by Lori Foster
Other than insisting on transporting it in the trunk, he hadn’t said much about it. The man had nerves of steel.
They were headed back when she got the call from Drake Dolby, one of the brothers employing them.
Jack held silent while she listened to Drake’s request in his deliberately low, dramatic voice. “Let me make sure Jack’s free. If not, I’ll take care of it myself. Just a sec.” She covered the phone and asked Jack, “You mind backtracking for another pickup?”
Without asking for details, he said, “Sure. There’s nowhere I have to be.”
Putting the phone back to her ear, she told Drake, “We’re a go. Does the buyer expect us?” After she’d gotten the address, she disconnected. “Sorry, we’re heading to Louisville now. Drake—he’s the oldest of the twins by a few minutes—is afraid of losing out if we don’t do the deal today.”
“No problem.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m meeting them afterward?”
She shook her head. “That’ll have to wait. Drake also said that he and Drew are heading out of town for a few days. An oddities and curiosities expo or something. They go to those a few times a year.”
“Got it.”
His easy agreement grated on her nerves. Here she was, aware of every little thing he did and he just went along for the ride. A few hours ago, she’d have given a few jibes guaranteed to annoy him.
But now...? She couldn’t help but savor this new camaraderie. It felt fragile, and oddly special, so she was hesitant to ruin it.
For the briefest moment she wondered what her mother would think of Jack. He was not only handsome but polite to the point where he could drive her nuts, and he carried himself like a leader. Lean, hard, confident.
It struck her that she liked him. Really liked him.
Crazy.
How had she let that happen?
One day she’d been fending off literally everyone, and then boom. Jack Crews was in her life, refusing to leave, kissing her silly, making her smile. Instead of walking away, she’d actually confided in him. Dangerous.
He kept her from retreating by continuing to chat, about anything and everything. He had such an easy way about him that she found herself replying without thinking about it too much. She even laughed a few times.
By the time they arrived, she’d lost track of time and was surprised to realize he’d slowed to pull down an overgrown gravel drive that led to a mobile home. Not a nice one either, but a rusted heap surrounded by discarded tires, an ancient tractor, and an empty trailer.
Though he didn’t do anything obvious, Ronnie knew Jack was more vigilant. It was there in the set of his shoulders and neck, the intensity in his watchful gaze as he pulled up to a widened parking area next to a beat-up truck.
A man stood off to the side, facing away from them. He held a gun aimed toward a trash bin. It took Ronnie only a second to recognize the weapon.
“BB gun.” Not a threat.
Jack nodded. “Stay in the car.”
She replied pleasantly, “Screw you,” and stepped out.
Before Jack could join her, she put two fingers to her mouth and gave a piercing whistle.
The man with the BB gun jerked around, eyed them both, then turned back. “You here for the carcasses?”
Ick.
Jack asked, “Carcasses?” To his credit, he managed to sound only mildly curious.
Yeah, she hadn’t exactly explained, but then again, he hadn’t asked. Ronnie nodded. “Yes, we are.”
“Be with you in a second.” The miserable little man again took aim at the trash bin.
And that’s when Ronnie saw it.
Frantically scurrying against an overturned, half-rotted stock tank, unable to find an exit, a tiny ball of fur cried out.
A kitten.
Her heart melted, followed by a surge of rage so powerful it infused every muscle, organ, and bone in her body. Her world narrowed to just the asshole aiming the gun and before she even gave it conscious thought, her knife was in her hand.
“Stop.” Her harsh command echoed over the area. Heart hammering, she strode forward.
Behind her, she heard Jack curse.
The man turned again, spat a stream of tobacco toward her, and laughed at her knife. “Put it away. I don’t need no help.”
She barely suppressed a growl. “Shoot at the cat again and no amount of help will save you.”
A dark scowl twisted his features. “You’re threatenin’ me?” He pivoted and pinged another shot that sent the kitten scrambling as the BB ricocheted.
Ronnie drew back—and felt her wrist caught in an implacable grip.
“No,” Jack whispered softly.
She started to turn on him, but he pressed her to the side, blocking her with his body.
Then she saw why. The douche had aimed at her, was still aiming at her.
“Coward,” she yelled, not in the least afraid. She’d take a piddling BB or two to save the little animal.
“Bitch,” the man snarled back, unrelenting—but he did spare a cautious glance at Jack.
Yeah, big bad Jack. Ronnie seriously wanted to kiss him.
He was about a head taller than the hillbilly tormenting the kitten, and instead of a beer belly and bowed legs, Jack was all solid, imposing muscle.
Voice as calm and polite as ever, Jack stated, “I would appreciate it if you’d put that away.”
It was the wrong tone for a man in a dirty wife-beater and greasy hair. “Or what?” He spat again, and this time the disgusting tobacco juice hit the toe of her boot.
“Why, you—”
Wresting the knife from her hand, Jack suggested, “See if you can corral the kitten.”
His complacent tone pricked her temper even more. “While you do what?”
He smiled. “What I’m hired to do.”
CHAPTER SIX
FROM HIS PERIPHERY, Jack watched as Ronnie pulled off her shirt. His breath caught and held—until he realized she wore a form-fitting cami underneath. Though this was no time for distractions, she momentarily stole all his attention.
The cami clung to her upper body, revealing her small, round breasts, a narrow rib cage and narrower waist, and ended shy of the waistband of her jeans, leaving a strip of flesh for him to see. She paid no attention to the cool weather, putting all her concentration on using the shirt like a net to catch the kitten, while avoiding sharp claws.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Drawn back to the more important issue of an idiot with a weapon, Jack said, “She’s rescuing the animal you were using for target practice.”
Another stream of tobacco squirted from the man’s mouth. “My cat, my gun, my property.” He curled his lips back over stained teeth. “You and your bitch should mind your own business.”
Jack crowded closer. “I strongly suggest you refrain from insulting her again.”
A loose chin jutted up. “Or what?”
God, he hated infantile shows of machismo, especially by little weasels who couldn’t back it up. At least when Brodie put on a show, he finished it in style. “You already owe her an apology,” Jack pointed out.
“Like hell!”
“And,” he stressed, “you’ll take care of that as soon as you retrieve the—” it was all so stupidly tragic and sad “—carcasses that we came for.”
“Fuck that.” Filled with petulance, the weasel slashed a hand in the air. “Deal’s off.”
Jack didn’t believe that for a second. This man—and he used that term loosely—wanted the payment.
Whether or not he’d get it remained to be seen.
“Fine.” Jack rolled a shoulder with indifference. “I’ll just report you to the authorities who can sort it out for me.”
Bloodshot eyes widened, then squinted with malice. �
��You wouldn’t dare. I’d tell ’em you threatened me and you’d be in as much trouble as me.”
“I can handle trouble. Can you?”
The idiot started to spit.
Jack stepped closer, looming over the man, using his size to his advantage. Violence vibrated in the air. “Spit, and hand to God, you’ll regret it.”
The man gulped, and judging by the sudden green hue to his skin, he’d swallowed his chew.
The coward before him liked to prey on animals that couldn’t defend themselves. Rarely did Jack allow himself the satisfaction of basic instinct. Now, in this moment, for Ronnie, he was happy to unleash his inner barbarian.
Color leeched from the man’s face as he scented danger.
Now you know how that kitten felt.
Jack didn’t allow himself to be brutal very often. But for Ronnie, it’d be a pleasure. With the tip of the blade he’d taken from her, he touched the man’s chin. “Just so you know, I detest anyone who mistreats animals. After we finish our deal here, I will be notifying authorities—those who deal with animal cruelty.”
Another gulp had the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Consider yourself on notice. If I hear of you ever doing anything like this again, if you even think about spitting your disgusting juice toward an animal, I’ll be back. Only you won’t know I’m there—until it’s too late.”
The man’s mouth worked, yet nothing came out.
And Jack felt it. Her gaze, penetrating his awareness like hot steam. He cast a glance to the side and found Ronnie staring at him, lips slightly parted, brows up.
As he watched her, she slowly smiled.
“You know,” she called, “if I’m not allowed to stab him, neither are you.”
Jesus. Jack shook off his temporary loss of control, drew a calming breath, and returned his gaze to the man still immobilized by the knife. Another second or two and the idiot would collapse.
Regaining his normal composure, Jack withdrew the knife, but also took the BB gun from the man’s limp hand. “How about I just hold this for you?”
“It ain’t right,” he mumbled, “stealin’ a man’s toys.”
“I’m having doubts that you could distinguish right from wrong.”
“Jack?” Ronnie stood now, hands on hips, that secret smile playing around her mouth. “If you’re done goofing off, could you lend a hand? She’s so scared, I can’t get her.”
“Just a second, honey,” he called to her. It was a hell of a time for him to take advantage of her, but then, he’d always been about opportunities. Right now, with her both preoccupied over the kitten and amused by his caveman routine, seemed like propitious timing to test his boundaries.
He knew he was right when instead of giving him hell for the endearment, she replied, “Well, hurry it up. We’re going to need something to put her in.”
Ah, so he and Ronnie were to become pet owners. He’d call that progress.
Jack turned his hard gaze down to meet wary eyes. “I need a crate or a box.” When the man hesitated, Jack emphasized, “Now, please.”
Turning away, the man grouched, “Fucking bastard, comin’ here and orderin’ me around like dirt. Takin’ my gun and stealing my cat.” He kicked around the refuse cluttering the area, knocking aside an old clay flowerpot and almost getting his foot stuck in a rusted rake. Finally he unearthed an old animal cage.
Jack examined it. Dried leaves and a few twigs were inside, and the handle on top had long since fallen off, but it closed securely. “This will do. While I help with the kitten, fetch our product—” he wouldn’t keep saying carcasses “—and we’ll be on our way.”
“After you pay me.”
“We’re not the villains here.”
“Meaning?”
Rolling his eyes, Jack said, “We will, of course, pay you the agreed amount.”
“Okay, then.” Scratching his protruding gut and still grumbling, the man ambled into his trailer. It squeaked with his weight, the entire thing trembling with his heavy footfalls as he traveled somewhere inside.
Trusting the man would return shortly, Jack stuck the BB gun in a pocket and turned to survey the situation. He flipped the knife in his hand as he noted that the kitten couldn’t go anywhere. Not only did Ronnie have it cornered, but the tiny thing couldn’t climb out of the feeder.
“What,” Ronnie demanded over her shoulder, “is taking so long?”
Always so prickly. She and the hissing kitten had that in common. “I’m considering how we’ll transport our new pet.”
She shot him a look that said our pet? but immediately turned back to the animal.
Jack took only a moment to locate an old sweatshirt in the trunk of the car, kept there for emergencies. He stuffed it inside the cage so the animal would have something soft to sit on.
Trying not to make too much noise, he approached woman and cat.
Ronnie crouched low, her voice soft and even as she tried to coax the kitten into a more agreeable mood. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. You’re just a little peanut, aren’t you? Shhh, shhh. You’re safe now. Jack dealt with the prick.”
How she whispered prick in such a sweet voice almost made him laugh. “Here.” Jack handed the knife back to her as he slowly knelt at her side. He could see the wild fluttering of the kitten’s chest, the panicked white around its eyes. A pink tongue showed as it alternately hissed and panted.
“At this age,” he murmured to Ronnie, “she’s all claws and teeth. If you’ll hold the cage, I’ll get her.”
“Don’t hurt her,” Ronnie said without taking her eyes from the animal.
“You should already know me better than that.”
After a second, she nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
They traded, him now with her shirt and her with the open cage. He spread the shirt like a net, but she was so small it didn’t give him a lot of room for error. “By the way, try to keep an eye on our seller. I don’t trust him.”
“I wish you’d have hit him.”
“I might still.” Lightning fast, he caught the kitten, bundling it in the shirt. Horror-struck screeching turned to plaintive yowls once he got it inside the cage. Though he’d managed it without a single scratch, the kitten wasn’t at all impressed with the rescue. She hunkered down in a corner and panted even harder.
“Poor baby. We’ll have to get it a water dish right away.” Large green eyes and puffy gray fur seemed to be the most substantial things on the cat. Lifting it had been like lifting dandelion fluff—weightless, except for the panicked wriggling.
The obvious emaciation, the ticks and burrs, enraged Jack all over again, but he kept his tone even when he said, “Food, too. God knows when she last ate.”
He’d take care of both water and food on the drive home. He didn’t want that kitten to do without for a single moment longer than absolutely necessary.
“I want to kill him.”
That broken whisper, raw with empathy, drifted over Jack’s skin, then sank in, making his heart lurch. He knew Ronnie meant the abuser, because he felt the same.
Again, he suffered the urge to soothe her, even knowing how she’d react to it. He did allow himself one touch to her silky, disheveled hair. Always disheveled. She seemed to like it that way. And honestly, so did he. Being mussed suited her, somehow softening her otherwise cynical persona.
Liquid silver eyes met his.
Tears? From Ronnie Ashford, self-proclaimed badass, woman with a laser-sharp tongue and an independent streak a mile wide?
“I have questions for you,” he stated, because he couldn’t handle that expression on her. Not right now. Hell, a second more and he would kill the bastard who’d caused it all.
The tender moment faded as she frowned in her familiar way. “Questions about what?”
He went with the
first thing to come to mind. “Where is your family now? And have you ever met your real father?”
That came out of nowhere, surprising even him, and she blinked. “What the hell brought that on?”
Jack shrugged. “No idea. Just curiosity, I guess.” That wasn’t a lie. He wanted to know each tiny detail about her, her past, her hopes for the future—what drove her now. But as usual, timing was everything and for a second there, they’d both been caught in an emotional vortex. Knowing he couldn’t do anything he really wanted to do—like strip her naked and kiss her all over, or pull her in his arms and coddle her until she no longer felt alone, or be her white knight and demolish the bastard—distraction seemed like the only option.
With a rude snort, she said, “You are so damned weird sometimes.”
Glad that she sounded more like herself, Jack smiled. “Thank you.”
“And you can rot on your curiosity.”
He was about to prod her when the man reemerged with a large paper bag.
Touching her shoulder, Jack said, “Since I’m not sure what we’re buying, do you want to handle the transaction?” With me very close by.
“Sure.” The gleam in her eye now was pure malice. “But let’s put the peanut in the car first.”
Cute name she’d chosen. “All right.” Jack carried the cage, holding it out from his body and ensuring his fingers didn’t become bait to tiny sharp teeth or claws. Luckily, the kitten had worn itself out and now just sat in a tight little ball in the far corner, its face hidden.
After opening the driver’s door, Ronnie pulled the seat forward and Jack wedged the cage into the back seat.
“Just a minute, sweetie,” Ronnie crooned gently to the cat, but as she straightened, gentleness washed from her expression, leaving only her usual aggression. “Let me do the talking.”
“Do you promise to talk with your mouth, not your knife?”
“No.” She stalked forward in that take-charge way that belied her petite size. “But I’ll try.”
