Charged (Saints of Denver #2)

by Jay Crownover

  I was alone in the big house and wouldn’t have even noticed the black car if the tatted-up neighbor and his shrew of a girlfriend hadn’t gotten into a screaming match that rivaled anything I was watching on TV. To be fair, it was the guy’s leggy and mouthy girlfriend doing all the screaming, something about the wedding coming up in a few months and him not being invested enough in helping her with the seating chart. It seemed like a conversation that should be taking place calmly and privately inside the cute house across the street, but the girlfriend apparently wanted an audience. The gorgeous, auburn-haired man did a lot of nodding, a lot of placating, and a lot of apologizing, but all his reassurances made the woman louder and madder. I watched the train wreck happening from a crack in the front door, only noticing the car with the two men seated in it after the screaming girlfriend had driven off in a huff and a squeal of tires. I couldn’t believe the auburn haired guy gave her the keys to that cherry Caddy after her bullshit, but he handed them over, shook his ginger topped head, and skulked inside. I wanted to go over and tell him to cut and run. He was really cute, and no pussy was worth the kind of headache that chick was going to be for the long haul, but I got distracted by the men that were, very noticeably, staring right at my house.

  I slammed the door shut, threw the bolt, and slid the safety chain in place. I tried to tell myself I was being paranoid, that maybe they were waiting for one of the neighbors to get home or something, but it was after ten and any reason I could come up with for them to be sitting across from my house, in the dark, seemed to fall short. I sprinted from room to room, switching on all the lights, until the house was practically glowing. I left the light in my bedroom off as I tiptoed across the floor and made my way to the window. I squinted into the dark to see if I could make out any actual faces on the people in the car, but all I could see was the brilliant red of the lit end of a cigarette glowing in the pitch-black interior of the vehicle.

  I snatched my cell phone off the charger next to my bed and scrolled to my dad’s number. I was getting ready to hit the call button when I realized he would come running, even if there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the car to be there. I would ruin his evening with my mom, who still hadn’t forgiven me for my most recent litany of poor choices, and they would both be disappointed I interrupted their limited time together, and my mom would have one more reason to shake her head and give me that look of silent judgment and recrimination I felt like she had been directing at me forever. I needed to make things right with the woman that raised me and I needed to let my dad have his time with her. That was the right thing to do. I could figure out a way to handle this on my own.

  I bit my lip and tapped the phone against my leg. It seemed like it had been hours but it had only been a few minutes. Still, the car and the men inside of it hadn’t moved. I thought about calling Asa. He would also come running as soon as I told him I was freaked out. The blond southerner seemed to have an uncanny ability to show up when things were at their worst, and even if he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan, he seemed determined to keep my ass out of the fire since I was so prone to dancing in the flames. I think I reminded him of some of the poor choices he had made when he was younger. He had it in his head he could help me be a better person by teaching me from his mistakes. The only problem with calling Asa was that he would tell my dad. As soon as I got off the phone with him, he would call Brite, then both of them would show up for something that could be nothing, and I would feel like an idiot for wasting everyone’s time.

  Typically in this kind of situation, I would do nothing, but nothing was what always ended up being the absolute worst choice I could make, so I debated between walking outside and tapping on the window or doing the smart thing and calling the police. I settled on a decision that landed somewhere in the middle, deciding to do what fell between completely reckless and disgustingly logical, and let my index finger hit the call button next to Quaid’s name.

  I kept my eyes glued to the car and held my breath as the phone rang and rang. I had serious doubts he would even answer, considering the way we left things and at this late of an hour, but he said he wanted to be something like a friend, and I could really use one of those right about now. Besides, he had proven awesome and consistent at offering his help, even when I was convinced I didn’t want it.

  I was getting ready to hang up and do the really stupid thing by going outside to investigate the situation myself when his gruff, sleepy, and heavy voice finally came across the line.

  “Avett? What’s going on? Are you in trouble?” I heard the rustle of bedsheets and the sound of something being knocked over. The sounds created images of him tangled up and in bed, images that made my mouth go dry and my palms get damp, but his words had my spine stiffening and my eyes narrowing.

  “I’m always in some kind of trouble.” And considering I was imagining him naked, which took a little work since I had no idea what he was working with under that suit, trouble was something that never seemed so appealing.

  “What kind of trouble are you in?” He was moving around and it sounded like he was pulling on clothes. I wondered if he slept naked and if he was putting one of his impeccably pressed suits back on.

  “Um … I’m not exactly sure. I’m home alone and there’s this car parked across the street. There are two men in it and they haven’t moved for the last half hour. I’m probably being paranoid but it’s freaking me out. I wasn’t sure what I should do.”

  “Where’s your dad?” His question was practically growled at me and I swore I heard the jingle of keys in the background.

  “He’s with my mom. He only spends the night with her a few nights a week. I didn’t want to interrupt them because it could be nothing. I’m trying to be responsible. Do you think I should call the police?”

  I peeked out the curtain again and gasped when I saw the glint of the front porch light reflected off of something glass. Someone in the car was peering into the house with a pair of binoculars. There was no denying they were watching the house and me.

  “Give me twenty. I’ll call the police when I get there, if need be. They’ll respond faster to my call than yours. Stay inside. Stay away from all the windows and doors. I’ll text you when I get there.” I heard a door slam and the sound of him moving but my brain was stuck on the “give me twenty.” He was coming. He didn’t think I was being paranoid and overreacting, and even if he did, he was still coming and not making me feel stupid for calling him. He was the best almost-friend I had had in a long time.

  “Uh, okay … It really might be nothing though.” Nothing, except two strange men with binoculars parked outside of my house watching me.

  “Avett.” He said my name with some bite to it and it made me shiver. “You’re the primary witness in a high profile case that has ties to drug trafficking. It’s very unlikely two men parked outside of your house, in the middle of the night, is nothing. Don’t do anything crazy. Just wait until I get there.”

  “I’ve retired all my crazy, Quaid. A stint in jail will do that to a girl. Reasonable and sensible are my new middle names.” I was trying to make light of the situation but a shiver of unease was making my skin prickle.

  I hadn’t thought about the men in the car being tied to Jared and the illegal things he was involved in. The last time I had a run-in with his associates I’d been beaten and very nearly raped. I knew the way the men he did business with operated. I could happily live the rest of forever without any more exposure to their handiwork. Suddenly, the original idea I had of going outside and confronting them myself seemed infinitely more than foolish and hasty; it seemed deadly and dangerous. It was a damn miracle that I, with my innate need to screw up and pick the worst option, had managed to skip that choice and jump right into the one that involved the hot as hell lawyer coming to my rescue … again.

  Quaid grunted at me again and I heard an engine start. It purred with power and rumbled sexily in my ear. “Just stay reasonable and sensible until I get th
ere. Crazy doesn’t need to be retired indefinitely. It does, however, need to learn the proper time and place to make its appearance. I’ll be there shortly.”

  I asked him if he needed my address and he told me he already had it from the paperwork he had on me.

  He hung up, without saying good-bye, and I stuck my phone in the front pocket of the baggy overalls I was wearing. I looked out the curtain again; this time I was sure the binoculars were pointed right at the window I was looking out. I let the heavy material fall back down and put a hand to my racing heart. I had a bad feeling about all of this.

  I should call my dad and let him know what was going on. I should tell him that I was scared and that I wanted to make better choices now so that he didn’t have to save me from myself anymore. I wanted to be my own hero for once. I didn’t want to be the girl that knew she deserved the worst so she never even attempted to show the world or the people that loved her, her best.

  I think I held my breath for the entire twenty minutes as I paced back and forth in front of my bed. I didn’t exhale until I heard that same sexy purr that had been in the background of my phone call with Quaid outside my window. I crept along the wall and gingerly pulled the curtains back a hint so I could see what was happening outside. I was directly ignoring the order he gave me, but I’d done about as much smart decision making as I was capable of for one day and my reserves were dry.

  A brilliantly red, supersleek motorcycle, which was as opposite as it could be from the massive chrome-and-black Harley my dad rode, pulled to a stop in front of the house. I watched, in shock, as the man sitting on the mini rocket ship swung a leg across the wicked and sexy machine and stared up at the very spot I was standing. I saw the helmeted head shake, and then the black and red protective gear was removed and Quaid Jackson’s messy blond hair was revealed as it glinted in the overhead moonlight.

  He kept the helmet under one arm and started across the street where the black car was still parked. I was riveted by the way he walked, confident and with obvious purpose. I was also mesmerized by the fact he had on dark jeans, which did wonders for his backside, and the leather jacket he had on seemed to fit him as well, and looked as expensive and designer as his fancy court duds. The man looked like a god in a suit. In jeans and the red-and-black leather jacket that matched the paint job on the motorcycle, he looked much more approachable, more accessible … to someone like me. He was still outrageously out of my league, but he seemed less rigid and formal in his after-hours gear.

  The bike totally worked for him, too. It wasn’t at all like the mean and beastly American machines I had grown up around. That Italian bike was made to go fast and to look good while it zipped around corners and tore up the asphalt. It was elegant and sharp. It purred, instead of growled, and I wondered if the man that rode it did the same thing. I never would have pictured him as a bike kind of guy. He seemed too stiff and serious to be the type to get off on the rush of wind in his hair and the exhilaration of riding free. Most people considered street bikes a hundred times more dangerous than the big cruising bikes that my dad and his buddies rode. Quaid Jackson didn’t strike me as a risk taker; at least, he hadn’t until he’d shown up at my house in the middle of the night on that gorgeous monster of a machine.

  He was halfway across the street, his gaze focused on the car, when the driver started the motor and peeled away from the curb. Quaid had to jump back to avoid getting run over as the car raced away, and he turned to watch it as it disappeared down the street, without turning the headlights on. He stared into the darkness for a long minute, then turned his tawny head in my direction. I wiggled my fingers in a tiny wave that made him scowl. He looked like an angry bird of prey stalking its next meal. It made my body throb and my heart pulse erratically against my ribs.

  He turned on his heel and headed towards the front of the house, so I dropped the curtains one last time and raced down the stairs. I pulled open the front door just as his heavy boots hit the top step.

  I was heated and flustered and didn’t bother to hide my reaction to him. He let his gaze sweep over me from head to toe, and I had a second of regret that my hair was in a messy topknot and that my overalls were not only two sizes too big, but also a holdover from my high school wardrobe. They were comfy and cute but they had definitely seen better days, and even with Quaid dressed in jeans and a formfitting black T-shirt, I still felt underdressed and seriously outclassed.

  “Thank you for coming. I really wasn’t sure what I should do or if I should make a big deal out of it.” I stepped aside so he could come into the house and watched as his eyes skittered around the well-lived-in and homey interior. He made his way over to the worn couch and tossed the shiny helmet he still held under his arm onto it.

  “Considering they took off and almost ran me over as soon as I got close enough to make out their faces and read the license plate on the car, I would say a big deal needs to be made out of it.” He turned and faced me, and I stopped being able to breathe as I saw the predatory look on his face. He didn’t look like a legal eagle at the moment. He looked like a normal eagle, ready to strike and devour. He was all golden and glorious, his obvious anger and concern making him a thousand times hotter than he normally was. The fact that the anger was on my behalf, that the concern was for my well-being, made me tingle in places I didn’t know could tingle. Seriously, the guys that I had been into before Quaid Jackson weren’t the type that made a girl tingle, but everything about Quaid had me feeling things I’d never felt before. It was alarming and exhilarating at the same time.

  His deep voice distracted me from my body’s warm reaction to his close proximity. “I would’ve taken a plate number down, but there wasn’t a license plate on the car. That means whoever they were, they don’t want to be found easily. I doubt it’s a coincidence. I’m going to call the detective in charge of the case against the boyfriend and see if he’ll get a patrol car to swing through the area periodically.”

  I nodded absently and clasped my hands nervously together in front of me. “Ex-boyfriend.” I blurted it out automatically and saw his mouth tighten in response.

  “Let your dad know what’s going on, Avett. I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right. And with you involved in this case still …” He shook his head and some of his blond hair fell into his eyes. I wanted to reach up and push it off his forehead so badly that my fingers were twitching. “There is a lot of room for this to go bad on you.”

  I nodded again, and moved my hands to my back pockets so that I wouldn’t reach for that wayward strand of hair and make a fool out of myself.

  “I’ll tell him. Things with him and my mom …” I lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “They’re complicated and I don’t like to intrude on their time together.”

  He frowned at me and I noticed his pale gaze was locked on the way my pose pushed my chest up and out. All I had on under the overalls was a cutoff wife-beater that rested well above my navel. In fact, if I turned to the side, there was a clear shot of the hot-pink hipster panties I had put on after my shower this morning. It was an awesome outfit for watching Netflix and eating Jimmy John’s while lounging around the house alone, not so much for trying to converse like a grown-up with a man that equally enticed and enraged me.

  “They’re both your parents. I’m sure your mom would understand that your dad needs to be here if something suspicious is going on.”

  Oh, she would understand, all right. She would understand that my dad was leaving her to rescue me, yet again, because I could never seem to do it myself and it would shove the wedge between us even farther apart.

  I cleared my throat nervously. “She would understand, but my mom and I aren’t exactly on the best terms and we haven’t been for a while. I don’t need to give her any more reason to hate me.”

  He blinked at me and lifted his hands to shove that rebellious piece of hair—I was obsessed—back in line with the rest of the golden strands. When he raised his arms, the hem of his T-shirt hike
d up and I was treated to the visual of tight abs and a concave V that cut hard and ripped between his hips. The man was built, and picturing what he would look like out of his fancy duds and wrapped in nothing but his sheets got a whole lot easier. He was tall and lean with wide shoulders that tapered into a trim waist, and now that I knew he was rippling with ropy and taut muscle underneath his hands-off persona, I wanted nothing more than to be totally hands-on.

  “Your mom doesn’t hate you. I sat next to her at your arraignment and listened to her cry over you.” He lifted an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms over his chest. I felt my eyes widen and lock on the way the muscles in his biceps bulged and flexed in the new position. “I told my folks I was joining the Army and I wouldn’t see them for at least four years. Neither one of them shed a tear, so I know for a fact that, regardless of what you think, what your mom feels for you isn’t hate.” His tone was harsh as he dropped the surprisingly personal tidbit like a bomb at my feet.

  “Your parents weren’t worried about what might happen to you? They weren’t sad to see you go, not knowing when they would see you again?” That seemed impossible to me. My mom often acted fed up and had no problem showing her frustration with me, but she was always there; she always worried about my well-being. I knew she wanted better for me, and I couldn’t get my head around Quaid having parents that weren’t insanely proud of everything he had accomplished, or the man he had become, since enlisting.

  “They were mad I was leaving. When I enlisted, they viewed it as a disappointment and a betrayal to everything they taught me and believed in. I know what it looks like when a parent turns their back on you, Avett, and that isn’t what you’re dealing with when it comes to your mom.”