by Joanne Rock
And admittedly, today’s scene at the gas station hadn’t been his best work. Braeden couldn’t figure out what the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t pull off a simple grab-and-dash without creating a big ruckus.
He looked down at his unconscious companion in the front seat of the BMW and wondered what to do with her as he sat at the pull-off before the Tappan Zee Bridge. He’d planned to simply dump her off the bridge after nightfall and be done with her since the fall alone would kill her. But considering all the ways he’d messed up with Tabitha so far, he had to wonder if that was a bad idea and he just wasn’t seeing it.
She was such a sweet person. So much better than Manny Redding had ever deserved. How unfortunate that she couldn’t have just walked away from her ex-husband without creating so much of a media circus, drawing an excruciating amount of attention to Manny’s life, and eventually, Braeden’s. The divorce had forced Braeden to slow down his moneymaking film pursuits for months while he represented his supposed best friend in the split. It soothed Braeden’s ego on numerous levels to frame Manny for de Milo’s murder and now Tabitha’s. He’d chosen the stalking route purposely to add dramatic flair to the crime and cinch Manny as a suspect since Manny had stopped funding Braeden’s reality-porn flicks. Manny had been fine with the whole endeavor, even running a few of the premises by Tabitha for storyboard advice when they first started out, but he’d gotten cold feet when Braeden started experimenting with younger stars for his straight-to-video gold mine.
Tabitha stirred in her seat and Braeden debated using more of the drug to tide her over until it was fully dark. Then again, wasn’t it close enough? The perpetual gray of March meant it was barely light out anyway and commuter traffic had come and gone. No sense waiting.
Braeden had operations to resume since the loose ends of Manny and Tabitha were soon to be tied up—the last people who could possibly implicate him in his sideline business.
“Come on, princess,” he whispered to Tabitha as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “Time to wake up.”
* * *
THE BASTARD had lost his goddamn mind.
Warren watched Manny’s attorney friend step out of the BMW from a few hundred yards away. After following the vehicle here, Warren crouched beside the front tire of his pickup truck, the back windshield busted after he’d plowed through a half-closed garage door to follow the vehicle with Tabitha inside.
Backup was nearby, but the light could be tricky on the high bridge with the way fog lingered around the structure this time of year, making a sniper shot risky as hell on a bridge that saw nonstop traffic. Snow melted off the cliffs during the warmer days and then hung in white clouds suspended at the level of the bridge, making visibility suck all around. Maybe that’s why Braeden O’Leary thought he could get away with bringing Tabitha here despite the public venue. Mostly, Warren figured the guy had lost his marbles.
Adrenaline blasted through him with turbo speed, making Warren’s legs itch to run and tackle the guy. But he didn’t want to spook a man who was barely holding on to sanity, so he opted to take measured steps along the railing of a bridge famed for its jumpers.
Tabitha.
The thought of her being shoved off the structure at gunpoint propelled Warren’s feet faster in spite of himself. Logically, he knew stealth and surprise would be the best way to take this guy down.
Bloodlust urged him to get his hands around O’Leary’s throat as fast as possible.
The unassuming-looking attorney walked coolly over to the passenger side of his vehicle, which was parked far from any streetlamp. He pulled open the door and reached down into the passenger seat where Warren was certain Tabitha waited. God, he hoped she’d waited.
His gut dropped when he saw O’Leary have to help her from the car, her body limp. His legs quickened their pace even as he missed a step out of ice-cold fear.
Warren’s eyes stung as he focused on Tabitha’s slumped form. He’d only taken his eyes off her for a second in that garage, but he never thought she’d get that far away from him….
He’d never forgive himself if something happened to the one woman who didn’t condemn him for his past and didn’t expect him to pretend it never happened.
Sweat rolled down Warren’s back as he neared O’Leary’s BMW. The sound of traffic hid the noise of his feet on the asphalt as he passed one bridge support after another on the seemingly endless causeway leading up to the heart of the bridge. And damn it, why did he have to remember with sudden, stupid clarity this bridge was one hundred and thirty-eight feet high? He banished the number from his head and kept moving. Faster.
Was she okay? Could this bastard have been stupid enough to hurt her in a car where he’d leave behind all the evidence in the world? Warren knew he’d take no satisfaction out of locking the guy up for the rest of his life. If Tabitha was…
Jesus.
If O’Leary damaged one red hair on her perfect head, the guy would hit the Hudson like a ton of bricks after Warren was done with him.
Gun drawn, he dove between Tabitha and O’Leary. He had a brief impression of her body being warm as his arm brushed her shoulder on the way to the ground. He wrestled with O’Leary, using his gun to crack him in the head before the weapon skittered out of his grip and across the tarmac to teeter between the trusses of the bridge before the long fall down.
Not that he needed the weapon. The visual of Tabitha crumpling to the ground in his peripheral vision provided all the ammunition Warren needed to kill this guy with his bare hands. Fury lit his fists as he landed a blow to O’Leary’s gut. His temple. His—
“Warren.”
Tabitha’s voice halted him, the sound a croak of life from a few feet away since he knew damn well it wasn’t his conscience talking. Hope swamped him heavier than the mist hanging over the bridge.
“Tabitha?” He released O’Leary and scrambled over to her, wondering when the hell his backup would arrive. Seconds counted when a bullet could end a life in less than an instant.
“He’s got Manny’s gun.” She tried to lift her head but couldn’t. He didn’t see any blood on her but she had a nasty bruise on her cheek as if a shaft of metal had come in contact with her face.
Panic assaulted him all over again. Had she been beaten? Warren knew a beating could kill a person quietly after the blows had been exchanged. His brother had come close once after their father had been drinking.
“Are you okay?” He reached her side, cradling her head in his hands as footsteps drew closer and police shouted at O’Leary to put his hands up.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank you, God.
“Fine. Drugs.” She opened her eyes for a split second but the pupils rolled back again and she closed her lids. “Don’t drop him over the side. He’s got Manny’s gun.”
She hadn’t been beaten. Drugs were making her sluggish. Relief flooded his veins. Why was the gun so important to her? All he could care about right this minute was that she was all right. Warm. Alive.
In his arms where she belonged.
“I know he took the gun,” he assured her, although he wished like hell he’d known it a few days earlier.
He nodded to Donata Casale, the detective who’d been tracking the underage porn case long before Warren had gotten involved. She took charge of the scene as cop cars screeched into place to form a barrier around the action at the rail.
“I didn’t want you to drown good evidence.” Tabitha spoke with her eyes closed, but a smile pulled at her lips.
His heart stuttered in his chest and he knew right then he was more vulnerable to this woman than he’d ever been to any woman. Hell, the roller-coaster ride he’d been on for the last hour told him he’d keep being vulnerable to Tabitha for the rest of his life.
For just one more moment he savored the feel of her, the scent of her. All his.
“We’ll string the bastard up by his toenails, I promise.” O’Leary had started making some major errors in the last twenty-four hours and W
arren was positive the evidence would show as much. But Tabitha was right. Having the murder weapon in his possession was going to make this case all the easier to finalize.
“I want to go home now,” she mumbled into his jacket, her body still awkward after whatever drug she’d been given. “I have to let Buster out.”
Warren smiled, knowing they’d left the dog in the basement of his house in the Catskills. Could that be where she wanted to go? Home with him?
The surge of possessiveness he felt seemed so right. So meant-to-be.
Picking her up as carefully as he’d gather sensitive evidence, he navigated his way through the crowd of cops and cars toward the undercover vehicle. With no need to worry about being followed or shot at, he could take his time and treat this incredible woman the way she deserved to be treated. He just prayed when the drugs wore off she was as happy to see him as he was to have her back.
Because there wasn’t a chance in hell he could let her go now.
* * *
TABITHA DOVE BACK into the bed in Warren’s guest suite at the Catskills house two days later, determined that her surly caretaker wouldn’t find her out of bed. She had a kick-ass surprise for him she didn’t want to ruin.
“What are you doing?” He glared at her with suspicion in his dark eyes, his gaze raking over the covers she’d pulled up to her neck. “The doc said you were supposed to rest, remember?”
“For twenty-four hours.” She tried not to roll her eyes since she sort of appreciated having someone care about her health, even though his vigilance was taking a serious toll on her sex life today. “Lucky for you I’m all better and ready to show you something I made.”
He scowled at her with the same fierce glance he’d had etched on his face for two days straight. Part of the problem was that she’d probably scared him to death when the drug Braeden gave her made her appear fatally wounded. But she suspected the other part of the problem was that Warren had a hard time cutting himself any slack in life and he somehow blamed himself for her stupidity in walking out of the garage at the service station where Braeden had snatched her.
As if.
She hadn’t found the right words to convince him he couldn’t take on the whole world’s problems or make up for everyone else’s cluelessness, but she was hoping her special gift would help.
“I brought you here to get well, not to tax yourself with—”
“Sit.” She cleared a spot on the bed beside her, swiping aside pillows with her bare arm, the only part of herself she allowed to slide out of the covers.
“I don’t think—” He stared at her bare shoulder in a way that made her think she wouldn’t be sex-starved for too much longer.
Pleasurable anticipation filtered through her veins like warm honey.
“Come on.” She pulled on his arm with one hand as she reached beneath the covers with the other to retrieve the remote control. “I found your video camera in the linen closet and thought I’d reacquaint myself with my filmmaking skills in preparation for my next documentary.”
The antiquated equipment had given her low-quality footage, but the craftsmanship required to film the short piece had ignited passions she’d squelched for far too long.
“You made a film?” He sat beside her, propping one leg on the bed as he glanced back and forth between her and the television set occupying an antique armoire.
At last she had him in her bed. Victory.
She wanted to celebrate since he’d found out he wouldn’t be facing any disciplinary action from a professional review committee. He’d received a warning from his chief in the form of a lengthy closed-door talk.
Warren had thought the end result was fair. Especially since he didn’t plan to repeat the trend with any other women he met through his job. Tabitha liked hearing that.
“Yes, I made a film. It will be the first of many with any luck. I don’t care how many editing jobs I have to take to wheedle my way back into that end of the business. Sooner or later I’m going to be sitting in the creative director’s chair.”
Hearing what Warren had overcome to be the amazing man he was made her realize she would never get ahead reaching out with tentative, shaking fingers. It was time to leave the pity party of the past behind and grasp her future with both hands.
She’d forgotten how much she loved filmmaking, the piece of herself she’d let go in an effort to keep her marriage together.
Why hadn’t she realized that no relationship could work if you weren’t being true to yourself first? Thankfully, being with Warren had reminded her of the kind of person she wanted to be. She felt healthier and happier with him than she had been in years. Maybe her whole life. She’d realized how much she cared about him in those agonizing moments where she thought O’Leary might kill her. Amazing how quickly priorities could realign when you were confronted with the possibility you might not wake up in the morning.
Pressing Play, she was surprised when Warren’s hand covered hers, pausing the track before it could begin.
“They brought Manny in for questioning today.” His eyes locked with hers as if gauging her reaction.
“I’m hoping he can help build the case against Braeden?” She knew they had Braeden for murder and for attempted murder. But he’d been guilty of so much more with his films. “The girls who appeared in his films without their knowledge deserve to see justice served. His part in packaging and distributing underage reality-porn tore apart lots of lives.”
“Manny knew Braeden financed some low-budget films a few years ago. He said you did, too?” There was no suspicion in his voice, only a desire for confirmation.
She snuggled deeper under the covers of the four-poster bed in the house she loved for its clean simplicity. The chenille bedspread rubbed her chin with soft welcome. Buster paced outside and it occurred to her that Warren had thoughtfully closed the door.
A very good sign.
“Yes, I know. Manny financed those kinds of films, too, at one point. But once he got on board with the soap opera, he only did more legitimate pictures.” She hoped Warren didn’t think badly of her because she’d offered up suggestions for improving the crappy dialogue in a couple of erotic films targeted toward horny men. “And Manny never hired underage actresses.”
“That’s what he said. Apparently the final straw that broke the friendship wasn’t Evelyn leaving Braeden for Manny, but that Manny knew Braeden was hiring younger and younger stars.”
“But knowingly distributing footage of teens showing off on their webcams is a far cry from accidentally hiring an actress who lies about her age.”
Warren’s shoulders relaxed. “I just wanted to bring you up to speed on the case.”
“I’m glad.” She was just so relieved that Manny hadn’t been trying to kill her. Her ex was a jerk, but he wasn’t a killer and he didn’t promote underage porn.
Thank you, God.
Her faith in her judgment had been restored a little. And damn it, being with Warren had shaken her out of the numb acceptance of life she’d fallen into after her divorce. She was ready to embrace her dreams again.
Smiling up at him, she refrained from throwing herself into his arms and settled for pressing the play button on the remote. If all went well she hoped there would be time for throwing herself in his arms later. She hoped she hadn’t misread the signs of his interest, too—an interest that went beyond a simple one-night stand.
“Holy—” His eyes widened as he watched the screen, his attention thoroughly hooked by the image of her dancing around the bedroom in a negligee with a silk scarf wound around her head like an Arabian princess.
“I thought I’d start off small scale by just concentrating on developing key scenes for artistic variety and sharp content.” She timed her words against the backdrop of her hooking a leg around the bedpost in the video, her thigh showcased in the optimal light to make her look more muscular. There were definite benefits to creating your own seductive video when you’d attended film school.<
br />
Lighting 101 could make a woman look sexier than the best makeup job in the world.
“Tabitha, you know I can’t watch this and then walk away.” His expression appeared so comically anguished she couldn’t smother a giggle.
“That’s the point,” she whispered in his ear, letting her tongue flick over his neck. “I want you to touch me afterward.”
“You’re so bruised.” He tore his gaze away from the video with an effort to check the purple skin around her cheek and temple.
“The ache between my thighs is much more urgent, I swear.” She captured his hand and drew it down the front of her body, still wrapped in the gauzy scarf that was actually one of her long skirts cut into pieces.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered hoarsely, diving beneath the covers to expose the rest of her.
She had the feeling the rest of her little video would go unwatched, but that was okay. She’d save the striptease footage for tomorrow.
“I just want to be with you.” She wrenched his T-shirt up over his chest, grateful he’d taken a week’s vacation to help her recover. She suddenly felt the need for a great deal of tending.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he reminded her, his eyes meeting hers with a fierce heat that assured her he would be as passionate about keeping her close as he’d been about keeping his distance at first.
She wouldn’t push him for words of love and commitment even if she felt them deep inside her soul already, but she knew they were ready to take the first steps into a future together.
“Then touch me,” she urged, so ready for more she could barely lay still.
“Promise me you’re going to move in with me first.” He eased the remote out of her hand as he pinned her wrists to the bed, dominating her gently but oh-so-well.
Everything inside her went still as she processed what he was asking. For Warren, this seemed like a huge leap forward.
“Really?” She hadn’t expected him to be ready for that much of a first step, but the idea had definite appeal for a woman who wanted to see him and touch him during every spare moment of their lives.
