She’d grab a banana and some granola and eat while she got ready.
She burst out of her bedroom door and into the front room, where Maze sat cross-legged on the sofa, chowing on a bowl of cereal while staring at her laptop screen. Her magenta hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, no makeup. Wearing her bunny pajama top with slouchy fuzzy socks.
“He’s coming over soon.”
Jordan froze in her tracks. “Who is?”
Belligerently, Maze lifted her gaze. “The total prick who’s helping me. I told him that he had to pass the Jordan test, so will you be a good sister and give him Jordan-style hell?”
Jordan blinked. “One more time?”
Maze groaned. Put her bowl on the coffee table to grab for a soda can. In the morning. “You know, the ‘official’ guy I told you about who was going to help me with my Rêve issues?”
Oh. “He’s coming here now?” Jordan looked at the barricaded door. Who set meetings so early in the morning?
Michael had said that others would want to recruit her, too, maybe even by making her disappear from her life.
So, no.
“Call your guy and reschedule,” Jordan said. Maybe Michael could help her assess him. “I have to work. Real people go to work in the morning.”
Sis rolled her eyes. “That’s why he’s coming so early. To catch you.”
“Maisie, I’m not opening the door to a stranger.”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s an asshole. There’s a difference.”
Sure enough, the doorbell rang, bing-bong. Jordan looked at the door, then back at Maisie, then down at her own pink pajamas. “No.”
Maze threw her hands up. “Fine. Actually, I’m glad. I didn’t want to work with him anyway. We’ll go with your guy, Michael. I like him a lot.”
“I like him, too,” Jordan said, returning her attention to the door.
“Oh-ho-ho,” sang her sister. “So the night went well, did it?”
The doorbell rang again. There was no way she was opening the door, but she could look through the peephole.
“Get 9-1-1 ready on your phone,” Jordan commanded. If what Michael said was true, this guy might try to force his way in.
She tiptoed, breathing fast, and put an eye to the little circular glass. Spotted a man in a suit and tie. Clean cut. Shaven. Could be a missionary, for all she knew, since they came in pairs, and there were two of them. The first guy shifted, so she could glimpse the one behind him.
Then she pulled back. “Oh, God. I’m gonna die.”
Behind her, Maze said urgently, “Police, please. We have an intruder.”
Jordan whipped around. “No. It’s fine.” It was so not fine. “I didn’t tell you to call them.”
Maze still held the phone to her ear. “You sounded scared.”
A loud knock rattled the skinny console table blocking the door.
Jordan started back a few feet. “Michael Reese is out there with another man, who I guess is your asshole.”
Maze ended the call to EMS and dropped her phone in her lap. “Hmm. I didn’t see that coming.”
“And I look like this.” Jordan gestured from her head down.
They stared at each other in silence.
“All right,” Maze said, standing. “I’ll get the door and buy you five minutes.”
Little sis was in a sleep shirt herself, but at the moment, Jordan didn’t care. “You should’ve warned me someone was coming. Woken me up!”
“I didn’t know it would be your lov-er,” Maze shot back. “Now get.”
Jordan dashed back into her room, and closed and locked the door. She heard the loud scrape of the console table moving. A pause, then the low murmur of male voices.
This was not happening.
She peeled off her sweats and tore into the plastic of her dry cleaning. Slacks were easy, but she’d have to wear heels. Nude bra and blouse. She didn’t have time to do much with her face. A little tinted lotion and mascara. She yanked a brush through her hair a couple of times and fashioned a quick low ponytail.
When she opened her bedroom door, she tried to appear cool, but a hot drip of sweat burned down her spine.
The men turned to look—Michael’s gaze meeting her own like a plug in a socket. She felt a buzzing current in places he hadn’t yet touched. Which, come to think of it, was all of her.
The silk blouse had been a mistake. Her skin was warming. It was going to cling.
And then there was the other guy—tall, sort of good-looking in a less dynamic way. Not like Michael, who drew her gaze again. Behind them Maze was nodding and mouthing oh yeah in the most exaggerated way possible.
Jordan ignored her and held out her hand. “Mr. Reese, so good to see you again.”
He shook hers, laughter in his eyes, but his voice was steady when he said, “Likewise.”
She was crushing so hard. The man was going to break her heart. She had that Must List for a reason.
Jordan shifted her attention, holding out her hand again. “And Maze has mentioned you, Mister—”
Warm, dry shake. “Steven Conner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lane. Michael says he’s never seen someone be so lucid and in control so quickly.”
What else had Michael said?
“I didn’t know the two of you worked together.” Jordan gestured toward the sofa, where—fabulous—Maze’s cocoon of covers still lay.
Maze jumped to help gather them up and toss them to the side so the men could sit. Then she dived for her breakfast dishes too, which clattered, spoon flying. Slammed her laptop shut.
Jordan lowered herself into the only chair. She could feel the back of her blouse sticking to her skin. She sucked in her belly so the same wouldn’t happen to the front. She should’ve gone with a knit. Note to self: Silk was not sexy when sweaty.
Mr. Conner took the seat nearest her on the sofa. “I scouted Michael ages ago, when he was a teenager. He was in my first batch of recruitments, actually. I was just a couple years older. Was supposed to win them over with swagger and promises of unlimited Rêve.”
“Oh?” Jordan would not, absolutely not, look at Michael again. But the tall, hot man stood near her side, within reaching distance. She could feel the heat coming off him from where she sat.
“He went on to Special Cases,” Mr. Conner continued, occasionally glancing at Maze to include her, “but I’ve mostly stuck with recruiting.” He focused again on Jordan. “Now I’ve got my own special case in your sister, who refuses to divulge her contacts. I’m hoping you’ll help me convince her.”
Maze folded her arms and glared meaningfully at Jordan. She’d wanted Jordan-style hell unleashed on this guy. Okay, fine. But Jordan had to be quick, because she had to change her blouse and get to her SpiderSly meeting. She had a half hour max. Michael could follow, if he wanted. She really hoped he wanted.
She put her hands together calmly. “And why would she do that?”
Mr. Conner slanted a look back at Maze. “Perhaps because she’s working with dangerous criminals?”
“Wouldn’t it be in her best interests not to inform against them until she is certain of her safety?”
Maze, happy with the point Jordan had just made, raised her eyebrows gleefully at Mr. Conner.
“What about the safety of Rêve?” he shot back. “Of the people in Rêve?” Also directed at Maze, who now narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to do his worst.
“I don’t care about them,” Jordan said. “I care about my sister. And if Rêve is dangerous, then the public should know.”
“They will come after her,” he said to Maze.
“They will regardless.” It’s the cold hard truth, sister. Hear it. “She doesn’t have to piss them off first.”
Mr. Conner’s attention shifted over and up. “Reese, since you’re clearly in bed with Jordan, do you think you might also persuade her to see reason?”
Jordan flushed, hot and fast, but that’s what the bastard wanted: to throw her off
balance. No such luck. Not when her little sister was in the mix.
She restrained herself from peeking at Michael—which was like fighting the pull of gravity—and smiled warmly instead, disregarding Mr. Conner, and looked with pride—faked, of course—at troublemaking, judgment-challenged Maze Lane.
“My sister has gone into business for herself. She has a rare and marketable skillset—” No matter how stupidly employed. “—and a ready clientele, regardless of what you think of them.”
Jordan looked back at Mr. Conner. “Instead of attempting to embarrass me, which will only backfire, why don’t you simply make her a better offer?”
***
Rook wanted to kiss her smart mouth. He liked her better in the pink sweats she’d worn in the dream. She was softer, more touchable.
But give him ten seconds and he’d have her out of her work clothes, so aloof and professional. Or not out completely—he wanted to use his mouth against that silk, make it as damp and clingy on her breasts as it was on her graceful spine.
He should’ve warned Coll he didn’t have a chance against her. Not his Jordan.
She didn’t seem scared about the nightmare in the Agora last night. And she hadn’t even flinched when Coll had been a jackass and tried to mess with her by mentioning that they’d been intimate.
They hadn’t. Yet.
“Now, really,” she said as she stood, “I’ve got to go. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”
She must have been kicking Coll out of her apartment, because Rook wasn’t going anywhere. He was sticking close from now until she was resettled, and even then, he didn’t plan to go far.
He liked her current place, knew it would be hard to leave. It’d been lived in, made homey. The walls were a pale shade of sunshine yellow, with smiling faces grinning out of picture frames. Books were stacked and forgotten on the shelves. A pile of mail was held down by a kitty statuette. She had a comfortable rather than stylish sofa, and struggling plants in the pots by the window. She could make this elsewhere. She’d have to.
She’d have to move and modify how she kept in contact with family or friends. Her current place just wasn’t safe enough.
There were dangers in Rêve, and yes, she could be trained to avoid or successfully confront them. But a Rêve danger could sometimes be solved easily by simply taking out the Chimera in the waking world. While they were sleeping, even. Too many people already knew about her, and her sister’s thriving biz was going to turn curious eyes Jordan’s way for lots of reasons.
But he wasn’t fool enough to think she’d drastically alter her life without a fight.
“Do you have to go in? There are some important things we need to discuss.”
“Yes. I’m pitching this morning. Big account.”
Coll chuckled at Rook. “Tough, isn’t she?”
“And I’ve got classes,” Maisie said. “I’d better run, too.”
Coll sent a cutting look Maisie’s way. “You haven’t attended classes in over six weeks. I checked.”
“It’s been that long?” Maisie said innocently. “Then I better make sure I’m there today. I’ve got a lot of catch-up work to do.”
Coll and Jordan’s little sister bickered while Jordan stepped back toward what had to be her bedroom.
Rook followed her to the door, and before she closed it, slipped in behind her.
“I need a moment of priv—”
He shut her up with a kiss. Got his hands on that silk and was rucking it up as he shut the door with his boot.
She didn’t push him off, just gave a startled gasp, then melted into him. Her hands found their way inside his jacket, gripping his shirt at his back. His found the cup of her bra, but he didn’t have the patience to work a clasp, so he pushed it up over her breast and thumbed the peaking nipple he discovered there.
She was so soft, so perfect. He wanted to touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere.
She tilted her head back to breathe, and he raked her ear, her jawline, her slender collarbone with his mouth and teeth, and accidentally popped a tiny top button on her blouse in his enthusiasm. Everything about her was too delicate for his handling, but he couldn’t help himself. What was it about her?
“Your boss is right outside,” she said, but her hands were now gripping his hair at the roots.
“He’s not my boss. And he obviously already knows something is going on.”
His mouth had found its target.
She gave that throaty laugh, the one that he now knew was real. No pretenses. “Michael. I’m going to be late as it is.”
The Michael was bucket of cold water over his head. Damned if she’d be calling out a fake name when he pushed inside her.
“We need to talk,” he said again, regretfully pulling away. “Get some things out in the open.”
“Yes, I agree.” Her fingers nimbly undid the rest of her blouse’s buttons.
He smiled wolfishly as she whipped it off.
“Stay back,” she warned. Then sent him a sly smile. “Later?”
“Uh-huh,” he growled.
She went with a blue top of sorts. Still pretty, just not as much fun.
Flushing, she asked, “When will I see you?”
“All the time.”
She grinned. “I mean tonight.”
The explaining would have to start now. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. I can’t. You are still at risk.” And would be until she started a new life.
With a finger comb through her hair, she adjusted her ponytail. “You can’t follow me around every minute of every day.”
He didn’t say anything, but her good brain was already working.
“You can’t follow me around all the time.” She said it like a conclusion.
“We’ll talk about it after work.” Rook gave her a quick once-over. “You ready yet? You’re really running very late.”
His joke didn’t make her laugh. Trouble was brewing in her eyes, the implications compounding. Finally she said, “Right. Let’s go.”
She kissed her sister, warned her on pain of death to be safe, and made certain that Mr. Conner—Coll—would see that she didn’t get into trouble. But Jordan was quiet on the drive over to her office—they took Rook’s car—quiet through the parking garage, and quiet up the elevator.
The elevator door dinged open, but before she stepped out, she asked, “Is there a point to my going into work today?”
Rook didn’t lie. “A show of normalcy until other arrangements are made.”
“Hmm,” she said, and strode out.
The meeting in question, of course, was with none other than Millions himself, who was waiting in the same glass-and-chrome conference room where Rook had met her yesterday.
“No, you can’t go in with me,” Jordan said before he even asked.
“He could have a weapon,” Rook countered.
“He doesn’t have a weapon,” she replied irritably, “and what could you possibly do if he did?”
Rook didn’t want to answer that—it was a little too far down the rabbit hole even for Alice—but he settled for watching the conference room door from the discreet vantage point of an empty office.
He didn’t want to scare Jordan with all the things he could do, but he made damn sure Millions got a look at him before he angled out of direct sight.
***
“You should call the police,” Vince said immediately after the door shut behind her.
Jordan really wished she hadn’t asked for help and allowed him to look into Michael Reese yesterday. “He hasn’t done anything,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you with it. We should get on with my presentation for SpiderSly.”
“Forget SpiderSly. That man has harassed you. Stalked you. How did he get you to let him accompany you to work?”
Putting a hand to her head, she searched for a plausible explanation. Sighed. Went with a version of the truth. “Apparently, it’s his job to watch me. He was hired to follow me to make sure I’m safe
. And that’s all I’m at liberty to say.”
Vince wasn’t buying it. “Hired by whom?”
Jordan had no answer for that. It was a crap story and she knew it, but better that than talk about Chimera.
Vince grabbed his tablet. Lit the screen. “Because I did look into him as you asked. Broke one or two laws to make it quick.”
Oh no. She should’ve skipped work today and let someone else present to Vince. She could be in bed right now, skewered by Michael, not Vince’s information.
“And Michael Reese isn’t even his real name.”
Quite suddenly, Vince had her full attention.
Likewise, he made a sound of satisfaction. “I bribed the Envoi for their security tapes, then did a facial recognition search, which brought up sealed records—don’t ask how I got into those.”
Jordan felt Michael watching her from the other side of the glass. She could just make out the hulk of his shadow.
“His real name is Malcolm Rook, and he’s got a violent history, starting with the death of his little brother Joshua some eleven years ago.”
Malcolm Rook. Yeah, that suited him better.
Vince showed her a black and white picture of a young boy. A boy that Jordan recognized. Just last night he’d flipped her on her back, straddled her, and had been about to strike before Mich— no, Malcolm Rook yanked him off her.
The boy was his little brother.
Had Rook been involved in his death somehow? Because he hadn’t been responsible. That much she was sure of.
Michael or Malcolm, whoever the hell he was, might have killed people in his line of work, like that marshal had suggested, but he was not a killer. Not like that.
“It was written up as an accident,” Vince continued, “but the situation was sketchy. Lots of questions. After that your friend there, Mal—” Yeah, she got it, mal meaning bad. “—ran away from home and survived on the streets by stealing and dealing silver. And then two years later he’s connected to another mysterious death, that of another street kid, this time dealing in bootlegged Rêve. After that, nothing. He has no record, not so much as a driver’s license. He drops off the face of the planet, until now, when he drops into your lap. My investigator suggests organized crime.”
Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance Page 51
