And then he frowned as he took in the other fresh-faced young man grinning back at the camera. The one who’d slung an arm around Jake’s shoulder. The one who had dropped like a stone at his feet this very afternoon, dead at thirty-three.
“How old were you?” she asked quietly. His attention had been so riveted, he wondered if she’d asked the question more than once. He shook his head to clear it.
“Twenty-one. Thought I knew everything. No bad guy was too bad for me. I’d make the world a better place to live, one criminal at a time. Me and Jer, nothing was gonna stop us.” He paused as the past bombarded him. “But a bullet stopped Jerry, didn’t it? Right between the eyes.” He pointed a finger gun at the computer. “Pop and there was the hole. Just one little hole that wiped out everything we’d planned. Shit.”
He stood abruptly and paced across the room, fists clenched. Stood with his back to her, fighting the tears threatening to overflow. God, he missed the jackass!
“A wasted life, all because of greed,” he croaked. “Greed and impatience. ‘We’ll never make that kind of money’ Jerry said to me before he died. ‘Why should it all go back into evidence? They’ll never miss it, and we could buy us that restaurant.’” Jake closed his mouth abruptly. The memories were too vivid. Even though Jerry hadn’t finished his “someday we’ll make it” spiel, Jake could imagine what his friend would have said next. Could almost hear his friend’s scratchy voice as he’d say, “You could cook and I’ll be the front room man. Can’t you see it?”
He paced side to side. Couldn’t bring himself to look at Lucy. His emotions were still too near the surface. “We were this close to bringing Farelli down, and Jerry couldn’t wait one more frickin’ year. We would’ve brought down Farelli and then taken our early retirement together. Opened Jake and Jerry’s Grill. No, he had other, bigger ideas, and now I’m hiding out from a sniper, with the mob on my back, with no one to trust—”
“You can trust me.”
Jake blinked back into the present to find Lucy standing by the couch, listening to his rant and promising her allegiance. He’d momentarily forgotten all about her. And wondered how he ever could have.
Meeting her eyes behind those glasses, he wanted to tell her no. That he wasn’t worthy of her trust. He was his father’s son, after all. A person who could take something fine and turn it into shit. Hadn’t he been the one to talk Jerry into going to the academy with him? To trust him? Look where that landed his friend. A hole in the head because he hadn’t been strong enough to resist temptation. Hadn’t Jerry always been weaker? A follower? Jake should have known that about him.
And now Lucy wanted to back him? He couldn’t let her. One messed up life on his conscience was enough. Like hell if he’d take down Lucy, too. Intent on sending her running to her bedroom, Jake strode back to Lucy, invaded her space and glared into her upturned face. Go away, little girl. Go away, he chanted silently.
She didn’t read his mind, damn her anyway. She held her ground and repeated quietly, “You can trust me.”
He said nothing. Their combined breathing was the only sound in the room until Lucy nervously licked her lips. He stared hungrily at her mouth as she said softly, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your friend.”
Ah, shit. She wasn’t going to take the hint? She didn’t see the danger of being with him, as a man or as a fugitive? That even though he’d taken pains tonight to show her he was one of the protect-and-serve types, he still was nowhere near worthy enough for a sweet and sassy girl like her?
Then to hell with his good intentions. He was going to take what she didn’t even know she was offering.
“How sorry?” he rasped. “Sorry enough for this?” He swooped down to capture her lips.
Her mouth startled open, moist and inviting. She made this tiny, husky little moan and he was a goner. He nibbled, licked, teased with his tongue, and still he couldn’t get enough. She drove him nuts, the fragrance of her hair, the soap she showered with. That wholly feminine scent that urged him to dominate her in the most primal of ways. He brought shaking hands up to anchor her head for his onslaught.
Words escaped his lips between bruising kisses, dirty words that he couldn’t hold back any more than he could stop his assault on her mouth. And when, instead of shoving him away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered her soft, pliant body against his, he knew one kiss wouldn’t be enough.
His hands streaked up under her sweatshirt. He cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her already tightened nipples encased in lace. Not satisfied, he plunged his hands inside those baggy sweatpants to grip that rounded ass that had tantalized him since her aborted escape out the cabin bathroom window. He ground his erection against her, never letting go of that heavenly posterior even as he crashed his mouth once more against hers.
Her eyes startled open when she felt his hardness. He knew, because he’d kept his own open, determined not to miss a flicker of emotion across her beautiful, expressive face. She hesitated. Pulled back slightly. She must have sensed the danger lurking in the depths of his roiling emotions.
Lifting his head a fraction, he squeezed her behind encouragingly. But the moment of abandon had passed. Slowly her hands dropped from the nape of his neck, burning over his shoulders and down his chest as she pressed her palms against his wildly beating heart.
Reluctantly, he let go of her ass, pulled his hands out of her pants. Jesus, he really was worthy of an eight-by-ten cage.
She backed away in edgy silence, shaking her head while turning and disappearing behind her bedroom door. He stared after her, berating himself for being ten times the fool. She’d allowed him to stay in her home, accepted his explanations as truth, and he’d thanked her by pawing her like a sex-starved teenager. He should have behaved better. He was the more experienced one, after all. The professional.
Ha, the only thing he was professional at was screwing up his life. And now he’d attempted to start on hers. Lucy didn’t need a fugitive cop coming on to her. Lucy needed to know she was safe from the bad people in the world, and from him. He was doing a piss-poor job at assuring her of both of those things right now.
Jake swung away from the closed bedroom door and threw himself on the couch, glaring at the sleeping laptop screen, disgusted with the whole situation.
With the evidence of a past live-in man covering his ass, so to speak, Jake knew little Miss Hot Pants Parker wasn’t a stranger to sex. But maybe her heart had to be actively involved. Most women had to imagine themselves in love, he had found, before they gave their bodies to a man. And what a body she could give, with those full breasts and that plump, heart-shaped ass a man could really grab ahold of…
This type of thinking was only going to guarantee him a sleepless night. Though the two of them might be mutually interested in each other, he remained a hot mess. He couldn’t thrust his brand of turmoil onto Lucy. She deserved better. And they both knew it.
Jake reached for the laptop and dragged it to rest upon his knees. He shoved Lucy-of-the-tempting-body out of his mind, instead focusing on what his captain had told him earlier. That money had shown up in Vegas, at a gas station. He couldn’t access that information online. But he could see who in Farelli’s operation stood the best chance of being a thief.
He tried Jerry’s bean counter colleagues first. Once again, he wouldn’t go the official route. If he used his authorized login, his department, namely his captain, would be alerted to his activities and whereabouts through his IP address. Though Innes had told him to use his freedom wisely, Jake still didn’t need his whereabouts becoming common knowledge.
No, he would have to Google each individual and see what public information he could dig up. It would be painstakingly slow, but hell, his first choice for how to spend the night was sure as shit not going to happen. On with the search.
About three hours later, Jake sat back on the couch and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Hell, he was exhausted. He’d certa
inly had a marathon day and night, something he didn’t want to think about. Late night ruminations only guaranteed more sleeplessness.
As did what he’d discovered during his search. He’d been able to toss aside most of Farelli’s underlings. Their bios read like an Average Joe’s. Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, you name it, they had the typical accounts. Not that many of them were posting to Instagram or tweeting. But their rap sheets from the public county records and insight into their families’ social networking accounts—the wives and kids and mistresses—that’s where he found a wealth of information. They looked like normal people with normal hobbies and pastimes, which was probably why Farelli hired them. They wouldn’t stand out in a police investigation.
Until he got to Michael Delano, whom he’d considered a dick the moment he’d laid eyes on him. The man’s public bio read like everyone else’s. He lived in an average house in an average neighborhood of San Bernardino. He’d attended a local college, but didn’t appear to have graduated. He’d had a few run-ins with the law that Jake couldn’t investigate unless he wanted to advertise his whereabouts online. It was all too perfect. Delano worked for a drug lord, yet his history practically read like a Boy Scout’s.
Was it the fact that he knew Farelli was a drug lord that made him suspicious? Or was it because he didn’t like Delano? Probably yes on both counts. On a hunch, he keyed in his own name. Or, rather, Nicky’s. He read the official crap the techno nerds at the station had manufactured for Nicky Costas. Then he clicked back to Delano’s info. Read it again.
They read the same. Two different people, two different lifestyles, yet they read similarly. Blah histories, boring job backgrounds, brushes with the law, no family… No red flags. Not even any social media. Of course, looking at Delano as he knew him, Jake didn’t think the man would have many cyber friends even if he did have accounts on the various social sites. The man screamed bad guy as if it was branded on his forehead.
Jake closed the laptop with a snap and stared at the bedroom door without seeing it. Instead, he saw all the words he’d been reading about the other Farelli employees, Delano, and lastly, himself. They swam in front of him like some weird kaleidoscope of letters. He half expected Vanna White to appear to put them in order.
And then they organized, settled into their respective patterns, and his pulse kicked up a notch. Delano’s bio still read just as seamlessly as Nicky’s, almost like it had been manufactured. Manufactured by techno nerds. Techno nerds that worked for a United States law enforcement agency.
Chapter Eight
Lucy sat in traffic the following evening, content to trail the car in front of her at the snail’s pace it maintained. She had no desire to hurry home. Waiting there was a person she did not want to face.
After all, what did you say to a man you’d allowed to stick his tongue down your throat, as well as grope your body? A man you barely knew? “Oh, hey, you’ve got a talented tongue and expert fingers. Pass the salt, please.”
Add to that the fact she knew she’d been on the verge of dragging him to her bed and she wished she could just keep driving, right on past her little place of tranquility and charm. But that wouldn’t solve anything.
She’d managed to sneak out of the apartment this morning without waking him. That had been a stroke of luck. Unless, of course, he’d pretended to be asleep, all stretched out and boneless as he’d been. All rumpled and sexy, angelic, even, as he slept. Gah. Stockholm. Stockholm. Stockholm. Okay, so she wasn’t a captive. And he was a—presumably—innocent man on the run. A man with wicked good looks and an incredibly talented tongue.
She blew out a breath and focused on driving.
“Oh, God, what have I done?” She swung into the carport, wanting to find a hole and crawl into it. Last night she’d turned him on and off like a light switch, so how was she supposed to behave today? How was she supposed to ignore that she had practically thrown herself at him and then changed her mind?
Realizing all these thoughts were only giving her a headache, on top of the one she’d been sporting all afternoon, she flung herself out of her car and headed for her building. Just walking under the trees in the twilight lessened her anxiety by a few degrees. This is why she stayed here, and not in some modern townhouse. The peacefulness permeated her very being, relaxed her—
“Excuse me. Do you live here?”
Lucy’s back stiffened as she turned toward the male approaching her from the right. Immediately, she ran a hand into her giant purse, fingers curving around the mace can that she now carried after her kidnapping by the very person waiting for her in her apartment. The one whose hands had burned her skin wherever he’d touched her…
“Yes,” she replied automatically, blocking last night’s erotic images from her mind. “May I help you?” She went instantly on guard when she faced the speaker.
Probably just under six feet, this stranger was buff. The camp-style, tan shirt he wore accented muscular arms and a flat stomach, as did the snug cargo pants over strong legs. Short, sandy brown hair, eyes she couldn’t quite discern the color of in the dim light, and an engaging smile rounded out his appearance.
He stopped before her, eyes roving over what she knew was her messy ponytail, smudged glasses, chewed-off lipstick, and ink-spotted blouse, and smiled that megawatt smile again. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss, but I’m trying to find my Nanna’s apartment. I’ve only been here once before and that was a long time ago. I’ve been working overseas, and now I can’t remember where hers is. Frankly, this complex’s layout is confusing. Can you help me?”
He held out a piece of paper while Lucy stared at him, her mind seeming to take forever to evaluate what he had asked. “Um, yeah, I can try. This place was built in the eighties, and then they added on, so it’s like a maze. What’s her number?”
The man handed the paper to her and she read what was written on it. She recognized the name and address. It was just two buildings to the right of hers.
“Now that I’m back stateside,” he continued, “I’ll be checking on her regularly. I worry about her living alone. Is there much crime here?”
Once more she met his unusually hypnotic eyes.
“Not that I know of. There are plenty of elderly renters, and they seem content. It’s very safe here in East Palm Court.”
“Good, that’s good.” He pointed to the address she still held. “So, can you point me in the right direction? Or take me there?”
He held her gaze for several beats, his lips quirking up at the corners. Lucy didn’t want to traipse around in the almost-dark with another stranger. She had one waiting for her right in her own place, so she indicated the correct building and said, “She’s in that one, around the corner, ground floor.”
Seconds ticked by, and then he put out his hand. “The name’s Michael. And thank you so much, Miss, Mrs….?” His voice trailed off expectantly.
Warning bells sounded even as she started to say her real name. She stumbled and improvised. “Lu—cinda P-Preston. And you’re welcome.” She smiled to hopefully cover her lie. But since her kidnapping she tended to be suspicious of strangers. Well, except for Jake Dalton, who she’d allowed to—
“Maybe I’ll see you around, then. Thanks again, Lu—cinda.” He started to turn away.
“Your welcome. Good night.”
Michael headed off into the gathering evening shadows, waving a hand over his head in acknowledgement while she looked after his retreating form.
Hefting the bag of groceries, Lucy continued on her way, trudging toward the stairs as she considered the man. She supposed some women would have found him attractive, all ripped and clean-shaven as he had been, but she wasn’t one of them. That didn’t say much, given her track record with men, but still, he’d left her cold.
Not like Jake Dalton, with his lean yet muscular form. In those borrowed jeans that molded his legs and cupped his buttocks like they’d been made for him, he could make her mouth water on sight. Or that devilish f
ace with just enough stubble to tickle her lips, and hair long enough to bury her hands in—
She nearly missed a step on the stairs. God, she really was hot for him. If common sense hadn’t intruded at the last minute yesterday, she would have devoured him, allowed him to devour her. And beyond what he’d shown her on the internet and what she’d seen with her own eyes, she didn’t know him at all.
That only made her reaction scarier. Jake was not the type of man who dated her. He was not the type of man who teased and flirted with her. He was the type of man who strolled unseeingly past her with a size zero platinum blonde clinging to his arm, her bra size larger than her IQ.
Lucy knew the status quo by now, and really wasn’t bothered by it too much. She knew her place in the dating world, and it was with the Jobless Bobs, the guys who were willing to overlook her bespectacled face and overripe shape. Until now. Now, she found herself thinking, hoping, and wishing the status quo would suddenly change, specifically because of the man currently hiding out in her apartment.
And, yup, she was back to those crazy thoughts again.
Reaching the landing, Lucy noted with a growling stomach that someone was having a good dinner from the smells swirling around her. When she unlocked the front door, she realized the delicious aroma came from her place.
She stopped on the threshold. Nearly leaned out and checked the number of her apartment. But she was in the right place. And then the man that took up way too much of her thoughts in too short a time poked his head around the kitchen wall and said, “Dinner’s just about ready.”
Closing the door, Lucy cocked her head. “You’re cooking.”
Jake speared her with an amused look.
“Wow, you could be a detective,” he drawled, dark brows winging upwards over sparkling brown eyes. Eyes that she remembered boring into hers last night, inviting her to let go of her inhibitions.
As she hung back by the entrance, Jake approached with deliberate steps, his gaze unswerving. Taking the grocery bag from her frozen fingers he said quietly, “Forget about last night, Lucy. I was ready. You weren’t. End of story. Don’t get embarrassed.”
Prisoner of Love Page 8
