BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1)

by Donovan, Christine

  She heard him groan and then he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her so tightly she thought her ribs would break.

  “I don’t want you to get involved,” he breathed into her ear with deep desperate intensity.

  “It’s too late. I already am,” she said as she pulled away from his embrace, gently placing her trembling hands on his face and bringing his lips to hers.

  ***

  Shannon tossed and turned most of the night, worried about Cole and frustrated about how to help him. He didn’t want her sucked into his past life and trial. Too bad, she already was, just by caring for him now. How could she not help him if she was capable of it? The sound of the lock on her hotel door clicking open had her pulse soaring. Had Cole bribed a hotel worker to let him in so he could surprise her and finally make love to her?

  “Cole is that you?”

  No answer.

  Sitting up, she came face to face with a tall man wearing a black ski mask. He moved fast, diving on the bed, pinning her and covering her mouth with his hand, blocking her scream in her lungs.

  Sick, deranged laughter fell from his lips. “Cole. The murdering bastard. Don’t insult me by confusing the two of us. Although you will never make that mistake again since you will be dead. A cool, hard sharp object pressed against her carotid artery.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why you say? Because I fucking hate him. And because I can.”

  Dear God, please help her. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not when she knew it would be blamed on Cole. He would go back to jail once again for a murder he didn’t commit. Who hated him enough to do this to him?

  A commotion outside her door had the man tensing up. He leapt from the bed and flatted his back against the wall by her door. She screamed, “Help me.”

  The door banged open and in stepped two hotel security officers. Her attacker threw his body into them, knocking them off balance, giving him the opportunity to run. One of the security personnel spoke into his walkie-talkie. She didn’t wait to hear what he said, she pounced on her cell phone and called Cole

  “Cole,” she said breathlessly, a man just attacked me.”

  “Be right there.”

  When he walked in, her room was crowded with hotel personnel, but her eyes locked on his worried ones and she waved him over.

  “Excuse me.” One of the security officers stopped him. “Who are you?”

  Shannon watched as his eyes went to her and back to the officer. She could just imagine what was going through Cole’s head. He’d say his name and they would instantly believe it was him because of history repeating itself and all. This time, however, she could prove his innocence. Before he could answer the query, she went to his side and placed her trembling hand on his arm. Instantly she felt his tense muscles relax. “This is my boyfriend, Cole Jackson.”

  “The Cole Jackson?” the officer asked with raised brows.

  “Yes,” Cole replied with his head held high.”

  “I’m a fan.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Cole hesitated then took the proffered hand. “Thanks. Now please tell me you caught the guy?”

  “Sorry.”

  “How did you happen at my door?” Shannon asked.

  “One of our room service employees saw him hanging around the hallway before he entered your room and became suspicious.”

  “Thank God,” Shannon said with relief.

  “Shannon, was there anything familiar about him?” Cole asked as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close against his side. Having his warm body pressed to hers eased her nerves and had her heart slowing finally. When the guy had her pinned to the bed she’d thought it would leap from her chest and run away seeking a calmer person.

  “No.” She shook her head. “Never heard his voice before. Although it was muffled by his mask. I asked him why he was doing this, and he said because he hated you and because he could.”

  “Damn it.” He raked his free hand through his loose hair. “The bastard is after you because of me.”

  “Why do you believe that Mr. Jackson?” the officer asked.

  “Isn’t it clear? He wants anyone I love to die.”

  An hour later, after Cole locked the door and rechecked all three locks, he joined Shannon in bed. He snaked his arms out and pulled her close so her back was snuggled up against his chest. “Go to sleep. I have you and I’ll keep you safe. He’ll not come back tonight and hopefully not ever.”

  Shannon believed him when he said he wouldn’t be back tonight. But never? Her body shivered. He’d be back to finish what he started she was positive of that fact. The question was when and where? If he wanted her death pinned on Cole then it would have to be when they were together again. God only knew when that would be.

  ***

  They went their separate ways the next day at the airport. It was an emotional parting, but a necessary one. It tore at his heart to remember what might have happened last night. Shannon could be dead now. His whole body shuddered at the thought. She promised him she would hire a bodyguard. And he wouldn’t rest until she did, and quite possibly not even then. Not until the attacker was caught. Cole knew with every fiber of his being he was the same man who killed Lindsey. Proving it was another thing. The man wanted Cole framed for another murder. If he never saw her again, she would be safe. Was he strong enough to stay away from the woman he’d come to love? If it kept her safe he could.

  Meanwhile he flew to Los Angeles to check in with his parole officer, something he could never miss or he’d be in violation of his parole, and they could send him back to prison to serve out the remainder of his sentence. And Cole had no intentions of spending another day behind prison walls. Then he planned on resting and relaxing for a few days at his Malibu beach house before he flew to Philadelphia for more concerts, only to fly back here again in a month’s time to see his parole officer once again. His life was one vicious cycle being interrupted by parole officer visits. Would he ever not be reminded of his convicted killer status?

  The one good thing that came with all this traveling was he would have no time to see Shannon. And that meant she’d be safe. At least he prayed she would be.

  ***

  Cameron sat on a rock in the woods at Wompatuck State Park, drinking with some buddies, still seething in anger at his father. He spoke to him, but barely. Didn’t his father have any idea what spending one night with BlackJack had meant to him? His father could be so stubborn and narrow-minded at times, and this definitely qualified as one of those times. Cameron didn’t care one way or another that Cole Jackson spent time in prison for murder. It was like, ancient history. The guy was way cool. And Cole liked his music, how awesome was that?

  But no, his dad couldn’t see past his policeman’s mind. The mind that said justice prevailed and Cole Jackson deserved what he’d gotten. Boy, wouldn’t his dad be shocked if he knew his mom and Cole had been together in Chicago. Cameron found out by accident. He called his mom one night and he’d heard Cole’s voice in the background. She didn’t deny it. Cameron laughed out loud, which caused his friends to look at him strangely, which caused Cameron to reach for another beer. Wait until his dad found out. The shit would hit the fan.

  Cameron was also royally pissed at his dad for the phone calls coming into the house inquiring about his music. He wouldn’t even listen to what the people had to say. His father felt he had the right to interfere with his dream. And shit, it was his dream, his life. His mom, or Cole, would never interfere. He couldn’t wait until she came home. He’d had it with staying with his dad. He glanced around at his friends and took another hit off his beer, nearly falling back in the process. Shit, he was sooooo past wasted.

  ***

  John McKenzie sat in his study, trying to think about what to do with Cameron. Everything had been fine until Jackson came into their lives.

  “John, the door’s locked.”

  John raked his hands through his thi
nning hair and went to let his wife in.

  She shut and locked the door behind her, eyeing him hungrily, and then she melted into his arms and whispered into his ear. “Matt’s napping, the twins went shopping with my mother and Cameron’s out with friends. I thought...” She ran her hand down the front of his shirt, and then even lower causing him to take a breath, and she whispered into his ear once more. “We’re never alone, not even in our bed at night.”

  John took her hand, led her to his chair and pulled her onto his lap before he proceeded to explore his wife’s wonderfully pregnant body. For some reason, whenever Cheryl was pregnant, she became frisky as hell. And John, always a gentleman, would not disappoint his beautiful wife.

  They’d just finished putting their clothes on when the doorbell rang. John hurried down the hall toward the front door. After glancing through the sidelight and seeing a uniformed police officer and his son Cameron, John closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This couldn’t be good.

  He swung open the door. “Carl.”

  “John, we were called to the woods near the high school because neighbors complained of noise. We found a group of teenagers drinking and getting high. Your son here was a little too out of it, I thought I’d bring him to you and let you deal with him.”

  “Thanks Carl, I owe you one.”John stared at his son, who looked a little green around the gills and he thought, here we go, the teenage drinking years are upon us. Shit. He was so not ready for this.

  Once Carl was gone, John grabbed Cameron’s arm. “Come on, son.” He dragged his swaying, limp body up the stairs into the bathroom and flipped the toilet lid just in time for the poison to come up and out of Cameron’s body. John gagged. Christ, how much did he drink? John proceeded to strip his son naked, put him in the shower and then to bed. It wouldn’t do any good to talk to him now. He was too far gone. But shit, John wanted nothing more than to throttle him for his stupidity. Instead he tucked him into bed, his heart heavy with the burden of guilt every parent felt whenever their children screwed-up.

  He raked his hands through his hair and swore at himself for it. He would definitely be bald within the year. He’d been really tough on Cameron lately, ever since the BlackJack concert. Hell, maybe he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He owed his son an apology, which he would give him, and then he would get the talk about drinking and smoking dope and then the grounding.

  As a cop he knew more than most what teenagers truly did these days, and it frightened him to the core. And he wasn’t that old that he didn’t remember all the things he did at Cameron’s age. But times were different now. Drugs were stronger, purer, dangerous and more addicting. And never mind the consequences for kids these days. One screw-up could change the whole trajectory of their lives. Gone were the times when, if you were caught smoking pot on school grounds, you received a week’s suspension. Now you were expelled from the school completely. Years ago if an under aged teenager was caught with alcohol, the police would confiscate it and see him home safely. Cameron was lucky the cop brought him home instead of the police station. It was a scary time they lived in, and the pressure on kids nowadays was phenomenal.

  John groaned out loud. What the hell was he thinking by bringing another person into this world he would be responsible for? He could barely handle the children and the responsibilities weighing him down now. He wished she weren’t pregnant. “John,” came Cheryl’s calming voice from the doorway. “Is Cameron okay? What happened?”

  Hearing Cheryl’s voice caused his heart to lurch more and the guilt to rise. How could he wish she were not carrying his child? A child made from love. God forgive him for thinking such a thing. He did want the child.

  John crossed Cameron’s room and hugged Cheryl to his chest. He needed her strength, her calming presence to help him over this hurdle. “He’s drunk. I took care of it.”

  ***

  As Shannon drove her Mercedes SUV down her street that ran parallel to the ocean, she lowered the window and breathed in the salty ocean air. She didn’t think she could live anywhere not connected to the ocean. It had always been a huge part of her life, and it comforted her knowing within steps of her house she could enter another world. Her long walks on the beach had always done wonders to put her life in perspective when she needed it. And most of her books were created in her mind during her solitary strolls in the sand. Nothing could compare to the smell of salt water, the feel of the cold, moist sand between her toes and the sound of the surf to inspire her creative juices to flow.

  In fact, as soon as she unpacked, she bundled up and headed down to the beach, putting off her phone calls to her family to let them know she arrived home safely. The beach seemed deserted as she knew it would be. She walked over toward her favorite jetties and sat with her legs bent up and her arms wrapped around them to ward off the chilly breeze coming off the water. She stared out into the surf. It rode high on the beach, appearing exceptionally rough, and her mind began to wander.

  She needed to start plotting out her next book. Her agent and editor wanted to see a synopsis within the month. Oh, she had plenty of plots mulling around in her head, she just didn’t know which story she would pluck out of her brain. Which story was the one she needed to write next? The character fighting to be heard over all the others would inevitably win. The story and characters would take shape in her mind, much like watching a movie, and she would not be able to think of anything else until she put it down on paper.

  The first draft drained her emotionally. She poured her heart and soul into the characters in her story. She laughed and cried with them and fell in love with each and every one, creating just the right mix of personality and emotion to make them interesting and real to her readers. Shannon always strived to make her readers feel personally connected to her characters and the story of their lives. She wanted them to forget they were reading a book and just become part of the story itself. See themselves as one of her characters. Be one of her characters. Share their feelings and emotions. Weep with them, laugh with them, and feel connected to them as a whole.

  When she read someone else’s book and she forgot about everything but the story and the characters and actually felt completely connected to it, utterly involved with everything—the humor, the sadness, the terror—then she knew the author had done their job. Anyone could put words on paper, but it took a special someone, a special gift, not to mention a wild imagination, to pull the reader into the story and keep them there. Shannon strived for that in each and every book she wrote. If she didn’t feel the emotional pull herself, how would her readers feel it?

  Many times she’d get up in the wee hours of the night and write notes down. Her brain twisted, turned and plotted even as she slept. Often she’d write the last chapter when the book was not even near completion. Shannon had one close friend, an avid reader, who dabbled in writing herself, whom she would give the first draft to and hope for a good reception. Her friend had such a knack in knowing good work when she saw it. If it needed more work, she was great with suggestions.

  Shannon’s relationship with her editor, Kevin, was so good they could always discuss what changes and improvements needed to be made. She respected and admired his ability to know a bestseller when he read one. Not to mention their close personal relationship—a relationship Shannon cherished and never took for granted.

  So here she sat, on hard, damp, freezing cold rocks trying to pull the plot for her next book out of her creative mind, which in truth, felt anything but creative at the moment. The only thing she was able to think about was Cole and how she missed him terribly and dreamed about when she would see him again. She knew he was in Philadelphia now, and she wasn’t quite positive where his tour went next. She was also anxiously awaiting the trial transcripts, which should arrive any day.

  Never mind her terrifying night in Chicago. She’d been on edge, walking around on eggshells, expecting her attacker to appear at any moment. When she’d been on the road, she’d hired a personal bodyg
uard, but now she was at home and she didn’t feel the need. Her address, as far as she knew, was a well-kept secret. Besides, she hated having a big-hulking man following her everywhere. She’d received several calls and texts from Cole, but she knew his tour schedule was crowded and he barely had time to himself. The fact he called her when his time was free humbled her and made her heart sing.

  After an hour or so more of daydreaming about Cole, she beat herself up and rose off the rocks, stretched her stiff, sore and cold body. Her bottom was numb and her hands freezing as she made her way back to her house. Five years ago she’d stumbled purely by chance on this beautifully restored Victorian, complete with wraparound porch. Some might consider it an upside down house. The first floor boasted three bedrooms and a bath.

  The second floor held the large spacious kitchen with white cabinets and black granite counter tops. There was a large center island with four bar stools. It was the center of the house. Everyone always gathered around the island. The back of the house, facing the ocean, housed the large family room with a beautiful floor-to-ceiling fieldstone fireplace that held a gas insert sending off instant flame and heat. Shannon had the fireplace on most days from September to May to help with the chill of living in an old drafty house by the ocean. The wall facing the ocean was completely taken up with windows and the view, breathtaking. She could see Mother Nature in all her glory. And many times since she’d lived here, Mother Nature had tried to come through those windows.