* * * *
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Paul mentally repeated his mantra a few more times for good measure. Then his heart nearly broke when he realized Kat couldn’t get her panties off. When he’d walked into that exam room back at the hospital and seen her, he’d wanted to beat his chest in rage. He’d failed to protect his woman, and she’d been hurt because of it.
Remembering that moment eliminated his doubts. Yeah, he could do this.
“Here, angel. Let me.” Wes knelt behind her and very gently pulled the small scrap of satin down her legs. Paul stepped forward and offered her his hands. She grasped them and then sighed when she realized she could balance on one foot with his help.
Once she was completely naked, he drew her into the shower. “Is this too hot?”
“God no, it’s perfect.”
Paul managed a smile. “It is. We all like really hot showers, it would seem.”
“I really wish we were doing this under different circumstances.”
“We will. Now close your eyes and tilt your head back so I can wash your hair. I’ll be careful.”
He was as gentle as he knew how to be, working the shampoo into her hair. As soon as she’d tipped her head back, he saw the dried blood along her hairline. The bandage she had on her cut—it had taken a couple of stitches—was waterproof. If necessary, they could replace it. They not only knew how they had all the proper supplies. That comes from having two uncles and two cousins who are doctors.
“That feels so good.”
“I’m glad.”
“Kat? Don’t freak. I’m going to bathe you, now.”
“Okay.”
Paul understood that Wesley was as determined as he to behave as a complete gentleman—which was why his brother was using a washcloth for the task and not his hands.
He didn’t smirk at the fierce expression on his brother’s face, either. Wes wore a look that told him control was hard won. Hard.
Clearly it was time to start trying to conjugate French verbs.
Instead of that whimsical—or perhaps desperate—idea, Paul focused on his task. He rinsed out the shampoo and then worked conditioner into Kat’s hair. He kept his touch light and thought about what his woman had been through earlier. He thought about the fear she must have felt when she’d realized she’d been ambushed, when she knew she couldn’t get away from her attackers.
He and Wesley had already shown their appreciation to the bartender, the man who’d heard Kat’s scream and come running. If not for him....
Paul let that thought go, too, because he needed, for now, to banish the fury. Not for anything would he let that dark emotion touch their Katrina.
She’d been hurt enough.
He rinsed Kat’s hair and then handed the shower wand to Wes. It was difficult keeping his focus off her gorgeous body. But all he had to do was look on the bruises and chivalry became much easier.
“Let us lift you into the Jacuzzi,” Paul said.
“I don’t like feeling incapacitated.” Kat shook her head and then closed her eyes for a moment.
That action told him her headache was bothering her. “It’s only temporary, Kitty-Kat.” Paul placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “I was in a car accident a few years ago. I know it’s not the same as what you’ve gone through, but I was banged up and bruised pretty badly. The second and third days were worse than the day of, but then it got better. I’m sorry, but it’s likely going to be that way for you, too.”
“That’s what the doctor said.” Kat’s quiet agreement hurt him. Her emotions had been battered as surely as her body had been.
Lucas came into the bathroom and, like he and Wes, wore his bathing suit. Paul took Kat’s hand and led her to the hot tub. Lucas lifted her and handed her over to Wesley who was already in the water. The jets were working, and Paul watched her as Wes lowered them both into the froth.
“Oh, that feels good.” She closed her eyes as if savoring the heat.
Paul grinned and got into the tub and sat on Wes’s left. Together they helped her move to the bench between them.
Lucas got into the tub and sat across from them. “I talked to Robert,” he said. “He thought the hot tub would be good, but not for too long.”
“Robert?” Kat looked at Luc and then Wes, but she turned to Paul for the answer.
“Dr. Robert Jessop, our cousin. He and his brother David are the doctors in charge at the clinic in Lusty. Their fathers—our uncles Adam and James, also doctors—are semi-retired but can sometimes be found there, too.”
“Four doctors Jessop? That must be confusing.”
“A little,” Paul said.
“Robbie was a trauma surgeon for a number of years at an inner-city hospital in Chicago. We decided to contact him,” Lucas said, “not because we didn’t trust Dr. Pawley, necessarily.” He stopped and smiled.
“But you trust your cousin more,” Kat said.
“Exactly.”
“I appreciate that you came when I called and that you’re taking care of me. It’s a lot to ask of you when we’re just getting to know each other. Thank you.”
“No. Thank you for calling Lucas.”
She tilted her head. “It really didn’t make either of you jealous that it was Lucas I called?”
“Nope.” Paul met her gaze and let her look her fill. She was smart and intuitive, and he knew she had good people sense. She would see the truth of his words in his eyes. “We know that the concept of a ménage is one that some women have fantasized about, but not necessarily actually considered pursuing. We also know it’s something you have to really want. We know two things. We want it—and we want it with you.”
“We grew up in Lusty, angel,” Wes said. “We’ve seen this lifestyle all our lives. Lived it, really, with two fathers. Celebrated it every time one of our cousins—or siblings—had Commitment Ceremonies of their own.”
“Babe, we’ve always known this was what we wanted, and we’re not going to lie to you. We’ve shared a couple of women—women who really were only interested in the experience to see if it matched their fantasies. And we know this is going to scare you, but we really want to be completely honest with you.”
Paul figured it was better to just get it out there. So when she turned to him, which he knew she would, he nodded. “When we met you, we knew, in that first few minutes, that you were the one we’d been waiting for.”
Chapter 8
“Well?”
“You need to cool your jets. I’m handling it.”
“Cool my jets? I’m in here, aren’t I? Fucking bitch. Damn fucking bitch. Eight years. I built a life. I was careful. Then what happens?”
Booker James sat back and let his gaze wander the room. There were two doors—one for visitors and one for the inmates. Around the room, several very burly prison guards stood against the walls, looking bad-ass and vigilant. They were far enough away that they shouldn’t be able to overhear the conversations, if those conversations were kept low.
Booker didn’t trust anyone, including the authorities. Everyone knew the government tracked Mr. and Mrs. Innocent American’s cell phone calls, texts, and instant messages on line. How much more likely were they to have this place under audio surveillance?
Booker sure as hell wouldn’t bet against it.
“I’m doing all I can to investigate the situation. You can rest assured that, as your attorney, I will work to the fullest extent possible to see that you get justice.”
Of course, Booker was more than an attorney, and they both knew it. So far, he’d been able to operate without drawing any suspicion to himself whatsoever. This client was the first one he really worried about having too big a mouth. If the man started getting lippy, he’d throw him under the next bus.
The man across the table from him mimicked his pose, sitting back. He cocked his head to the side. “She’s such a treacherous and greedy bitch. I can’t help but wonder...who else is on her radar? I mean, if s
he knew about me, and where I was, who else does she have the goods on? Clearly, she’s after as much money as she can get. I’m just a small fish in a big pond. I was only the appetizer. Probably the only reason she nabbed me was she was looking at a bigger fish and she found me along the way. At least, that certainly was the impression she gave me at the time.”
The man’s message couldn’t have been clearer. Booker decided to give another twist to the meaning of his words, for appearances’ sake. “Just because she took advantage of that old reward posting doesn’t mean she did anything wrong. We are going through all the proper channels and checking everything twice. In the meantime, while you did skip out on your original charges all those years ago, you’ve been a model citizen since. I have an associate in California, who is, even as we speak, gathering evidence to that effect.”
His associate in California was gathering evidence. He was digging into the life and times of Katrina Lawson, bounty hunter. But that had nothing whatsoever to do with this asshole sitting on the other side of the table.
Booker kept his words cautious and his senses open.
“Do you think that makes a difference? That I kept my nose clean all this time?”
Booker read the hope and didn’t bother to quash it. The man sitting across from him had one of two possible fates awaiting him.
Either he served out his original sentence—a very long one— with added time for running and got out of prison a much older man. Or he would meet with an unfortunate accident right here behind bars.
And who would be surprised? Fuck, there are criminals in here—murderers, even.
“I think it’s something. Be assured, if there’s news, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Yeah, okay.” The man looked around at his surroundings—his new reality. “Guess I just have to be patient.” Then he met Booker’s gaze. “And we can both hope that you come through. Because the alternative, if you don’t, doesn’t bear thinking about. Not for any of us.”
The little pecker had just threatened him—and not only him, but Booker’s real client, too.
“No,” Booker agreed, as if the little asshole had just been referring to his own fate. “No, it doesn’t.”
Booker signaled one of the guards. A big man stepped forward and put a hand on Larry Borden’s shoulder. Borden got up and shuffled off toward the door that would lead him back to his cage. His gait, halting, was accompanied by the sound of the chains he wore on his ankles, clanging and clunking. Only when the door closed and Borden was out of sight did Booker get to his feet.
He submitted to the same kind of search as he’d endured before being granted access to his “client.” Minutes later he stepped out of the facility. He hunched into his coat, a reaction to the Colorado cold. Spring hadn’t arrived yet, but it couldn’t come soon enough for Booker James.
A black limousine pulled up to the curb, and he got into the back.
“Well?”
Booker absolutely did not betray his humor. No one could deny the man sitting beside him was several evolutionary steps above the one he’d just left. Yet their first words of greeting, wrapped in a similar narcissistic impatience, had been identical.
His answers were not.
“Little prick threatened you. Hinted he’d be happy to wait for me to get him out on some sort of a technicality. He really believes the bounty hunter violated his constitutional rights.”
“And what do you have on her?”
“Nothing. There’s no evidence that she knows anything about you or your organization—even though that was exactly what Borden just hinted at.”
“What do you think?”
Booker felt edgy. His instincts were screaming. He’d gotten by all this time, not a whiff of impropriety, by listening to his instincts. And right now, his instincts were telling him that, although he didn’t believe for one minute that Katrina Lawson knew a damn thing, he couldn’t say that to this man. This man was as paranoid as they came. Protesting the innocence of collateral like Katrina Lawson could quite possibly put him on this man’s short list. “Sir, I was thinking of getting the letters CYA tattooed onto my ass.”
The man beside him snorted. “All right, then. I’ll send you the contact number of someone who’s ready to handle the situation in California. You deal with that, and I’ll take care of the mess here.”
“Yes, sir.” He already has an assassin lined up. Booker worked hard at hiding the chill he felt rushing through him.
“Let’s not waste too much time,” his boss said. “I want to put all this behind me, the sooner, the better.”
“Yes, sir.” Booker wouldn’t tell his boss that his man in LA had temporarily lost track of Lawson. He’d gone ahead and hired more muscle, discreet and well-disciplined men, each assigned to a member of her family. His man reported that she’d been hurt and taken to the ER earlier that day. And while she’d been discharged, he doubted twenty-four hours would pass before one of her relatives led his people straight to her. Booker James had complete confidence in the men he’d hired. They’d find her soon enough.
He hoped Katrina Lawson had her affairs in order.
* * * *
“Damn it, I never even considered that they’d trash my office, too.”
Kat rented a small space inside one of the office buildings close to the courthouse. It was expensive but necessary. She got a fair bit of steady work from the bail bondsmen whose offices were also in the area. And while she loved the occasional out-of-state assignment because they generally were the cases that paid the most, she paid attention to what she called her bread-and-butter jobs—those idiots who thought they could skip on their bail.
“You’ve got a concussion, Katrina. Not the best condition for being able to think clearly,” Detective Travis Bannister said.
Travis had arrived a few minutes before, but he hadn’t come alone. He’d brought her brother Eric with him—something that, as far as she was concerned, crossed a line.
To say Officer Eric Lawson was unhappy with the situation would be an understatement. He was pacing, shooting threatening glares at the Jessops, unhappy glances at her, and furious looks at his fellow cop and best friend, Travis, likely because Travis hadn’t called him first thing when he’d heard Kat had been hurt.
Kat ignored her brother. “Concussed or not, I still should have considered that someone would toss my office, especially if they’d gone to the trouble to do the same to my apartment.”
“You’re coming home with me, Katrina. Sandy and I can take care of you. We have that spare bedroom you can use.”
“I’m not going to your home, Eric. Or Mom and Dad’s or Laura’s, either.” Not that her sister would ever offer. It took some effort for Kat to tamp down her annoyance. “I appreciate that you want to help.”
“Damn it to hell. Of course I want to help! You’re my sister!”
Kat ignored his outburst. “But I’m going to stay right here—just for a couple of days until I get my feet back under me.” And the starch back in my spine. She still felt shaky as hell. “Then I’ll go back home, to my apartment.”
“I have some pictures of your apartment and your office.” Travis had also brought her suitcase, something for which she was very grateful. She liked hanging out in the guys’ robes and shirts and track pants, but she needed her own stuff.
Travis handed over his tablet, and Kat spent the next few minutes looking at her formerly pristine and well-ordered home. She went through the photos of her apartment three times, not at all concerned that Paul and Wesley, who flanked her, and Lucas, who stood behind her, were looking as well.
“Did your guys pull any prints?”
“Forensics got lots, and all of them yours. Any belonging to anyone else? Not so far. I guess you don’t entertain much.”
Kat ignored that comment, too. She went through the apartment pictures one more time. The office ones were just as disturbing. A few file cabinets had been left open, the papers in the files on her desk clearly
rifled.
She had a really bad feeling about that. “I don’t think this was done by those punks who attacked me. Whoever did this was looking for something.”
“No, they were probably just pissed they got interrupted turning your face to hamburger,” her brother said, “and decided to take it out on you by destroying your stuff.”
Paul reached for the tablet and went through her pictures. “They didn’t shred her clothes. They didn’t even dump the drawers out of her dresser. They didn’t hide that they were there because they ripped into the furniture cushions and emptied the freezer of the fridge and the kitchen cupboards, two very common household hiding places.” Paul looked up at Travis. “I agree with Kat.”
“I don’t want to agree with her,” Travis said, “because that points to two different assailants, and that makes my job a hundred times more difficult.”
“You know, none of this would have happened if you’d chosen a proper career.”
Kat tensed in response to her brother’s barb.
“Relax, sweetheart.” Paul gently lifted her onto his lap so that her back rested against his chest and put his arms around her. “Your brother’s just really upset and worried about you. He doesn’t mean to be so insulting.”
“Yeah, actually, he does. Trust me on this.” It was the same theme her brother had been harping on since she’d decided to become a fugitive recovery agent.
“Now, babe,” Lucas said, “you have to understand, it’s a guy thing. We’re scared and upset because someone we care about has been hurt. We can’t lash out at the assholes who hurt our loved one, so we lash out at our loved one, instead.”
Kat felt her lips wanting to smile. “Um, you three are guys, and that sure as hell hasn’t been how you’ve treated me since I called you to come to the ER earlier today.”
“Angel, you’ve met our mother, right?” Wesley was grinning at her.
“Can you imagine that we’d still be walking this earth with our heads still attached to our bodies if we had developed and then kept that kind of asinine attitude toward women?”
Love Under Three Valentinos [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 8
