One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3)

by Irish Winters

  “Jesus Christ!” Roxy screamed at the heavens, as pissed at God as she’d ever been that she couldn’t get free and help Darrin’s dog. “Can I get some fuckin’ help down here?!” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best prayer she’d ever said. It bordered on blasphemous, but—

  “Yes, ma’am,” Isaiah’s calm voice replied at her right.

  “Shit!” Roxy nearly dislocated her neck she’d jerked so quickly aside. He’d done it again, appeared up on her out of nowhere and scared the bejesus out of her. When she was already scared, damnit! “Isaiah!” she cried, not believing her eyes. “Where’d you…? How’d you…? Never mind. Kitty and Darrin are hurt! Go! Save them, not me!”

  “Tate’s already got them and Nugget’s got the bad guy,” Isaiah replied evenly, his tone unruffled and so in charge. “Now hold still, while I save you.”

  “They are?” Her heart pounded so hard she could barely think. But yeah. Roxy saw Tate then, kneeling with the kids, checking them with gentleness, while Nugget ragged on their would-be murderer. She sagged back in the chair, limp and so damned thankful. There would be no death by fire. The kids were alive.

  Gratitude broke out in a sweat over her body. Roxy dropped her quivering chin to her chest and said, “Thank you, Isaiah. Thank you, God. So, so much.”

  “You’re freezing,” Isaiah grumbled as he produced an elastic tie out of nowhere and restrained her hair with one deft twist of his wrist. Right then, Roxy could’ve stared at him forever. He’d knelt at her feet as he picked the locked cuffs at her ankles. His forehead bumped her kneecaps, and she wanted to tug him into her lips and never let him go.

  He was the alpha male of her dreams. Broad shouldered and deadly, his pistol rested loose in its holster on his hip, and she honestly couldn’t recall seeing it in his hand. But it must’ve been. He wouldn’t have come in here unarmed, would he?

  Isaiah moved with the same calm assurance as always, yet something had changed. Power clung to him like a second skin. Maybe it was just the morning light, but the blade of his nose seemed sharper. She hadn’t noticed the cleft in his chin or the slash of his mouth before, but she saw them clearly now. This night of terror had changed him as surely as it had changed her.

  Once her feet were free, he lingered at her knees, running his palms up the backs of her legs as he stretched them forward. Blood rushed to her cramped calves and thighs and—there. Suddenly, Roxy was caught in a time warp where things moved slowly and deliberately. His soothing palms. His knowing smile. Those oh, so dark eyes. It finally dawned on her.

  “You…” she breathed as the passage of time returned to normal. “You had another vision. You saw me, didn’t you? That’s why your eyes are so black.”

  He shook his head. “No, Roxy. No vision. This time I saw through your eyes. I saw what you projected me to see. Everything. You finally opened your mind and your heart to me. My eyes might be black, but that’s because I tasted your fear, but I also felt your trust and…” He pressed his wide hips between her knees. “I stalled Bratton so we could get here in time and then I prayed like hell.”

  She could barely speak. “You made him forget where he put the camera and… and the lighter... and…” It was so hard to think. “You made him tired.”

  Isaiah brushed a hand over his sweaty forehead. “I influenced him to want to talk to you, too. I filled his mind with the need to confess. Hopefully—”

  “Get me out of these cuffs,” she cried, wriggling forward on the chair to crawl inside Isaiah’s arms. “H-hurry.”

  By then Tate had Bob face down to the ground, his bloody hands cuffed behind his back. Nugget had done a good job. Bob sported claw and bite marks over his head, neck, and upper torso. For now, Nugget fluctuated between whining and licking Darrin’s unconscious face, to circling Bratton and growling, the scruff up his back on end and his intentions clear. Touch my boy again and I’ll kill you, I will.

  Suddenly, Roxy was off that awful chair and in Isaiah’s arms, and damn. She buried her face in his shirt and cried like a little girl, all at once rescued and so damned thankful that miracles still happened. Her arms were too stiff to lift much less circle his neck, not that she could have once he wrapped his jacket around her, then wrapped her up tight in the steel band of his arms.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured, the scruff on his chin abrading her sweaty temple. Roxy found a uniquely feminine joy in being held by this powerful man. Her man. Here against his heart she’d found trust and safety. She could be weak because he made her strong.

  But the anticipation of watching Kitty’s and Darrin’s deaths had utterly wrecked her. It left her weaker than she’d ever been. They’d come so close to dying. The bravado she’d hid behind for years fled. As happy as her poor heart was at this rescue, it couldn’t seem to make the one hundred and eighty degree turn from insanity to reality, from terror to rescue. If not for Isaiah…

  When had he learned to be so stealthy? So damned sneaky? So incredibly handsome! Damn, he really was a Special Agent.

  “How’d you find us?” she asked between valiant swipes at her face, still dodging tears that insisted on dripping off her jaw and running down into his jacket. “How’d you know where to look?” Had he received the psychic message she’d sent? He must have. She hadn’t heard so much as a twig snap, when suddenly, like three ghosts in the night, Nugget was there with Isaiah and Tate on his six.

  “Loyalty,” he said quietly into the side of her head, “along with a damned good dog and a hearty dose of my big brother’s love.”

  Tate’s head jerked up at that softly spoken sentiment. For the space of a heartbeat, something passed between the two men that Roxy couldn’t decipher. Tate nodded and the moment was done. She suspected there was more to the story, but details could wait.

  Roxy didn’t care that she wasn’t psychic. She was found. That was all that mattered. “Thank you so much,” she murmured into the sweaty hollow of Isaiah’s warm neck, a place she never wanted to leave, but would soon have to give up. “If not for you guys… I thought… I thought...”

  “My pleasure,” Isaiah breathed into the top of her head as dawn broke through the trees. “I will always come for you, Roxy. No matter how far. Always.” Cocking his head, he placed a tender kiss to her chapped lips, but she cringed, and he noticed. “He hurt you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m okay now.”

  Isaiah’s head turned to Bratton. “I should kill him for that alone.”

  The magnitude of those words coming from her meek and mild warrior caught at Roxy’s heart. Killing wasn’t Isaiah’s calling in life. He might be a trained government agent, but he was meant for better things. After living through this harrowing night that could have ended so, so badly, she wasn’t sure it was hers anymore either.

  Her shoulders shuddered as if a weight had lifted, as if she had one less burden to carry the rest of her days. And maybe she had. Her kids were alive, and when she and Isaiah parted ways, she could die knowing she’d done her best work here tonight. She’d bought just enough time for her guys to keep Kitty and Darrin alive. Unintentionally, she’d been working with that crazy dog over there, too, the one that left a line of drool and a wake of wiry golden hair everywhere he stepped. Besides, the last thing the world needed was another revenge killer. She would know.

  “No more killing. Please. Just hold me,” she told her savior and her friend.

  When his arms tightened, Roxy pressed her ear to Isaiah’s chest, struggling to compose her ragged nerves while she listened to his strong heartbeat. She breathed him in, the mingled scents of manly sweat, leather, and bodywash. Last night was as close as she’d ever come to losing her mind, and all because of the kids she’d fallen in love with. Yes, Kitty and Darrin were another woman’s children, but Roxy loved them and she would’ve gladly traded her life for theirs. They deserved nothing less. And God, she loved Isaiah—enough to let him go. Just. Not. Yet.

  Tate passed onto Isaiah that Tucker had
two FBI choppers on their way. He turned the video camera off then and secured it as evidence. The kids were still unconscious, but Tate hadn’t left their sides after he’d checked their vitals and assured Roxy they’d be fine. He’d spread a blanket from the trailer on the ground, and ever so gently, he transferred them, Kitty first, then Darrin, making sure they didn’t bump heads. While the best yellow dog on the planet patrolled the scene, Tate covered the kids with another blanket, then crouched alongside them and glared at Bratton. If looks could kill...

  Between the killer energy radiating off Tate and Nugget, Bob didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of escape or garnering sympathy. He flipped his head to avoid the death glares of two very capable predators.

  Roxy took her first deep breath of freedom, and all was right with the world once more. The kids were alive and protected by two of America’s best. Isaiah had a good hold of her. There truly was no place she’d rather be.

  Nugget made it better when he did what proud dogs everywhere did best. He pranced over to Bratton, lifted his back leg and peed on the man’s head. Bob sputtered and spit, thrashed and cried, “Stop him! Get this mutt off me! Police brutality!” Not that in his wretched excuse for a campsite cared.

  A genuine smile cracked Tate’s normally sourpuss face. His brows lifted, and wow. The tough guy grinned. Isaiah tipped back his head and laughed the most delicious sound ever. It rumbled up his throat and vibrated from deep within his chest. Roxy could’ve listened to the sound of it forever.

  Instead, she cried. Damn it, she didn’t know what came over her, but she sobbed like a little girl. The kids were alive and Family Services might approve her fostering them, so why’d it feel like she was losing her whole world?

  Because she was. This was the end of the joint operation. She’d file her reports and she’d show for every last court hearing. She’d pass Isaiah in the hall at the courthouse. They’d chat like old friends, but that was all there’d ever be. His was a higher mission in life, and she would only ever be the District’s best beat cop. Maybe a stepmom if her prayers were answered.

  She choked back another sob when Isaiah’s palm smoothed up her back to rest at the nape of her neck. He hadn’t let go of her since he’d arrived on scene. “It’s okay, Roxy,” he whispered. “Everyone’s safe now. Trust me.”

  Afraid she’d give herself away if she tried to speak, she only nodded. ‘I do trust you,’ she thought. ‘And I’ll always love you… enough to let you go.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “You can’t find her?” Eden Winchester asked Isaiah for the second time, referring to Candace Bratton.

  For now they were alone in the break room at FBI Headquarters, down the hall from Tucker’s office. Roxy had taken a couple days off to stay with Kitty and Darrin at her father’s place, though how she’d worked that angle with Family Services, Isaiah had no idea. But she had. To ensure the kids’ safety until Candace Bratton was in FBI custody, Special Agents Keller Boniface and Tate Higgins stood guard at her father’s home. MPD had posted two units on the street. No one was taking chances.

  Bob Bratton hadn’t stopped talking since he’d been taken to holding. He didn’t want a lawyer or public defender, and he’d already turned over enough evidence to convict Garrett Randall and Candace Bratton ten times over.

  Isaiah stowed his cell in his front jeans pocket. He’d texted and phoned Roxy several times since she’d left with the kids, but she hadn’t responded, and that wasn’t like her. After filing her report on all Bob Bratton had done and confessed, she’d seemed distant and indifferent. Withdrawn.

  Isaiah suspected that was due to her tenuous situation with Kitty and Darrin. She seemed to have the cart ahead of the horse as far as her fostering them was concerned, and he couldn’t blame her. He wanted the best outcome for Kitty and Darrin, too, but their staying together after this mess was sorted, seemed unlikely. Jack Fillion deserved the opportunity to finally meet his son, and Darrin deserved the same, but Kitty? Her biological father now lay on a slab in the FBI morgue, while the man she’d always known and loved as ‘Dad’ had chosen self-pity over fatherhood. Poor kid.

  “You? The most powerful Level Ten in the world?” Eden made it sound like a bad thing.

  Isaiah forced his mind back to business, not embarrassed at all for his lack of psychic acuity in light of what he now knew. He loved Roxy more than he loved his powerful gift/curse. Better yet, he needed her, and if push came to shove, he’d give up the gift and the Bureau for her.

  He hadn’t told her yet, but his intense feelings for her had limited his psychic focus from their first encounter. It seemed a natural human response, since love clouded most normal people’s vision. Wasn’t that an unexpected bonus from the universe, to finally be like most people, to be normal instead of forever being the odd man out?

  Some people he couldn’t read, and one of them was Candace Bratton. It happened, but now he also knew he could read through Roxy. Not that she was psychic. That hadn’t changed, but he could see through her eyes, and while it was not a turn-it-on, turn-it-off type of skill, the empathy they shared was a no kidding turn-on. There was joy in the intimate act of seeing through her pretty eyes. Pure. Utter. Joy. The woman he adored made him a better man, and a better psychic. As far as Isaiah was concerned… End. Of. Story.

  At least it would’ve been if they knew where Candace Bratton was. For now it was a game of wait and see if she’d fall for the trap Tucker Chase had cleverly set during the four minute news clip airing on all local television and radio platforms.

  Eden cleared her throat. Apparently, she didn’t want to wait.

  Isaiah growled at her. “You heard me, Eden. I can’t read Candace Bratton. Never could. Can you?”

  A definite scowl rippled across her brows and most of her forehead. Like him, she’d spent last night and most of the day here at FBI headquarters in downtown D.C. Still dressed in her casual Friday wear, plain blue denims topped off with an extra-large gray FBI sweatshirt, she had to be as tired as he was. Yet the pretty blonde looked as fresh as the proverbial daisy in spring, all sunshiny and perky, while Isaiah’d give his next raise for one uninterrupted night’s sleep. With Roxy wrapped up tight in his arms. His nose in her hair. His hands on her sumptuous ass. After a sweaty round of blistering hot sex.

  It just wasn’t happening with a black widow on the prowl.

  Eden cocked her head, her thick blond hair rolling off one shoulder like a golden cascade, and Isaiah loved her. She was the sister he’d never had, and she understood him like no one else, yet as cute as she was—and she was, in a younger sister, annoying kind of way—Eden also had skills and powers beyond his ken. What if…?

  “Let’s try something,” Isaiah said as he flopped one arm across the table, his fingers fluttering for her to take hold. “Now, while it’s quiet and everyone else is busy. Think with me, Eden. Project with me. Positivity. Into the universe. Let’s link our minds and flood the great unknown with all the good things that money could accomplish in the right hands. All the babies’ lives it could save. All the needy children it could feed. The cancer research it could fund. The air it could clean and the trees it could grow. Five million dollars, Eden. That’s a lot of money. All we have to do is find it and we can change the world. Come. Think with me.”

  Eden caught on quickly. She didn’t argue that five million wasn’t enough to change the world, just sank into the molded plastic seat across the table from Isaiah and stretched her arm to his. They interlocked fingers to wrists, their pulses matched and their psychic powers linked in one last effort to draw the spider out of her web and into theirs.

  This mental exercise was not so much about finding Candace Bratton as sending a powerfully focused vibration across the cosmic web that all mankind lived, dreamed, prayed, and died within. The web allowed souls to travel, literally, anywhere. Hence dreams and intuition, empathy, prayers, and, yes, love. A person had only to believe.

  But the v
ibration could also draw out those who disagreed with all that positivity, and that was what Isaiah planned, to seduce Candace with positive energy focused on that five mil. Yeah. That ought to work.

  Steadied by his natural gift and armed with his love for Roxy, Isaiah bowed his head and closed his eyes. If anyone were to enter the break room now, they’d think Isaiah and Eden were up to something, and by hell, they were. But this had nothing to do with cheating or romance. This was about the most powerful force in the universe.

  If he’d learned one thing during his ordeal, it was that there was a grain of truth to the media’s claim of ‘like father, like son’. He was no better than Abraham Zaroyin. He was capable of great evil. For a moment there on the road, he’d honestly entertained the rage that favored wiping Bob Bratton from the face of the Earth. What stopped him then was what paved the path forward now. Nations could fight fire with fire until they blew humanity out of existence, but the only power in the universe strong enough to save them all was… love.

  Isaiah used that lure now to snare the antithesis of the one true light in the world. Clearing his mind, he pivoted his head from left to right to loosen his neck muscles, rolled his shoulders twelve times—his new magic number—then breathed in and exhaled out just as slowly. He set the images of a brave new world loose in his mind. Future smiles on happy, healthy children’s faces, their tummies full and their hearts clean. The pristine surf on a pollution free shore. Seagulls soaring in clear blue skies. Verdant, lush rainforests. A world without hunger. Peace treaties. Simple things like reruns of “I love Lucy’, “Lassie”, “It’s a Wonderful Life”, “The Wizard of Oz”. All the happily-ever-afters he could conjure, all the best possibilities the five million could provide, Isaiah sent forth like prayers to the universe. Then, because of Tate, he projected images of animals living in peace with mankind. No more slaughterhouses and no more animal testing. No pounds or no-kill shelters. No screaming animals locked in pain, all because of Candace Bratton’s five million dollars.