Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  Cade thought a moment before turning to Conner. “Software prick?”

  Conner replied, “Boston? She and Jake Boston? Well, now that’s interesting. The police never arrested that son of a bitch for killing his wife. They let him get away with it.”

  “Had her killed more likely,” added Collin. “And she’d screw anything in pants.”

  The memory had Connor smiling into his whiskey. “Now that was a nice piece of ass.”

  Cade and Collin exchanged looks before Cade asked, “And you would know that how?”

  Connor lifted his glass. “Been there. Done that.” Just thinking about her—he rotated his shoulders. “How about we order a couple of hookers for tonight?”

  Cade wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Now we’re talking. I could use a distraction. I’m tense.”

  Not even the idea of hookers had Collin feeling any better. In fact, he desperately wanted to use his fists on her. He’d done it before. Sitting here humiliated, he knew he would have to make her pay, big time. His mother would want that. But that’s what Auslo and Taft were for. As he saw it, the minions now worked for him and his brothers. And it was their job to do what they were told.

  Kit had deceived him by fucking Boston. She’d rejected him for the last time. He would meet with Auslo and Taft and up the ante. No matter what his father said, it was time to get results. Kit Griffin had always been his. He’d loved her since they’d been kids.

  She’d shacked up with Boston. And now, he’d make her pay.

  Sailing offered escape. And after Alana’s funeral no one needed escape more than Kit. Standing on the deck of the Sea Warrior with the wind in her face, she watched Jake navigate out of the harbor and head for the open sea.

  He’d hovered over her during the funeral, never leaving her side for a moment. It was finally over. And now, just getting outside, getting on the water, she felt like a weight had been lifted.

  Jake kept an eye on Kit’s willowy body as it moved fluidly to the rail in a pair of low-rise Capri jeans and a short white tank top that showed off her bellybutton.

  She was barefoot, with her loose hair billowing in the breeze, her chin to the wind. He watched her take pleasure in the moment. He’d been worried about her during the funeral, especially when she’d caught sight of St. John and Holloway.

  She’d turned a pale shade of white and hadn’t lost the pallor until he’d gotten her onboard the boat. For a while at the sight of the two detectives she’d turned to jelly, but then she’d pushed back her shoulders and sucked it up. She’d gotten through it.

  “Hi,” she said as she joined him at the helm, putting her arm around his waist.

  “Having fun?”

  “The best. This was a great idea. It’s just what I needed after this morning.”

  “Want to take a crack at the helm?”

  “Is there any chance I might run us aground?”

  A laugh escaped before he assured her, “I think you’re safe. Come here.”

  Edging up to him, the boat rolled and pitched, but he steadied her in front of him before putting her hands on the rudder, letting her guide the boat while he turned to work the sails. He cranked the winch, and the mainsail unfurled into the wind. She heard the wind snap into the canvas, could feel it power the boat through the water. After cutting the motor, he continued to trim the sails, and showed Kit how to work the jib. A slight spray slapped her face. “This is the best. Is it always like this?”

  “It’s different every time, but for me the basic rush is always the same.”

  With his hand over hers at the helm, Kit wasn’t shy about wanting to know everything she could about the Sea Warrior. She asked a dozen questions in rapid succession. How fast does the boat go with the motor versus the sails? How much fuel does she carry? Does it take longer to sail from north to south or east to west?

  Jake appreciated her curiosity. He really did. But after a while answering her questions, watching that mouth move, she was driving him crazy. It didn’t take much thinking on his part to know what he’d like to happen between them, was even picturing in his head what he’d like to do to her beneath him in bed. He wanted Kit in bed, under him, naked, moaning, and preferably not asking him twenty questions about sailing.

  The boat lurched and she leaned into his chest. He took full advantage of the sway, the unsteady ride, keeping her body pressed up against his to balance them both.

  When Pepper began to bark at a flock of seagulls, they turned to look and saw the gulls following a large dolphin pod with babies.

  Jake took the helm to navigate alongside the mammals while Kit hung off the rail as close to them as she could get with her camera. She marveled at the way he maneuvered the boat without scaring them off. At one point, he got them so close to the pod she could see the schools of fish swimming after the dolphins and in turn watched as the sea gulls took turns bomb diving for lunch.

  As the pod took a southward turn, Jake maneuvered the boat farther out to sea. He made a few entries in the captain’s log while Kit checked the pictures she’d taken with her digital camera. After scanning the disk, she showed off some of the shots. “Look at this one, look how clear that water is. You can plainly see it’s a couple of dolphins. And look at this one; you can see the baby swimming next to the mama.”

  Jake got a kick out of her enthusiasm. Like everything she did, she got the biggest thrill from the little things, like taking pictures of baby dolphins.

  A while later, she spread her arms out on the bow, turned to Jake, and said, “This is like heaven. How about we lean out over the water, you know, into the wind like the scene in Titanic? Have you ever done that?” Just as she started to step up on the bow to make the scene a reality, he grabbed her arm. “You’re crazy. You can’t do that.”

  She giggled, moved into him, and whispered, “Gotcha.”

  He laughed, but when their eyes met, instinct had him bending his head to touch her lips. The kiss began soft, playful, but just as his tongue played tag with hers in earnest, the kiss turned fiery. When a passing speedboat blew its horn, they broke apart.

  “You aren’t still pouting about not being able to find out any more about Ben Griffin, are you?”

  “Not exactly.” But it did rankle. “He must have moved recently, that’s all. Just shows how difficult it can be to track someone down.” Especially, if they didn’t want to be found, he thought briefly. “I’m not giving up.”

  Giving him a stern look, she warned, “Don’t pout about it. It’s wonderful you found anything at all. I’m impressed with your hacker skills. We’ll both look…tomorrow. I knew it might not be easy.”

  But it should be, he thought, as he began to lower the staysail. Turning to Kit, he showed her how to work the jib on her own, stopping the boat’s forward progress. As they hung off the starboard railing arm-in-arm, Kit turned to Jake and said, “It’s so peaceful here. I feel like you’ve brought me to another world.” She snuggled into his chest.

  And the urge to take her right there hit him all the way to his toes. He had to remind himself she needed comfort today, nothing more than relaxation after the tension-filled funeral. Granted, he should have his head examined for thinking that they could spend the day sailing, just the two of them in such close proximity to one another, confined on a boat where he’d be forced to watch her every move, listen to her every word, visualize taking her to bed. And there was a very comfortable, very convenient bed below deck, just waiting for them to enjoy each other.

  Oh, perfect, he thought, that’s a reminder he didn’t need at the moment. The reality of it had him gently setting her back from him, getting her the hell away from his body. He needed a distraction. A cold dip in the ocean might just do the trick. “How about a swim?”

  Even though the sun was shining bright and warm, Kit looked at him as if he were crazy. “A swim? Without a wetsuit? You’re kidding, right? That water’s got to be freezing.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow in both invitation and chal
lenge. “No colder than sixty-five degrees, I’d imagine. Probably ten degrees colder another ten feet down. But if you swim around you shouldn’t notice the cold too much.” He took a few steps toward her, grinning like the devil.

  Noticing the glint in his eye, she backed up. “What are you doing?”

  “How about I toss you in and you test the water? See how cold it is. If you don’t want those clothes you’re wearing getting wet, I’d start stripping down to that red bikini you’ve got on underneath.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

  She backed up even farther. “Now who’s crazy?”

  But when he started toward her, she ran to stern and in one smooth motion, shed her T-shirt and jeans, skidded to the railing, and took the plunge off the aft deck into the cold Pacific Ocean.

  Jake was still getting out of his clothes when she surfaced, shaking off water from her hair, rubbing her hands on her face as she bobbed up and down. “Could you be any slower? What’s taking you so long anyway? I could swim to China and back before you even get wet.”

  Just as she got out the challenge, he stripped down to his trunks and dived in, landing with a splash five feet from her head. She lit out after him at a fast clip, making a weak attempt to dunk his head under the water. But Jake swam just out of her reach until they were both darting in and out of the water much like the dolphins had earlier. When Kit broke stride, she yelled, “You were right about the water. As long as you move around it’s not so cold.”

  Wasn’t cold? It was downright freezing. Feeling a little sheepish about prompting her to swim in that bikini, Jake confessed, “I’ve got wetsuits on board.”

  “Now’s a fine time to tell me,” she said as she dived again while he followed after her. Despite the cold water, his blood was pumping and did nothing to ward off the sexual tension he felt. They surfaced again.

  As they bobbed on the water, there was no ignoring Kit in that bikini. Or the fact that she was cold. Through the fabric he tweaked her erect perky nipples. Why was he torturing himself like this? But he wanted a taste, just a taste of her to get him through the long day.

  He toyed with her lip with his teeth, nipping and urging her to open, until he felt her quiver. A yearning glaze settled in her eyes. He deepened the kiss, plunging headlong until he lost all thought of anything but her.

  The frigid water did nothing to cool his need; he reluctantly released her. She shimmied toward the boat and he followed. Squeezing the water from her nose, she shook her hair back and said, “That’s it for me. What about food? I’m starving. Nothing like a swim to build up the appetite.”

  Yeah, Jake thought, and nothing like working up a different kind. He’d just have to suffer.

  But he wasn’t happy about it.

  When Kit reached the boat she climbed the ladder onto the deck where she’d left her clothes. With Jake right behind her, he pulled out several dry towels from a storage locker then pointed to the outdoor shower, turned on the water. “Get some of that salt off your skin.”

  She gave him a quick look before turning to stand under the running spray to wash off. Jake stepped into the spray directly behind her still wearing his swim trunks.

  She felt him behind her, felt the heat of his body, the sexual tension hanging in the air between them, sensed what was going to happen before he actually touched her. When he did, when he reached for her, she turned and all but melted into his wet chest like ice in August.

  He wrapped his arms around her. Their bodies touched. They went from slow slide to a fast hot, molten furnace. The air sizzled. By the time he deepened the kiss, her bones had turned liquid from head to toe.

  One of them moaned.

  He shut off the water and leaned his frame against the tile behind him for support. Kit kept her arms wrapped around him, rubbing her hand along hard-toned flesh. She put her lips to his, opened her mouth. His mouth devoured. One hand snuck around the back, unhooked the clasp, and began an exploration of her breast, settling on a ripe nipple, tweaking the peak between thumb and forefinger while the other hand probed beneath the bikini bottom, fingers reaching damp heat. “God, I’ve spent a year missing you.”

  Just then, a loud static crackle from the boat’s radio broke the moment. A frantic SOS call filled the air. “Mayday, mayday, this is Wind Dreamer we’re taking on water, going down; we need help. Somebody help, over.”

  They bolted apart. Dripping wet, he ran to the controls, while Kit grabbed for her clothes. “It’s a distress call.” Once he reached the helm, he adjusted some instrumentation on the control panel, and then picked up the radio. “Roger, Wind Dreamer, we copy. This is Sea Warrior. Give me your position, over.”

  Dead air, then static before finally they heard the voice rattle off GPS coordinates. “Roger that, Wind Dreamer we have your position and understand the situation. Will radio your position to the Coast Guard. We’re en route to your location, ETA approximately ten minutes. Can you hold on ten minutes? Over.”

  Breaking up now, the voice sounded panicked. “…will try…we’re going down fast…don’t know how much longer…radio…will work…over.”

  Jake started the motor and didn’t bother raising the sails, turning the boat 180 degrees southward and to the east. He placed the call to the Coast Guard, passing along the GPS coordinates for the Wind Dreamer, hoping the Coast Guard would get there ahead of them.

  Kit handed him his shirt, and he handed Kit the binoculars, telling her, “Look for any movement in the water, a capsized boat, a raft, anything floating. Keep an eye out for debris of any kind.”

  Five minutes out, scanning the horizon with the binoculars, Kit spotted a dot in the distance, a speck in the sky closing in on the Sea Warrior from a northwesterly direction. She pointed to it, realized it was a helicopter; and Jake told her, “Let’s hope that’s the Coast Guard.”

  But in spite of her constant scan of the horizon, Kit still didn’t see a boat in distress or anything moving up and down on the water. Soon Kit watched as the helicopter overtook the Sea Warrior, bypassing them, heading in a southeasterly direction. Jake followed the chopper’s path, grateful the Coast Guard had shown up first.

  Finally, in between the swells, bobbing in the water, Kit spotted something that looked like a boat turned sideways, and shouted, “There. Over there. There’s a small boat.” As Jake veered that way, she told him, “I don’t see anyone on board, or anyone in the water, though.”

  As they got closer, Jake could see the sloop was old and listed noticeably. Even though he didn’t see anyone in the water, he knew they could have drifted with the tides.

  They watched as the helicopter circled the capsized boat. As the Sea Warrior drew within a hundred feet, the sound of an explosion pierced the air, knocking Jake and Kit backward to the deck. A huge ball of fire sent flames skyward. Black smoke engulfed them. As they picked themselves up off the deck, debris began to rain down on both of them.

  Hours later, after filing his report at the Coast Guard station, Jake went in search of Kit. As he wandered the hallway looking for her, he remembered the words Petty Officer Mac Brown had told him, “If you’d been fifty feet closer to that old boat, you and that pretty lady of yours might have been blown to bits. That sloop was a derelict, unregistered. It certainly wasn’t the Wind Dreamer. But you did the right thing, you responded to what you thought was a legitimate distress call.”

  So they’d reacted to a bogus signal from a boat that didn’t exist.

  It didn’t make any sense. And if they’d been seconds faster, arrived sooner, they’d be toast right about now. Could the whole thing have been staged for their benefit?

  He couldn’t prove it, but he was sure of it. Had the intent been to scare them? Or something far worse, and for what purpose?

  He found Kit curled up sound asleep on a bench in the hallway. He bent down, rocked on his heels in front of her to watch her sleep. Awake, the woman was a dynamo, talking, energetic. Asleep, she made such a peaceful, serene picture; he hated waking her. H
e couldn’t help but chuckle to himself; this was the quietest she’d been all day. If he woke her…

  His ringing cell phone did it for him. At the sound, she stirred, waking from a sleepy daze. When she realized Jake was there with her, she sat upright all at once and put her arms around his shoulders, felt the tension in him. He touched his fingers to her cheek and simply smiled at her. The ringing phone persisted and he answered it in his usual brusque manner, saying merely, “Boston.”

  “Someone hacked our system,” Dylan informed him on the other end.

  Jake asked the obligatory questions. Did we lose any data? Was their client information compromised? Was it virus related? If so, where did it attack first?

  When he hung up, he’d resigned himself to a long night ahead and wrapped his arms around Kit, telling her, “Baby, as much as I’d like to finish what we started this afternoon, it looks like I’ve got another crisis at work. I’ll take you home. You look wiped.”

  CHAPTER 13 Book 1

  Even at two in the morning, high in the Hollywood Hills, the blistering heat that had gripped the city of angels for most of the summer refused to let go. The thick night air, just as hot and humid as it had been before the sun went down, hung heavier now that the car was approaching ranch country, that forgotten part of L.A. where barns once outnumbered studios.

  Even with the windows rolled up on the sleek Mercedes, the earthy smells of manure managed to drift inward and penetrate the air conditioning cranked to max.

  As the vehicle climbed higher, zipping along through the canyons, hugging the curves of the winding blacktop, rock music blared from the radio with Mick hoping you’d guess his name. The music had their blood pumping. But it was the mix of amphetamines and cocaine running through their systems that gave them that extra kick they needed to do the job, a job they’d planned since last spring.

  As the Benz picked up speed, roared past the weathered sign marking the turnoff—barely more than a wide spot in the road—the driver missed the turn and threw out a string of profanity. For the next few seconds, the sound of grinding gears popping into Reverse replaced the chirp of crickets that hummed along the roadside as the vehicle backed up, squealing the tires in protest.