When she reached the landing, she slowly turned toward the bathroom and filled a glass from the pitcher of filtered water she kept on hand for just such occasions. Sedately crossing the hall to her son’s room, she watched him gulp it sleepily before once more grabbing his Elmo and settling into slumber. After softly closing his door, she managed to calmly stroll into her own room.
And it was there she let go.
Sinking down on her bed, she dropped her head into her hands, her pulse pounding in her temples as a little eep that was one part terror and two parts heartache escaped through her trembling lips.
What am I going to do?
Because Jake was right. No matter what she said, no matter the impossibility of it all, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, it wasn’t over.
It’d never truly be over. At least not for her.
But it had to be. Because there was just no other option.
And then, inexplicably, an image of those blue roses popped into her head. Blue…blue meant mystery, didn’t it? So, what? She had a secret admirer? And just like that, the solution to her little problem with Jake presented itself.
Jumping from the bed, she grabbed her purse and fished inside for her wallet. Once she located it—way at the bottom beneath a granola bar, the extra pair of Underoos she kept in case Franklin had an accident, and her travel sewing kit—she flipped through old receipts until she found the business card she was searching for.
Lifting the phone from her nightstand, she punched in the number printed in a firm hand on the plain white cardstock and waited as one ring turned to two, and then three.
“Come on. Be home.”
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded groggy, and she glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. 11:30.
Dang.
“I’m sorry to be calling so late, Dr. Drummond,” she winced, “er, Chris. But I was wondering what you were doing for dinner tomorrow night…”
***
“Okay.” Vanessa pulled off her wig and flung it on the hotel bed, stepping out of the sky-scraper heels that were absolutely killing her back, not to mention her calves. “The next time you want to pump the lovely Candy for information, you’re going to do it yourself.”
Rock sat on the chair they’d parked in front of the window, a pair of optics held to his eyes. “Well, you’ve still got your eyes, chère,” he observed in that slow-moving molasses drawl of his as he turned away from the window. “So it couldn’t have been that bad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought she might want to scratch your eyes out after that first scene. ‘Who you callin’ bitch, bitch?’” he mimicked in a terrible falsetto, grinning and batting his almost girlishly thick lashes. “Remember that?”
“For gals like us,” she told him, “bitch is a compliment. When I said you’d have to take the next shift with Candy, I wasn’t referring to any possibility of a cat fight breaking out. Yeah,” she shook her head at the look on his face, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we professionals stick together. Anyway, I’m saying you’re up next because it’s gonna take weeks, and the repeated bleaching of my ears, to recover from the conversation I just had.”
He lifted a brow, clearly intrigued.
“Candy saw the, uh…we’ll call them props that our little delivery boy brought in, and she spent ten minutes regaling me with stories about a guy who used to like to use the same kind of equipment on her as she plucked his chest hair while simultaneously singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”
Rock snorted with laughter. “At least the guy was patriotic. God bless America!”
She sent him a disparaging look. “And that’s a clean version of the conversation, I assure you. Of course, given her experience with the equipment, it made it easy for her to believe I’d completely worn you out and left you up here sleeping while I ran downstairs to take a break.”
“But given the size of our equipment, shouldn’t you have been the one worn out?”
She smiled innocently and batted her lashes. “Who says we used the props on me?”
Rock shuddered. “Okay, you may need ear bleach, but now I need brain bleach.”
“My work here is done,” she chuckled.
“Not so fast,” he swallowed and made a distasteful face like he was having trouble scrubbing away the images circling around in his head. “What’s the 411 on Johnny?”
“I told Candy I’d done,” she made the quote marks with her fingers, “a client here once before who paid really well. Gave her Johnny’s description. Asked if she’d seen him around lately. She says she thinks maybe she saw him yesterday evening out in front of In the Mood Lounge. She couldn’t be sure since she was soliciting another john at the time, but the physical characteristics she described sound an awful lot like Vitiglioni.”
“Does she know if he’s staying here?”
“Nope.” She moved toward the bed, flexing her poor aching toes after flinging herself back on the squeaky mattress they’d stripped of bedclothes and covered with what they hoped were at least semi-clean towels. “She said she hasn’t seen anyone who fits his description go in or out of the hotel today, but at least we have a solid lead on the bar. And speaking of, is there anything new over at In the Mood?”
“Non.” She stared at the water-stained popcorn ceiling and let his smooth baritone wash over her. “Just sad patrons, tired prostitutes, and lazy pimps.”
“Not exactly the glamorous life we’re living, huh?”
“It could be worse,” he mused. “It could be much worse.”
She lifted her chin and stared at him, curiosity overcoming her. “Like your other job?
He spun away from the window where he’d once more resumed his surveillance duty. “What d’ya know about that?”
“Nothing.” She pushed to a sitting position. “As far as I can tell, nobody knows anything about that.”
“And that’s the way it’ll stay.”
Uh-huh. She shouldn’t have expected anything more.
“You all have a lot of secrets, don’t you? Even from one another.”
“What do you mean?” His brows lowered over his perfect nose.
“I mean, there’s you and this other job. Boss kept his sister hidden for years. Then there’s Snake and this thing with Michelle and Franklin and the—”
“What about this thing with Shell and Franklin?” he demanded, and she realized it might be smart to close her mouth right now.
Like, right now.
Sometimes she just wasn’t very smart.
“I, uh, I thought it was obvious.”
“What’s obvious? What are you talkin’ about?”
“Nothing,” she shook her head. Far be it for her to be the one to enlighten him.
He narrowed his eyes before pushing up from the chair. Stalking across the room, he grabbed his designer jacket and slung it over his shoulder before dropping the optics on the mattress beside her. “I’m goin’ to go make some inquiries at the bar. You stay here and keep an eye on things.”
The set of his jaw was hard and unforgiving as he turned and marched toward the door.
“Be careful,” she called to his back. “We don’t know how many guys Johnny has out looking for us, and that disguise is good but it’s not infallible.”
He lifted a hand in answer, refusing to turn back to her as he disappeared through the door.
O-kay, she thought, so talk of his second job is clearly a big no-no.
Good to know…
Chapter Eight
Bang!
The sound jerked Michelle from a fitful sleep, and she was out of bed, throwing on her robe, and wrenching open her bedroom door before she was fully awake. Which might account for her momentarily forgetting the fact that she had a very big, very menacing houseguest. Because when a large shadow loomed in front of her, she opened her mouth to scream.
And she would have, too. Just let ’er rip with everyt
hing she had, if a hard hand hadn’t clamped over her mouth.
“Geez, Shell, it’s me!” Jake whispered, and she nearly collapsed with relief onto the hallway rug.
Then she remembered what had jolted her awake.
“I heard a noise,” she said after batting his hand away, blinking owlishly in the dim glow given off by the nightlight she kept plugged into one of the hallway’s outlets.
“Yeah, me too.” He pushed the cold handle of her Beretta Tomcat into her shaking hand. The little .32 pistol had been a gift from Steven. He’d given it to her right before he’d left for his final mission, and the feel of it against her skin brought on a deep, aching sadness that took the edge off her momentary panic. She couldn’t help but think that none of this would be happening if Steven was still alive…
“I recognized Preacher’s lockbox above your refrigerator,” Jake said. “And, FYI, you really shouldn’t tape the key to the lock onto the actual box, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now I just need to be sure you know how to use this thing.”
“I know how to use it,” she assured him. “Frank made sure of that.”
“Good. Now I’m going to check out that noise.” He handed her his cell phone. “If I’m not back in five minutes, you lock yourself in Franklin’s room, hit one on the speed dial—that’ll be your brother—and shoot at anything or anyone that tries to come through that door. You got me?”
“Yes.” She nodded again, swallowing jerkily, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, as she followed him the short distance down the hall to plant herself in front of her sleeping son’s door.
As Jake silently descended the stairs, she noticed he was naked save for a big, black Glock and pair of boxers covered with…
Were those hearts?
A laugh that was one part incredulity and two parts hysteria bubbled up the back of her throat, but she managed to bite it off.
Now was not the time to lose her mind.
***
Jake’s blood pumped through his system at a rate of about a hundred miles a minute, because someone or something was right outside Shell’s back door.
He carefully turned the knob and slowly pushed open the door, stepping barefoot onto the cold concrete of her back steps. With his Glock held ready, he flipped the switch to the outdoor fixture. A sudden wash of golden light bathed the back of the brownstone and part of the driveway in a twelve-foot radius—which meant there was still a whole helluva lot of area left in darkness.
Goddamn shadowy corners. They’re the bane of my existence tonight.
Goose bumps pebbled his flesh, but they had nothing to do with the harsh bite in the night air and everything to do with the fact that even though he couldn’t see anything, his senses—heightened by years of training and living on the edge—told him he wasn’t alone.
Come out, come out wherever you are, he silently challenged as he descended the steps, quartering the area with his weapon, ears cocked to the slightest sound. He could smell the sweet, earthy aroma of the purple flowers blooming in the flowerbed beside Shell’s driveway and the more pungent smell of newly turned mulch.
Gauging the short distance to the neighbor’s house, the street in front and the alleyway behind, he chambered a round and methodically scouted the area.
When he’d decided to come to Chicago to finally lay claim to Shell, he certainly hadn’t imagined himself stalking around her backyard in his damned skivvies, acting as her bodyguard and bullet-catcher. Hell, no. He’d imagined himself upstairs, in her bed, sunk deep into her warm, soft body.
Ah, the ever optimistic turn of the male mind…
But given that Shell was about as close to inviting him to bed as she was to starting a career in pole-dancing, he figured this was as good as it was going to get. And honestly, it did appear that perhaps Fate, the unbelievably fickle bitch, had finally seen fit to throw him a bone.
Because this was what he was built for. Fighting. Protecting. Defending. And maybe if Shell began to see him as less like the man he used to be—the one who’d treated her so terribly—and more like the man he was now—the one who’d lay down his life for her and her son—he’d be able to charm his way into that invitation for a sleepover. If the heat of those kisses was anything to go by, yo, mama, she was closer to inviting him upstairs than she knew.
Of course, first he had to deal with whoever the hell was lurking around out here. And there was someone lurking. He could feel eyes on the back of his head as surely as he felt the cold, damp ground beneath his feet.
Just like back in BKI’s courtyard, a tidal wave of anger washed through him at the thought of someone hurting Shell or Franklin. But now, the sensation was much more acute. Because back there, Shell would’ve simply been collateral damage for whoever was gunning for Boss. But here? Whoever had come here, to the sanctity of her home, was aiming specifically for her.
For the first time in a long time, the monster inside him reared its head and blinked red eyes, stretching its claws.
Who are you, you bastard. Where are you?
There. By the trash cans. Movement.
Heart pounding in hungry anticipation, monster inside him growling and scratching to be free, he slowly stalked in the direction of his prey.
***
What the hell?
Johnny had ducked back into the prickly hedgerow when a large man with an even larger gun stealthily emerged from the back door of Michelle’s brownstone.
This wasn’t what he’d planned for…
Last night, when he scouted out the place, he was gratified to learn that Michelle and her son lived alone. And though she was more suspicious than most women and had a security system to match the Pentagon’s, he knew just how get around that. All he had to do was cause a little racket. And when Michelle came to investigate, and she would come to investigate—humans were intrinsically curious which, in his experience, also made them intrinsically stupid—he’d simply grab her and drag her back inside before forcing her to rearm her system.
Yeah, that was the idea. But this dickhead, the one wearing the ridiculous boxer shorts, screwed everything up. Johnny wasn’t prepared to take on a full-grown man, especially one handling a very deadly weapon. He hadn’t brought the correct tools with him.
Shit!
Fury mixed with disappointment to sit like a bitter pill, burning his gut.
He’d so been looking forward to this. Dreaming about it all day, in fact. Especially after he’d heard the sound of her smooth, sexy voice when she told him to leave the roses.
But he hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by being careless.
So…he’d wait. Again. Go back to the hotel and regroup. Again.
And tomorrow night when he visited them? Well, he’d be ready for all possible scenarios, now wouldn’t he?
Silently he slid back through the bushes and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard. He hadn’t gone more than twenty feet when he heard a clearly disgruntled meow followed by a string of curses.
Ah, perfect…
***
Michelle blew out a relieved breath when she heard Jake close the kitchen door and reset the alarm. Tucking the pistol in the pocket of her robe, she waited for him to mount the steps.
Oh, why did her heart jump into her throat at the mere thought of seeing him in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts?
Because it’s a silly organ, that’s why. A silly, forgetful, forgiving organ. And, let’s be fair, Jake can fill out a pair of underwear like nobody’s business…
“What was it?” she asked once he climbed to the landing, fighting not to let her gaze drift down the delicious tan expanse of his naked chest.
“That’s the second time today I nearly shot a cat,” he mused, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Black with white paws?”
“Yep, and chowing down on your garbage like it was chock-full of tuna fish. He must’ve knocked the lid off the can, and that’s what caused the racket.”
“That would b
e Seymour, the neighbor’s cat, and he’s obviously getting a lot more resourceful. I thought I’d finally bested him with these new garbage cans. Apparently they only foiled him for a little while.”
Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to massage away the tension, and she took the opportunity to sneak the teeniest little peek at his chest.
Unfortunately, even in the dim hall, she must not have been all that stealthy, because no sooner had she allowed her eyes to drift down to the corrugated muscles of his stomach than she felt it happen.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere…
When he lowered his arm, his gaze zeroed in on her cleavage, revealed by the deep V of her nightgown and her hastily donned robe. She grabbed the robe’s satin lapels and jerked the two halves tightly together.
Okay, and turn about was fair play, but it could also get a woman in a crap-ton of trouble.
One corner of his too-sexy mouth hitched at the sight of her nervousness before he cleared his throat and took a step toward her, pinning her with his too-green gaze. “I, uh, I want to apologize for the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” she interrupted, taking two hasty steps back toward the safety of her bedroom. “You shouldn’t have. But it’s fine. Just as long as it doesn’t happen again.”
He tilted his head and smiled as he advanced on her retreat. Those blasted dimples taunted her. “That’s one of the main reasons I fell in love with you, you know.”
Why did he insist on using that word when he didn’t truly understand its meaning?
She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “What are you talking about?” she asked from the relative safety of her bedroom’s doorway.
“Your sweet, forgiving nature. I’ve never met anyone as thoughtful and caring and quick to give everyone the benefit of the doubt as you.”
Oh, God. And any sexual heat she’d been feeling was instantly doused.
“I’m not as sweet and thoughtful as you think,” she admitted, suddenly fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to cry.
Rev It Up Page 12
