“What the hell, lady!”
Stunned but not hurt, Jake straddled her, caught both her wrists, and pinned them to the bed.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard,” she shrieked.
“Easy, Ms. Reardon, relax.”
Her arms went limp and she shuddered. Tears wet her cheeks. “What did you do to me?”
“Do? I didn’t do anything. You fainted.”
Eyes filled with distrust glared at him. Without warning, her knee came up hard between his legs. He collapsed on top of her and she went still.
“Fuck! What’s wrong with you?”
“Please, don’t…hurt me,” she cried against his chest.
Straining to ignore the blinding pain in his crotch, Jake confined her beneath him. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the name of her fear registered. Rape.
“Easy, now. Easy. Nothing bad is going to happen,” he said gently. He raised his body slightly so he could see her face. “Look at me, Ms. Reardon. Please.” Her eyes stayed tightly shut. “I’ll move once you understand that you’re safe.” He hesitated. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her eyes opened. Although brimming with tears, they shone with determination. “Get off me, Mr. Stone.”
Jake pushed himself up and swung his feet onto the floor. “Can I get you anything?”
“If you would kindly give me some privacy for a few minutes.” She turned her flushed face away. “Then I’ll be leaving.”
“Okay. I’ll be downstairs.”
Jake pulled the bedroom doors shut as he left. He stood for a moment with his hands on the doorknobs. What the hell had just happened?
He slammed his fist into his other palm repeatedly as he hurried down the stairs and headed to the kitchen. His plan was at risk. How was he going to salvage this snafu?
He directed his anger inward. Yes, Angela Reardon had betrayed her country, but Jake was furious with himself for letting the Contractor convince him to make the deal to kill her. Earlier, sex had helped relieve what several days of self-loathing had done to his body. But the sources of the tension were still coiled inside him. Resentment at being coerced out of retirement. Anger at having chosen the immoral profession in the first place. And frustration at having to kill a woman.
The last reason was definitely not the least.
Standing in front of the security system console, Jake shook his head at the mess the morning had become. He wasn’t sure yet how to clean it up, but he knew the first step was to prevent Angela Reardon from leaving. And damn, he’d have to play nice with the traitor.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Angela set the weighty decorator samples on the foyer floor. Her throat tight and her face still warm, she glanced around but saw no sign of Jake Stone as she reached for the front door handle. Thank goodness. When she turned the ornate knob, a chime sounded somewhere in the house. But the door didn’t open. She twisted harder and yanked. Nothing happened except another chime. What’s going on?
“My bad,” a voice said from across the foyer behind her. “The security system is on.”
A lead weight fell in Angela’s stomach. She released the knob and turned warily to face Jake. “The security system locks the doors so you can’t get out?”
“It’s specially designed.”
“Specially designed? It’s probably a violation of several fire safety building codes.”
“You’re right. I confess. I wired it myself.”
“Why would anyone want to lock himself in or imprison his guests?” she asked, her voice oddly high-pitched.
Jake chuckled. “My office is down that hall.” He pointed across the foyer. “I occasionally do interrogations here, and I must have control. You’d be surprised at the potential scenarios when I might want to prevent someone from leaving.”
“Like now?”
“No, Ms. Reardon. You’re not my prisoner.” He smiled and held up two glasses. “I made us something to drink. I mix a mean Bloody Mary, and I figure we could both use one right about now.”
Angela swallowed hard. She wanted to escape and to never see this man again. No amount of decorating fees would compensate for the emotional distress she would suffer at having to face him after what had happened upstairs. The sooner she put the incident behind her and moved on, the better. Just another scar to add to the others she had suffered since the…
“It’s really nice outside. Why don’t we take our drinks out by the pool?” he coaxed.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Stone, but I want to leave. I’ll send you some referrals for other excellent interior decorators in San Diego County. Now, if you’ll unlock the door—”
“I don’t want anyone else.” He casually leaned against the wall and crossed his ankles. “You’re the best, or so I’ve read. I was looking forward to learning more about Angela Reardon’s design-your-own-heaven philosophy.”
A smile came uninvited to her lips. “You did your homework.”
“I’m a security expert and PI, Ms. Reardon. Homework is a significant part of what I do for a living. The article about you in San Diego Woman Magazine was extremely complimentary.”
“Thank you. The editor was quite kind.”
“Please,” he said, raising the glasses. Serious gray eyes locked onto hers. “We got off to a rocky start this morning. I take full blame for being an ass.” A sheepish grin softened his face. “I’d like to start over.”
Angela studied the man. How odd—or cunning—for him to take responsibility. His actions had certainly been the trigger, but he’d had no reason to anticipate her violent reaction. No one would. Only a handful of people knew about her past. That was the way she wanted it, needed it.
She averted her eyes. Tension and embarrassment still swirled inside, but no terror. The weight in her stomach lightened. I can do this. Clinging to a slender thread of composure, she met his penetrating gaze with courage.
“Fine, Mr. Stone. The Bloody Mary…sounds delicious.” She bent to pick up the decorator samples.
“Why don’t you leave those things there? Let’s just talk.” He paused and then added, “Mr. Stone lives in Chicago. I’m Jake.”
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Excerpt from Deadly Deception
Chapter 1
Her ten-year-old Buick died on the shoulder of the rural road with a bone-rattling shudder and a belch of smoke.
Molly Freeman smacked the steering wheel. “Couldn’t you last one more mile to get me home, you darn bucket of nuts and bolts?”
She massaged her temples. What a lousy day. First, the disturbing call with her troubled son had started the day on a sour note. And now her entire afternoon of errands had come to a screeching halt on a deserted road. If only she’d come straight home after the car sputtered to a stop when she’d left the beauty shop in town. But no, she’d swung by the dry cleaners to pick up Jessica’s clothes. Once a mother, always a mother, even if her daughter was twenty-nine years old.
Molly drew a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. Crossing her fingers, she turned the key while saying a silent prayer for a miracle. No such luck. No click. No chugga-chugga. No nothing. She tried a second and third time but not one encouraging sound came from under the hood.
“Well, damn.” She reached into her purse for her cell phone and hoped her husband wasn’t napping. Hal was babysitting Callie, their four-year-old granddaughter, and he often slept when she did in the afternoon.
Molly tapped her foot as the house phone rang until the answering machine picked up.
“Hey, Hal, you there? The car died. Can you come get me?” She waited several seconds. “Hal? Answer the phone!” She hung her head and sighed. “Okay. I’m on Wheaton, probably a little over a mile from home. I’m going to start walking in ten minutes. Call me if you get this message.”
She dropped the phone back into her purse. Closing her eyes, she pressed her head
against the headrest and forced herself to relax.
Relaxation was scarce these days. There always seemed to be more stress and even more work to do. Since Jessica had moved in after her divorce was final six months ago, the commotion of two extra people in the house, one of them a mischievous munchkin, was taking its toll. She loved her daughter and granddaughter, and she would never have turned Jessica down when she asked about living with her and Hal temporarily. Temporarily being the most important word.
Molly opened her eyes and checked her watch. Fifteen minutes had passed with no call from Hal, and she certainly didn’t want to bother anyone else just to avoid the twenty-minute walk. Besides, the exercise would be good for her.
Leaving Jessica’s dry cleaning hanging in the backseat, she locked the car and began her hike. Since there were only two other houses in the area, and one of those was her son’s, she didn’t have much hope of catching a ride with a neighbor. But her spirits lifted as she scanned the cloudless, late September sky. Nonresidents might make fun of California for being the “cereal land, full of fruits, nuts, and flakes,” but the weather was heavenly.
She worked up a bit of a sweat by the time she reached her house. As she’d expected, not a single vehicle had driven by. After trudging through the back door, she dropped her purse on the kitchen table. The blinking light on the answering machine caught her eye. Apparently, Hal had never gotten her message.
She listened for snoring coming from the living room, but the house was silent. So silent, in fact, that the tick of the kitchen clock, which read almost two, seemed oddly loud.
Peeking into the living room, she confirmed her husband wasn’t asleep in his recliner. She hurried down the hall to the master bedroom and found an empty bed. Smiling, she quietly opened the door to Callie’s bedroom but didn’t find Hal or her granddaughter.
Shaking her head and frowning, Molly retraced her steps to the kitchen. Heaven help them all if Hal let Callie skip her nap. Those two hours of midday rest kept the munchkin from morphing into a monster by dinnertime.
With her hands braced on the edge of the counter, Molly leaned over the sink and surveyed the backyard through the kitchen window. She squinted at their huge garden, trying to spot the missing twosome among the long rows of vegetables. Not a soul in sight. She shifted her gaze to the grove of fruit trees. Still no one.
She huffed and headed out the back door. Beneath her irritation, a tiny seed of worry sprouted.
“Hal! Callie! Where are you?”
No answer.
Bracing her hands on her hips, she scanned the property, her gaze lingering on the three-part outbuilding beyond the gravel driveway. Hal usually parked his old truck in the double garage at one end. The middle section was his workshop, where he and Callie had built a birdhouse last week. The slightly lopsided structure now hung in the same tree with the birdhouse Hal had built with Jessica many years ago when he was getting acquainted with his new stepdaughter. Bless his heart, he’d worked so hard to be a great stepdad to both of Molly’s kids after her first husband died in a car accident, and now he was trying just as hard to be an awesome granddad.
The unlit red lightbulb over the door of the last section of the outbuilding served as a warning that it was a darkroom. Before Hal had converted his photography business to digital ten years ago, he’d spent hours and hours in there developing film. Fully committed to the changing technology, he’d even taken the time to digitize all his old negatives. So now the space was unused. And always locked.
Unfortunately, no sounds or signs of the missing duo came from any portion of the building.
Molly stomped across the sparse grass of the backyard to the edge of the garden and turned left. She peered into the little forest of eucalyptus trees but saw no figures and heard no voices. She grinned. When Callie was around, her sweet little voice could always be heard because she was a chatterbox.
“Hal! Callie!” Molly’s smile faded, and her forehead creased with growing concern. Where are they?
She crossed the yard again, but instead of going toward the house, she aimed for the barn. It was a miniature version, but it provided plenty of space for all the supplies and equipment needed to maintain their garden and fruit trees. There was even enough room for Hal to park his small tractor.
As Molly neared the barn, she wrinkled her nose. Over half the load of manure that had been delivered last weekend was still piled in front. Her husband was as far behind on his outdoor chores as she was on her indoor ones because taking care of Callie consumed so much of their time and energy. Wonderful time, well spent, obviously, but still, the chores didn’t do themselves.
She opened one of the heavy wooden doors and peered into the darkness. The smells of the packed dirt floor, bags of fertilizer, and gasoline greeted her.
“Callie? Hal?”
After her eyes adjusted to the dark, she scanned the space. No sign of any activity. When her gaze fell on the tractor, she smiled at the thought of Callie’s delight when allowed to ride with her grandpa. Just like Jessica had loved it when she was Callie’s age. Molly pulled the door shut and latched it securely. The barn held too many dangers for her inquisitive granddaughter.
When she turned around, a brilliant ray of sunlight blinded her like a laser. In that nanosecond of sightlessness, a nauseating sense of déjà vu enveloped her. Memories from two decades ago of another sunny day, a horrible life-changing day, filled her mind.
Gasping and blinking, she dropped to her knees and stared at the outbuilding. She shook her head as if she could dispel the terrible thoughts. Her heart pounded painfully, and she struggled to breathe. No, no, dear God, not again.
* * *
Jessica Hargrove parked her Camry in the driveway of her parents’ house. The modest, single-story residence had been her childhood home, and the building was showing its age. If only she had the energy or money to help with a rejuvenating face-lift, but she didn’t. Like so many things these days, painting and repairs would have to wait for better times.
She pasted on a smile to cover the exhaustion of a draining day. In addition to the stress of her new job in San Diego, she’d spent a tension-packed lunch hour talking to her attorney about options to make Drake pay the alimony and child support he’d agreed to in the divorce settlement. For the thousandth time, she wondered how she could’ve ever married such a jerk. Sadly, she’d been asking the same question since the day after their wedding. And even worse, she was in denial about the answer.
Drake’s refusal to honor his financial commitment had forced Jessie to move back in with her parents, a real blow to her independent nature. Understanding her humiliation, her mom and stepdad were adamant that she save every penny possible so she could afford a place of her own sooner rather than later. But she knew supporting a household of four was putting a real strain on their finances. Although she insisted on paying half the grocery bills, her parents were making sacrifices, such as delaying the purchase of a new car for her mom.
As Jessie strolled toward the back of the house, she sniffed the air, but her nose wasn’t treated to the usual mouthwatering aromas from her mother’s cooking. Most of the time, she could guess the dinner menu from the fabulous smells. Maybe they were having sandwiches or chicken Caesar salad tonight instead of a hot meal. Her stomach rumbled with hungry anticipation.
Nearing the back door, Jessie smiled at the tricycle sitting on the patio. The pink and purple Big Wheel had been hers, and now her daughter loved it, too. Callie didn’t seem to care that the My Little Pony decals had all but disappeared. A mental video of Jessie racing her brother—Nate madly pedaling his Smurf Big Wheel—made her sigh with fondness for a simpler, happier time, a time long before her problems and Nate’s had begun.
A warm breeze blew a strong, unpleasant odor toward the house. Jessie pinched her nose and shot a disgusted glance toward the barn. Her stepdad’s tractor sat next to a mountain of manure. Hopefully Callie had not been helping him with the chore of spreading it
in the garden, for the little tomboy would surely have ended up with some of it in her hair and elsewhere.
Groaning at the prospect of a shampoo battle, Jessie stepped into the house and stopped abruptly. Her gaze swept across the kitchen. The usually bright, noisy room was shadowy and silent. Not only was nothing cooking on the stove, but her mother wasn’t even in sight. No loving smile or cheery hello greeted her. She frowned as an odd sensation of foreboding gripped her for a moment before she shook it off as ridiculous. A simple change in routine didn’t signal anything ominous.
But something else wasn’t right. Where is Callie? Her little girl always watched for her mommy from the living room window and dashed to meet her with a huge hug at the kitchen door. Jessie’s breath hitched, and she set her feet in motion.
“Callie? Mom?” she called, crossing the kitchen almost at a run.
Hal’s snoring brought her up short as she rounded the corner into the living room where he was stretched out in his recliner. She slumped against the doorframe with relief. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a mental shake. Whatever had come over her to react in such a ridiculous manner? Things might be off schedule, but nothing was wrong.
She straightened and walked to the recliner. “Dad.” She touched his shoulder. “Dad.”
He grunted, coughed, and opened his eyes. “Huh?”
She chuckled. “Callie wore you out again?”
He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, right.”
“Did she go with Mom to pick up some fast food for dinner?”
Hal blinked and yawned, struggling to wake up. “Uh, no. Callie’s napping.”
“Napping?” Jessie checked her watch. “It’s almost six. Good grief. We’ll never get her back to sleep by eight.” She headed toward the hallway, stopped, and looked back over her shoulder. “Where’s Mom?”
Only Obsession (Rogue Security Book 3) Page 30
