“It’s my cell,” Rack says. “I turned it on at the rest stop.” He pushes me gently back into my seat and fastens my seatbelt. His fingers glide across my belly as he adjusts it. My stomach doesn’t seem to disgust him like it did Angelo. I was carrying the asshole’s child and he never so much as ran a finger over my belly. Rack walks around his side and opens the back door. He checks the message while standing beside the car. “Fuck,” he says and then walks to the front of the Jeep, slams his hand on the hood, and returns to his door. He gets in without looking at me. The hard set of his jaw makes me afraid to ask what’s wrong. Before I got pregnant, before Angelo, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Angelo turned me into a victim and I don’t like it.
Rack pulls back out on the road. There’s a bit more traffic now and I lean back and close my eyes. For now I’ll continue being weak and let Rack handle whatever it is that’s upset him. I’m exhausted from crying. My eyelids weigh too much and I can no longer fight the need to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Rack
THE SOUND OF HER soft snore fills the car. I glance at Beth and she’s fast asleep. I shake my head. She’s held up better than I expected or at least what I expected after I saw she was pregnant.
The son of a bitch controlled her food. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I will kill the bastard. He’s now first on my list and far in front of the last two men responsible for killing my brother. I haven’t forgotten about the doctor who examined her either.
I picture each death in my head because that’s better than picturing Beth in my arms. I want her. It may even be in the sick way Angelo wanted her. Possession is a powerful word. Possessive and obsessive both work. It began long before I met her in person. Nick started it. He got it in his head that I would marry her. He actually teased me about it non-stop. I was a different man back then. My marriage to Beth was settled as far as Nick was concerned.
It fit with the man I was before. I always wanted a large family and a house filled with laughter. I think that’s why Nick and I hit it off. We were a lot alike in our love for family. I remember the email he received when Beth gushed over the man who became her fiancé. Nick hated him instantly. It didn’t matter how many times I said I wasn’t good enough for his baby sister. Nick had made up his mind.
“She’s a handful, Rack. You’re the only one who has a chance to keep her out of trouble.” I’ll never forget him saying that. It went against the military’s unwritten oath that sisters were off limits to fellow soldiers.
Nick’s blood dripping off my hands flashes through my mind. I’ve replayed his death a thousand times in my head. My hands fist the wheel tighter and my vision pinpoints taking me to the place inside my head that knows only killing. With a sharp breath, I gain control and turn my thoughts to the text message I received from Gomez.
Gimonde traced you.
Tell me what you need.
I did everything I could to keep Gimonde in the dark about my ties to Moon. Beth’s text message on a compromised phone bothered me, though. Now Gomez is willing to help even though he knows the danger it brings down on Moon’s organization. I can’t go there unless it’s our only hope.
The Jeep is in my name. Once I hit a city, every speed radar in the state will have record of me driving through. I’m sure the Gimonde family has my picture by now. They’ll know I work for Moon, but they won’t find out much after that. My records show Jones as my last name. I know it’s not original. Doesn’t matter. I’ve been Rack Jones since meeting Moon in Mexico. He made the arrangements for my name change to protect my family. My mother and father are still alive along with three of my brothers. I…I haven’t seen my family since I turned my back on generations of law enforcement and took the criminal path. That was a few years ago. I regret nothing. Or at least I’ve told myself that. I won’t deny I miss them.
I glance over at the sleeping woman again and know the police could not help her against the dangerous man she’s involved with. She has me and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe.
I continue driving and avoid large towns, including Casper. Beth moves to more comfortable positions every hour or so but never comes fully awake. I pull into a small hotel in a midsize town near Boulder, Colorado, with a large discount store a few blocks away. I detected no speed or traffic light cameras, so I think we’re good.
Beth groans when the car stops. “Please tell me there’s a bathroom within five feet of the car,” she says groggily.
“We’re at the hotel and I need to check us in first. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”
She turns in my direction. “You don’t understand. I need to go now.”
“Too dangerous.” I get out of the car and sprint into the hotel office. I’m back within five minutes.
Her hands cover her face and I know she’s crying by the slight trembling in her shoulders. She glances up with a stricken expression. “I couldn’t hold it. Oh, God, I’m sorry. The baby is sitting on my bladder and I couldn’t hold it,” she repeats.
I’m way too far out of my comfort zone with this. If she were a comrade in the military who peed himself, I could handle it. Shit literally happens when you’re fighting for your life. I have no idea what to say to a pregnant woman with a baby sitting on her bladder. I put the Jeep in gear and drive around to the back of the hotel to locate our room. I pull in and walk around to help her out.
“I’m disgusting, I’ve ruined your seat,” she cries.
I look at the seat and there’s a small dark spot. “I can easily clean it. No worries. Let’s get you inside and in the shower.” I was good at making scared shitless rookie soldiers think I had everything under control. That ability is coming in handy right now.
I use the keycard, open the door, and usher her inside. After one last look around the parking lot, I follow her in. “Get in the shower and I’ll grab my bag. I have a shirt that will do until I can buy you some clothes.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me, just walks into the bathroom and closes the door with a quiet click. If she were a man, I would easily make a joke about pissing over the spot on the seat to mark territory. There were times in trenches that all you could do was unzip and piss against the dirt in front of you. I rarely feel uncomfortable or out of my element. I get the job done by whatever means possible. That’s completely changed. I am not trained for babies, tears, and squashed bladders.
I head outside and retrieve my bag along with the larger weapons bag. When I get back inside, I knock on the bathroom door and say, “I have a shirt for you.”
“Come in and put it on the counter,” she calls back. Her voice is stronger and she doesn’t sound like she’s crying.
I open the door and place the T-shirt next to the sink. The shower curtain is one of those heavy white things and I can see the outline of her body. Her extended belly holds my attention and then I notice her wet panties and bra hanging over the shower rod. I leave as quickly as I entered. If the bad things I’ve done don’t send me to hell, getting a hard-on for a pregnant woman will.
I pace in the bedroom while she showers. I’m too wound up to lie down. I’d jack off if I could picture her like the first time I met her. I can’t, though. The image locked in my head is of her with a rounded belly and a large beautiful ass. My dick gets harder. I hit the floor and start counting push-ups so my sane half doesn’t kick the shit out of my filthy half for having these thoughts. The stitches in my side stretch and a few pop out. My side burns, but I don’t stop pushing up and down.
Beth walks out of the bathroom at a hundred and fifty-six. No amount of push-ups on earth will ever get this sight out of my head. I quickly stand. The T-shirt barely covers the top of her thighs. Her legs are long and…perfect. My gaze travels upward to her round belly. After leaving my family, I cut off the thought of ever having children. Too dangerous in my line of work. The thought of Beth carrying my child knots my insides. She’s as cute as a button. And beautiful. Her breasts fill the shirt above her belly. I me
et her dark eyes so similar to her brother’s. Red tinges her cheeks. A white towel holds her brown hair up and even that is adorable on her.
“You’re beautiful,” I say because it’s true. Her hand goes to her stomach. It’s what she does when she’s nervous. I feel as if everything I say is coming from a clumsy ox. My brain goes cloudy around her. I tear my eyes away and pick up my handgun. The only way I can think straight right now is not to look at her. “I’m leaving you a gun.” I place it on the night table between the two beds. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Don’t open the door to anyone. Shoot first, ask questions later.” I glance at her long enough to see her nod.
“I need your travel kit,” she says without smiling. I have a feeling I’m giving off a creeper vibe.
“I’ll grab it from the Jeep.” I shouldn’t have told her she’s beautiful. If I don’t get the hell out of the room, I’ll say something else stupid.
Chapter Twelve
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dear Darling Sister,
You heard me right and yes, I’ve been drinking. Rack and I drank too much tonight. His brother, back in the States, died yesterday and Rack’s in a bad place. I’m worried for him. Worried he’ll be reckless and get his ass shot. We move out early tomorrow morning and he shouldn’t be going. He needs to return home but, like you, he’s stubborn. Don’t worry about me. I’m a badass. On a lighter note, I’ve convinced Rack he needs to marry you. Believe it or not it wasn’t easy. Sooo, you need to kick this Kevin guy in the balls and move on. We’ll be home in a few months and I’m hiring Rack to kidnap you and take you to a deserted island until you fall in love with each other. It’s the only thing that will help him deal with his loss. I’m counting on you.
Your badass brother,
Nick
****
Beth
I COULDN’T HELP NOTICING the growing bulge in Rack’s pants before he walked out. Or the slightly larger one when he handed me the kit. Oh. My. God. He can’t possibly think I’m beautiful, much less sexy. Can he? He was most likely thinking about a hot girlfriend or wife while I was showering. Damn, the bulge was large.
Seeing his hard muscles beneath a sweaty T-shirt doesn’t exactly help my quirky pregnancy hormones either. What I wouldn’t give to see him with no shirt. Hell, no clothing at all would give me a fantasy to remember for years.
My friends always said my brother was hot. I laughed because I just didn’t see it. Handsome yes, hot as in sex…no, I just couldn’t go there. Nick was a few inches shorter than Rack but he worked out and kept the women drooling. He was playfully conceited when he noticed women eyeing him.
“The babes love me, sis. It’s this hot body that keeps them coming back for more.”
I’d pantomime gagging and he’d laugh. Nick could get serious in a hurry, but my fondest memories are of him making me smile. I don’t think Rack spends much time laughing or smiling. My brother wrote to me about Rack constantly and he tried his hardest to hook us up. Nick worried I would never find a man to settle down with. I had hopes and dreams—traveling around the world, meeting new people, making a difference. I met Kevin while working on a fund-raiser for children in Haiti. I thought Kevin had my same ambitions. I had absolutely no idea he wanted a political career, at least not until it was too late and I was in love with him. Kevin was quite passive aggressive. The last thing I wanted was a man who controlled me. Like most politicians, Kevin maneuvered around the truth and manipulated me. Now I realize how weak Kevin was. Fast forward to Angelo and it’s obvious I’m a bad judge of character.
My brother was right about so many things, and I’m past the point of rejecting Rack. It doesn’t matter that no man in his right mind would want a woman pregnant with another man’s child. My heart is swelling with a ridiculous emotional attachment to Rack and I can’t fight it.
After sleeping hours in the car I’m wide awake. The baby has decided to take a nap and even moved off my bladder, giving me some relief. My stomach growls from lack of food and I hope Rack hurries. I flip on the television, choose the bed most comfortable for watching TV, and lay on my side to watch the news hoping it takes my mind off hunger. My eyes pop open when the door swings wide. I fell asleep even after all the hours in the car.
The smell of pizza hits my nose. Rack has a large pizza box in one hand, some bags swinging under it, a six pack of water, and another bag in the other hand. I need clothes, but eating is definitely first on the list.
“Drop the food right here on the bed, buster, and I’ll try to leave you a slice.” I pull the sheet up with me when I sit because I know the shirt I’m wearing has ridden up and the poor man doesn’t need to see my overly large belly. I glance up after arranging myself and he’s grinning at me. God, the dimples will seriously do me in. A grin changes his face to a whole new level of attractive. Add the scruff on his jaw and killer lips and I’m having heart palpitations.
I smile back when he places the bags and pizza box on the bed. I tear open the lid and inhale. I rip out a piece and start chowing down. Rack tosses me some napkins, but I’m too interested in filling my mouth with pizza to care if I make a mess. I groan as I chew the first bite. Heaven. I hate Angelo all over again. A girl must have junk food now and then, and a pregnant woman should have anything her body craves.
Rack sits on the other side of the bed and I nudge the box in his direction without taking time away from stuffing my face. I receive his dimpled smile again. He’s much more civilized about the food and takes his sweet time removing a slice from the box.
I swallow my fourth bite and wipe my mouth. “Can I have your babies and darn your socks for the rest of my life?” It’s a joke and the last thing I expect is for his smile to disappear.
“Sure,” he whispers.
The atmosphere changes and the room grows smaller, or at least feels that way. I think he’s serious. Then again, I’m a horrible judge of men and this is nothing but wishful thinking on my part. No, I don’t want to kiss him and if I say it in my head a million times it might be true.
I toss out humor to keep my sanity. “I know you’ve left trampled hearts behind. Tell me about the special girl waiting for you in Arizona.”
His expression remains indifferent and he shakes his head. “No one waiting. You’re the only special girl I know.”
Pregnancy brain is making me read things into his words that aren’t there. I place the half-eaten piece of pizza back in the box and give a nervous giggle. “Just me—the pregnant woman who messed up her life so bad a madman wants her dead as soon as his baby is born? If you think that’s special, you need psychiatric help.” I keep my voice light and teasing.
He studies me and then replies, “There’s dessert, so eat your pizza.”
I look at the other bags on the bed. “You brought dessert?”
“You don’t get to peek until you’re finished eating,” he teases and graces me with another smile.
I pick up the discarded slice and finish it in three very unladylike bites. I reach for another and then freeze. Angelo trained me too well and I’m expecting a slap on my hand or face. The light mood of a moment before crumbles and I glance up at Rack in fear.
A lethal glare replaces his gentle look and I snap my hand back with guilt. Rack moves slowly and pushes the box in my direction. I inhale and more guilt weighs me down. This is not Angelo. Rack is a good guy and I have no reason to be afraid of him. “Habit, sorry,” I mumble.
Rack stands and walks around the bed until he’s beside me. He cups my face in his palms, tilting my head in his direction. “Don’t ever be sorry,” he says in a rough voice. “Angelo will never lay a hand on you again. Now eat and you can have all the dessert.”
I truly do want to have his babies. It doesn’t matter that I’m delusional. Rack is the perfect man and I would give anything to be the woman who rocks his world. He releases me and my fuzzy Rack-induced brain clears. I take a third piece of pizza af
ter he moves away. He picks up three of the four plastic bags and tosses them on the other bed. At his movement, I notice a dark spot sticking to his skin on the right side of his T-shirt. It looks like blood. Was he hurt rescuing me?
“Rack,” I say drawing out the one syllable. He glances over. “What’s wrong with your side?”
He lifts his arm and peers down and then shrugs. “It’s a scrape, nothing to worry about.” He glances at the television without meeting my eyes.
I put my pizza slice back in the box, wipe my fingers, and do my best to push down the shirt I’m wearing beneath the sheet. I stand up and take a step toward him. “It’s not a scrape. You’re bleeding. You expect honesty from me and that goes both ways.” A tightening of his jaw is my answer. “Let me see. Right. Now,” I add like a Catholic nun standing over a misbehaving student.
Rack shakes his head. “No, Beth. I’ll shower and put some antiseptic on it. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
My fingers go to the hem of his T-shirt. He watches when I lift it slightly away from his side before moving it up. He has stitches. They start just above his hip. I count them; the T-shirt is stuck to his side at the ninth stitch. The edges of the wound are puffy and red. He should be in bed and not battling my demons.
“It’s nothing, Beth,” he grinds out.
I’m not afraid of him. Not when he’s hurt and worse off because of me. “That’s crap. This is not nothing. Did you leave the hospital to come rescue me?” I can’t hide my exasperation.
He takes hold of my hands and moves them away from his chest. “No, I wasn’t in the hospital. It happened in Mexico and a friend sewed me up.” He releases me and steps back. “Eat. I’ll take a shower and be as good as new.”
I actually stomp my foot in frustration. “You won’t. You can’t shower with those stitches.” I really want to bust him upside the head. “Take off your shirt and let me wash your side. I won’t eat the pizza or have dessert unless you cooperate. Did my brother mention how stubborn I am?” My hands go to my non-existent waist.
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