HERO Force Boxset Books 1-8

by Amy Gamet

  Now that would never happen. She had closer family she needed to protect.

  Two of her cousins had served time, one for stealing cars and the other for forgery. She grabbed her cell phone with shaking fingers. If memory served her correctly, her cousin Ricky’s crime had been making fake IDs and selling them on the Internet.

  Before that, they’d been friends. Long before. When her father was alive and well and trying to make a difference in the lives of his sister’s children, who always seemed a little too far gone to be pulled back to safety. Ricky had certainly acted like he remembered her when she ran into him at her uncle’s birthday party recently.

  She opened her contacts, scrolling for her cousin’s name, praying he would trust her enough to help her. “Ricky, it’s your cousin, Jessa McConnell.”

  He sounded pleased to hear from her, and she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I’m in trouble, really bad trouble.” She bit her lip to keep her emotions from erupting. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

  6

  Jax hated the office.

  They usually had a few days between missions to get caught up on the bullshit that needed to be done at a desk, and this time, each hour felt longer than the last. He had nothing to do but check email and think about Jessa.

  He had to let it go.

  She obviously had.

  He turned the news on a small TV in the corner of the room and leaned back in his chair, remembering.

  He’d gone to her house the day after they spent the night together, only to find a for sale sign in the yard and her cell phone disconnected.

  She’d claimed she’d been tired of packing, when really she’d been finished. He’d tried to take that as the message it was no doubt meant to be.

  I’ve moved on.

  So should you.

  He’d made the mistake of using the HERO Force computers to find out where she was. A little town just outside of Savannah, where she probably planted flowers outside her door and found a nursing job at the local hospital.

  Of course he’d gotten her number and had to call her again, his pulse hammering at the sound of her voice on her greeting. He’d left a message.

  She disconnected that cell phone the very same day.

  He was two for two, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she’d gone to such lengths rather than tell him she wasn’t interested.

  Overnight, he’d gone from a solitary man who enjoyed more than his share of female company to a goddamn loser who was stalking a one-night stand.

  He might have been okay if he could have gotten her out of his mind, but the night they’d shared together was like a recording his memory played over and over again whenever he didn’t have one hundred percent of his brain occupied. Like when he was checking email. Or — God forbid — trying to sleep.

  That was the worst — whiskey and longing forming some kind of vortex that sucked him inside and refused to let go. There was only Jessa, her body and their lovemaking, her laughter and the spark in her eyes that had first drawn him to her.

  I want you to come inside me, Jax.

  He could hear her voice, see her face as she said the words.

  Cowboy walked into Jax’s office and sat down. “Hey, chief.”

  Irritation was instantaneous. “You know how to knock, Leo?”

  Cowboy stood up, walked back outside, and knocked.

  “Go the fuck away,” said Jax.

  “That’s why I didn’t knock.” Cowboy closed the door and sat down again. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you, man?”

  “Paperwork. Office bullshit.”

  “You seem a little…what’s the word? Bastardly. Some of the guys think you’ve just become a total jackass, but I think there’s more to it.”

  “Are we having a heart-to-heart?”

  “Sort of, yeah.”

  “Get the hell out of my office.”

  “Is it Linda?”

  The mention of his ex’s name was like a shock collar on an errant dog. “Jesus, no.”

  “But it is a woman.”

  Jax scowled. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  Cowboy shrugged and smiled. “Not really.”

  “Go to the range and shoot something. We got some new assault rifles I want you fully trained on before we go wheels up again.”

  “Already on it, chief. Red thinks they’re too heavy, but I got the kill shot down.”

  “Then go do something else.”

  “Who is she? That hot little secretary who hit on you in the diner? Or the chick who lives downstairs and always wants you to give her a ride?” Cowboy pumped his hips.

  “We’re done here.”

  Cowboy was quiet for a minute. “What else could it be? Ever since you killed Steele, you’ve been acting like an asshole.”

  “Go find something to do, Cowboy.”

  “Wait a second…”

  Jax glared at him, then picked up his coffee cup and moved to leave the room. He got so far as to put his hand on the knob.

  “Is it Jessa?” asked Cowboy.

  Jax froze, his eyes focusing on the shiny metal of the door in front of him. He’d been so close to getting away from this conversation.

  Not close enough.

  “Jax, what happened when you went to her house to tell her about Steele?”

  Jax walked back to his desk. There was no point in denying it. “What do you want, Leo?”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Cowboy leaned back in his chair, holding on to the desk and balancing on the back two legs. “’Cause, you know, you don’t talk damn near enough. You should share with your friends. Get it off your chest.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “And your vocabulary could use a little work. You seem to keep using the same words over and over…”

  “I can’t find her,” said Jax. Why not tell Cowboy? What difference would it make? He tapped his pen on the desk and sighed. “She moved away and she’s not showing up in the system.”

  Cowboy slammed his chair down and stood, moving behind Jax’s desk. “Let me try. I’m good at this.”

  Jax stood reluctantly. “I know how to do it.”

  Cowboy was on the computer less than a minute. “Apparently not. She’s in Savannah.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Cowboy spun around in the chair to face him. “Come again?”

  Jesus. He’d never felt like such an idiot. “She was in Savannah, then I called her and left a message…”

  “And?”

  Jax shrugged. “And she disconnected the phone. Landlord said she left the next day.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she move again just because you called her?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you that bad in bed?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Leo.”

  Cowboy saluted. “Yes sir, mister commander man.”

  “Where the hell is she now?”

  “It might take a week or two for her to show up. She needs to register with DMV, sign up for utilities, that sort of thing.”

  “It’s already been over a month since she left Savannah.”

  “No wonder you’ve been such a dick.” Cowboy’s brows drew together. “She should be in here by now.”

  “She’s not. There’s no record of her anywhere in the country. It’s like she doesn’t exist anymore.”

  The news anchor on television filled the silence. “An identity scandal has rocked the Savannah, Georgia, morgue. Ricky Kingfisher, a clerk in the morgue records office who previously served time for forging documents, is accused of selling the identities of unclaimed bodies from the morgue and allowing the victims to be buried as John and Jane Does.”

  Jax’s eyes shot to the screen. “Jessa’s maiden name is Kingfisher.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I was at the damn wedding.”

  Cowboy stood up next to Jax. “So, Jessa Kingfisher disappeared fr
om Savannah right before Ricky Kingfisher got busted for selling new identities in the same town.”

  Jax’s spine was tingling. “No. She wouldn’t do it. She has no reason to take on a new identity.”

  “She had reason enough to move twice in two months. How do you explain that?”

  Jax cursed under his breath. He’d foolishly assumed it was because of him. “She must be in some kind of trouble.”

  “It would explain why she’s not showing up in our system.”

  “Contact the morgue,” said Jax. “Find out the names that were stolen, and we can cross-reference them in our computer. Any women in their late twenties or early thirties, we check out.”

  “Will do.” Cowboy turned to leave.

  “And Leo, thanks.”

  “You got it, chief.”

  7

  Only one of Ricky Kingfisher’s stolen identities could possibly be Jessa, and Jax was on a flight to New Jersey within hours of his talk with Cowboy to investigate the lead.

  It’s not going to be her.

  She wouldn’t do such a thing.

  He parked his rental car on the street. A few hundred feet ahead was a tiny bungalow that was rented to Maria Elena Cortez, who grew up in the Bronx, went to college at Clemson University, and recently relocated to New Jersey from Georgia.

  Trouble was, Maria Elena was dead weeks before her most recent move.

  Jessa wouldn’t do it. Some other woman will answer the door.

  He got out of his car, the tangy smell of saltwater on the air. According to the morgue records confiscated by police, Maria Elena had been killed by an attacker in her apartment. With no next of kin, thieves in the Savannah morgue sold her identity to someone else and buried Maria in Potter’s Field as a Jane Doe.

  Jessa is not a criminal. She has no reason to buy someone else’s identity.

  Acid churned in Jax’s stomach. He’d looked up Ricky Kingfisher and confirmed he was Jessa’s first cousin. That was when his ulcer flared up. It was more than a coincidence that Jessa was missing and her cousin—who lived in the same town—was in the business of making people disappear.

  Doubting Jessa made him think of his ex-wife. Jax knew what it felt like to find the person you thought you knew was actually a deceitful liar. He mentally chastised himself for grouping Jessa and Linda together and sincerely hoped the association was unjustified.

  The white bungalow was nestled between a larger beach house on one side and a condominium complex on the other. The bungalow didn’t belong here, standing out like Cinderella would have at the ball without the help of her fairy godmother, but parts of the Jersey Shore were like that.

  He squinted against the sun to get a better view. There, along the edges of a small porch, were planters full of pink and purple flowers.

  He cursed colorfully, even as a trace of excitement laced his fury.

  Jessa was in there.

  She was in trouble. She must be.

  What could be so bad that she would take on another woman’s identity?

  He knocked on the door, chastising the part of himself that was excited and raw. He was here because she was in trouble. He would not make this about the two of them and one night of mind-bending sex unless it was clear that was what she wanted, too.

  8

  He peered inside. She didn’t appear to be home.

  The squawk of a seagull made him turn his head. There, just a few hundred feet away, was the public beach access point, and he was drawn to it — whether to look for Jessa or for his own peace of mind, he didn’t know.

  The first thing he saw as he crested the dunes was her long black hair blowing in the breeze.

  His gut clenched.

  Even from this distance he knew it was her. The surf grew louder as he approached its boundaries, the smell of the ocean heavy on the cool air. A smattering of people roamed the edge of the water, but his eyes were trained on Jessa as she stretched toward the sky with languid grace. She was a goddess, Venus herself, and he was drawn to her even as he hated himself for it.

  He was close enough now to touch her and he reached out, the tendrils of her hair whipping his fingers. He let his hand drop. “Jessa.”

  She spun around and a look of pure horror came over her face. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She took a step back.

  “I saw the morgue scandal on the news.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A group of teenagers walked by them, talking loudly, and Jax waited for them to pass. “Can we go inside?” he asked.

  “No.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Jax moved in close to her. “I’m the same person you’ve known for years, no matter what happened between us in that hotel room. So don’t go acting like you’re afraid of me, or I’m some big terrible person you can’t stand.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  “I got that. But you’re in trouble, and I came anyway.” They’d attracted the attention of several people on the beach. “Now let’s go inside. We need to talk.”

  “We can talk here.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “The things we need to talk about are better said indoors.”

  She stared at him for a moment and he could tell she wanted to say no, but instead she walked past him and picked up a blanket and book, then led the way back to her cottage.

  He walked behind her, watching her round bottom sway from side-to-side within her white dress. The fabric was nearly see-through, and he could just make out her white underwear beneath it. Hard to believe the last time they’d seen each other, he’d been deep inside of her there.

  She unlocked the door and he followed her into a tiny living room decorated in bright, bold colors and Mexican tile. She moved into the small but open kitchen, leaned against the counter, and crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  “You’re the one who’s being difficult. Just say what you came here to say.”

  He took in the shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her skin. She didn’t look well, though he still had the same reaction to her nearness he’d had two months before. “The police busted the identity theft ring where you got your fake ID.”

  “And?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You know your cousin worked in the morgue?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. His parole officer got him the job last year.”

  “He was stealing the identities of unclaimed bodies, then burying the people as Jane or John Does.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I can see Ricky left that part out.”

  “Of course he did. I never would have knowingly participated in something like that.”

  “But if Maria Elena wasn’t a real person, that would have been okay?”

  She sucked her cheeks in. “Why are you here?”

  He closed the distance between them. “It wouldn’t have been okay with you. I know you better than that. You did it because you were desperate. What I don’t understand is why.”

  “You don’t know me at all.” She ducked around him. “Get the hell out of here.”

  “What happened, Jessa?”

  She turned on him. “What does it take to get away from you?”

  “To get away from me?”

  “I don’t want you in my life. I don’t want you to call me or follow me or contact me or look me up a year or five years down the road just to say hello.”

  “You got the message I left you in Savannah.”

  “Of course I got it, but I didn’t want to talk to you. Yet here you are, chasing me across a dozen states despite that.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” He followed her across the room. “Tell me why you would do such a stupid, crazy, illegal thing.”

  “You don’t get to demand an explanation from me. We are nothing to each other. Nothing! Just because I got lonely and slept with you
doesn’t mean you matter to me. You are a mean-spirited, pompous asshole with no use for other people. Linda adored you, and even she couldn’t stand to be around you for long. You couldn’t truly care about a woman if your life depended on it.”

  The warmth he’d felt shining from her when they’d made love had defrosted some of the bitterness from his heart, but listening to her now made every fiber freeze solid. He’d been pining over a lost opportunity for love, but it was clear to him now she hated him.

  Maybe she always had.

  Then why the hell did she sleep with me?

  She stormed past him, opening a door and taking a step inside. He could see it was a bedroom, and she was about to slam the door to separate them.

  But she froze, standing unmoving for several seconds before she fell sideways in a dead faint.

  9

  Jax held the ice pack to Jessa’s temple where she’d hit the corner molding when she fell, and tried to rouse her. He’d picked her up and brought her to the bed, and she hadn’t even blinked.

  That wasn’t good.

  Minutes passed before Jessa groaned and opened her eyes, immediately trying to sit up.

  “Lie down,” Jax said. “You took quite a fall.”

  She shook him off. “I don’t want to lie down.” Her eyes went around the bedroom and her face crumpled.

  “What is it, Jessa?”

  She raised her hand to point at the floor. “Those things were in my nightstand when I left for the beach this morning.”

  He looked at the collection of books, glasses, medicine, and tissues spread over the floor. “Just now? You mean someone was in here?”

  She nodded. “It’s the third time this week. The first was the worst. Drawers lying on the floor. Boxes emptied onto beds and tables. The first time, I thought it was just a burglary. Then I figured someone must have a key, so yesterday I changed the locks. Now I don’t know what to think. Maybe they’re looking for the person who used to live here.”

  Jax surveyed the room and was struck more by the lack of certain things than the inclusion of others.

  There was no crib. There were no toys. This was the home of a woman who lived alone.