play along.

  He was surprised when she blushed. “I don’t know what you and Rachel said to Owen, but he’s been expressive and, um . . . really affectionate since he came back.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Decker smiled faintly. Nice to know that the good professor had listened and understood.

  Carly led him into a little den and picked up a few dirty glasses on the table—then swiped a pair of her panties from the floor and shoved them behind her back pocket with an even deeper flush. “I should thank you, in fact. He told me that Rachel didn’t say much, but that you really set him straight.”

  Which told Decker that the professor had gotten somewhere between frisky and freaky with his girl in the last few hours, and that she was really pleased.

  “He seemed distraught.”

  Setting the dirty glasses in the adjacent kitchen, she rushed back to the den. “We’ve had a rough time lately. We were going to get married a few weeks ago, actually. I didn’t plan anything elaborate, just a small ceremony at the Justice of the Peace. I think . . . I knew I wouldn’t go through with it. I kept thinking that it takes two to tango, and Owen couldn’t tell me why Rachel left him. Somehow, I just knew it was important that he understand. I think now he does. And I’m so glad.” She winced. “Sorry to ramble. You don’t know me from anyone, and I’m blurting out my personal life to you. Bad habit. Do you want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Let me go back and find Owen. I think he’s . . .” She blushed again. “I’ll be back.”

  So Owen had been enjoying his postcoital nap when Decker had knocked on the door. Nice.

  As Carly disappeared into the bedroom, Decker contemplated what the hell he could say to Rachel’s ex. What if this was the dead end he suspected? Yeah, he supposed it was possible that Owen had been enraged that Carly had put a stop to their first wedding because of what she perceived to be unresolved issues with Rachel. But Owen really didn’t seem like the sort to deal with anger via violence. With logic and scientific theory? Absolutely.

  What the hell was he going to do next? Talk to Rachel. Why wait until Tuesday? He had to tell her everything now—and tell her that he loved her. Let the chips fall where they may. Decker raked a hand through his hair and rose, pacing the small room. He didn’t know exactly when he’d lost his heart. Probably when she’d laughed at his really terrible pick-up lines. He only knew that he couldn’t lose her now.

  He was about to bolt for the front door when he spotted a framed photo on the wall. Obviously taken a few years ago, Carly stood in a red cap and gown, smiling wide as she held her college degree. Beside her, her parents stood, smiling proudly. But none of that caught his eye. It was the man hovering just behind her.

  Carly bopped back into the room. “Owen will be out in a minute.”

  The toilet flushed, and the sound faded into the background. Decker’s world narrowed and his heartbeat roared as he stared at the photo. “Who’s this in the picture with you and your parents?”

  “My brother Christian. Why?”

  Decker’s blood ran cold. “Where is he now?”

  She shrugged. “Um, he said something about putting in a few hours at his shop before taking us to the airport.”

  Monday. Yeah, the guy would be at work. That fit. Decker breathed a sigh of relief because he knew now that Christian Adams had been the man who hired him to commit murder. And the asshole was occupied on the job and out of Rachel’s path. No reason to think that if he wanted to hire a killer, he’d go do the work himself.

  “Does your brother like Owen?”

  “He’s been reserved so far, but I think he’ll come around now.” She nodded. “Christian was pretty pissed when I called the wedding off, and I know he thought Owen was still hung up on Rachel. He just wants what’s best for me, especially since our parents passed away. But Owen and I are going to be so much better now. We decided today to plan another wedding, a big one, next summer.”

  Good. It would be awkward with big brother in prison, because Decker intended to nail this asshole to the wall and make him pay for ever thinking about hurting Rachel. But no need to clue Carly in on that now.

  “Congratulations.” Decker opened his mouth to excuse himself when his phone buzzed. It was Xander.

  911. London says Rachel never showed for lunch. Is she with you?

  The text made his world stop on its axis.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Decker didn’t wait for Carly’s reply, just ran for the door. He tapped out Rachel’s iCloud password to track her phone. She should have been at the restaurant twenty minutes ago, and the location of her phone indicated that she was home. Fear stabbed his heart.

  Dear God, let her be safe.

  He hopped onto his bike, Carly chasing him, and called 911. After sending the police to Rachel’s house, he shoved his helmet on with shaking hands. Revving the motor and racing down the street, Decker prayed that he wasn’t too late.

  EIGHT

  AT THE FIRST STOPLIGHT AWAY FROM HER PLACE, RACHEL reached over for her phone to text London that she was on her way. As she dug through her purse, she remembered leaving it on the kitchen counter to charge. With a sigh, she made a U-turn as soon as the light changed to green, then headed back to her house to grab it—just in case Decker called. Yes, he’d said he’d be back after lunch. She hoped he meant it because she wasn’t ready to be without him.

  Gosh, she sounded awfully attached . . . and maybe a bit in love.

  Wrestling with the realization, Rachel let herself in absently and headed to the kitchen, pulling her phone from the power cord.

  Suddenly, Val hissed low and loud, then let loose a cantankerous meow, snagging her attention. When she turned to find out what was troubling her high-strung feline, Rachel discovered a man of average height and build standing in her foyer with grease under his fingernails, a determined look in his eyes . . .

  And a gun pointed at her head.

  She froze with terror. Her brain told her to scream, but the moment was like a bad dream. She felt pinned, immobile. Useless.

  Her assailant trekked closer, keeping both hands on the pistol and the barrel trained right between her eyes.

  “No. Please.” She hated whining pitifully, but it was instinct. “Don’t.”

  Who was he? What did he want? How could she get out of this mess? A thousand thoughts flew through her brain.

  “Shut up,” he snarled, his dark, unkempt hair falling limply into his face. He wore mechanics’ coveralls that proclaimed his name was Chris and an icy expression full of murder.

  “M-my wallet is out in my car. You can have—”

  “I don’t want your money, bitch. I want you dead.” He spotted the phone in her hand, then nodded at it. “Put that down and step away.”

  She shook so hard that as she reached toward the counter, the phone rattled out of her hand and skittered across the slick tile, plopping into the sink with a thunk that jolted h
er nerves. Though he wanted her to, Rachel couldn’t bring herself to actually come closer to the violent stranger in her house. He stood between her and the front door. He’d get multiple unobstructed shots off if she tried to dart down the hall or toward the patio. He blocked her path to the front. The only place to step was deeper into the kitchen.

  Rachel trembled as she veered two deep lunges into the narrow galley, near the sink and cutting boards.

  And the knives.

  Mercy, could she be brave enough to grab one and defend herself?

  If it means the difference between life and death . . .

  Good point.

  “W-what do you want with me? Why kill me?”

  He crept closer, still aiming that gun at her. “You’re in the way of my sister’s future, slut. She and her fiancé can’t be happy because of you.”

  “I don’t know who you mean.” She shook her head. “You have me confused with someone else. I’m not involved with anyone—” Except Decker. Was he secretly engaged?

  The man rubbed a greasy hand across his cheek. “Maybe you’re not involved with him anymore, but Carly called off the wedding because she was sure that the professor was still hung up on you. My sister has been through a hell of a lot, losing our parents in the last year. If your sniveling ex-husband makes her happy, I’m going to make sure she gets him. That means you’re going to die.”

  Understanding dawned with terrible clarity. Rachel’s heart stuttered, and she shook her head frantically. “You’re wrong. Owen isn’t hung up on me. He loves your sister. He came to see me yesterday and told me how much he wants to make Carly happy. I don’t want him back, and he doesn’t want me either, I swear! You don’t have to shoot me.”

  “My sister was worried enough a few weeks ago to call off their wedding. If you’re not around . . . problem solved.”

  “Owen wants to marry Carly,” she insisted. “And I’m in love with someone else.”

  Her attacker sent her a snide grin. “That slick guy with the sunglasses and the leather jacket? The one who’s been in your bed since Saturday night?” He snorted. “You really are a dumb bitch. I hired him to kill you.”