"When this is done."
"When what's done?"
"This."
Well that was informative.
Apparently, he was determined to keep me totally in the dark – pun intended. And, to make matters worse, I'd been trying to reach my sister for at least three hours now. But her phone kept going straight to voicemail.
After yet another unsuccessful try, I shoved my cell phone back into my pocket and said to Jack, "And you never did tell me where Flynn is."
His gaze was still on the door. "I know."
"Yeah. I know, too. Which is why I'm asking again. Where is he?"
Jack glanced at his watch before saying, "Seventeen minutes."
"What?"
"Ask me in seventeen minutes."
I didn't get it. "Why seventeen minutes?"
"Because that's when I'll tell you."
Great. More circular reasoning. My teeth were grinding now. "Just to make sure I understand, you're saying that in seventeen minutes, you'll tell me where Flynn is and why you couldn't tell me sooner?"
When his only reply was a silent nod, I muttered, "Fine, but just so you know, the clock's ticking."
He spared me half a glance. "Thanks for the warning."
He wasn't thankful. He was sarcastic. And stubborn. And way too mysterious for my liking.
Looking to make a point, I pulled out my cell phone yet again and announced, "I'm setting a timer."
He gave a slow nod. "Good idea."
Didn't he get it? I wasn't bluffing. I scrolled across the screen and set an alarm for exactly seventeen minutes. As I did, I said, "And you do realize, we're probably waiting around for nothing, right?"
When Jack made no reply, I persisted, "Seriously, we don't even know how long Nicky's been gone."
"Ninety minutes."
I blinked. "What?"
"Ninety minutes," he repeated. "That's how long he's been gone."
Stunned, I leaned forward on the couch. "Wait. How would you know?"
"I saw him leave."
My mouth fell open. Seriously?
With growing indignation, I studied his profile. The way it looked, he wasn't kidding. Through clenched teeth, I said, "What exactly do you mean?"
"I mean I saw him climb out the back window at seven forty-five."
Un-freaking-believable. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
He was still eyeballing the door. With a tight shrug, he replied, "Sure. I thought about it."
"But…?"
"But if you knew the guy was gone, you might've come in alone." He turned and gave me a serious look. "Unescorted."
Oh, so now I needed an escort?
To my own place?
I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or insulted. "So?"
"So that would've been a mistake. And you damn well know it."
Talk about arrogant.
Or obnoxiously chivalrous.
I just didn't know which.
Sometime within the past hour, I'd practically forgotten that he was Jack Ward, the author I'd been idolizing for years. And why? It was because he was so totally impossible.
Plus, he wasn't acting like a bigtime author. He was acting like, well, an obnoxious older brother, that's what.
I didn't have any brothers. I didn't even have a dad. My own had died when I'd been just a toddler. And his sorry replacement – a stepdad that made my creepy roommate look peachy in comparison – had been a total horror show.
To Jack's latest statement, I said yet again, "But for all we know he's not even coming back, at least not tonight."
Already, we'd been sitting here for a lot longer than I'd anticipated. When our vigil had started, it had still been light outside. Now, the only illumination in the condo came from a streetlight out front. And even this pathetic light was mostly obscured by the closed window blinds.
Probably I should've been thankful. If it weren't for that lone streetlight, we'd be sitting in total darkness.
And why? It was because Jack had absolutely refused to let me turn on even a single interior light.
Maybe I was stupid for listening to him, much less trusting him, but honestly, I didn't know what else to do. It's not like I had a better idea.
Still, the longer this went on, the more foolish I felt. Maybe I was making too much of Nicky's antics. After all, it's not like he'd assaulted me or anything.
Jack returned his attention to the door. "Don't worry. He'll be back."
At this, I had to scoff. "That's seven, you know."
"Seven what?"
"Seven times you've told me not to worry."
"You were counting?"
Going for a joke, I said, "Yeah, and I can spell, too."
His gaze shifted once again in my direction. From the look on his face, he didn't see the humor.
I cleared my throat. "I just mean, I can count and spell. Get it?"
He looked back to the door. "Don't worry. I got it."
Under my breath, I muttered, "Eight."
As far as the spelling thing, for some stupid reason, I couldn't let it go. "I mean, I probably don't spell as well as you do, since you're a bestselling author and all." I tried to laugh. "But hey, I can spell 'cat' with the best of them."
Cat? Good grief. Here I was three years into an English degree, and this was the best I could do?
He said, "I'll keep that in mind."
Damn it. I was making a total ass of myself. Even calling him "bestselling" – it was a massive understatement. He was, after all, Jack Ward – the guy who'd sold so many books, they could probably encircle the Earth several times over.
The guy was a billionaire, and not only from his books. According to my sister, he'd also made a fortune on all of the merchandise related to his novels – which featured a breathtaking blend of sword and sorcery along with old fashioned kings and castles.
His fictional world was brutal – but surprisingly just – in a head-lopping sort of way.
Maybe that explained it – his stubborn chivalry or whatever this was. I mean, he didn't have to be sitting here, dealing with a problem that wasn't even his own.
Still, he was making me just a little bit crazy.
Unable to stop myself, I said, "And just so you know, I can spell more than cat. Actually, I'm getting a degree in English lit."
In theory, anyway. I was twenty-four years old. I should've already graduated. But until just last year, I'd been attending only part-time, scratching out credits whenever I could.
Jack was silent for a long moment before saying, "Do me a favor."
I almost winced. Oh, God. He was going to tell me to shut up. All things considered, that probably wasn't such a terrible idea. Still, how humiliating would that be?
Bracing myself, I asked, "What kind of favor?"
"Find me a pencil."
I did a double-take. "What, why?"
"Just do it," he said. "Please."
"I'm not even sure I have one," I admitted. "Will a pen work?"
"No. But I need it now, okay?"
"For what?" I asked.
"When you find it, I'll show you."
Sure he would. "But what if I can't find one."
"Then look harder."
Beyond curious, I pushed myself off the couch and headed toward my bedroom. It was where I kept my notebook computer and other assorted supplies. If I had a pencil – which I highly doubted – that's where I'd find it.
As I left the living room, he said, "And remember, no lights, okay?"
I hadn't needed the reminder. Still, I couldn’t help but think that he'd just given me an impossible task. Instead of finding a needle in a haystack, I'd be searching for a pencil in the darkness.
I never found it.
And why?
It was because I'd barely begun my search when I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door swinging open, followed by a quick slam and a sudden yelp of the human variety.
With a gasp, I whirled toward the sound. What the hell?
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Chapter 9
Becka
I rushed from my bedroom only to stop in mid-motion at the sight of Jack holding Nicky by his throat. Nicky's back was pressed up against the front door while Jack held him in place, using one steady hand.
Nicky was sputtering something that I couldn’t quite catch.
I dove for the nearest light switch and flicked on the lights as I called out, "What's going on?"
As my eyes adjusted to the light, Jack turned to me and asked, "You find the pencil?"
I was still blinking. "What?"
"The pencil," he said. "Did you find it?"
"No."
"Then keep looking."
I felt my gaze narrow. "You don't even need it, do you?"
His gaze shifted to Nicky. "Hey, you never know."
Okay, I didn't even want to speculate what he meant by that. But forget the pencil. I strode forward. "What are you doing, anyway?"
"Talking to your roommate."
If this was Jack's idea of a conversation, I hardly knew what to say. "You are not."
Against the door, Nicky was still babbling, which I was actually glad to hear. If nothing else, it meant that he was still breathing. That was good, right?
When Nicky saw me looking, he squeaked, "Call the police!"
Yeah, right.
It's not like I was glad to see him getting assaulted, but I wasn't that kind of person – the kind who'd accept help, only to stab the helper in the back the moment things got sticky.
And yet, this was a lot sticker than I'd ever envisioned.
I was still trying to come up with a decent response when Jack said, "Good idea."
I turned and gave Jack a questioning look. "It is?"
"Sure," he said. "I bet they'd love to see those vials in the bottom drawer."
I wasn't following. "What vials?"
Jack replied, "Ask your roommate."
I looked to Nicky. "What does he mean?"
Nicky gave a hard swallow. "Nothing."
With something that looked suspiciously like amusement, Jack said, "It didn't look like nothing to me. So tell me, who's Edna?"
Nicky made a sorry attempt at shaking his head. "What?"
"Edna Flake," Jack said. "The name on a prescription."
"She's, uh, my grandma."
"Nope. Try again."
"Hey!" Nicky sputtered. "I think I'd know my own grandma's name."
"Yeah?" Jack said. "And what about Marcus Jones? Or Jan Corben?"
Nicky tried – and failed – to look clueless. "What?"
"Or Maurice Brooks?" Jack said. "Is he your grandma, too?"
Nicky sucked in a ragged breath. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Oddly enough, I did. It wasn't hard to figure out that Nicky was collecting prescriptions and plenty of them. But where on Earth was he getting them?
Jack gave Nicky a cold smile. "Right."
Nicky turned accusing eyes in my direction. "What the fuck? You went through my stuff?"
Technically, I hadn't. But that was beside the point. "Even if I did," I said, "at least I didn't steal anything." Unlike you.
But I didn’t say that last part, because even now, I couldn't be completely sure that Nicky was the one who'd robbed me. Still, he was my number-one suspect, which went a long way in explaining why my sympathy was running low.
I hated thieves, especially after my stepdad had robbed half the town with his shady dealings.
Jack spoke up. "Hey asshole. You're not talking to her. You're talking to me. Remember?"
As Nicky nodded, I stared stupidly from the sidelines. I wanted to say something to dial things down, but I didn't know what. For all of Jack's menace, he looked in absolute control, which only made him ten times more terrifying.
Again, I asked myself who was he, really? At that moment, I had no idea.
I edged closer to Jack and said, "Maybe you should let go – of his throat, I mean."
With a low scoff, he replied, "Yeah? Why's that?"
Wasn't it obvious? "Because it's hard for us to talk when you're choking him."
"If I were choking him," Jack said, "I'd have been done thirty seconds ago."
Yikes. "Okaaaaaay. But seriously, this wasn't what I had in mind."
Jack gave me a long, inscrutable look. "So, about that pencil—"
"Forget the pencil," I said. "I'm just saying, maybe we could dial it down a notch?" I gave him a desperate look. "Please?"
Nicky squeaked, "Yeah. Like what the hell, dude?"
Jack's gaze snapped in his direction. "So, tell me..." His voice hardened. "Are you gonna show us?"
Nicky stared in obvious confusion. "Show you what?"
Jack glanced down. "Your cock."
I stifled a gasp. "What?"
Jack didn't even look in my direction. Instead, he leaned a fraction closer to Nicky and said, "I hear you like that sort of thing. So, go ahead. Drop your pants. We'll wait."
I blurted out, "No!"
Jack turned to me in mock confusion. "No? You sure?"
"No," I repeated. "I mean, I don't want to see anything." Cripes, I hadn't wanted to see it the first time.
"Right," Jack said, turning once again to Nicky. "You catch that?"
Nicky nodded so hard, I was half-surprised he didn't choke himself.
But Jack still wasn't done. In a voice filled with menace, he told Nicky, "And let's get one thing straight, you're done hassling her. Got it?"
Again, Nicky nodded.
Still, Jack continued. "No calling her. No texting her. No saying 'hi' if you pass her on the street. She doesn't exist. And neither do I. You understand?"
After another frantic nod from Nicky, Jack finally let go. When he did, Nicky stumbled sideways with a long, unsteady breath and then bolted straight for his bedroom. Once inside, he slammed the door so hard, I swear, the whole condo shook.
As I stared after him, I asked, "What's he doing?"
"My guess?" Jack said. "Climbing out the back window."
I turned to face him. "What?"
"Wouldn’t be the first time."
By now, I was nearly speechless.
For all the drama, nothing was solved, not really. Okay, sure, Nicky was suitably terrified and would probably avoid me from now on. But now, I had trouble of a different kind.
After that little scene at the door, I couldn’t stay here another night. But I had to sleep somewhere. And there was no way on Earth I could leave my things unattended, not here, anyway.
Again, I asked myself, What now?
I was still trying to figure it out when Jack said, "Pack your stuff. We're leaving."
Chapter 10
Jack
She stared up at me. "We?"
Yes. We. Because I wasn't leaving until she did. "If you need boxes, let me know. I'll have some delivered."
"But…" She shook her head. "Who'd do that?"
"Do what?"
"Deliver boxes. I mean, nothing's open."
For the right price, everything was open. And whatever the price was, I'd pay it, not a problem. But she was wasting time.
I asked, "Do you need them or not?"
"No."
"Good. Then get packing."
She was frowning now. "Don't you think that's kind of bossy? I mean, I never said for sure that I'm moving."
Wrong.
She was moving, all right. Yeah, she wasn't my sister, but if I let her stay, and things went South, I'd be kicking myself later on.
I told her, "Well you're not staying. I can tell you that."
She glanced around, but still made no move. Earlier, she'd mentioned that she'd been living here for only a couple of weeks, which meant there was no need for a long goodbye.
I said, "Becka."
She jumped at the sound of her name. "What?"
"You're not packing."
"I know, because I'm thinking."
"So do both."
She sighed. "Just stop it, all right?"
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"Stop what?"
"Stop badgering me. Listen, I'm not stupid. I know I can't stay. I'm just trying to figure out…" She blinked, and her eyes filled with tears. "…well, where I'm going next."
Shit.
The goal wasn't to make her cry. It was to get her moving. Deliberately, I softened my tone. "Listen, we'll go to Flynn's and work it out, all right?"
She gave a choked laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure your friend would just love that."
"If you mean Flynn, yeah, he would."
"I don't mean Flynn," she said. "I mean, your, um, girlfriend, I guess."
"She's not my girlfriend." Or my friend – not after I'd sent her away with enough rudeness to keep her gone.
Becka replied, "Yeah, but she's something. And I don't think she'll be any happier to see me now than she was the first time."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "She's gone." Good thing, too. But even if Imogen weren't gone, she wouldn't be getting a vote.
If I knew Flynn – and I did – he'd kick Imogen out on her world-famous ass before he'd ever let his fiancee's little sister go wanting.
Becka's eyebrows furrowed. "Seriously? Where'd she go?"
I didn't know. And I didn't care. All I knew was that I'd put her into the limo personally and watched it disappear down the dusty road. But hey, I was willing to speculate. "My guess? The airport."
"So you don't know for sure?"
I gave Becka a serious look. "The only thing I know is that you're not packing. You want some help?"
"From you?" She gave a shaky laugh. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
She looked toward her bedroom. "No reason."
I looked in the same direction. Her bedroom door was open, but from this angle, I couldn't see inside.
Becka was hiding something. That much was obvious. What it was, I didn't know, and didn't have time to dwell on it. I made a show of looking at my watch. As I did, a loud beep sounded from Becka's pocket.
She reached into it and yanked out her cell phone. She glanced at the display and then turned the screen outward to face me. "Time's up."
I didn't bother looking. "Obviously."
"It's been seventeen minutes," she said. "You owe me answers, remember?"
I remembered. But we were wasting time. "Pack your stuff, and I'll tell you in the car."
"No," she said. "I don't think so."
I stared down at her. "What?"
"You promised to tell me now." She crossed her arms. "Where's Flynn?" Her voice rose. "And while we're at it, where's my sister?"
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