BENEATH THE SILK

by Wendy Rosnau

  Jackson turned to Joe. "The time frame is too tight for Stud to have dropped Sunni off somewhere before he picked up Hank. She's still at Tom's house somewhere, or here."

  "Gates only saw two people in the car, Jacky."

  "I've been with Stud the entire time since he picked me up." Hank groaned again as Jackson and Joey helped him stand. "Maybe the trunk of the car, but don't waste time searching anywhere else around here."

  Anxious at the possibility that Sunni could be close by, Jackson grabbed the silk blouse from the box and raced up the stairs. As he left the house he heard Mac barking. Relieved that the dog might be able to offer him some help, he jogged to the car and opened the door. When Mac jumped out, he let the dog sniff Sunni's blouse. "Find her, boy. Find Sis."

  They searched Stud's car but they came up with nothing. When Joe showed up on the porch, Jackson said, "We're headed back to Tom's house. Call me if you think of anything, or if Stud comes wound and you can get him to talk. I'll call if I locate her."

  The closer they got to Tom Mallory's house, the more agitated Mac became. Hopeful, Jackson pulled up fast, leaned over and popped the passenger door to let Mac out. The dog bolted from the car and in a flash he was dropping his nose to the ground.

  While Mac skirted the house, Jackson grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment and followed him to a toolshed. The dog tore into the wooden door with no hesitation—sore mouth and a dozen-plus stitches didn't slow him down one bit.

  Jackson pulled his .38, called Mac off, then shot the padlock off the door. Swinging it wide, Mac dove in first.

  Along one wall was a built-in storage box with a hinged top. Mac was already attacking the box before Jackson reached it. Quickly, he tossed the lid up and sent the light beaming into the box.

  The sight of Sunni bound and gagged inside twisted Jackson's gut. But there was no time for guilt, or emotion of any kind, as he saw her chest slowly moving up and down, only action.

  "You'll be all right," he promised, then lifted her out of the box and gently laid her down. Working fast, every second critical, he pulled a narrow box from his shirt pocket with a syringe taped on top and went through the steps to prepare the emergency injection of glucagon he'd picked up last night before leaving the hospital. "This will fix you up, Sis," he guaranteed. "Then I'll get you in the house and warm you up."

  She was semiconscious, her eyes open, and yet she wasn't with him. Jackson recognized the empty look. He'd seen it a hundred times in his father's eyes. Only today he wasn't thinking about how much he hated or feared that look, or how cheated he'd felt as a boy that Harold Ward had died too soon. No, today he was only grateful for the knowledge his father had given him, and the ability and experience to act on it in an emergency situation.

  So on instinct, with steady hands—and Mac hovering close by—he pinched a thin layer of Sunni's abdomen and injected the hormone he knew would save her life.

  * * *

  Stud Williams was arrested and booked for the murder of Milo Tandi, Tom Mallory and Elizabeth Carpenter the next morning. The buzz circulating at the CPD was loud, and the name most mentioned surrounding the buzz was Jackson Ward. The story claimed the loose cannon had single-handedly brought a killer to justice, and along with his K-9 super dog, had saved his police chief#s daughter from certain death.

  The rumors made no mention of the affiliation Stud Williams had with organized crime and the Masado family, or the fact that Hank Mallory had been escorted to the hospital by a man driving a black Jag.

  No, the buzz had been all about the loose cannon, only he hadn't heard any of it. Last night, Jackson had taken a midnight flight back to New Orleans.

  As the voice grew louder from inside Clide Blais's office, the tension mounted outside in the lobby. It was a sure bet Clide was chewing tail again, slicing off ears and taking the detective standing in front of his desk off at the knees, all at the same time gripping his antacid bottle and trying to get the cap off.

  The heat inside the precinct was as insufferable as the heat outside. Today the news report was pridefully claiming the New Orleans high would reach ninety-five degrees, the humidity a suffocating eighty-nine percent.

  Leaning against the lobby's front desk, Jackson watched his boss through his office window. He'd been back in town less than a day and it felt like he'd never left. His jeans were sticking to him, and his shirt clung to his chest like a wet wash rag. Last night, as he'd left O'Hare, Chicago had clear skies and was fifty-eight degrees.

  Yeah, he'd gone and done it again. He'd pushed too hard after Sunni had surfaced from her nightmare. He'd tossed it in her face how damn vulnerable she was, then how much she needed a man around to take care of her.

  His mother had been right … again. Out of fear he'd stuck his foot in his mouth and hurt the woman he loved, instead of putting the blame squarely on his own shoulders where it belonged. The truth was, if he'd been doing his job, Sis would never have been placed in danger.

  No wonder she'd kicked his ass out of the house and her life the minute she could stand on her own two feet. Which hadn't taken all that long. The glucagon had worked like a charm, as he knew it would.

  When Clide glanced out his window, Jackson nodded. Two seconds later the young detective—minus his ears—was scrambling out of the chief's office muttering "good luck" as he hustled past the NOPD loose cannon.

  Jackson mumbled, "In this business, junior, never rely on luck. What you need is iron balls, a steel head and earplugs. And don't let anyone tell you different."

  "Ward, get in here! This ain't a social club."

  Jackson set his jaw, sauntered into his chief's office and closed the door. Stopping at the window, he eyed the crew that had suddenly congregated to watch and listen. He waved, offered a smile—which was rarely seen inside the precinct—then pulled the shade closed.

  "So tell me everything. Sunni called this morning. She told me at no time was she in any danger. But frankly, I got the feeling she was covering your ass. Why would she do that, Ward?"

  "I don't know, Chief. She say anything else?"

  "Not much." Clide lowered his voice, and Jackson got the feeling that he didn't want anyone out front to hear their conversation. "She told me she's a diabetic. Told me she'd been avoiding telling her mother and me for some time. She said you have experience with that sort of thing."

  "My father was a diabetic," Jackson offered.

  "So give me your honest opinion, Ward. Is my daughter too sick to be on her own? At the moment it don't sound like she's got a man in her life that'll take care of her."

  Jackson thought through his answer. "Your daughter is a smart woman, Chief. She's aware of the health risks she faces, and she's on top of them."

  "But?"

  "But it would be better for her if she had someone to lean on."

  "She must have friends, Ward."

  "She does."

  "But I'm right, ain't I? There's no man in her life?"

  Jackson didn't hesitate with his answer, Clide was eyeing him too closely. "No, Chief, there's no man."

  Clide leaned back in his chair and stroked the gray mustache skirting his upper lip. "Got a call from Hank Mallory. He wants you back in Chicago."

  Jackson was surprised, but he was careful not to show it.

  "He'd like you to head up his Special Investigation Unit. It would get you off the street some. And get you an office. Does the job appeal to you, Ward?"

  It appealed to him, all right. There were a dozen reasons why, and only a couple of them had to do with the job. Only he wasn't going to mention any of them to Clide. Not right now, anyway. He said, "I think I can do that job."

  "Hell, yes, you can do that job. There isn't any doubt in my mind that you're the man. The best damn man for…" Clide flushed. "Ah … I'm prepared to make good on my promise, Ward. If you want to pack your bags and head back to Chicago, then I'll get busy with the paperwork. I meant everything I said ten days ago. Rescue Sunni, and you can have whatever i
t is you want. Name it, and it's yours."

  * * *

  He came to the window late at night. He came to gaze across the alley. He came half-naked, wearing his jeans low on his marvelous hips and taunting her with the memories they had made in ten crazy, stressful, incredible days.

  That's right, two days ago Jack had moved back to Chicago. Sunni still couldn't believe it. He'd moved back without telling her, and he'd moved back into the Wilchard.

  She had called her father the minute she'd learned of it. And he'd gladly offered her the whole story. He told her that Jack had accepted a job from Hank Mallory, a promotion at the CPD.

  She should be angry, and a small part of her was—he hadn't bothered to call her or even come by to see her since he'd gotten back. But there was more going on inside her head and her heart, so much more.

  Today she'd gone to see Jack's mother, and after a long two-hour talk with Lavina Ward, she'd made a decision, a decision that had driven her into action minutes ago.

  When the knock came, Sunni was waiting at the front door. Dressed in a red silk robe and a skimpy bra and thong to match, she swung the door open with a fixed false look of surprise on her face. "Oh, it's you."

  "Oh, it's you?" He blew into the apartment with his shirttails flying, his jeans low on his hips, and no socks in his shoes. "What the hell was that just now!"

  He was talking about the fact that six minutes ago she'd flashed him—and old man Ferguson—from the terrace. She would never have done it at that precise moment if she'd known the ninety-year-old man had been stargazing out his window. But she hadn't seen him standing there until he'd waved. And, anyway, it was all Jack's fault. He'd driven her to desperate measures.

  Sunni studied his rigid stance and heavy scowl. Studied all six feet three inches of his iron will and rock-solid strength. He was possibly the strongest, most durable man she had ever met. Certainly the most unforgettable—with just one kiss, Jack Ward had forever changed her life. "What's that look for, Jack? Stub your toe on the way over here?"

  "Do you want to explain what you were doing damn near giving Crammer Ferguson a heart attack?"

  "He was smiling, Jack, not gasping and clutching his heart." On hearing Mac bark out on the terrace, Sunni headed for the slider. As he entered the living room wagging his tail, she bent down and kissed his head, then said, "I bought some entertainment for you today, sweetheart. Three hours of Westminster. The complete, unedited version."

  While Mac curled up on the sofa, Sunni popped the tape in the video recorder and turned on the TV. When she came back around, Jack was still scowling. She scowled back. "You've been living at the Wilchard for two days without saying a word, Jack. Why?"

  "It's only temporary. Until me and Mac find something more permanent."

  "That's not the point, Jack. You're back in Chicago. Why?"

  "Hank offered me a position in special investigations. Promised me my own office."

  "And that's important?"

  He shrugged, his gaze settling on the twins. Yes, she'd finally accepted the name he'd given them and actually missed hearing him call her breasts by that silly name. Which meant she was utterly and helplessly in love with this man and was no longer willing to deny it.

  She should have told him that, and more, the night he'd rescued her from the toolshed. It would have been the perfect time to let go of her fears and just curl up in his very capable arms and confess everything she was feeling. Only he'd started in on how vulnerable she was and she'd gotten so angry that she had continued on with the lie.

  "You shouldn't be out on the terrace dressed like that. This city is full of—"

  "Snakes," Sunni finished for him. "If you don't like the view maybe you should stay away from your window."

  "I never said I didn't like it. What I don't like is you giving some old guy like Crammer a turn-on."

  Her gaze traveled to Jack's crotch.

  He swore. "All right, right now I'm as hard as a steel pipe. Torturing me like this—"

  "Torturing you? And what have you been doing to me for the past two nights. Last night your jeans were unzipped and—" Sunni snapped her mouth shut.

  "And what? Come on. Say it. Admit you were watching me."

  "Okay, Jack. I was watching you."

  He started toward her.

  Sunni backed up in the direction of the hall. "I told you, Jack, I don't need a nursemaid. Or someone to brush my teeth."

  He stopped. "When I told you I loved you I wasn't offering you pity, or maid service. I was offering hot sex every night. Egg soufflé and orange juice in the morning. And company in the shower."

  "And is that offer still on the table, Jack?"

  One dark brow hiked up. "What exactly are you asking, Sis?"

  Sunni angled her head, took a minute to study his brilliant green eyes. He really didn't know, she decided. She'd told her lie too well. He had no idea how desperately she loved him. His mother was right.

  "Jack, first you need to know that I've never seduced a man in my life, in or out of the shower. And then you need to know that I went to see your mother. I like her a lot. Thirdly, you need to know that I lied."

  "Lied? Again…"

  Sunni smiled. "I figured you'd say that."

  "Well, if I think it, I—"

  "Say it. Yes, I know."

  "What did you lie about?"

  "I was afraid, Jack. That's why I told the lie, but now—"

  "Afraid of what, Sis?"

  "Afraid that someday you'd regret loving me if I told you how I really felt. I love you so much, and the thought of saddling you with a sick woman who would someday become a royal pain in your amazingly tight incredible ass… Well I—"

  "Say that again?"

  Hands on her hips, Sunni scowled at him. "You know you have an incredible ass, Jack. I'm not going to stroke your ego about something we both know is fact."

  "Not that part. There was a real nice couple of words somewhere in the middle."

  Sunni smiled. "Oh… The part where I said, I love you."

  "Yeah, that's it."

  "I do love you, Jack. I have for days. Actually, I think I fell in love with you the minute you vampired my lip."

  "So you've had me dangling on a hook for days. Is that what you're saying?"

  He started to advance on her. "Jack, don't be angry." Sunni scurried down the hall and into the bedroom. Backing up, she felt the bed behind her. "You're upset. And I guess you have a right to be."

  He didn't stop until he was inches from her, and his chest was brushing against hers. "As the old saying goes, Sis. With that little confession you're … screwed."

  "Oh… Then I'm in big trouble."

  "Yeah … you could say that." He leaned into her and brushed his lower body against her. "It looks like you've made your bed … with me in it." That said, he tumbled her onto the bed and wedged his knee between her legs. Forcing them wide, he fit himself against her.

  "Jack…"

  "Before things get any hotter, you have to know something, Sis. I was coming back. Whether I got the job or not. I was coming back."

  "Because you love me," she whispered.

  "Yes. Because I love you. And because I'm the man."

  * * *

  Hours later Jackson stood on the terrace with Sunni wrapped in a blanket curled against him. The sky was clear and there was a slight breeze. Chicago was lit up all the way to Lake Shore Drive and beyond, and from the Crown Plaza the view was spectacular.

  "Ask me again, Jack."

  He gazed down at her, unable to believe that she was in his arms. "Ask you what?"

  "You know, what you asked me when I was—"

  "Soaring, or diving?"

  "Moaning. I think I was moaning when you popped the question."

  He angled his head and looked down at her. "A man's ego is a delicate thing. If the answer is no, I don't think—"

  Sunni reached down and squeezed him through his jeans.

  He jumped. "Be careful! Wreck
me, and then where will you be?"

  "Out shopping for Super Glue, I suppose? I'm certain that's a one-of-a-kind." She sobered. "Maybe you didn't really mean it."

  "I mean everything I say, Sis. You should know that by now."

  "Then ask me again."

  "Okay." He turned her to face him. "Sis, will you marry me … and Mac?"

  "Maybe you should read my medical file first and then—"

  Jackson shook his head. "I don't need to read anything. Say yes, so we can start celebrating … again." He opened the blanket and gazed inside. "The twins look anxious."

  She went up on tiptoes and kissed him. "Oh yes, Jack. Yes, I would love to marry you."

  "Thank you, God," he sighed, then scooped her up into his arms and started back inside.

  "I can't wait to call Mom and Dad in the morning."

  Jackson headed for the shower. "Let's hold off on that for a few days, sweet thing. Just until we're sure your father's ulcer is really on the mend."

  "He's going to be so surprised."

  "He's going to be more than that, honey." He set her down in the bathroom and tugged the blanket off her.

  "A midnight shower, Jack?"

  He grinned. "About this shower, Sis. You never did say what that's all about. What's going on in there?"

  She opened the etched-glass door and turned on the water. Beautifully naked, she glanced over her satin-smooth shoulder. "A tip for the future, Jack. If you ever have questions about what's going on in our shower, all you need to do is look up. Sometimes, a picture truly is worth a thousand words."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  « ^

  Two days later Jackson found himself in Joe's office staring out the window waiting on the rain and Lucky. He'd called an hour ago and had asked Jackson to meet him in Joe's office.

  "So when's the wedding?" Joey asked.

  "We haven't pinned down the date. We still haven't called Clide."

  "Sweating what Daddy's going to say?"

  Jackson rubbed his jaw. "You don't know the half of it."