Lucky Like Us

by Jennifer Ryan

  Lucky Like Us

  BOOK TWO: THE HUNTED SERIES

  JENNIFER RYAN

  Dedication

  For my best friend and husband, Steve.

  I’m lucky to have you.

  Contents

  * * *

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  An Excerpt from The Right Bride

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  Also by Jennifer Ryan

  An Excerpt from All or Nothing by Dixie Lee Brown

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  * * *

  A WISP OF smoke rose from the barrel of his gun. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Face raised to the night sky, eyes closed, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slow, enjoying the moment. Adrenaline coursed through his veins with a thrill that left a tingle in his skin. His heart pounded and he felt more alive than he ever remembered feeling in his normal life.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to the bloody body lying sprawled on the dirty pavement at his feet. The Silver Fox strikes again. The smile spread across his face. He loved the nickname the press had dubbed him after the police spoke of the elusive killer who had staged eight deaths. Who knew how many more? He did. He remembered every one of them in minute detail.

  He kicked the dead guy in the ribs. Son of a bitch almost ruined everything, but you didn’t get to be in his position by leaving the details of a partnership to chance. They had a deal, but the idiot had gotten greedy, making him sloppy. He’d set up a meeting for tonight for a new hit, but hadn’t done the proper background investigation. His death was a direct result of his stupidity.

  “You set me up with a cop!” he yelled at the corpse.

  He dragged the body by the foot into the steel container, heedless of the man’s face scraping across the rough road. He dropped the guy’s leg. The loud thud echoed through the cavernous interior. He locked the door and walked through the deserted shipyard, indifferent.

  Maybe he’d let his fury get the best of him, but anything, or anyone, who threatened to expose him or end his most enjoyable hobby needed to be eliminated. He had too much to lose, and he never lost.

  Only one more loose end to tie up.

  Chapter Two

  * * *

  San Francisco

  Thursday, 9:11 P.M.

  LITTLE DEVILS STOMPED up Sam’s spine, telling him trouble was on the way. He rolled his shoulders to erase the eerie feeling, but it didn’t work—never did. Something was wrong and he’d learned to trust his instincts. They’d saved his hide more than once.

  Sam and his fellow FBI partner, Special Agent Tyler Reed, sat in their dark car watching the entrance to Ray’s Rock House. Every time someone opened the front door, the blare of music poured out into the otherwise quiet street. Sam’s contact hadn’t arrived yet, but that’s what happened when you relied on the less reputable people of society.

  “I’ve got a weird vibe about this,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “Watch the front and alley entrance after I go in.”

  Tyler never took his eyes off the door and the people coming and going. “I’ve got your back, but I still think we need more agents on this. What’s with you lately? Ever since your brother got married and had a family, you’ve been on edge, taking one dangerous case after another.”

  Sam remembered the way his brother looked at his wife and the jealousy that had bubbled up in his gut, taking him by surprise. Jenna was everything to Jack, and being identical twins, it was easy for Sam to put himself in Jack’s shoes. All he had to do was look at Jack, Jenna, and their twin boys to see what it would be like if he found someone to share his life.

  Sam had helped Jenna get rid of her abusive ex-husband, who kidnapped her a couple years ago. Before Jack had come into her life, she’d been alone, hiding from her ex, simply existing, she’d said. Very much like him.

  At thirty-six, he had no kids, no wife, no home of his own, and a job where burnout could get him killed. The last woman he’d dated—a copy of all the rest—couldn’t stand the hours he worked, the way he sometimes had to dress to go undercover, the fact he disappeared at the drop of a hat for days on end. His job consumed his life, leaving nothing left for him to give to a woman daring enough to catch his attention for more than a few days.

  “Sam. I’m talking to you, man.” Tyler’s voice intruded on his wandering thoughts.

  Preoccupied, dangerous in his line of work, Sam focused on the here and now. “What? Sorry, I was thinking about that visit with my family. My sister-in-law gave me some advice.”

  “Did she tell you to get laid and keep your mind on the job?”

  Sam sent a dangerous glare Tyler’s way that intimidated most people. Tyler, however, ignored the look, completely unfazed. It would take a hell of a lot more to rile an ex-Special Ops guy like his partner.

  “She told me to get a life before I didn’t have one left.”

  “Take that advice. Stop working like a maniac. You need a break. Something is off with you, and I can’t say I’m happy about it. My ass is on the line here too.”

  Sam glanced at his watch. “I have a bad feeling about this setup. Scott should be here by now and the bar is crowded. It’ll be difficult to keep an eye on everyone.”

  They’d agreed to meet at eight when the bar would be less crowded. Just after nine, the bar was rowdy with bikers, hookers, and others looking for a good time. The clientele was a rough crowd, and they would keep their mouths shut when it came to people conducting unlawful business. The kind of dark, seedy place you’d meet a guy to set up a hit.

  Sam’s contact, Scott, was an insurance salesman. Sometimes, when the situation and the money were right, he played middleman, setting up “accidents”, ensuring the insurance paid out. Scott hadn’t wanted to meet anywhere they might be recognized, so he’d chosen this bar on the outskirts of the city.

  Scott made contact with him after Sam went undercover, posing as a customer at the insurance agency, looking for a lucrative life insurance policy for his “wife”. He’d subtly hinted about hiring someone to kill his “wife”, so he’d get paid for all the grief she put him through. A plausible cover to get to the hit man himself, known to the FBI as the Silver Fox. Tonight they’d settle the details, payment, and provide how and when the “wife” would be killed. After the meeting, Sam and Tyler would follow Scott and hope he would lead them straight to the Fox.

  “I’ll go in and find a corner at the back and watch for him. That way I can get a feel for the
crowd, see if there’s any threat. If something is off, I’ll come out the front with my sleeves pushed up. You can ride in for the rescue, and we’ll get the hell out of Dodge. Otherwise, I’ll meet with Scott and try to set up a meeting with the Fox. Then we’ll go from there.”

  “Your bad feelings usually pay off. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink this?” Tyler glanced at him before scanning the area around the bar again. “I can only see so much from here. You’ll be completely on your own. If something goes wrong, I won’t know.”

  Tyler might be right. Maybe Sam was losing his edge. After solving this case, he’d hand over his other cases to Tyler and take a long vacation. He needed one. Some time to regroup, refocus, get his priorities in order. Hell, decide what his priorities are, and find that elusive life he should be living.

  “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

  Sam slid out of the car before Tyler made any more protests. He headed across the street and down to the bar. Once inside, he’d have to rely on his training and instincts to keep himself alive and protect innocent bystanders if things went sour.

  ELIZABETH WAS IN her kitchen mixing up another batch of sweet treats for the local children’s hospital. She delivered them every Friday, and the kids expected her, rain or shine. She’d filled a dozen racks with cookies and needed to pack them up. Her mother used to iron; she baked to relieve stress. The smell of chocolate chip cookies filled the room and had a way of smoothing out the rough edges better than any pill.

  Vigorously stirring a bowl of cookie dough, she stared out across the Great Room, hoping to release her anger before her arm gave out.

  Elizabeth had converted a two-story building into a home, complete with her dream kitchen when she bought the building a few years back. From the outside, you’d think it was simply a warehouse, but the inside resembled any other living space. Hardwood floors the color of melted caramel spread out to whitewashed brick walls. Like an old weathered farmhouse that hadn’t had a new coat of paint in a hundred years, the bricks were fading back to red in many places. She’d kept the old-world feel of the large space but added the modern conveniences, including the restaurant-size refrigerators and ovens.

  Some of the other buildings on her street had already been converted into chic lofts and apartments. Several warehouses nearest her still stood empty, so the area was usually quiet. She loved sitting up on the roof in her Adirondack chair, drinking tea and looking up at the stars, or out across the great city of San Francisco. A quiet life was all she wanted, especially coming from a family like hers.

  The phone rang. Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but she couldn’t let it go unanswered. It might be a family member calling to check on her. It better not be Jarred, or she’d be pissed.

  Checking the caller ID, a wave of relief swept over her. Kay. Best friend extraordinaire. Calling to the rescue. They loved and teased each other, fought, laughed together, and generally shared their lives like siblings. Even Elizabeth’s brothers thought of Kay as a sister.

  She picked it up on the third ring, and while she licked cookie dough off her finger said, “Hi, Kay.”

  “Spill it. What happened today?”

  “Jarred waltzed into the shop and told Amy we’d gotten back together and had a lunch date. He said we were moving in together.”

  “He didn’t,” Kay gasped.

  “Oh yes he did. Can you believe his audacity? When I came back into the shop, Amy was so excited and happy for us. She looked downright crushed when I told her the restraining order was still in place and under no circumstances would I get back together with him.”

  “That’s just creepy.”

  “It’s beyond creepy. He’s moved past nuisance and straight to stalker. Amy told him I was out shopping, so he covered by saying he must have gotten the time for lunch wrong.” Elizabeth jabbed the spoon into the cookie dough in frustration. “He got what he wanted. Amy gave him a bunch of information about me, least of which is that I’ve been invited to the Governor’s Ball next month.”

  Amy, nineteen, a nursing student at UC San Francisco, still believed handsome men were all knights in shining armor coming to kiss the damsel and sweep her off her feet. Amy hadn’t learned that some men, even handsome ones, were dragons in disguise, waiting to breathe their fire and scorch you on the ass.

  Elizabeth sighed and wiped her cheek, inadvertently spreading flour across her face. “She didn’t realize he was baiting her and fishing for information. I had a long talk with her about giving out my personal business to anyone. Why can’t he take no for an answer? Of course, no one ever says no to him, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Look at Amy. She took one look at his handsome face, ate up his charm, and spilled her guts.”

  “What do you think he really wants?”

  Elizabeth took a finger full of dough from the bowl and licked it clean. “The same thing he’s wanted for over three months, us back together, living his version of happy. Dad annoyed me when he insisted on the restraining order, but now I’m thinking it was a good idea. Jarred’s really starting to creep me out.

  “I still can’t believe he told her we were moving in together. How demented is that? First it was showing up places unannounced, which got out of hand when he followed me without so much as trying to hide it. I received those creepy letters and the messages sent with the flowers. Then I don’t hear anything from him in almost two weeks, and now this. Remember the time he showed up at my uncle’s party, telling Uncle Charles I’d invited him? He cut in on Pat and me while we danced. Pat almost decked him right in front of all the guests before I stopped him.”

  “Patrick and Daniel had to escort Jarred out,” Kay remembered. “That was pretty ballsy, but this is even worse. He’s talking about you guys moving in together and ignoring the restraining order. A lot of good that thing is doing you, by the way. I hope you’re still documenting everything.”

  “I am. He’s too obsessed with who he thinks I am.”

  “You know, you’re right,” Kay agreed.

  “He only sees me as the daughter of the extraordinary Judge John Hamilton. I don’t care about all the parties and the people in the same way Jarred cares about them. He’s using me to see what he can get from me and the people I know.”

  Elizabeth wished she’d meet someone who saw her as a singular person and not a piece of the Hamilton family and fortune. Her brothers had the same problem with women chasing after them for their money and social standing, but it never seemed to get them down like it did her.

  “I always wondered if you realized those men were using you. You seemed so detached and hardly ever dated them for more than a month or so. It must be difficult. I’m sure you’d like to have someone in your life who really loves you for you.”

  Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh. “Now that would be a truly remarkable man to take me on and not notice my family.”

  “Maybe you should stay with your parents for a while. Put some distance between you and Jarred. All that security at the Hamilton Mansion will keep him away. He obviously can’t take a hint—or a restraining order,” Kay added, as exasperated as Elizabeth.

  “I’m not involving my parents. It makes me so angry. He thinks he can walk into the shop and bother my employees. He knew I wasn’t there because my car wasn’t out back. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  “Let’s go out this weekend and have some fun. Maybe you’ll meet a really great guy who can kick his ass the next time he tries to bother you. I know, we’ll go to some cop bar and find you a hot cop to date. That would be the perfect solution.”

  Elizabeth laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm. “I don’t need another guy. I need Jarred to stop dogging me. His behavior is so weird lately. I’m starting to wonder if he’ll try to harm me. I keep getting crank calls with UNKNOWN CALLER on the ID. The other day I could have sworn someone had been in my house, even though nothing was out of place or missing. I’m afraid of my own shadow when I’m alone.”

  �
�You better be careful. We’ve all seen news reports about some jilted boyfriend or husband who goes after the woman and ends up killing her. I don’t want to see that happen to you.” Deep concern laced Kay’s voice, sending a chill down Elizabeth’s spine.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. He better not show up on my doorstep with his bags packed,” Elizabeth said, jabbing the spoon into the dough bowl again.

  “You need a big, mean-looking dog. A Rottweiler would do the trick.”

  “I don’t think the Muffin Man would like a dog. He’s very happy being the only man in my life.”

  “There’s something wrong with that cat. He hates everybody and either runs and hides, or hisses at you the whole time.”

  “He doesn’t like people invading his space. Siamese are temperamental.”

  “I’ll give you the mental part,” Kay said with a laugh. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Baking cookies for the children’s hospital.”

  “Right. What else have you made?”

  Baking as an emotional escape sometimes had a downside. Half the time, Elizabeth lost herself in the process. Hours later, she’d find herself buried under mounds of cakes, pies, and cookies.

  “Peach pie, some berry tarts,” she confessed. “Come over. We’ll have a sleepover and eat ourselves into a sugar coma.”

  “How many pies and tarts did you make?”

  Elizabeth smiled and mentally tallied the confections around her. She’d gone seriously overboard, but the food would never go to waste. She’d take them to the local homeless shelter tomorrow. People from all over the city lined up at her shop to sample her fare. They’d be jealous if they found out she gave her goods away for free.

  “I baked six pies and three dozen tarts,” Elizabeth said, thinking a piece of pie and some vanilla bean ice cream was just what the doctor ordered.

  “Good God. Are the extras for the shop tomorrow?”