Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  He forcibly yanked his thoughts away from her, shuddering with repressed desire.

  Yeah, no. Much as he wanted to say thank you again and tell her a proper goodbye, he had no business interacting with Jayne ever again.

  The way she’d infected his mind?

  He had no confidence in his ability to tell her goodbye and walk away.

  25

  “Kerry?”

  Jayne surged into her apartment and dumped her stuff on the hall table, her mind full of nightmare scenarios that either involved Kerry having died of a heart attack in his sleep or Kerry somehow reopening his wound and bleeding out on her floor. It was twelve thirty and she’d had nothing but radio silence from him all morning, which made a productive workday impossible. So she’d skipped out to come home and find the corpse that was presumably waiting for her.

  Why hadn’t she woken him this morning to make sure he was still alive?

  What kind of grossly incompetent caregiver was she?

  “Kerry? I’ve called and texted you three thousand times today. You’d better have a good explanation for not answering your phone. Kerry? Kerry!”

  No sign of him in the hall, living room or kitchen. No crumpled body on any of those floors. She hurried into the guest bedroom and— Whoa.

  The bed had been stripped. The duvet was folded with the pillows stacked on top. His stuff, not that he’d had much, was gone. The bathroom showed no signs that he’d ever been there.

  Jayne’s fear eased back. Relief and bafflement took center stage. She cocked her head. Listened. Heard the unmistakable whoosh of her washing machine.

  She went down to the laundry room and discovered, yep, Kerry’s sheets and towel in mid-cycle.

  Frowning, she went back down the hall to see if— Hang on. What was that delicious smell?

  Another glance at the kitchen revealed…the Crock-Pot, sitting in pride of place on the counter like Audra McDonald taking center stage for her latest Broadway musical. All the oatmeal fixings that Jayne had set out the night before—walnuts, brown sugar, cinnamon, spoons, bowls—were gone. A bag of oyster crackers and a single bowl and napkin sat in their place. And in the Crock-Pot was…

  She lifted the lid.

  Chili. Dark and savory, full of black beans and, she was sure, five-star flavor.

  One bowl sat nearby. One spoon.

  She replaced the lid and leaned back against the counter as a wave of disappointment crashed over her. Disappointment, bitterness and humiliation.

  God, she was stupid. If she’d ever needed a sign that she was her foolish mother’s daughter, here it was in all its unavoidable, elephant-in-the-room detail.

  Special Agent Mateo Garciaparra, a hot guy who only wanted to fuck her, at least had an honorable job. But she didn’t go for those guys. Oh, no, not her. She went right for the baddest bad boy in the tristate area. A hot guy without an honorable job—or any job—who’d apparently decided she was unfuckable.

  She snorted out a laugh that was as disbelieving as it was humorless.

  Randolph the criminal had walked out of her apartment and life. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. He’d had mercy on her, poor, stupid, fat Jayne, and he’d decided not to make easy prey of her even though she creamed every time she was in the room with him and practically had an orgasm when he smiled at her.

  Randolph, the reforming felon, had ghosted her without a note, a text, a goodbye or a parting kiss my ass. He’d decided that, sure thing though she was, he couldn’t be bothered. He’d been polite about it—the chili was a classy touch—but he’d still walked out.

  Even so. This should all be the best news she could possibly receive short of a lottery win, right? Because God knew there was no hope of a non-disastrous future when an assistant U.S. attorney hooked up with a former felon. An un-indicted former felon, true, but still a felon.

  But was she happy about this stellar news? No. She felt sick to her stomach. Why? Because she was—say it with me—stupid. Stupid enough to be attracted to a criminal just like her father. A man who practically walked around with a Danger—TOXIC sign around his neck. A man who’d wormed his way into her thoughts in a way no man had done since…

  Since…

  Ever?

  Oh, but that was the thing about criminals, wasn’t it? They were intriguing. Smart. Charming. Funny. They read you like large-print books and then they played your emotions the way Bruce Springsteen played sold-out stadiums.

  Disgusted with herself, she rubbed her roiling belly and tried to think.

  What now, Jayne, you stupid bitch?

  She would not cry. No matter how many hot tears filled up her eyes. She damn well knew that much.

  Blinking furiously and stiffening her spine, she went to the hall table and refreshed her lipstick. Smoothed her hair. Picked up her keys and bag and headed for the door.

  Now she’d resume her regularly scheduled life as level-headed Assistant U.S. Attorney Jayne Morrison. She’d put the interlude with Randolph behind her. She’d resolve herself to never laying eyes on him again.

  No matter how much the idea hurt.

  Kerry Randolph was gone.

  Good fucking riddance.

  26

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

  Startled, Jayne looked up from the Greek salad on her lap (light dressing; five points) to discover Special Agent Garciaparra standing in front of her bench. Other than a couple sightings in passing, she hadn’t seen him since the day they met.

  He hadn’t gotten any uglier. That was for sure.

  Her heart flittered a little. She wasn’t immune. But she didn’t have time for flirtations right now. With court this morning and more court coming up this afternoon, she’d ducked into the wisteria garden for a quick bite and file review rather than go back to the office. Why? It was relaxing and beautiful. Wisteria vines thicker than her arm twined up concrete pillars and converged overhead in a shady canopy on this sunny fall day. But it was hard to relax into the fresh air and pretend you’d escaped from the downtown bustle of a busy workday when unwelcome visitors ate into your me time.

  “Garciaparra.” She flipped a page in her file. “I’ve got court soon and I’m sure you’ve got a Tony Montana or two to bust before you clock out today, so…bye.”

  Grinning, he straddled the bench and faced her. “This is what I’m talking about, Jayne. We should get to know each other. I think we’d really get along.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” She took a bite of salad and jotted a note on her legal pad. “We’d be like brother and sister, right?”

  He laughed. Eased closer. “I have two sisters already. I’m not looking for another one.”

  “And I’m not looking for a fuck buddy. So, again…bye.”

  Low whistle. “You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you? My mother won’t like that.”

  “Since I’ll never meet your mother, I’m not going to worry about it.”

  “How do you know what’ll happen between us?”

  “I know what won’t.”

  With that, she gave him a pointed look.

  His crooked Harrison Ford smile faded away, leaving something that almost passed for sincerity. Too bad he ruined the effect with a quick look at her cleavage.

  “Give me a chance, Jayne. I’m a good guy. Nice Catholic boy. I love God, my mother, my family and my country, in that order. You might like me.”

  “You’re still a law enforcement officer. I told you my position on those.”

  “You’re punishing me for my service to my country? Is that fair? Come on. We could have fun.”

  He wrapped up this winning sales pitch with a wink.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what? I don’t hate you. Against all reason. You have a certain charm.” He beamed at her. “And because I don’t hate you, I’m going to give you this tip: never wink at a woman. It’s smarmy—”

  He winced and slapped a hand over his heart.

 
“And here’s another tip: bye.”

  “Jayne—”

  “Seriously, Garciaparra. I know you have your eye on my boobs. And you should. They’re great boobs. But you’d have to work way too hard to access them. So go find someone else and let me get back to work. I’ve got court soon.”

  He sighed. Looked at her with those fantastic, long-lashed brown eyes of his, a pained expression on his face. Then he surprised her with what appeared to be an earnest and agenda-free sentiment. “You’re smart, Jayne. Sexy. Beautiful. You’ve got an important job. Word is you’re the best in your office. You don’t give me enough credit for seeing all of you, and you damn sure don’t give yourself enough credit. You should work on that.”

  That knocked the wind right out of her sails.

  He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of her bewilderment.

  “We’re probably going to be working on the W-80 task force together,” he said as she gaped at him. “You know the synthetic opioid, right? There’ll probably be meetings. Late nights. I plan to wear you down.”

  This reminder of their relative positions knocked the sense back into her. And not a moment too soon. “I keep my work life and my professional life separate. And a guy like you? You’re probably always on the lookout for a size-six Barbie with long blonde hair. That’ll never be me.”

  A glimmer of amusement lit his eyes. “You’re full of excuses, aren’t you?”

  With that, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with a lingering kiss.

  She gasped and stiffened, but did not pull away.

  “Kick ass at court, Jayne.”

  He left. She watched him go, trying not to stare too hard at his world-class ass or to feel the lingering heat from his lips. When he was gone, she leaned back against the pillar, closed her eyes and tried to get her head back in the game. How was she supposed to finish her lunch and review her notes after that? Not that she was interested. Only a fool would fall for that kind of—

  Footsteps, then someone sat beside her.

  Not again.

  “Wow, Garciaparra.” She opened her eyes and geared up to really let him have it this time. “You just don’t give up, do— Oh.”

  The rest of those words—all words, actually—flew right out of her head.

  It was Randolph.

  Randolph.

  The sight of him after three months kicked her pulse into overdrive. Much as she would have loved to be nonchalant (You look so familiar; have we met?), she was so surprised to see him—so unspeakably grateful to realize he was alive and well—that all she could manage was a frozen stare.

  He was the picture of glowing health. Bright eyes that latched on to her face with unblinking focus. Ruddy skin, as though he’d been getting fresh air, and lots of it. The slice across his cheek and neck had healed and was fading into a scar that made him look rugged rather than like one of Frankenstein’s creations. In his unremarkable khaki pants and white oxford, he exuded a sexy vitality that would put the entire U.S. men’s soccer team to shame.

  Without warning, enough unruly emotions surged to the surface of her consciousness to keep a psychologist busy for the rest of the year. Relief. Searing anger. Breathless anticipation. All of it converged in a red-hot flush across her cheeks.

  The edges of his eyes crinkled with warmth. “Hi.”

  The sound of his husky voice, so welcome and so infuriating, decided it. Anger won.

  Screw this. Fuck him.

  Without a word, she slammed her folder shut, capped her pen and began shoving everything into her briefcase.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said.

  She snorted and kept her head down.

  “It’s been three months. No one’s killed me yet.”

  Jesus. Why did he say things like that? Had someone threatened him again? She glanced up, her heart a hard lump in her throat, to discover him watching her with wicked amusement. And there went pretty much all hope of a nonchalant performance, right out the window.

  But she could still try.

  “Yeah, well, all these years in the business have taught me to never count the bad guys out, Randolph. I’m surprised you don’t know that by now.”

  He chuckled.

  The sound of it and the sight of that smile were like paring knives jabbing her heart.

  She put the legal pad away, determined to never look at him again and desperate to hide her feelings.

  “I do know that, Jayne. So I’ve been living hard while I can. Enjoying life. I got a job.”

  He did? Where?

  “At the clinic in Over-the-Rhine. I’m a staff physician. The pay is shit, but I love it. Best job I’ve ever had in my life.”

  She felt a wild swoop of happiness for him before she caught herself and locked it down tight. She put her salad back in the bag from whence it had come, determined not to care about any of this, not to lose her temper and show him how much he got to her—

  “I’ve got a new apartment. Actually, apartment is too strong a word. It’s a closet with cable and a galley kitchen. All about the size of my pantry in the old place. But it’s perfect. I sleep like a baby every night.”

  “How thrilling for you,” she said, smoothing her skirt and looking around to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. “And how exciting for me to hear about it.”

  Another chuckle. “It is thrilling. I haven’t slept this well in years. What else? Oh, my incisions have healed really well. I’ve started jogging again.”

  I will not lose my temper…

  “Congratulations, Randolph. If that’s all…?”

  She made the mistake of glancing at him as she reached for her briefcase, and was greeted with the flash of something hard and unforgiving. Lust? Annoyance? Frustration?

  “I’ve fucked a few women. Sex is good for making you forget things, don’t you think?”

  Jayne stilled.

  Well, there it was again. He hadn’t bothered to even try to fuck her, but he was all over other women. All of whom were probably two-thirds of her size. She, meanwhile, hadn’t had a date in months, hadn’t glanced at another man since the day he walked out of her apartment (not including Garciaparra just now) and relied solely upon one of her plastic devices for sexual release.

  I will not lose my temper.

  I will not…I will not…

  “Absolutely,” she said, even though the mere thought of him wrapped up in some other woman made her want to jab her plastic salad fork through one of his eyes. Which was ridiculous when she remembered that Randolph was a far worse candidate for a romantic entanglement than Garciaparra.

  Why did she care about any of this?

  Why did seeing him again make her feel like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff?

  In a superhuman act of will, she smiled pleasantly and stood.

  “You know what? Good for you, Randolph. So glad to hear your dick is still in good working order after your ordeal. And thanks for checking in. Have a great life.”

  She started to walk off—

  He caught her free hand before she could go anywhere.

  The touch undid her. In terms of danger to her equilibrium, Garciaparra’s kiss was a BB pellet glancing off her thigh. This was a thousand pounds of TNT right between her eyes.

  And that was before he wrapped his other hand around her wrist and, with a serrated sigh, leaned closer and rested his forehead against her arm. As though he were a supplicant, when it should be obvious to even the most casual observer that he had absolute power in this situation and she had none.

  God, she hated him.

  He should not have the power to show up here and disrupt her lunch and her life.

  He should not have the power to blow a sexy man like Garciaparra from her mind.

  She should not be this happy to see him.

  She should not be this tempted to put her hand on his head and pull him closer.

  She should not allow her fingers to curl around his as though they were your average lovers enjoying a
sunny day in a park.

  But she was. She did. Just for a second.

  Until her senses returned with a sickening rush and she yanked her hand free and stepped back, distancing herself from him physically even as she embraced her temper.

  “You fucking asshole,” she said.

  He raised his head, and all the misery that held her hostage was right there on his face, reflected back at her as though from some twisted carnival mirror.

  “I had to do it,” he said wearily.

  “Do what? Walk out without a word? Drop off the radar for three months? Leave me to wonder whether you were alive or dead? I’m not surprised. That’s what fucking assholes like you do, Randolph.”

  “No.” Sudden urgency made his voice shake. “I had to be a man. Get my strength back. Get a legitimate job. Get an apartment. Put a life together. I don’t want anyone to see me as less than. Especially you.”

  This pretty little speech, exactly the kind her father used to make back in the day, would not melt her heart. She wouldn’t let it.

  “You know what? I don’t care. Do what you need to do. It’s irrelevant to me.”

  He shook his head. “Then why are you so upset?”

  She hesitated long enough for a plausible lie to show up. Took a deep breath. Delivered it as best she could.

  “I thought we were cool, Randolph. It would have been nice to know you weren’t dead and being poured into some concrete foundation somewhere. I mean, I told the hospital I’d look out for you. What if you’d turned up with a fever or something? What if your incision became infected?”

  “That’s quite a list,” he said, eyes flashing. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I don’t appreciate being dismissed.”

  “Ah. Anything else?”

  She thought that over, a little off kilter. Did this mean he was buying the story she was selling?

  “Well…no.”

  “Great.” His lips thinned. “Can I speak now?”