Guarding Him

by Kori David

“No. We’ll call the police and let them handle it.”

  “Let me do my job,” she said, not bothering to struggle. It was hard to actually fume when all she could smell was a hint of some woodsy cologne and him.

  “Call the police.”

  “Damn it, Ian. You let him get away.” While she was irritated, Nic knew she couldn’t effectively chase the guy down with no shoes on and glass blocking her way. A trip to the hospital for stitches in her foot and a tetanus shot did not sound all that appealing. But he didn’t need to know that.

  “Damn it, Nicolette,” he growled.

  She rolled her eyes in the dark at the exasperated tone but couldn’t stop the small shiver at the sound of her full name rolling off his tongue. His smoky voice added a sexy quality to her name that she’d never fully appreciated until this moment. “Oh, alright, but he’s long gone now.”

  She could feel him shrug before he let her go. “He was after the plans,” she said as she went up the stairs to get her cell phone.

  “He actually said that?”

  She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. “He thought I was you in the dark. And he lost his gun. Why don’t you find it with your flashlight, and we’ll bag it for the police when they get here?”

  “I’ll find it,” he said.

  His voice was grim. She climbed a few stairs and was almost to the second-floor landing when the quiet words reached her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. He wasn’t a very good burglar.”

  “And you’re always better?”

  “Yes, Ian, I am. That’s why I’m good at my job.” She got to her room and placed a call to the police. The second call she placed to Kei. The voicemail picked up, and Nic left the details and description. Kei would fish out more information than the police in less time.

  Throwing a T-shirt over the tank top, she slipped her bare feet into tennis shoes. Time to clean up the mess and deal with that chivalry coming out of Ian. She’d heard the worry, and she wasn’t sure what to think about it. Nic was impressed that he’d helped, instead of hindered her and that he hadn’t bumbled his way into the fight in some misguided macho attempt to save her.

  She was beginning to really like Ian.

  Damn him.

  * * *

  “Who do you think this guy is?” Eugene asked.

  Frank followed the beat-up white van out of the neighborhood. “Another player.”

  “Why are we following him?”

  He sighed. Sometimes Eugene asked the dumbest questions, but he was bright about other things. Since he’d inherited Frank’s taste for crime, Frank took the time to explain things to his brother. Over and over again. “I just want to know where he lives in case we have to take care of him.”

  “Okay,” Eugene said and went back to his phone.

  Frank could see that he was scrolling through pics of nude women. Fuck. Eugene was antsy and would need a release of some kind soon; otherwise, he’d cause more trouble than they needed. If Eugene was more interested in naked chicks than where they were going, that was a bad sign. Frank had been moving them around for the last month, with no time for his brother to blow off steam. The FBI had only been a day behind them in Kansas. It had him a bit spooked, so he’d been more cautious than usual.

  The van crossed the bridge and wound in and out of neighborhoods until they reached an apartment complex that looked rough and tumble. One of those government-funded housing program places. The light from the street pole illuminated a park next door and showed Frank where the guy went. The apartment door opened, and a robust woman with huge tits, barely contained in a little shirt, spilled out. She was yelling in Spanish to the guy as he limped toward her. Frank stole a glance at this brother, but he still seemed to be engrossed in his phone.

  Frank eased away from the curb and turned down a different street. He made a mental note of the address and hoped the guy wouldn’t get involved again—for his sake.

  “That woman was pretty.”

  Frank glanced at his brother. The phone was off. “What woman?”

  “The one screaming at that guy we followed.”

  Fuck. That wasn’t good.

  Chapter 9

  The officers left the house with their crime scene tech people two hours later. The glass on the floor had been cleaned up, and the window already replaced, plus the power restored, courtesy of hefty tips. Ian seethed. It was a slow but insidious burn. Nic had been in danger, and it pissed him off. Intellectually, he knew that this was her job. He’d seen her in action, and she’d impressed the hell out of him, but the throwback caveman inside wanted to punch something until it bled.

  “Well, that was fun,” she said.

  Her cheerful tone ignited the fury he’d been holding in check. She’d been in danger. Mortal danger, and he’d done his best to let her handle it. And that killed him. Never again. He didn’t give a shit about the contract or anything else. Nic was never going to be in a situation like that again because of him.

  His jaw ached from keeping the words inside. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time until he was in the workout room. He flipped on the light and went straight to the heavy bag hanging in the corner. Taking his shirt off, he didn’t bother with gloves and started punching the bag with all the fury inside.

  Glancing to the side at movement, he saw Nic sit on one of the mats and stretch, rubbing her right foot and shin. The overwhelming urge to go to her rode him. She was hurt, no matter how she acted. He stopped punishing the bag and went to her.

  Jumping to her feet, she asked, “Are you ready to talk about what’s eating you? Or do you need to have more testosterone time?”

  “Goddamn it, Nic,” he growled, and the caveman took over.

  Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. It was the first time she’d retreated from him, and he briefly wondered what his face looked like. One more step and her back was against the wall. He caged her there with his arms on either side of her head.

  “This isn’t working for me,” he said.

  “If you want me to leave you alone, I can,” she replied.

  “I wish you would,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He didn’t mean her physical presence. She was sneaking into his head when he should’ve been working, and she’d been in his dreams tonight. The image of her naked and writhing in his arms haunted him, stalking him while he was trying to rest. Then seeing her fight with that man downstairs—it should have been him, not her.

  She licked her lips, her violet eyes wide. Nic could easily defend herself, but she was caught in the same spell he was. Arousal. Fierce, hot, and wild—Ian could smell it. He wanted her, and that desire reflected back at him on her face. Her firm breasts rose and fell, the heat of her reaching out to him, even though no part of their bodies touched.

  “What are you doing, Ian?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” It was more of a growl than actual words.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” But she didn’t move.

  She bit her lip as if deciding what to say next, but it was more than he could take. Leaning in, he didn’t trust himself to touch more than her lips. Hers parted, and she exhaled, her breath mingling with his.

  Then his lips were on hers—her full, soft, kissable mouth. She opened for him, and her tongue dueled with his. He tried to be nice—go slow, but that flew out the window the moment she responded. Pressing his body to hers, he wedged his thigh between her legs and put pressure there. Catching her sigh, he swallowed it as he plundered her mouth.

  Nic’s hand slid up his chest and back down over his abs. He sucked in a breath. Damn, her hands felt so good. He deepened the kiss, penetrating her mouth the way he wanted to do to her body. God, she was gorgeous. The sounds she made in the back of her throat were the sexiest things he’d ever heard.

  And suddenly, she pushed him away. “Stop.”

  “Why?” His breathing was heavy, and he was damned glad to see hers was as well. He knew he wasn’t alone in thi
s.

  “Because—"

  “If that’s the best you can do, then I’m kissing you again.”

  She shook her head and swallowed. “Because I said no, Mr. Jamison.”

  Her voice had gone from soft to hard, and Ian reluctantly backed off. The way his name rolled off her tongue with that prissy tone turned him on even further. But no was no, so he backed off and gave her the space she asked for. He promised himself that if he ever got the fiery redhead into his bed, he was going to have her call him Mr. Jamison as he made her come.

  * * *

  Nic escaped to the first floor and paced from the front door to the back door. Her lips tingled, her breasts tingled, and dear Lord, between her legs…

  “Damn it,” she muttered. “Damn it.”

  Saying it out loud just seemed appropriate and more effective in getting it through her thick head. This couldn’t happen—shouldn’t have happened, and she promised herself, wouldn’t happen again. Everything she’d told Lindsay about getting involved with a client was true, and here she was getting involved. When she’d followed Ian into the workout room, she knew he was pissed, and she’d hoped he’d talk to her after he worked off some steam.

  Then he’d taken off his shirt. Holy-mouth-water. He wasn’t just built; he looked sculpted. It was as if some famous artist pulled the perfect physique out of her head and put it on Ian. She’d never been attracted to the overblown bodybuilder types, and Ian was not that. He was lean and whipcord strong, she’d felt that strength from afar as he’d punished that bag, and up close as he held himself in check and away from her.

  Rubbing her palms on her loose pajama pants, she tried to rub out the feel of his warm chest. His bare and smooth chest, not that she had a preference about hair, but his skin was exceptional. The light sheen of sweat that covered him hadn’t been a turnoff in the least. He smelled like fresh linen and man, having rolled out of bed prior to the break-in. And sex—he smelled like walking sex.

  Detouring into the gourmet kitchen, Nic retrieved a glass and filled it with water. She should just pour it over her head—it would cool her down faster because she’d moved on to thinking about that kiss, and her knees wobbled.

  “You’re an idiot, Montgomery,” she muttered.

  Okay, new plan. No more playfulness with the client. She was susceptible to that eyebrow shooting up when she said something outrageous. And no more looking at him, or talking to him. Bringing the cold glass up to her forehead, she rolled it back and forth across her brow. And no more dreaming of him, although how she was going to stop her subconscious from drooling, she didn’t know.

  “This isn’t working.”

  His voice startled her, increasing her grip on the glass of water. The last thing she wanted to do was clean up more glass tonight. She let out a long, tired sigh.

  “You said that before.” Putting the glass down, she crossed her arms, trying to hide the effect he’d had on her. “As long as that doesn’t happen again, it’ll work just fine.” She was proud of her flat tone. This was no time to come off weak. He moved around the island but stayed a safe distance away.

  “We both enjoyed that kiss, Nicolette.”

  “You say it like I’m going to blush and hide, Ian,” she drawled his name out. Two could play the name game. “Yes, I enjoyed it. But no, it’s not going to happen again because it can’t. This is a job. Just a job. And I don’t get involved with the clients.”

  She could see how her words hit him. Part of her winced but she held firm. She was damn glad he had his shirt back on, even if it molded to his body like a second skin. “This isn’t an ideal situation for me, either. I am attracted to you, obviously, but I won’t lose my head over it.”

  Ian frowned. “I could ask for a replacement.”

  Nic shrugged, “You could try, but I can tell you now that it won’t happen.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. “All agents are booked with clients, and the admiral involved will only use K.A.W. for this kind of work.”

  She faced him fully across the kitchen island. Putting her palms on the cool granite top, she made sure her face was serious. “Whatever this is,” she gestured between them, “isn’t going anywhere, and I’m not into flings, so it’s best to keep it about the business. Your contract is due at the end of the week, and then you’ll never see me again. Deal?”

  The muscle in his jaw jumped, and it looked like he wanted to say something but changed his mind. He copied her pose and leaned toward her from the other side of the granite separating them. “I don’t do flings either. When we make love, it’ll be much more than either of us expect, but it won’t be a fling.”

  “And you always get what you want?”

  “That makes me sound like a petulant child, and I’m anything but that. What I am is a man determined to go after what I want, whether in business or my personal life. And what I want is you.”

  “And I’ve told you no.”

  He nodded. “I respect that. But that doesn’t change how I feel, or your response to me. It only makes the pursuit longer and potentially more interesting.”

  Nic felt her own jaw clench. She so rarely lost her temper with clients, but he was beginning to push her buttons. She wasn’t some Victorian heroine to be told—anything. He didn’t scare her, and she didn’t feel cornered or coerced. But she knew she was fighting herself as well as him. Because, damn it, she did want him.

  So, she ripped off her shirt.

  Just in her sports bra now, she saw the way his eyes were drawn—not to her breasts, but to what she’d wanted him to see. The big, ugly webbing of a scar that dominated her right shoulder. Her ace in the hole to ward him off.

  His eyes narrowed, and he started to come around the island. She held up her hand to stop him. “That’s a bullet wound,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was there anger in his voice?

  “Very good. Would you like to know how I got it?”

  “Yes,” he gritted out.

  “I got involved with a client, Ian. I loved someone, and it almost cost me my life.”

  * * *

  Frank woke with a start. What the fuck was that? He stayed still and listened. Something was going on in the front room—in the warehouse. Sliding his hand up and under his pillow, he gripped the handle of the gun he habitually slept with and padded barefoot to the bedroom door.

  A rhythmic thwap, thwap, thwap came from the bigger room, faintly echoing.

  And Frank suddenly knew what was happening. Dropping his gun to his side, he stepped into the outer room. A small kitchenette was in the corner, with a two-person table. A TV and sofa took up another corner, slightly separate from the eating area. Three sleeping areas with doors occupied an opposite wall. But the rest of the space was completely empty—normally.

  “Jesus Christ, Eugene,” he said. Walking forward and shaking his head, the copper smell hit him.

  “Isn’t she pretty?”

  The hunk of flesh on the floor might have been whatever Eugene considered pretty at one time, but now it was lifeless and so cut up and bloody it was hard to discern sex. Frank had gone to sleep after Eugene had, just to keep this shit from happening. Clearly, Eugene was more keyed up than he’d realized. He must have snuck out around one a.m.

  “There’s blood everywhere,” Frank complained. His lip curled up as he surveyed the mess. “You didn’t even use the plastic sheeting.”

  “I was trying to be quiet, Frankie. Didn’t want to wake you.”

  Eugene grinned up at him, covered in fresh blood that dripped down his face and into his mouth. He liked the taste of blood, not that he drank it. At least, Frank didn’t think he did. The thwap sound was the hammer he’d used to keep her quiet.

  “Well, shit, this is going to take forever to clean up.”

  “I’m tired now, Frankie. Can I take a shower and go to sleep?”

  Frank let out a big sigh and stared down at the huge man kneeling on the floor next to the dead girl. What else could he do? “Sure, kid. I’ll
take care of this, just like I always do.”

  Eugene dropped the hammer into the empty cavity that had been the woman’s face. He lumbered to his feet and stood there, completely nude and covered in gore. “Thanks, Frankie.”

  Frank nodded at the thing on the floor. “Where’d you get her?”

  He shrugged. “Hooker.”

  “Did you use the precautions?”

  Nodding, he held up his fingers. “I made sure no one saw me, and I didn’t kill her until I got her inside.”

  “And the third rule?”

  “I forgot, Frankie. Sorry.”

  “Never, ever forget to wear a condom, Eugene. Come on, bro. That’s the most important one.”

  He hung his head, and his shoulders rolled forward. “I messed up.”

  “That’s why you don’t do this without me, remember?”

  “Okay.” He yawned and turned, trudging to the shower in his room, dripping blood with every step.

  Frank could feel a headache coming on. It was going to be a long morning. Setting his gun on the table, he grabbed the mopping supplies and the plastic sheeting. He’d try and get a nap in later. Now that Eugene had made a kill, he’d go into the “cooling off” period they wrote about in books. Frank had known for some time what his brother was because he’d researched it, but he was still family. So, he’d buried the animals when they were younger and covered for him. He’d made sure to wash the sheets because Eugene still pissed the bed until he was sixteen; that way their Dad didn’t beat him for it.

  But at times, Frank wondered if he should put his brother down. Like a sick dog.

  Because Eugene was a cold-blooded serial killer.

  Chapter 10

  Nic rolled her shoulders as she stood. Sitting too long made her antsy as well as sore. She liked to get up and move around once an hour or so, just to keep the blood moving. Her demand from the wee hours of Sunday morning had come true. Ian wasn’t cold exactly, more like distant and distracted. He’d stayed clear of her until they left the house together on Monday morning for work.