When Jock had taken down the men who killed his brother, he’d been able to breathe again, right? He’d been free, easy. But now that breath was stalling in his lungs, and the anger that had dulled was again surging to the front, demanding attention. He’d taken care of this, hadn’t he? He’d destroyed the terrorist cell over there in that fucking desert and taken revenge for his brother. He’d done that so he could move on.
His hands curled into fists on his thighs. Had he moved on? Or had all his anger and pain still living in his veins been dormant until someone like Fiona made him remember? Had he been telling her she’d be fine or was he trying to convince himself that he was?
He flicked his fingers at the dog. “Go to Fi,” he said.
Sundance nudged his leg with his wet nose and trotted off, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. Jock didn’t want her up there alone, but he didn’t think he was welcome. He didn’t deserve to sleep up there after the things he’d said to her. Was she angry with him? He’d have to apologize tomorrow, except he wasn’t sure what the hell to say.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. “Tarr.”
“Hey, man,” Tarr said, his voice deep. “I’m in your town on a job. Wondering if you need anything.”
He didn’t ask how Tarr knew where he was. Tarr knew everything. He thought for a split second about asking him to find Henry Chamberlain II, chain him up in a basement somewhere, and wait for Jock to show up and pummel him with his fists. But he had to discuss it with the team. They were looking to take down each guy and didn’t want to spook anyone into splitting or covering their tracks better. “Nah.”
“Saw her buying flowers,” Tarr said quietly.
Jock’s body went tight. Tarr had been watching Fiona. Jock thought about the flowers sitting on his front porch right now. “Come again?”
“She’s pretty, man.”
“You cannot be fucking serious.”
“Just saying.”
“You draw any attention to her—”
“You know me,” Tarr cut him off, voice low and vibrating through the line. “I’m clean, I’m careful. And your business will always be my business.”
“We’re good,” Jock announced. “Took care of the mess in the park. We’re good. No debt.”
Tarr was quiet for a moment. “Don’t insult me.”
“I’m not.”
“You fucking are.” A moment of hesitation, then he clipped out. “I saw her recently.”
Jock closed his eyes. Her was Tarr’s sister. Jock was the reason Tarr’s sister was breathing, and they both knew it. Jock asked, “She good?”
“Yeah, man, she’s fucking great. Happy. Pregnant again, third kid, gonna be an uncle a-fucking-gain and who do I owe that to?”
Jock didn’t say a word.
“Who do I owe, Jock?”
Again, he stayed silent.
“I owe you. I’ll owe you forever. So don’t insult me and tell me the debt is paid.”
Jock didn’t say a word again.
Tarr sighed.
“This personal for you? The blonde. Not like you to take things personal.”
Nope, he’d only taken one job that was personal, for his brother, and even then, he was ice cold about it. “Maybe it is this time.”
“You need me, you know where to find me. I won’t be in town long, but I can get here quick again. Got it?”
“Told you that you don’t owe me. No marker. Did what I did for selfish reasons.”
Tarr laughed, and it was a light sound, surprising from the large ginger with the gravelly voice. “You took a bullet to the arm to save my sister for selfish reasons? Not sure we’re using the same dictionary.”
“Fuck off,” Jock said with a small smile.
“Sure, I’m gone. Take care of that woman. I’ll keep an eye on the hit. There’s been some talk but I’m keeping an ear on it.”
“Talk about what?”
“Some guy buying hits. Not sure how they’re connected, but I’m looking into it.”
“Sounds good.”
“Till next time.” Tarr ended the call.
Jock leaned back in the chair and scratched at his stomach. Buying hits wasn’t good, but his was old and no one gave a shit about him anymore. At least he hoped so. Tarr was right. He needed to focus on his woman. Even if he woke up tomorrow and she didn’t want to speak to him. He’d apologize, some way, somehow, and he’d work as hard as he could to help her get her life back.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jock never got the chance for a proper apology. He slept on the couch and woke up to the sound of the coffee maker. He stood up, stretching out his back. He was too damn big for that stupid fucking couch.
He walked into the kitchen, running the words I’m sorry over and over in his head, but then stopped short as soon as he saw the figure standing at the counter whistling and spinning a mug. Fiona was not in their kitchen. That was…
The man turned around, and Jock stilled. Dade Kelly was standing in his kitchen at six o’clock in the morning, making coffee. Jock hadn’t seen him in a month; his hair was longer, sweeping across his forehead in a rich brown, and he was clean shaven.
“Hey there, Jock,” he said with a white-toothed smile. He kept on whistling as the coffee maker beeped and then helped himself to a cup. He turned and leaned back against the counter and blew over the top, peering at Jock over the rim. He had an accent, one all his own that didn’t really have a place. Jock figured he made it up on purpose, to disguise where he was from or where he’d been. He said Jock’s name like Shoke, which always got under his skin.
Jock didn’t trust Dade. Most of them didn’t, but Dade had pulled through for them last mission. Dade was a man who didn’t live by hacker ethics and was loyal only to himself. Case in point, he’d broken into Jock’s townhouse and was showing zero remorse.
“Kelly.” Jock grabbed his own mug and poured a cup of coffee. He stood across from Dade, waiting.
Dade grinned. “No outrage on how I got in here? No threatening me physical harm? Not that I suspected emotion from you, but yet I’m still disappointed.”
“What do you want?” Jock took a sip of coffee.
“I was incommunicado for a bit so I got Roarke’s message late. All it said was that I could experience blowback. And since I’m the curious sort, I figured I’d fly my ass to the States to see what you assholes got yourselves into this time.” He glanced around the room. “Nice place. Potted plants outside are a nice touch.”
“Wasn’t my doing,” he said.
Dade’s smile stretched wide. “Oh, I know that. Fiona likes the nursery down the street. She was there twice last week.”
Jock slammed his coffee on the counter and took a step toward Dade, anger surging through him hot and heavy and violent. Dade had been watching her. Jock would have put a fist through the guy’s smug face if he hadn’t heard a soft. “Jock?”
They both turned to see Fiona standing in the doorway. Her hair was in disarray, some of it falling out of her ponytail, and her face was lined with sleep. She wore a T-shirt and a small pair of sleep shorts. Bare feet with red painted toenails. She looked beautiful, soft, and vulnerable. She also looked scared. Her eyes darted between the two of them, and she gripped the frame of the doorway with white knuckles. “Who’s that?”
Jock turned to glare at Dade, who was still smiling, the fucking asshole. “Saved by your fiancée, it seems,” he said softly.
Of course Dade knew about everything. He always did. Jock counted to three to calm himself. “Fiona, this is Dade Kelly. Dade, this is Fiona Madden.” That was it. That was all he said. Fiona still looked a little confused but not as scared.
Dade rolled his eyes and took a step forward. “Hello, beautiful. I’m part of their crew. No need to be scared of me. Lots of people are, but you don’t have to be.” He held out his hand. She stared at it and then at Jock. She was waiting for his okay. That hit him somewhere soft.
He gave her a nod, and she stuck out her slender hand, placing it in Dade’s palm. “Oh, well, nice to meet you.”
“Same. Now I know Jock is glaring at me, but that’s just because he doesn’t like me much. I actually don’t mind him and find him mildly entertaining with his big silent thing, but that gives you some context as to why he’s not welcoming me with open arms.” He held up his coffee mug. “Helped myself. Hope you don’t mind.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s okay.”
“Would you like some?” He reached for a mug and looked at her with raised eyebrows.
Irritation made Jock snarl and snatch the mug out of Dade’s hand. He was tired of the man’s charming act—sweeping in here all nice and hello beautiful, and would you like coffee?
Fuck that, Jock knew how Fiona took her coffee. One sugar with a splash of milk. He made her coffee, spilling some on the counter in his annoyance before shoving it at her. Some sloshed over the top of her shirt, and she gasped as the hot liquid hit her stomach. “Fuck, sorry,” Jock mumbled and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at Fiona’s shirt.
“Jock, just…it’s fine. It’s fine!” she snapped. He froze, and she took the napkin from him with pursed lips. “It’s fine,” she said again. “Go drink your own coffee. Thank you for mine.” She took a loud sip as if to make a point.
Jock slinked back to his coffee—embarrassed, irritated, sexually frustrated, and off-kilter. Meanwhile Dade had watched the entire thing with his arms crossed over his chest and that ever-present smirk on his face. “Well, as much as I’m enjoying watching this actual blossoming romance with a clearly experienced and articulate hero, I have some things to go over with you two.”
“This needed to be done at six in the morning?” Jock asked. “Couldn’t have called a meet with Roarke and Erick?”
“You know I like to make dramatic entrances,” Dade said. “It’s my thing.”
“Like I give a fuck about your thing,” Jock growled.
Dade waved off his tone as if it was nothing. “So I did some digging. You all think Maximus is after her, right? Cutting loose ends and all of that?”
Jock gave him a tight nod. Out of the corner of his eye, Fiona took a sip of her coffee with a steady hand.
“That’s not it.” With that sentence, Dade shrugged. That was it. He just shrugged. “Got any breakfast?”
Jock was going to strangle him, just crush his fucking windpipe. “Don’t make me hurt you. What’s it about, then? Why did that man come after her in New York?”
Dade opened up the refrigerator, stuck his head inside, and grabbed a piece of cold pizza. After unwrapping the foil, he picked off the black olives and took a bite. Cold. “Oh, that guy? Hired by one of Darren’s friends. Fiona isn’t the only one they grabbed and let go. They’re bringing back their favorites for a little throwback party.” Dade’s only show of disgust was a slight spat on the last word. “Fiona here was a favorite of—”
“White.” Fiona cut him off in a dead, emotionless voice. Her hands shook slightly around the coffee mug, and her pale face lifted to meet Jock’s eyes. “There are more girls, Jock. Like me.”
The room was silent. Jock stared into her eyes, wishing he could take away her pain, just rip it out of her right now and replace it with peace, but if he’d learned anything from last night, it was that he couldn’t do that. No more than he could do it for himself.
Finally Dade spoke again. “Yes, it’s Chamberlain who’s calling in all the big dogs to find Fiona again. These parties—they are just games for bored, rich men. One where they hold all the power.
“Sick fucks,” Jock hissed.
Dade shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Fiona’s eyes were huge in her pale face, and Jock went to her, unsure if she wanted to be touched, but as soon as he got close she took one step and collided with him. Fell into him. Melted into him. He wrapped his arms around her and let her burrow into him so hard that he swore she’d entered his body.
Her hands gripped his shirt and he rested his cheek on her head. He held her and didn’t say words, didn’t bother, because what was there to say? She had a sick-fuck asshole who’d already assaulted her trying to relive the past and play with her life like she was nothing.
She was far from nothing. She was goddamn everything.
Dade finished his pizza and tossed the ball of foil in the trash. He sipped his coffee. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. As far as I know, Maximus’s threat to her was just a threat. He surely knows what his underlings are doing and doesn’t care. I have digital eyes on Henry. And I’ll catch the rest of the crew up to speed.”
Fiona let him go long enough to swipe at her nose and look at Dade. “Thanks for looking into this.”
“Gonna want proof,” Jock said. “All you got.”
“’Course,” Dade said. “You know I’m thorough. I’ll say this, though. You want these guys? All of them? You want to save these women? We get an in to that party. And that in is in your arms.”
Jock went still, his blood freezing in his veins. “No fucking way.”
Fiona made a sound beside him, but he ignored her, shoving her behind him as if Dade had just threatened her. Well, he had threatened her. Letting those men anywhere near her again? Over Jock’s dead body.
Dade cocked his head. “Something to think about. Thanks for the coffee. And the pizza. See you later, lovebirds.”
Then he walked out the front door. Jock still didn’t know how he’d gotten inside. When he turned around, Fiona had her arms wrapped around herself, her body wracked with shivers.
“Hey—”
“I just want to drink my coffee,” she said. “I want to eat my blueberry buckle. I want to watch the morning news. And after that…after that I’ll deal with all of this. Until then, I want to pretend we are normal. Normal fucking adults with our major issues being that we both forgot our Wi-Fi password and that we left last night’s leftovers out overnight so they spoiled. Okay?”
Jock nodded, even though he wanted to reach for her again.
“Okay.” She blew out a breath. With that, she grabbed her coffee, her buckle, and left him standing in the kitchen, wondering when the hell he’d given over his heart to a woman who was currently his fake fiancée.
* * *
“This motherfucker, swanning in and out,” Jock grumbled, “annoys the shit out of me.” Jock looked like he was going to murder someone. After Dade had left, Fiona hadn’t bothered to speak to Jock other than to comment on random news stories. He’d sat in a recliner with his laptop, all angry and glaring, and she hadn’t wanted to deal with it. She was still mad about the night before, and he hadn’t said one word about it. Not that he’d had a chance, what with a strange guy in their kitchen.
She wasn’t sure what to make of Dade. He’d introduced himself as part of the crew and Jock hadn’t corrected him. He’d smirked a lot and was charming, but she’d sensed it was an act. There seemed to be no depth to his personality and she got the impression he wanted it that way. He covered up whoever and whatever he was with a shallow foreign charmer.
Still, he’d looked into her situation and given them information they hadn’t had yet. They’d known Chamberlain and his crew were still hosting parties. What they hadn’t known was that one of those parties would be a throwback—and Fiona had been cordially invited, along with other women. Fiona’s heart ached at the thought of women like her trying to move on without someone like Jock and his crew at their backs.
A knock came at their front door and she unfolded from the couch to answer it.
“Got it.” Jock was already up, his laptop on the coffee table, and he was on his way to the door. Whatever.
She heard the voices of Wren, Roarke, and Erick. Her friend rushed in first, followed by her boyfriend and brother. “So I heard you met Dade,” Wren said, a smile on her face.
“That asshole and his goddamn entrances,” Roarke said. “He can’t be a normal person, no. He’s got to make everything dramatic.”
“I admire his creativity, to be honest,” Erick said.
“No one asked for your opinion,” Roarke snapped.
Erick made a face at him.
“You two can shut up,” Wren said, “because Dade cracked part of this mission for us, okay?”
Jock again looked murderous, and Roarke and Erick looked cowed.
“Um,” Fiona spoke up, “he’s…interesting.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Wren muttered. “Look, I trust Dade. I worked with him for years, and he’s weird as hell but smart.”
The men were already pulling out their equipment and setting up shop in the townhouse like this was Central Command. Wren sat down on the couch beside Fiona while Roarke sat on the floor at her feet, laptop on his lap. She idly played with his hair while chatting with her brother.
Fiona watched Wren’s fingers slip through the dark strands and admired the way Roarke leaned into her leg. This was love and comfort and familiarity. They knew each other’s past and accepted each other. They understood each other’s motives and desires and goals. They’d scratched and clawed and dug beneath the murky outer layer of anger and pain to worm their way into each other’s hearts. Meanwhile, Fiona could barely speak to Jock right now. The tension and awkwardness between them was nearly suffocating.
He’d warned her, hadn’t he? He’d told her she could dig all she wanted, and all she’d find was more dirt. For a brief moment she’d hoped that she saw some light shining through the cracks, but maybe not. Jock’s past had calcified his soft parts permanently. There was no room for her. So while he’d shown her how to find pleasure again, he remained stuck in the anger of his past.
He looked up at that moment and met her gaze. Something passed across his blue eyes, something warm, but then it was gone, and his head dipped again to focus on the screen in front of him. Code was reflected in his eyes. Cold, sterile, black and white binary. God, her heart hurt.
“Dade sent all his information, and now I see what we missed,” Roarke said. “Fuck. I knew they were talking in some code, but I was so focused on believing Maximus was after Fiona that I didn’t dig deeper.”
Darkest Night Page 17
