by Cindy Stark
"A shower is a definite possibility." His gaze traveled from her hands to the bandage on her arm, and back to her face.
She tried to ignore the jolt she felt every time their eyes connected.
"You can't get your bandages wet, but if you hang on for a second, I think we can rig something." He walked out, leaving her alone in the bedroom.
The crying had cleared some of the drugs from her system. The moment he left, the gears in her brain started to mesh again. She exhaled and began to study her surroundings. Growing up in a rough neighborhood had taught her some survival skills.
The room was comfortable with nice furnishings, but it felt more like a hotel room than someone's home. Still, she had no clue where she was. But more than caring where she was, she wanted to know how Jase had known she would need him to save her last night. It was too much of a coincidence to think he'd shown up by accident.
Who was he really?
She slowly stood, careful to keep her balance as she crossed the room to the blinds. She peered out between the slats, finding the bright May sunshine glinting off the water. In the distance, she could see the skyline of Chicago. Thankfully, she was still in her hometown.
She turned when Boo came bounding back into the room. He walked up to her and nosed her hand, leaving a wet feeling on her fingertips. She stared down at the friendly dog. From the looks of him, the Border Collie was still a pup.
"Hey, Boo." She skimmed his soft head. "Where's your ball?"
His ears perked up, and he dashed out of the room. The tags on his collar jingled as he left. He returned a few seconds later with the orange ball in his mouth. Allie caught herself smiling. Then tears threatened again over the guilt of the emotion, but she held them back. "You're a smart doggie, aren't you?" She pulled the toy out of the dog's mouth and threw it into the hallway. He ran after it, and without thinking, she followed.
She made it a few steps down the short hallway before she met Jase returning with a handful of supplies.
"I've got you covered." He smiled as he held up a pair of rubber gloves and a roll of masking tape. "Literally."
She found his smile contagious and returned a small one of her own. Joey hadn't been dead twenty-four hours yet, and it seemed all she could do was smile or cry. God help her, she didn't want to do either of them.
"Come here." He motioned inside the bedroom toward the dresser where he laid his contraband. "These rubber gloves should keep your hands dry." He slipped one gently over her fingers and up her wrist. She watched as he used his teeth to tear off a piece of tape before he wrapped it around the edge of the glove. "You're still going to have to be careful to not let the water get in. This will hold, but not for long." His hands were calloused and scarred, and had obviously seen a lot of abuse during his lifetime. The way he'd fired off those shots last night, more than likely they were the hands of a killer.
She lifted her gaze and watched his face as he slid on the second glove. Hard angles. A small scar above his right eye. Lips that turned sensuous when he smiled. Up close, he didn't appear to be much older than her, but his big muscles and street smarts made him seem like it.
He glanced up, catching her as she studied him. "Does that feel okay?"
She nodded.
He paused for a moment, their connecting gazes creating a current. Without saying anything, he broke the link between them and picked up a small piece of plastic wrap. "I need to tape this on your arm, and you'll be good to go."
He must have sensed the tension that had sprung between them. Memories of the awful things that had happened the night before hung in the air, and he had to know she'd want answers sooner or later. "Your name is Jase, isn't it?" Her words echoed in the quiet room.
He paused, meeting her gaze once again. "It is."
"I remember that from last night when—after Joey was shot." A deep pain squeezed her heart.
He watched her with dark eyes, as though waiting for a reaction.
She swallowed fresh tears. "We were going to get married. Joey and me." She took a breath. "We were going to move away and start a family." How could her dreams have been shattered so easily? "He was the love of my"—her voice faltered. "I loved him."
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could change things for you."
She wished that with all of her heart, too.
Thoughts shifted in her brain. "Why were you there?"
The question didn't seem to surprise him. With a slight tilt of his head, he narrowed his eyes and studied her. "I had business in the area."
Did he really think she would buy that answer? "What kind of business?"
"Just business." He broke eye contact, taking a step away from her. He focused on gathering the tape and scissors.
"The drug business?" She took a step closer to him, not intimidated by his height or muscles, needing to lash out at someone for what had happened. "Are you in the drug business, too?" Her voice raised an octave. "Are you like the rest of these drug families? The ones who stole my Joey from me?"
She could see it now. He was nothing but an older, more experienced version of her boyfriend. If Joey had lived and they hadn't left town, this is what he would have become.
"I know what you're feeling, Allie." A grim look clouded his face. "I'm sorry for what you've been through. Really. And I want to help you. But the less you know about me, the better."
"So, you're not going to tell me anything?" Tears of frustration and anger returned. She didn't know if it was her pregnancy or shock, but her emotions were bouncing all over the place. "Who are you? Why were you there?"
"It doesn't matter. You're safe." He turned and walked to the doorway. "The bathroom is across the hall. There are extra clothes in there that should fit." He walked out.
"Where did you get clothes from?" She followed him, catching sight of his retreating form as he headed down the stairs. "Where did they come from? Who are you?" She wanted to scream.
He paused in his descent. "If you want to live, don't leave this house." Then he was gone.
She let out a cry of frustration. Damn him. She was not going to be kept in the dark. She would figure it all out—why Joey was murdered, who Jase really was, everything.
She stood for a moment, pondering her choices, before she turned and found her way to the shower. It was the thought of fresh clothes that kept her from following Jase down the stairs. That and the fact she'd realized she'd probably pushed him enough for now.
The bathroom was small but clean and again, had no personal touches. No razor. No toothbrush. Questions raced through her mind. Was it Jase's home? Was he married? Kids?
No, she decided. He wouldn't have taken her to his place if he was married. Who would invite violence into their home?
She inhaled a shaky breath. Violence. She'd become a victim of violence. One minute she'd had her future ahead of her, and now she was something to be dealt with because of what violence had done to her.
Her insides crumpled. She wanted to go home.
The shower didn't help, she thought as she wrapped herself in a fluffy beige towel. She hadn't enjoyed the hot water at all. It hadn't rinsed away the awful memories, and trying to wash her hair with taped on rubber gloves had been awkward.
As she dried off, her attention was snagged by the small tattoo over her left breast. The heart made out of Chinese symbols with her and Joey's initials in the center was barely two days old. Joey had had the male version tattooed on his chest. He'd said the symbols were meant to tie them together forever.
Now what? She had his baby growing inside her and a constant reminder over her heart of the love they should have shared for the rest of their lives. Damn it. She blotted the tears that slipped down her cheeks. How could Joey have been so careless with their future?
She closed off her feelings as she mechanically hung up her towel. She didn't want to consider it, but perhaps Joey hadn't loved her as much as she'd thought. It was obvious he'd put what he wanted before what she needed. And now sh
e would have to put her baby's needs before her own.
She tried to force Joey out of her mind as she slipped into the small T-shirt, grateful the jeans fit her pretty well. She finger-combed her wet hair.
Pausing, she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles shadowed her green eyes. Her cheeks were pale, made worse by the dark, wet hair framing her face.
Other fears crowded in. Her baby was okay, wasn't it? She'd been jostled around pretty good the night before. And she had no idea if the drugs Doc Green had given her could have hurt anything. She was pretty sure Aunt Rita wouldn't let her stay when she found out she was pregnant. Would she even be safe staying there? She put her fingertips to her forehead, trying to stave off a pounding headache.
What she really needed was to eat, if not for her, then for her baby. She could handle that, so for now, that's what she'd do. She gathered her stained clothes and left the room.
The sound of male voices greeted her at the top of the stairs. Loud voices, punctuated by numerous cuss words. They were talking about kicking Gino's ass, whoever he was.
She cautiously made her way down, hoping to be able to survey the room before they realized she was there.
No such luck. The voices halted before she saw their faces. She glanced through the wooden railing as she descended the stairs and found eight sets of male eyes all watching her. There was appreciation, even lust, in some and wariness in others.
The men lounged on brown leather sofas or hovered nearby. Most had dark hair. Some had tattoos of dangerous objects on their oversized biceps. A few packed guns in their shoulder holsters. A large revolver rested on the coffee table between the sofas like a silent warning. She wouldn't be surprised if the rest had a weapon on them somewhere she couldn't see.
All in all, they intimidated the hell out of her. Much more frightening than Joey's boys.
Unfortunately, Jase wasn't among them. Her gaze stopped on Max. He hadn't been particularly nice to her the previous evening, but at least she knew who he was. "I'm just going to the kitchen for something to eat."
Max stared at her for a hard second. His blue eyes were glaciers, his baseball hat compressed on his head. "It's that way." He nodded over his shoulder.
Allie looked past the hardcore group to the doorway on the opposite side of the room and swallowed. "Okay. Thanks." She tried to pretend each one of those men didn't follow every step she took.
CHAPTER THREE
When Allie reached the shelter of the kitchen, she began to breathe again. Jase belonged to a pretty serious organization, and suddenly, she didn't feel nearly as safe as she had moments earlier when she'd been alone upstairs. The rough men in the other room had lowered their voices, but she still heard someone ask who she was. Her cheeks burned when Max replied she was Jase's new piece of ass.
She was not. She should turn around and set them all straight. Then again, maybe it was safer to let them think what they wanted. They wouldn't dare touch her then. Maybe that's why Max had said it in the first place.
She exhaled. She was over-thinking things. That always happened when she was nervous. She'd come for food and that's what she'd focus on.
She made her way across the hardwood floor toward the fridge, stopping to throw her old clothes in the trash can. Tossing her blood-stained tank top and skirt made her feel a little better. She would never be able to wear them again even if all the blood could be washed out.
For a house that no one seemed to live in, Jase's place had nice furnishings. Much nicer than Aunt Rita had. Nicer than anyone in her neighborhood.
She opened the fridge and found it bare except for a pint of milk, a brown paper sack, and a twelve-pack of Bud. Her growling stomach got the best of her, and she pulled the bag out of the fridge. Inside, she found a wrapped turkey sandwich and a bag of chips. Her mouth started to water. Pregnancy made her nauseous one minute and ravenous the next.
Allie took the sandwich and milk to the table, intending to stay in the kitchen until the men left. All day, if that's what it took. She would not parade in front of them again. She took a big bite of her lunch and appreciated the fact that it tasted good and was therefore likely to stay in her stomach.
With half a sandwich in hand, she started nosing quietly through the cupboards. This was the strangest house she'd ever been in. There was no stuff. No personal things. No leftover dishes from breakfast. It had to be a safe house of some sort. Maybe it was where they hid out when other drug dealers were looking for them.
After a few minutes, she gave up and went back to the table, having found nothing more interesting than dishes and an unopened box of raspberry pop-tarts.
The thugs' voices stayed muted for a while, and she couldn't catch more than a few words of their conversation. It wasn't until she'd finished her sandwich that things heated up, their voices becoming clear.
"Fuck that. They took out Timmy and Junior last night. We need to retaliate or we'll look weak. I say we draw 'em out. Dangle something sweet in front of their lair."
Allie wondered which one of the men was speaking. She plopped a chip in her mouth, trying to chew it quietly so she could hear.
"No. Jase wants us to wait until the time is right."
That had to be Max. At least she thought it sounded like him.
"We've been waiting on Jase for a long damn time, man." This voice was deeper than the first two.
"Yeah," chimed the first guy. "I say we dangle her in front of their haunts, and they'll be after her like she's a bitch in heat. We can pick them off like sparrows."
Allie choked on a chip. God, were they talking about her? They wanted to use her for bait? She froze in place, staring at the floor, listening for their next words.
"That would be Jase's call. Not yours, Frank." Max's voice was harsh, commanding, and Allie was sure there was an implied threat in there somewhere. Thank God, Max wouldn't let them use her.
"How you doing?"
An older man with a heavy Jersey accent stood in the doorway. Allie had been so intent on listening to the conversation, that she hadn't noticed him peek in. She swallowed a bite of potato chip along with a nice lump of fear. "I’m fine."
The heavy-set Italian man with thick salt and pepper hair gave her a crafty smile that made her shrink back in her chair. "So, what you doing here? You working for Jase?" He went to the fridge, removed a beer, and then pierced her with a stare that told her his thoughts were not as casual as his actions. He lifted a furry eyebrow shot with gray, waiting for a response.
"No, I don’t work for Jase."
"You have something to do with what went down last night, huh?"
She had no idea what the man knew and what he didn't, but experience had taught her it was better to keep her mouth shut. "What do you mean?"
"You know, the hit last night. Some of the guys are thinking maybe you can help us with a little problem." He twisted the cap off his beer. "If you really are Pagano's girlfriend, you might be wanting some revenge yourself. And it's always better if you volunteer."
What did that mean? A shiver raced down her body. If she didn't agree to help, would they make her? She was a pregnant woman, for hell's sake. No, she didn't want revenge. What she wanted was her quiet life back. No more violence. No more scary men. She opened her mouth, but was saved from answering when Max entered the kitchen.
"What are you doing, Gene?"
The older man shrugged. "Just, you know, assessing the situation." He flicked a quick glance at Allie.
"That's not your job, man. We do what Jase says."
"Well, Jase, he's a good man, but he don't always know everything, huh?" Gene gave him a sly grin.
Max lifted his chin, a silent warning to the other man. "He knows. If you don't like it, you're free to leave."
Testosterone thickened the air. The only sounds in the kitchen were the voices echoing from the other room. Allie glanced between the two men who towered over her, trying to guess their next moves. The blond vigilante looked ready t
o fight to prove his point. The other guy—she wasn't so sure. She held her breath, preparing to make a run for it if she needed to.
Then Gene relaxed his stance, backing down. "Nah, Max. I'm not going anywhere. Jase is the boss and a good man, like I said." He took a swig of beer and some of the tension inside Allie eased.
"Good. Then how about you get back in there with the other guys and leave her alone."
Gene knew enough to look guilty. "Sure. Sure." He didn't spare Allie a second glance before he left.
But Max did. He fixed her with a hard stare and held it. The weight of his gaze frightened her. "If you're smart, you'll stay away from them."
These were not nice people that Jase hung out with, and regardless of what she might find out on the streets, the greater danger seemed to be occupying the same house she was.
"Okay," she whispered to his retreating form. She had every intention of doing just that. Like her mother had told her when she was little, there was no time like the present.
She left her sandwich wrapper on the table and quietly stuffed her chip bag in the brown sack. Her heart pounded in her chest as she prepared her get-away. It took her only seconds to snatch the pop-tarts and a healthy looking steak knife, and stick them in the bag, too. She didn't know how long it would be before she had a decent meal, and it never hurt to have an easy-access weapon.
There was also the possibility Max couldn't hold off those men, and she had no idea where Jase was. What if the guys grouped together and decided to overpower Max? Allie tried to swallow her fear but it lodged in her throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no way she could fight off that group of thugs. It was time to hit the road.
She crept toward the back door as her gunshot wound started to throb. This was too crazy. She wanted to go home. Now.
Allie twisted the knob and the door opened soundlessly. Instead of daylight, she was surprised to find herself staring into a musty-smelling cement tunnel barely taller than she was and not much wider than a hallway. A few dim lights along the ceiling trailed off into the distance.
