by Jaycee Clark
He gave Dan directions and they made it to her apartment in little time.
It didn’t take him long to get the super to let him into her apartment. He wondered if the doctor had paid the man as well or if the good doctor had a key. He rather doubted the latter, as much as Kaitie hadn’t wanted the man around.
It took less than ten minutes for them to load the few belongings already packed in boxes or sitting next to boxes into the back of Dan’s car. Once that was completed, Dan took a deep breath and asked, “We’re not going back to the hotel yet, are we?”
The lamp had been broken and blood had been on the floor, on the sofa, on the locks. He wondered what the police had done—if anything.
“You might need to defend her if he’s stupid enough to try and press some sort of assault charges on her,” Jock told him. “Or your firm, if you can’t, but I don’t want a damned flunky.”
“Like I’d stick you with the newest member with our firm?”
Jock decided to just be quiet.
He’d looked the doctor up in the phone book and knew where he lived.
“Dad said the guy wasn’t at home, and he wasn’t at his parents’, or the hospital.” Dan turned onto the doctor’s street. The house was dark, but that hardly mattered.
Jock was out of the car on the quiet street and around back before Dan had time to follow him.
“You know breaking and entering is frowned upon, right? Rather illegal?” Dan muttered as he made his own way behind the house.
Jock broke a back window and turned the lock, glad he was wearing gloves. The house was dark, quiet, and too damned perfect. Nothing was out of place in the kitchen area. The kitchen gave way to a dining room. His flashlight glinted off of crystal and silver. White carpet. White walls. More of the same in the living room.
“He’s not here. Let’s go, Jock.”
He turned off the light and hurried upstairs.
“I’m not leaving until I know that bastard isn’t anywhere here.”
“If a neighbor calls about a burglar . . .”
“I haven’t stolen anything.”
Dan sighed.
The upstairs was as empty as the lower level.
“Let’s go,” Dan said again.
He looked around the master bedroom. A photo of Kaitlyn stood on a nightstand.
Jock reached over, picked it up and took the photo out. She was in the park, a smile on her face as she looked at the camera.
Bastard was not having this.
Jock rolled the photo up and put it inside his leather jacket.
“I want to know where he is,” Jock told his old friend.
Dan didn’t say another word, then finally, when they were back on the highway heading toward downtown, he ventured, “You have plenty of contacts.”
“I do and I’ll be hiring my own people from D.C. tomorrow—today. Or later today when we get back. I want someone here though. Someone who can contact me, or report to you, someone you trust.”
At least they’d gotten her things.
He wished like hell the bastard had been there. He wanted him there. He wanted to pound the man’s face in, have him beg for someone to stop.
Jock wasn’t stopping. Not until he’d crushed the bastard.
• • •
He listened to the sound of the surf.
He’d bought this place years ago with cash. Right on the beach, a little cottage that no one really paid attention to. He’d claimed to the locals he’d been the previous owner’s son.
No one questioned him.
He rather wished he could have brought his lovelies here, but that defeated the purpose.
He’d always taken them to his house.
To his home.
What better way for him to train them in the way he liked things, the way he wanted things to go, the way he preferred his life to be, than for them to be there.
But it hadn’t worked yet.
Oh, he’d brought one or two here over the years, but it had been after he’d learned they wouldn’t work.
Katherine . . .
He bit down and felt the bandage on his face. That woman had a lot to learn.
But he’d have to wait. He’d gone back later to see if the lights were on in her apartment. If she’d come back after . . . Where else could she go, after all?
But she hadn’t been there.
The police had, though.
And if the police were, that meant she’d reported their fight.
Stupid bitch.
He could crush her.
He might still.
He’d have to go back to work. He’d need an alibi. Claim she was crazy, playing him and another man off each other. But to do that, he’d need to know who the bastard was.
He knew her well enough to know there was someone else. He’d seen the lie in her green eyes when she’d tried to deny it.
The waves crashed against the shore, the moon bright off the tops of the clouds rolling in.
He took a deep breath and thought it all through.
Maybe he wouldn’t go back to work. That, of course, would make him look guilty.
Give him a couple of days and he’d have a plan.
In due time, he’d have Katherine right where she was meant to be. With him.
Chapter 8
Kaitlyn watched the scenery blur outside the window as Jock drove them to D.C. She’d told him several times she’d be fine. She’d had second—or tenth—thoughts. She could stay, stay and what? Wait for the next confrontation with Landon?
Jock had merely kissed her on the forehead and she’d gotten into the car.
She was stupid. What was she doing? She had nowhere else to go though. She’d talked to the police this morning and no one had known where Landon was. His parents had claimed he was with them last evening.
Lie. That had been a blatant lie. There had been blood on a pottery shard in her apartment. Had the police taken it?
No one had been in her apartment by the time the police had arrived while she’d been in the ER, or the hotel.
No one knew where Landon was this morning.
Jock had left her for about an hour or so, claiming he had a meeting to attend and he’d be back.
She didn’t know where he went, didn’t ask.
Fat to the fire, she thought.
Completely stupid, but she wouldn’t lie. Jock just felt . . . easy. And, honestly, safe. She could be herself, and he seemed fine with whoever that was. He didn’t get angry at her, or scare her.
But she could have stayed, she could have and she’d have been fine.
Probably she would have. More than likely she would have gone to Rainey’s to stay until she figured out what to do.
Now, though . . .
Maybe she was just weak. She’d put up with too much from one man, even as she extricated herself to what? Jump into bed, and a car, with another man and head to parts unknown?
Run away with me, Kaitie.
“This is so . . . so . . . not planned,” she said quietly.
“Best things in life are never planned,” he said just as quietly, taking her hand.
She loved the feel of wind in her hair; she rolled her window down and caught Jock smiling at her before he turned on the radio.
A song a few years old by Freddie and the Dreamers. “You Were Made for Me.”
Jock started to sing and she grinned, wincing at the sting on her lip. His baritone didn’t really go with the group’s higher vocals.
“You were made for me,” he sang, bringing her hand up to kiss the back of it. He wiggled his brows.
She smiled even more, ignoring the pain on the side of her face. Instead she leaned back and listened to Jock sing, from one song to another. Normally she’d sing along, but for now she was content to just listen.
To just be.
With Jock, she knew she didn’t have to worry.
Several miles passed and the radio had played a few more songs. He turned to her, and then reached o
ver to turn the radio down.
“What?” he asked her.
She just shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Something.”
She didn’t answer him and he maneuvered through the traffic as he said, “You know, Kaitie, you’re safe.” He glanced at her again and then back to the road.
“I know.”
He took a deep breath. “I want to take you home, but I think it’d be a better idea if I took you to the hotel for now.”
A breath of relief sighed out. Good. She didn’t know what she’d do if he took her home. He’d already told her of the big house he rarely visited because there was no one there.
But it was his house. His home.
She wasn’t quite ready for that, she realized. The hotel would be fine.
She opened her mouth to tell him . . . tell him what? That she’d pay him back? She’d been to his hotel in Baltimore, and if the one in D.C. was as posh as that one, there was no way she could pay him back. Not right away, in any case. She’d have to find a job. She’d need references, but what if the hospital didn’t give her one? What if, because of her stupid involvement with Landon, they didn’t give her one? Or worse, gave her a poor one. What if . . .
“Now you’re frowning. You’d rather I took you to my house?” he asked her. “I can, but there’s no one out there and I won’t leave you anywhere to fend for yourself.” She saw his fingers flex and fist on the steering wheel. His voice was lower, deeper, when he said, “Never again.”
She sighed. “Actually, I was thinking about how I need a job and I don’t know if the hospital will give me a reference, let alone a good one and—”
“They’ll be sending glowing references wherever you need them to,” he said on a growl.
She tilted her head and watched him as he weaved in and out of traffic, as if he had no worry about them getting wherever he wanted them to go.
“Jock, Landon’s a respected surgeon at Sinai, I’m just a nurse. I doubt I’ll get glowing recommendations.”
They were on the outskirts of D.C. and had to stop at a red light.
“You’ll have a gushing reference from the chief of staff, and your boss in the ER.”
She shifted so she could turn to face him a bit. “What did you do?”
He didn’t say a word.
“Jock, where did you go this morning after we talked to the police?”
He sighed. “I took care of something.”
“That something would be what?”
He tapped his fingers on the wheel, easing up as the traffic started to move. “I met with the chief of staff and the board this morning and impressed upon them that they might need a new wing, program, or equipment more than keeping Dr. Dick on their payroll.”
“Jock.”
“And that they should better screen their new hires or at least pay attention to highly negative rumors when they arise and are backed up by other staff members.”
• • •
He might as well tell her all. “They saw around to my way of thinking rather quickly. Even offered to keep you on as long as you preferred to work there, references to wherever you’d like to go. I might have mentioned someone sabotaging Johns Hopkins.” He took another deep breath. “So technically, you can still work there, though they want you to wait until all this blows over.” He shrugged. “As I agreed on that point, I didn’t argue. Basically, you’ll be safe for now, have your job back once the bastard is behind bars, or references if you choose to move.”
Now he looked at her.
She stared at him, a slight frown on her brow. “You did what?”
He ran his tongue around his teeth and stopped at the next light. “Kaitie, what he did was wrong on every level. I just made certain he doesn’t get to enjoy things as he is accustomed to.” He wondered if he should mention he’d also found out the bastard owed quite a bit on his house. Jock bought the note from the bank, having gone to school with the bank’s CEO. Matter of a few phone calls.
Jock owned the bastard’s house, made certain he wouldn’t work in any Baltimore hospital, and he was just getting started.
“Jock,” she said softly.
He looked back at her. “I know, it was overstepping. I know that. But I had to do something. Some damned thing to pay the bastard back for what he did to you. For the way he made you run away from things you loved, from a life you enjoyed.”
“But I ran to the lake. Found you,” she tried.
He reached over and cupped her jaw. “You did and that’s a bright point, but the fact is, you ran there because you were scared. Of a man. Who put his hands on you. A man whom you had to defend yourself against.” A horn blared behind him. He turned onto the street their hotel was on. “Be glad I didn’t find him. Otherwise, I’d have had to get a friend or my brother to drive you down here. I don’t know that I could talk my way out of a murder rap if I’d seen him.”
He heard her sigh, saw her cross her arms over her chest as they crossed the Potomac.
“I guess I should be thankful you only want to annihilate him, rather than torture him to death.”
He grunted.
“Annihilation only, Jock?”
“No torture? You are such a demanding woman.” He zoomed his car into the turn for the Highland Hotel and zipped around another car as he parked under the portico. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“I don’t believe I want to visit you in prison.”
“Yes, that would be a drawback,” he said, opening his door. He waved the attendant off as he opened her door.
She stood and he held her elbow. She was wearing wide Jackie O sunglasses, but she didn’t want a hat. She wore jeans and a peasant blouse, and her hair hung down her back in a bright copper wave. She only lacked a leather vest or headband and could have passed for a hippie.
“He’s not going to be working at the hospital anymore?” she asked him when the elevator doors slid shut. He had the boys bringing her things up to his suite.
“No.”
She grinned; he saw her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator.
“I shouldn’t like that, but I do.”
When they were in his suite, she stood at the window overlooking the river and the national buildings tourists flocked to the area to see.
He ordered them room service, tipped the boys who carried her boxes up and wondered if the woman would let him take her shopping. She turned and raised a brow.
Probably not.
She had a lot of pride.
“What are you thinking?” he asked her, coming up and pulling her back to his chest, lacing their fingers together over her stomach.
“That life just throws you places, and if you wait, if you listen, you can see the blessings.”
“It’s too early in the day for deep thoughts.”
“I’m serious. If not for Landon, for him being the way he is, I might not have enjoyed our dance as much as I did. I wouldn’t have run to the lake last week, I wouldn’t have met you there, not then. I wouldn’t be hurt, but I wouldn’t be standing here either.” Her fingers squeezed his.
“Kaitie, I’ve no doubt, regardless of where you were, who you were with, Dr. Dick or some other ass, I’d still have found you.”
She smiled, he noticed, looking down at her. “Grammy will like you.”
“Hmmm.”
“I really miss her. Miss so many things, but mostly her,” she whispered.
“How long’s it been since you’ve seen her?”
“A couple of years. It’s Ireland, Jock. I can’t just bop over whenever I want to. We write—Oh, no! I didn’t think to forward my mail! What if I miss one of her letters, what if—”
“I already took care of that.”
“You did?” She turned in his arms to look up at him. Her shades were pushed to the top of her head, holding her long tresses back. In the window, in the light, with no makeup, he could see so many freckles. He’d noticed the other day, but . . .
“You h
ave so many freckles,” he muttered.
She rolled her eyes. “Focus. You took care of forwarding my mail the other night? What night? How?”
He sighed. “Does it matter? It’s taken care—” At her narrow-eyed look, he realized in her situation that yes, it would matter. He sighed again. “Yes, last night, after you went to sleep. I left someone watching the hallway and went to your apartment. The police had already left. I spoke to the super, impressed upon him how important it was for you to get your mail. A friend of mine and I carried all your boxes down to my car.” He motioned to them stacked against the wall. “Now they are here.”
She looked to the boxes and then back to him. “I didn’t pack up.”
“I know. You said last night.”
“I did?”
He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead, her eyes, the bridge of her nose, and finally her lips. “Yes, you did.”
“Well, tell your friend, thank you. You got everything?”
He shrugged and let her go when she pulled away from him.
“Where can I put my things?” She bent to grab a box and he hurried across the room.
“Leave that alone. I’ll put them where you want them.”
“I can carry a—”
“With a cracked rib and bruised ones? No.”
She held his stare, then opened the box and sighed. “My quilt.” Smiling, she pulled it out and breathed deep. “I don’t care where you put the boxes. I just want this for now. I’ll look through the rest later. He said he’d moved my things. I guess the rest of my stuff is at his house.”
Jock thought about it. He hadn’t checked the man’s closet, he realized, or riffled through the dresser. He knew Kaitlyn’s closet had been empty except for a violin case sitting on the floor.
“I’ll go and get whatever he took if you want me to.”
She shook her head. “No, no, I don’t think I want any of it. I’ve got my quilt,” she said, walking to the sofa and opening the quilt. She wrapped it around her and sat down. “And I saw the small box under it. That’s all I need.”
He glanced into the now open box and saw another box, wooden and blue, sitting atop papers, and photos, and a couple of frames.
