Mind Games (Games Thriller Series)

by J. E. Taylor

  JET-Fueled Fiction

  Mind Games © March 2014 J.E. Taylor

  Second Edition

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For additional information contact:

  www.JETaylor75.com

  Cover Art © 2011 Willsin Rowe

  Edited by Lorelei Logsdon - LoreleiLogsdon.com

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This book is for sale to Adult Audiences Only. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes, graphic language and violence that may be considered offensive by some readers.

  MIND GAMES

  by

  J.E. Taylor

  Chapter 1

  Adjusting the zoom on his camera, he panned; scanning the beach until he found her and his heart skipped a beat. Alone and still as beautiful as he remembered and he wondered if seeing her up close would have the same effect it used to, a rush of sudden electricity followed by consuming heat drowning all his senses to the point he forgot to breathe.

  God, I missed her.

  A quick click of the shutter captured her image and he lowered the lens, tossing the camera back in his car.

  He stretched, waiting until she took the turn at the rocks lining the end of the beach and jogged by where he stood. Moving onto the sand, he sprinted until he was a few feet behind her. A few more strides and he jogged alongside her.

  * * * *

  She became aware of the shadow matching her stride, but didn’t look over. Instead, she sped up a little. The shadow kept pace.

  “You a reporter?” she asked without looking at him, pulling the earphone out of her ear.

  “Not in a million years,” he said.

  That phrase stopped her beating heart for a moment, then the pounding resumed, tingling through her skin with the frantic pressure, and she put on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the sand, her eyes plastered to his form.

  He ran a few steps ahead and turned, his sunglasses reflecting a sharp glare in the mid-day sun. Edges of dark hair curled around the backwards baseball cap and the smile, God that smile made her bones melt to molten jelly. She stumbled back a step.

  He reached up and took his glasses off revealing the deep blue eyes she saw every night in her dreams.

  “Ty?”

  “Chris Ryan,” he said and approached her, extending his hand.

  Jessica Whitman shook his hand and stared at him for a moment before tearing her eyes away from his intense gaze and scanning the beach. Relief settled in her at the sight of other winter beachcombers, giving her bones a more solid feel. She offered a curve of her lips, a slight smile, and began to jog again, putting the earphone back in her ear and giving her reeling mind time to think.

  He jogged quietly beside her.

  After a few measured yards, she popped the earphone out again. “Where have you been?”

  “New York City.”

  Jessica nodded slightly. Her heart raced faster than usual; it had been over five years since she last set eyes on him. She never expected to see him again, alive and so vibrant, not after leaving him bleeding to death in that hellhole.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been worse,” she lied and glanced at him.

  The silence enveloped them and they continued jogging down the beach.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Tabloids,” he answered. “Where’s Tom?”

  “California.”

  “Is everything I read true?”

  The loaded question stopped her in her tracks and she walked toward the water. The tabloids capitalized on her pain, splashing her daughter’s death and her impending divorce all over the rags. Her chest squeezed tight and she scanned the horizon. “Tom couldn’t deal with it. He doesn’t have a clue of what losing Em did to me. She wasn’t his daughter. He thinks I should snap out of it, get on with life and he just gave up trying. So yes, he left.”

  “I told him not to hurt you,” he said, reaching to wipe a strand of hair out of her face.

  Jessica nodded slowly. “He came back for the funeral, but . . .” She shook her head listening to the waves hitting the sand. “But he said it was over when he left this time.”

  “How’s Eric?”

  “Devastated, just like me,” she answered and the imaginary strap tightened around her chest trying to close the endless empty hole. “We couldn’t fix her.” Tears burned her eyes and she turned toward him. “Ty, we couldn’t fix her.”

  He reached out and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry Jess.” His voice wavered, filled with pangs of guilt.

  The hole in her soul faded a fraction with his arms around her. Warmth radiated through the thin sweatshirt and she nuzzled closer, letting the sobs she locked in for so long have free reign. His hand ran idly over her back, creating ripples of electricity through her muscles with each lazy pass.

  She pulled away and wiped her face looking up into his eyes. “Why now?”

  “Thought you might need me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out at the white caps.

  Jessica followed his gaze, squinting at the glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the ocean surface and gave an imperceptible nod.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  Without saying a word, she sent a glance in his direction before heading toward her beach house.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She hesitated, not ready for him, not ready to let the overwhelming storm circling her rain down. “Ty…”

  “Please, call me Chris,” he said cutting her off. “Ty died on the floor that day.”

  She inhaled, scanning him with her eyes. He was even more handsome without the scar and the flood of feelings she denied for the past five years overflowed the levies she built around her heart. Her eyes filled with new tears and she nodded. “I need you.”

  His lips spread into a smile that twinkled in his eyes. “My car’s over there.” He pointed to a beautiful red vintage Corvette Stingray.

  The flashy car brought a smile to her face.

  “You like?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s yours.” He handed her the keys.

  The shock of his statement unhinged her jaw and her eyes danced between the dangling keys and the red sports car. Candy Apple red. Unbidden, her hand reached for the keys, stopping just short of the glinting metal. She pulled her hand back, letting it drop to her side before she raised her gaze to his bright blue eyes. “I can’t take this.”

  “I’ve got more money than God, remember?” He smiled, sliding his sunglasses back on. “You can have anything you want.”

  “You can’t give me what I want.”

  He reached out and pulled the hair tie out of her hair. The wind swirled her long locks around her face. “What do you want?” He stepped closer.

  “I want Emily back.”

  “You’re right, I can’t make that happen. But I can give you everything else you need.” He ran his hand into he
r hair and leaned over, gently kissing her.

  His touch ignited that flame inside her, filling the void with heat and smoke and when she opened her eyes, he had the passenger side door propped open. She slid inside, watching him trot to the driver’s seat and smile at her as he turned over the engine.

  He navigated the car through the winding streets, pulling into her driveway a few minutes later without any instructions from her.

  “You knew where we lived?”

  “I kept tabs over the years.”

  Jessica fumbled with the keys, unlocking the front door and swung it open for him, following him inside. “Eric’s with his dad for the week,” she said and closed the door behind them.

  He removed his hat, running his hand through his hair, scanning the tastefully decorated beach house, just what he expected from Jessica. He walked to the windows that overlooked the bluff and the most photographed lighthouse on the East Coast. “Hell of a view.”

  The storm inside brewed and a tornado of feelings gripped her, the most pronounced being lust. She had forgotten how strong the bond between them was, not just the depth of their love, but the raw power of his physical proximity, the sinuous tingle to the air, the magnetism, the heat, the electricity.

  “Ty,” she whispered and flew toward him.

  He met her in the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up. Their lips met, unleashing the passion that had been bottled up for five years and he swept her off her feet, breaking the kiss to look at the layout of the living room, choosing the hallway to their left and she gave a nod of affirmation.

  Seconds later, he kissed her, laying her out on the bed and running his hands through her hair, holding her face, his tongue dancing with hers, heat enveloping her, leaving her breathless.

  “Tell me,” he whispered in his smooth sexy voice, moving his lips to her neck. His hands moved down her body and she trembled under his touch.

  Jessica pulled at his sweatshirt and he leaned up so she could strip it off. Running her fingers over his perfect chest, she gazed up into his eyes. There were no scars anywhere and she understood the extent of the power her son unleashed, the power that healed the bullet wounds along with the scar on his face, the power she now felt in him.

  “Say it Jessie.” He propped himself over her, staring down, his eyes intent and pleading.

  His game, his need to hear the words took precedence over his passion and she crumbled, giving herself to him completely. “I want you, Ty.”

  The change in his eyes, the longing satisfied, transitioned to an emotion so pure it owned her, body, heart and soul. He made love to every inch of her with his hands and mouth and she savored the feel of him, the smell of him, the sound of him, whispering his name over and over until he found her lips again, cutting off her need-laden voice.

  “I love you,” he whispered and slid inside her.

  * * * *

  Jessica Whitman sat up in her bed calling his name. Her chest heaved and she looked around the empty room.

  Tom stuck his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. “You okay, babe?”

  Jessica stared at him and around the room again. “Yes.” She nodded, falling back on the soft mattress, staring at the ceiling, still feeling his hands on her body.

  Chapter 2

  Chris shot up in bed, his heart pounding, her voice still ringing in his ears.

  The dream.

  Again.

  Profound sadness filled him, pressing down on his chest like an invisible hand reaching in and brutally yanking his heart out.

  “Jess.” Her name fell from his lips and he stared at the ceiling, concentrating on breathing in and out, counting each breath until his seized muscles relaxed.

  “Damn it,” he said and threw the covers off. He shook his head clear and made his way into the bathroom.

  The cold water dripped from his face and he glanced at his reflection. Chris sighed, his eyes moving to his perfect scar-free cheek and he traced a line with his index finger. The line where the scar once broke the skin, from just below his lower eyelashes stretching all the way under his jawbone, jagged and angry.

  After five years, he still wasn’t used to the blemish free profile. Every time he looked in the mirror, it reminded him of her. And every time the ache returned, the itch to waltz back in her life crawled under his skin. The dream didn’t help; it just made the itch all that much more insistent.

  “I have to see her,” he said to his reflection.

  Blue eyes looked back, telling him that wasn’t a good idea.

  Irritated, he grabbed his toothbrush and walked into the bedroom polishing his teeth and flipping on the television to catch the morning news. Nothing relevant or noteworthy scrolled across the bottom of the screen, so he retreated to the bathroom and spit in the sink.

  The dream grated on his nerves, the satin of her skin under his hands and lips fanned the fire that had been in his belly since the day he first laid eyes on her. And now this, this blatant carrot dangling in front of him all because he still had the healing power simmering in his veins.

  Chris walked out on the terrace of his penthouse apartment with his coffee and leaned on the balcony wall, looking down at all the people rushing around like ants, amazed at the activity for such an early hour. The morning skyline a mixture of reds and yellows reflecting off the high rises did nothing to quell his restlessness.

  A new thought dawned on him, stopping the coffee cup midway to his mouth.

  What if the dream is real?

  What if her daughter is dying?

  A layer of arctic air brushed his skin, forming bumps along his exposed wrists and he shivered. If it was real, dear God, if it was real, he had to do something to fix it, even if that meant losing his freedom.

  Looking beyond the buildings at the water in the distance, Chris made a decision.

  Chapter 3

  Jessica stood on the deck of their cottage overlooking the choppy ocean, the cool breeze whipping her hair away from her face.

  Where is he?

  “You had another nightmare?” Tom said, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

  She nodded, even though she would not quite categorize it as a nightmare, it was disturbing.

  “You’re having them a lot. Is everything ok?”

  She turned and kissed him. “Yes. It’s perfect now that you’re back. I hate it when you leave.”

  “You can always come with me. I could see if they’d give you a walk on part on the show, you’re certainly hot enough,” he teased, knowing Jessica hated the spotlight. She would much rather be here on the quiet coast of Maine than in Los Angeles.

  Jessica laughed. “I’m not one of the pretty plastic people.” She batted her eyes, heading to the door. “Like you,” she said over her shoulder and scooted.

  He chased her inside around the living room like two teenagers, laughing as he caught her and tickled her, dragging her to the couch. His tickling quickly drifted into foreplay and he kissed her, peeling off the bathrobe she wore.

  “I missed you.” He pulled away from her lips. “I wish you would come with me. The thought of you here alone, of what could happen...” he trailed off.

  “It can’t happen twice.” She went to kiss him.

  He pulled away. “Jess, they never found his body. If he’s out there...”

  “—He hasn’t come collecting. If Ty was alive, he would have already tried,” she lied to appease him, to keep the pretense of their marriage as solid and sure.

  If he knew Ty was alive and masquerading as Christopher Aris, his insecurity would barrel back to the forefront and she didn’t want that. He hated Ty with a passion that the years had not erased. There was no forgiving the murder of his wife. No forgiving the fact Ty hurt her in ways Tom deemed unforgivable no matter what the reasoning. If he ever found out she knew Ty was alive, Jessica didn’t know what he would do. And she did not want to find out.

  Tom nodded a litt
le and looked down at his hands. “And if he did?”

  Jessica reached over and gently cupped his chin, turning his face toward her. “Tom, I am in love with you. Nothing can change that.”

  “Then come with me next week.”

  “I’ve got the kids next week. April vacation.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I forgot.” He took a deep breath and she straddled his lap, running her finger down his bare chest.

  “Now where were we?” She leaned in, kissing him with a fraction of the passion her dream produced, hell bent on forgetting the feel of Ty’s hands, focusing only on Tom. She smiled under the kiss as he stood carrying her into the bedroom to finish what he started.

  Chapter 4

  The late morning sun glistened on the Piscataqua River as Chris crossed the bridge into Maine. With the top down, the unseasonably warm early April air whipped the edges of his hair and he glanced at his speedometer, keeping his speed in check, resisting the urge to open her up on the nearly empty road ahead.

  “What am I going to do when I see you?” he asked the road ahead of him. “What the hell am I going to do?” He didn’t have an answer but his stomach growled, prompting him to take the Kittery exit in search of a late breakfast. His GPS gawked at him, repeating the command to turn around and get back on the highway in order to reach the programmed destination. He flipped off the sound and pulled into a restaurant between the shops lining U.S. Route 1.

  The bank of local real estate magazines caught his attention and he grabbed a couple before following the hostess to a seat overlooking an inlet. Flipping through the pages, he stopped, studying an oceanfront estate with good acreage and a security gate enclosure, remote enough to provide the privacy he craved and not far from where Jessica lived. The price wasn’t listed in the magazine and by the look of it; Chris figured it was in the double-digit-million range. He smiled and folded the page, rolling up the magazine and sliding it in his back pocket.