The Investigator: Norcross Series

by Hackett, Anna

  Oh, God. She could be taken anywhere. She’d seen those Liam Neeson movies. She’d be sex-trafficked, fed drugs, raped—

  Then suddenly, the goon let her go.

  Haven staggered, and fell to her hands and knees. Her ribs ached and her palms stung. Crap, she’d lost some skin.

  She heard a thud and spun, her pulse racing.

  Then she sucked in a breath and watched Rhys slam a brutal punch into her abductor’s face.

  Mr. No-Neck flew back, and Rhys—wearing a charcoal suit and white shirt that fit him in a mouthwatering way that only a woman would notice—advanced.

  Two more punches and her abductor went down. Rhys straightened. He didn’t look like he’d even worked up a sweat.

  Boiling, pissed-off, brown eyes locked on her.

  Chapter Four

  Rhys fought back his rage and scanned Haven.

  She looked shaken, but had no new injuries that he could see.

  The man on the ground groaned, and Rhys took out some zip ties and tied the man’s wrists and feet.

  “You okay?” he asked Haven.

  “God, no. He… He…” She looked on the verge of tears, but pulled it back. There was that spine of steel.

  Rhys straightened, reached out, and stroked her jaw.

  She leaned into his touch for a second, then she swiveled. “Asshole.” She glared at the mostly unconscious man on the ground. Then she kicked him. The man grunted. “He tried to kidnap me.”

  Rhys was happy to hear that she was pissed. He yanked out his phone.

  “Are you calling the police?” She wrapped her arms around herself, running her hands up and down her arms like she was cold.

  “No.”

  She cocked her head. “No?”

  The call connected. “Saxon, need you to come and do a pickup. A guy just tried to snatch Haven off the street.”

  “What the fuck?” Saxon paused. “Haven okay?”

  “Yeah, just shaken.” And starting to look furious.

  “Is the guy still breathing?” Saxon asked.

  “Yes, through a broken nose.” Rhys rattled off their location.

  “Okay, on my way.”

  The man on the ground shook his head, watching them blearily.

  Haven snatched up her dropped shoe and phone, slipping her shoe back on. She still looked shaken and Rhys wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. She was stiff at first, then she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his shirt. Damn, she felt good tucked up against him.

  Then she made a small sound that sounded like a sob.

  “Hey, it’s all right now,” he murmured.

  Her hands clenched on his shirt. “Sorry,” she sniffed.

  “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. You’re entitled to freak out.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve learned the best way to deal with freak-outs is to do it alone, with wine.”

  Frowning, he looked down at the top of her head. He hated hearing the resignation in her voice. He wanted her to turn to him, lean on him.

  Hell, he’d never felt that way before. He tipped her chin up. “I’m right here.”

  Her blue gaze skittered away.

  The man on the ground moved and Rhys flicked him a glance. “Don’t even think about it.”

  At the cutting tone of Rhys’ voice, the guy’s shoulders slumped.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Haven asked.

  “Ask him a few questions.”

  Rhys saw the gears turning in that clever head of hers.

  “Wait, you think he has something to do the theft? I don’t think so. This was random.”

  Rhys rubbed his fingers up her arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She threw a hand up. “He tried to drag me off the street and shove me in a car.” She shuddered. “I’m going to worry about it, Rhys.”

  He tightened his hold on her.

  She stilled, her gaze running over his face. “What?”

  “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.”

  “What? No, that can’t be right.”

  “You avoid me like the plague, Haven. Believe me, it’s the first time you’ve said my name.” He paused. “Been waiting a long time to hear you say it.”

  He heard her sharp breath, then she glanced away, like the brick wall of the nearby building was suddenly fascinating. Her hands clenched tighter on his shirt.

  “You going to ignore me while standing in my arms?”

  “I thought I’d give it a try.”

  His lips twitched.

  “You are pretty hard to ignore.” Her gaze met his. “I do owe you a thank you. For rescuing me.” A frown creased her brow. “Why were you here?”

  “I heard that a certain stubborn museum curator was not at home resting the morning after being attacked. Instead, she’s been taking gifts to injured guards in the hospital, and traipsing around the city, trying to do my job.”

  She licked her lips, which made him look at them. They were pink and perfectly shaped, and gave him dirty ideas.

  “I’m fine. And… And I need to help, Rhys. I feel like this is all my fault. My job is to take care of the museum and all the artwork. To look out for our employees. I let those thieves in, and they hurt the guards—”

  “Not your fault. The guys who took the painting are not amateurs.”

  A sleek, black BMW X6 SUV screeched to a stop beside them, and Saxon and Vander got out. Vander’s turbulent gaze shifted to the man on the ground, then came back to them.

  “Haven, you okay?” Vander asked.

  She nodded.

  Vander and Saxon heaved the man up. He went in sullen silence, and Saxon shoved him in the back of the X6.

  “We’ll put him in a holding room,” Vander said. “Ask him a few questions.”

  Rhys lifted his chin. He wanted to go in and question the man himself, but he needed to take care of Haven.

  She cleared her throat. “Ah, is ask a few questions a euphemism for rough him up a bit?”

  The corner of Vander’s mouth twitched. “No.”

  The breath rushed out of her. “Oh, good.”

  “It’s a euphemism for, if he doesn’t answer my questions, I’ll beat the shit out of him,” Vander said. “Catch you guys later.” He slid into the SUV’s driver seat.

  A second later, the vehicle pulled away.

  “Your brother is scary as hell.”

  Rhys didn’t disagree. He’d grown up with Vander—who’d been an intense teenager with a strong sense of right and wrong. He’d worked alongside Vander in some bad places, under fire, with a lot on the line. Vander still had a code he followed, but it wasn’t so black-and-white anymore.

  “Come on.” Rhys led her down the street and paused beside his silver Mercedes GTS.

  She eyed the sportscar. “This looks fast…and expensive.”

  He helped her into the passenger seat.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He pulled into traffic. “My place.”

  “What?” she squeaked.

  “Your palms are scraped, and you’re shaking. You’re in shock.”

  She clasped her hands together. “Just take me home.”

  “Nope.”

  “So, I have been kidnapped.”

  Rhys took a turn, heading toward his apartment. “I’m going to clean your hands, make you a drink. Probably a shot of whiskey.”

  “I hate whiskey.”

  “This is a whiskey moment, angel.”

  She was quiet for the rest of the drive. Stewing. Rhys could sense it. Having Gia for a sister—a woman who rarely held back exactly what she was feeling—had given him plenty of experience.

  They arrived at his building and he parked in the underground parking. He pulled in beside his Kawasaki Ninja, which he saw Haven eye with interest.

  “You ever been on a bike?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He smiled. “You’ll like it.”

  It was a quic
k elevator ride up to his apartment, and he let them through the front door.

  She walked across his open-plan living room to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. He had a great view of the Bay Bridge.

  “Holy cow,” she murmured.

  He paused for a second. He liked seeing her silhouetted against the glass. Liked seeing her in his place. It was weird, since he rarely brought women back here.

  She turned, taking in his place. Her gaze snagged on the far wall and her eyebrows rose. “You collect…toy cars?”

  He frowned at his custom-made shelves. “Those are models.”

  “You sure?”

  His gaze narrowed. His siblings liked to rib him about his collection too. “They’re all die-cast collectibles. Very valuable.”

  She made an unconvinced sound. “Do you play with them?”

  “No.” He saw her lips twitch and decided if teasing him made her feel better, he was okay with it. “I’ll get my first aid kit.”

  She spun, blue eyes on fire. “I cannot believe this!”

  Here came the explosion.

  Haven tossed her arms wide, pacing across the living area. “I just can’t think of what I did to deserve this shitty karma. Some no-neck hulk tries to abduct me. Thieves shot my guards, nice guys with families, and stole a really, really expensive painting. A masterpiece. And a total asshole beat me up.” Her voice rose.

  “Haven, baby, calm down.”

  She spun again. “All of this on top of a real asshole ex who was mixed up in God knows what, and who also hit me. Do I have a sign saying ‘punch me here’ hanging around my neck?”

  All of Rhys’ humor fled. He pushed away from his kitchen island. “Your ex hit you?”

  His lethal tone of voice got through to her. She lowered her arms. “That’s in the past.”

  He strode straight to her. “What’s his name? Who is he?”

  “Rhys—”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “No man should ever lay a hand on a woman. Ever.”

  She swallowed. “I know.” She spread her palms over his chest. “I left him the first time he did it. Things hadn’t been good for a while.” She patted Rhys. “It’s over.”

  He realized with her calm tone of voice that she was trying to pacify him. “He back in Miami?”

  She nodded.

  Watching her, most of Rhys’ fury drained. Damn, she was beautiful.

  Then he realized she was shaking. Probably delayed reaction to the asshole who tried to grab her. Rhys pulled her closer. She pressed her face against him, and he rested his cheek on her hair.

  “Why am I shaking? I’m mad.”

  “You’re upset. Have your freak-out.”

  She didn’t cry, but she held on, and damned if he didn’t like it. When her shaking stopped, he led her to a stool and grabbed his first aid kit out of the cupboard.

  “Your kit is way more used than mine,” she said. “In mine, everything is still in the original packaging.”

  Yeah, well, he got banged up on occasion, and he did anything he could to avoid hospitals. He took her scraped hand and gently cleaned her wounds. When he used the antiseptic wipe, she hissed, but didn’t jerk away. Next, he put some antiseptic cream on, then did the same to her other hand.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Not going to let anyone hurt you again.” He tucked a strand of her brown hair back. He loved the light brown shade of it, with almost silver undertones.

  “I think I’m ready for part two of my freak-out,” she said.

  He raised a brow.

  “The getting angry part.” She slid off the stool and strode across his living area.

  Rhys’ gaze dropped to her ass. That curvy, sexy ass.

  “I left Miami for a fresh start.” She made an angry sound. “Shit clearly follows me around.”

  Yes, her anger was back. She grabbed one of her shoes and threw it at his couch. It hit and bounced off one of the cushions. Then she tossed her other one.

  “I’m done being a punching bag.” She spun. “Hear that, universe?”

  Rhys advanced. He had to touch her.

  She spun and bumped into him. “Oh.”

  “Rant over?”

  “Maybe.” She sniffed. “I could probably dredge up a bit more.”

  “You’re done for now.” He yanked her up on her toes and did what he’d wanted to do from the first day he’d met her. He kissed Haven McKinney.

  * * *

  Oh. God.

  Rhys Norcross was kissing her.

  This was a disaster, but it was also toe-curlingly incredible.

  Even as her brain screamed at her to pull away, to run to Europe and join a convent, her hands dug into his hard chest and she parted her lips.

  He took immediate advantage, his tongue sliding against hers. Desire filled every cell in her body in a wild, invigorating rush.

  He deepened the kiss, and any remaining thoughts of escaping him flew out of her head. Haven moaned, and sank her hands into his thick, shaggy hair. She kissed him back.

  “Fuck,” he murmured against her lips.

  The next kiss was wild. They were both groping each other, pressing their bodies together. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, and set her on the lovely wooden table in the dining area. Then he worked her skirt up enough to stand between her legs.

  Alarm bells were ringing. Rhys was a danger with a very big D, underlined twice.

  “Rhys,” she panted.

  Then his mouth was on hers again. Damn, he tasted so good, felt so good. Somehow, she got the two top buttons of his shirt undone, sliding her hands inside.

  Oh, warm skin. She saw the ink on the left side of his chest. So sexy. A hard, muscled man with ink in a suit. Totally sex on a stick. She felt a flood of dampness between her legs.

  His hands slid into her hair, tilting her head back. His mouth skated down her jaw to her neck.

  Oh, God. She had a sensitive neck. She shuddered under the sensations.

  A big, strong hand slid up her thigh, heading to where her body begged for him to touch her. Then her brain reengaged.

  “No.”

  Rhys paused and lifted his head. The look on his face made her swallow a moan. Desire was carved hard on those handsome features.

  Rhys Norcross wanted her.

  Since she’d said no, he hadn’t moved. His fingers were still on her leg, but they weren’t moving higher. Damn, she knew that he was a good guy and he wouldn’t take advantage.

  She licked her lips. “We can’t do this.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can,” he growled. “And it’ll be fucking amazing.”

  Haven pressed a hand to her flushed cheek. Yes, he wanted her. She knew he’d wanted plenty of other women, as well—who were more beautiful and experienced than her.

  She also knew that he didn’t keep them very long.

  Haven wasn’t a one-night woman. More power to women who were, but it wasn’t her, and there was more to her refusal than just that.

  It was the fact that Gia was her best friend, and Easton was her boss. This could get messy quickly.

  “You’re my best friend’s brother.”

  Rhys raised a brow. “Gia’s been telling me to make a move on you for weeks.”

  Haven’s eyes popped open wide. “That traitor! I am so not getting her those gallery opening tickets she wanted.” Haven drew herself up. “You’re my boss’ brother. That’s messy. I’ve already made the colossal mistake of getting involved with a family member of my last boss.”

  “The dickhead ex?”

  She nodded. “He was my boss’ cousin.”

  His voice dropped. “I’m not your ex, Haven, and I don’t care how many stupid excuses you throw between us.”

  The biggest one was the one she wouldn’t tell him. That deep down, something in her knew that Rhys Norcross had the power to hurt her far worse than Leo Becker ever had. Oh, Rhys would never hit her, but her heart… Nope. She couldn’t withstand whatever pain he w
ould inflict.

  She pushed him back and hopped off the table, shoving her skirt down.

  Adult, be an adult, Haven. She made herself look at him.

  God, those lips. And his scent—he always smelled like sandalwood and pine.

  “That shouldn’t have happened,” she persisted.

  He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “It should. And it should happen again.”

  Damn, if he touched her again, her willpower would crumble like tissue paper. She was so weak when it came to him.

  “No.” She held up her hand, channeling some of Gia’s attitude.

  “You’re going to have to do better with the excuses than Easton and Gia.” Rhys cocked his head, a lock of dark-brown hair flopping over his forehead.

  Oh, her hand itched to brush it away, or sink her hands into it and climb him like a…

  Focus, Haven. “I’ve sworn off men.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Men. I’m done.” She made a chopping motion with her hand. “From now on, I’m flying solo, and getting my life back on track. I have no room for you.”

  He arched a brow. “Were you just here for that kiss?”

  Haven decided it was best to stay quiet.

  “You know what would’ve happened if we’d kept going?” His voice lowered to a deep, sexy murmur.

  Haven fought back a shiver. “Don’t—”

  “I would have finally gotten my hands under that tight skirt that hugs your ass and makes my mouth go dry.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “I would have pushed you onto your back, splayed you on my table, and torn whatever scrap of silk or lace you’re wearing as panties.”

  Her body was alive, heat washing through her. She closed her eyes.

  “I would’ve touched your sweet pussy, then gotten my mouth on you. Had you writhing until you came on my tongue, screaming my name.”

  Oh. God. She was not strong enough to fight this. She wanted all that, and more.

  She opened her eyes. “Rhys—”

  His cell phone rang.

  They stared at each other, then he yanked it out and answered.

  “Sax, tell me you have good news.” A pause, then Rhys cursed. “He won’t talk, even with some persuasion?” A second later, Rhys grunted. “He’s scared of someone. Yeah, okay, keep me posted.” He ended the call, his gaze coming back to her.