Guarding Jess

by Shannon Curtis

  God, he loved his job.

  “I need to visit the ladies’ room.” He nodded, and guided her to the dark hallway that led to the restrooms. She turned and put her hand to his chest. “I can take it from here.”

  He glanced down the hallway. It was empty. “Wait here.”

  He entered the women’s restroom and quickly checked each of the six cubicles. All of them were empty. He came back and nodded. “You’re good to go.”

  “Seriously?” she said, her cheeks rosy. “Can you wait outside?”

  He made a decision. “Fine. But I’ll be right here. Yell if you need me,” he told her.

  She nodded, and hurried down the hallway. He turned and faced the crowd, guarding the access.

  “I see the Joker. Repeat, the Joker is here.” Ryan’s voice came over the earpiece.

  Noah craned his neck. “Where?”

  “He’s just entered.”

  “This is Batman,” Troy Davis called in. “I’m tracking the Joker.”

  Noah shifted out into the crowd. “Superman, do you have the Joker?”

  “Negative, Spiderman,” Cooper Reed on the mezzanine replied.

  “I’ve lost the Joker,” Troy said. “He’s using the crowd.”

  “This is the Flash. No sign of the Joker out here,” Blake Mitchell called in from his position at the rear entrance.

  “I can’t spot the Joker,” Drew responded.

  Noah felt his muscles clench. Hamish Stewart was somewhere. But where?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jessica recoated her lips with the scarlet-hued lipstick. She rubbed her lips together and blew a kiss at her image in the mirror. She couldn’t help thinking about Noah’s kiss. She’d welcomed it. She wanted more of it. She sighed. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. She loved Noah Samuels, all six-foot-four brooding, flawed, gorgeous inches of him. He hadn’t made any further comment about how he viewed her career or environment. She suspected he was slowly changing his tune, despite the nickname he seemed to have adopted for her. Miss Prissy indeed. She appreciated the effort he’d gone to tonight, though. The corners of her lips lifted. For a man who once said he’d protect her regardless of what he wore, wearing a dinner suit for tonight’s event was a telling concession. He was proud, honest to a fault and honorable, and like no other man she’d met.

  She patted her hair. And she wanted him. She hadn’t missed his surveillance at the party, his unobtrusive protection each time someone approached, yet he’d talked and socialized with every person she’d encountered, and hadn’t complained once. He’d joked with AJ when the youth had balked at his appearance. She’d even seen her aunt smile at him during her speech. Noah Samuels could be quite the charmer. Who knew?

  And she wanted him.

  She smoothed her dress, took a deep breath and left the restroom.

  She jumped as a hand gripped her arm, and started to pull her down the dark hall. She opened her mouth to scream.

  “C’mon.” Noah’s long legs ate up the length of the hallway rapidly.

  Her hand rose to her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. Noah. But he wasn’t happy. He was going all commando on her, the same way he’d gone commando in her kitchen when the rock was thrown through her window. The same way he’d gone commando at the radio station when the stalker called in. Nausea hit her, hard and fast.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Noah opened the door to the private function room, and Jessica wanted to cry. This was the designated safe room. When he’d briefed her he’d told her this would be the bolt hole, if anything went wrong.

  He swept her inside and slammed the door and locked it behind him.

  * * *

  Drew waited by the kitchen swing door. He didn’t want to abandon his post, but it sounded like Stewart had entered the party from the front, nowhere near his station. He craned his neck as he peered through the crowd.

  “I see the Joker. He’s passing the podium, approaching back of house.” Cooper Reed’s voice sounded tinny in Drew’s ear. Drew’s head whipped around and he glanced in the direction Reed had given. There. The short, fat, fading redhead was arguing with some woman in a brown rumpled dress.

  “I see him,” Drew said into his cuff.

  “So do I,” Troy Davis responded.

  “On my count, we remove the Joker. Now remember, we’re just pulling him out for questioning, at the moment. We do this discreetly, we don’t want to cause a fuss.” Drew started toward the rotund little man. “Three, two, one.” Troy appeared on one side of Hamish Stewart at the same time Drew grasped his other elbow.

  “Mr. Stewart, would you mind coming with us, please,” he asked politely. Stewart flinched when both of his arms were grasped, and he looked up from Drew to Troy.

  “Whoa, boys, there’s plenty of time for autographs, take a chill pill.”

  A muscle ticked in Drew’s jaw. This man had badly frightened Jessica. He’d done cruel things. And he had an ego the size of Texas. “I don’t want your autograph,” he gritted, and tugged him toward the kitchen with the help of Troy. Stewart tried to struggle.

  “Hey, get your damned hands off me. This is an expensive suit, you know,” Hamish protested.

  “Come along quietly,” Drew growled, and Troy neatly twisted the man’s arm behind his back.

  They marched him through the kitchen to the alley out the back, where Blake Mitchell was waiting for them.

  “The Joker is contained. Repeat, the Joker is contained, and is leaving the premises.” Cooper Reed’s voice echoed over the earpiece.

  * * *

  Noah met Jessica’s gaze as he listened to the updates in his earpiece. Her face was pale, strained, and she was focused on him with anxious intensity. He gave her a triumphant smile.

  “They’ve got him.”

  “It’s over?” Her voice was shaky, hopeful, with just a hint of disbelief.

  “Well, he still needs to be formally charged by the police, but it’s beginning to look like that.”

  He watched closely as relief swept her face before she sagged against him. He held her for a while, sweeping his hands slowly up and down her back as she leaned against him. He fought the adrenaline coursing through his body, and focused on the woman in his arms. He liked the feel of her smaller body fitting against his. It took him a moment to realize she was trembling. He levered her back just a little and leaned down to meet her tumultuous gaze. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was doing her best to get herself under control.

  “Hey, it’s okay, Jess. We’ll be able to match his prints to the one found on the letter bomb. We have the stationery stock, his past history, and he’s had opportunity. We’ve got him. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Jess nodded, but still the tears came. He realized how much stress she was under, how fearful she’d been, and what a release this must be for her. He’d seen it in other cases, when they’d managed to apprehend the culprit and the victim had collapsed.

  He kissed the glistening tear from her cheek. He meant to be soothing, comforting, but when he heard her breath hitch, and felt her head angle toward him, when he inhaled her soft, floral scent and felt her body against his, all soothing, comforting thoughts vanished. He pressed his lips against hers. He’d meant to take it slow, easy, but her mouth opened, her tongue slid against his, and fire blazed through him at her eager response. Slow and easy went out the window.

  He turned her around and pressed her against the door as his body’s raging needs took over. He’d lived with this woman for the last few weeks, spent practically every waking moment by her side, every sleeping eternity craving to have her in his arms. He’d tried to caution himself, remind himself of his cheating ex-fiancée, but Jess was like no other woman he’d encountered, and she’d driven him crazy with her “proper” behavio
r, her generous and sweet nature, and the glimpses of fire that had escaped her control.

  Now, backed up against the door, with the rest of polite society on the other side, the woman in his arms combusted. Her hands wove through his hair, tugging his head closer so that their hot kisses could deepen. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, her hips against his groin.

  Her passionate moans spurred him on. His desire throbbed through his body, a heavy burden that screamed for release. He ground his hips against the warm cradle of hers. He didn’t realize he’d shoved his hands into her hair until he had to force his fingers to unclench so that he could trail them down her neck.

  Her skin was velvet soft, fragrant and singed his control. He gently tugged at the wispy straps of her dress, sliding them down her arms. He whispered things in her ear, things he didn’t have the courage to say to her face. She was beautiful. Sexy. And she drove him wild.

  Her clever fingers quickly unfastened his shirt buttons. She slid his shirt and jacket over his shoulders, and he shrugged them off his arms.

  Her bodice shifted, dropped to her waist. He groaned. His curiosity was answered. She wasn’t wearing a bra. His hands rose to play with her breasts, and liquid fire rocketed to his groin. She moaned, her head rolling back against the door at his touch. He wanted to slow down, take his time to enjoy her, indulge his curiosity about every curve and hollow of her body, but her nimble fingers on his fly hinted at her own haste for satisfaction, and short-circuited his patience.

  He kissed her again, angling his head one way, then another, as she met him, kiss for kiss. Hot, wet, wild.

  He almost lost his balance when she freed him from his pants, her hands gliding up and down his length. He slid his hands down her sides and kissed her breasts. She tasted like heaven, and sin. Sugar and spice. He reached behind her, raised the skirt of her dress and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips. He latched on to her pink nipple as he slid inside her.

  Her head fell forward, and she gave a low, keening moan into his ear, her warm breath tickling his neck. He answered her with a moan of his own against her nipple. He’d found heaven. Intense pleasure swamped him, exquisite heat met him each time he thrust. Jessica tilted her hips, voicing her ecstasy each time he slid home. Her nails raked his back, and she thrust her breasts higher, her hips harder. Pressure built, his pace quickened. He tried to hold off the wave of euphoria rising inside. His rhythm became sharp and fast, his breathing harsh. His ears burned as she convulsed around him, and he swallowed her scream of pleasure as she swept him along with her to a place he hadn’t visited before, but felt like home.

  * * *

  Drew glared at Stewart through the one-way glass partition. They’d handed him over to SFPD. The man was arrogant, obnoxious, everything he’d suspected he was, but the DJ was also adamant. He wasn’t after Jessica.

  “Look, I sent a woman flowers. When is that a crime?” Stewart whined as he pitched his empty soda can into the trashcan.

  Drew wanted to go in and shake him up, force him to confess. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed in the interview room. Reese had had to pull some strings just so he could observe. He fisted his hand against his hip.

  On the other side of the glass partition, Detective Louise Carmichael sneered. “When you add it to the list of letter bomb, sustained harassment and blood on the ceiling. Or is that how you usually go about getting a woman’s attention?”

  Stewart blanched. “A letter bomb? Blood? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Carmichael slammed her hands on the table separating them, and Drew enjoyed watching the rotund little jerk flinch. “We have you on tape. The florist confirmed that you bought the flowers from them. You’ve been stalking Jessica Pennington for four months.”

  Stewart’s mouth moved, like a caught fish fighting to breathe. “I haven’t stalked Jessica. She’s, well, she’s—I—” The man struggled for words. “I like her.”

  Drew had to lean closer to the intercom to listen.

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. I like her.”

  Detective Carmichael hid her contempt behind an expression of mild interest. “You like her? Is that why you’ve sent her hundreds of emails and texts over the last few months? Why you sent her a bomb in the mail when she didn’t return your affection?”

  “I didn’t do those things, I swear. Sure, I’ve asked her out a couple of times, but that’s it.”

  Carmichael tapped a manila folder on the end of the table. “A couple of times, huh?” She flipped open the folder and withdrew a photo, sliding it across the surface until it rested in front of Stewart. Drew craned his neck. It was the surveillance image that Ryker had managed to clean up. Stewart paled.

  “Mind explaining this?” Carmichael asked mildly.

  “I dropped off a bunch of flowers to her, so what?” Stewart was turning belligerent.

  “How did you know her address?”

  Stewart hunched down in his seat. “I, uh, I followed her home one night.”

  Carmichael folded her arms, glancing briefly at the two-way mirror before walking along the edge of the table. “I see. And this doesn’t strike you as disturbing behavior?”

  “No. No! Women like it when men take the initiative, when we go on the chase. A woman likes a strong man, a man who will show his interest, who won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Like your ex-wife?”

  Stewart glanced down at his clasped hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You know I’m talking about the action she’s taken against you. What, the divorce, the dispute over settlement, the restraining order—she’s just playing hard to get, huh? Is that what you think Jessica Pennington is doing, playing hard to get?”

  “No! Look, my ex is a bitch. She’s angling for a larger cut. She’s playing the game. But I swear, I haven’t done anything to Jessica.” His hands rose, as if to beseech a higher power. “She’s a nice woman. She never gives anyone grief, and she didn’t kick me to the curb the first time I asked her out.” Stewart shrugged. “I figured that if I kept asking, she’d eventually say yes.”

  “Explain the flowers, then.”

  Stewart shifted in his seat. “I behaved—badly, before the show. I asked her out, she said no, and I thought I was a little rude. I just wanted to say sorry, and that I’d be better, next time. I thought it would be nice, you know, especially after she got that call from the nutcase.”

  “Nice try. You recorded that call. You played it for her, and made sure you were sitting opposite her when she heard it. Did you get your kicks out of that? Get a bit of a thrill, Stewart, to frighten your victim like that? Must have been much better than the letter bomb. This way you could see her face, see her reaction.”

  Stewart shook his head. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t called her. Ever. Check my phone records, or whatever it is you guys do. I only sent her flowers.”

  Carmichael put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I intend to, Stewart, believe me.” She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. A moment later she entered the observation room where Drew was waiting.

  “What do you think?” Drew asked her.

  She shook her head. “He’s either very smart, or really bad when it comes to socializing with women. My money’s on the latter. He doesn’t strike me as the intelligent type.”

  “But we have him on film. We have the credit card receipt from the florist.” Surely, that was enough proof.

  Carmichael shook her head. “Like he says, it’s not a crime to buy a woman flowers. And that’s all we’ve really got on him. We’ve already checked his phone records. There are no records of any calls from him to Ms. Pennington’s home, work or cell numbers. No record of texts. He might have another phone, but we can’t find any record of one. It’s all circums
tantial.”

  Drew held up a hand. “Wait, what about the stationery? That comes from KTFA. And the car. Don’t forget the car.”

  Carmichael nodded. “He had opportunity with both the stationery and the vehicle, but unfortunately, so did pretty much the rest of the radio station. Any lawyer would get that thrown out, immediately, on that basis.”

  Drew’s hands clenched. Louise Carmichael was right. The evidence they had was all circumstantial. It followed logic, but they didn’t have his fingerprints on the letters, the cell phone he used to contact Jessica, or a cyber trail that would prove he’d tried to sabotage her business. Just him outside her home. Drew straightened. The only hard evidence they had was one lousy fingerprint on a letter bomb fragment.

  “What is it?” Carmichael asked.

  “Do we have his fingerprints?”

  Carmichael shook her head. “No, we haven’t charged him yet.” She winced. “With the lack of evidence, though, I’m not sure if we have enough to charge him, anyway.”

  Drew pointed at the soda Stewart had just finished and tossed into the empty trashcan. “Can we get that?”

  The woman’s gray eyes narrowed. “We can.”

  Drew turned to her. “We could compare them against the print recovered from the letter bomb.”

  Carmichael nodded, her lips lifting in approval. “He’s discarded it. It’s in plain sight. You’re not just a pretty face, Michaels.” She left the observation room, and moments later entered the interview room and removed the empty drink can. Drew folded his arms, smiling in satisfaction at the panicked look on Hamish Stewart’s face.