Jack’s house was a sprawling white Spanish Colonial. His favorite part of the interior he’d paid a pretty penny for was the rock fountain water feature in his sitting room that looked out onto a lush green garden. It was also quite well secured. He didn’t see any reason why Lucy couldn’t use it if she decided to.
He found himself thinking again about where he would allow Lucy to go in the house. He thought he’d put her in a guest bedroom with the egg first. Hold her there and see how it went. Maybe she’d understand everything and he could let her have run of the place? It all depended. He wasn’t sure how he was going to know if he could trust her or not. Not that it was fair.
But before trust could be earned, he had to move her body. He snorted at the thought as he got out of the car and clicked the remote on his keys to close the garage. Lucy wasn’t the most petite woman in the world but she wasn’t heavy either. He liked the feel of her in his arms, in fact. He tried not to think about that too much. It seemed a wrong kind of thought when you’d just kidnapped somebody, even if it was for the right reasons.
He went around to the back of the car and cracked open the lid of the trunk, still worried about the egg getting “enough air” even though it was a ridiculous thought.
His garage housed twelve cars. It looked more like a showroom than a garage. Now Jack made the long trudge, while carrying an adult woman in his arms, all the way inside, through his house and up a flight of stairs to the guest room next to his. His house was decorated in an eclectic style that combined the classic with the modern. He’d had a professional decorate it. Yet he’d ended up spending more time than not in his penthouse. The mansion was just too lonely. He had his parents stay there when they visited and sometimes he threw large parties. But living there himself, he did not usually prefer. The place was just too big and empty and reminded him too much of things he didn’t have.
Now he hiked up the wide flight of stairs to the second floor and down the corridor, nudging the guest room door open as Lucy murmured in her sleep. She would be fully awake soon, he was pretty sure. He laid her down on a bed; it was a king-sized four-poster with a brand new luxurious bedding all in white. The room was very Zen. It was all neutrals and charcoal. Simple but sophisticated. It was also huge. It was as big as any luxury master bedroom. It had a giant bathroom too with a jacuzzi tub. Jack left the light on, pausing there in the doorway to look at Lucy as she hummed happily and turned on her side. She needed clothes and things. She was still wearing her dopey cocktail waitress outfit and a jacket. He resolved to get her some things to wear before he locked the door behind him and sighed, trotting back down the corridor and all the way down the stairs on his way back to the garage to fetch the egg.
“Oh fuck.” Jack held the box, peering down into it as he stood there in his massive garage.
The egg was pale. That was the only way he knew to describe it. The blue had lightened by several shades. It was now more of a cornflower color. He touched it and his finger came back slightly slick, making him grimace.
Jack muttered obscenities and hurried back upstairs, taking the egg to his room. Maybe he needed better light? But in the better light of his room, the egg looked even lighter. He’d also never found the surface to be slick before.
Jack sat on his bed, the egg in its box next to him, and flipped through the notepad looking for any mention of color changes or slimy egg surfaces. He couldn’t find anything. That was worrying. He rubbed his face and sprang up, crossing the floor to his desk and popping open his laptop.
Jack searched the terms for dragon egg-care every which way he could think of and found very little. That wasn’t so surprising. Shifters didn’t exactly broadcast their existence. After a solid hour, he managed to find little information.
His egg was cold. That wasn’t too surprising. He’d been lax about the temperature control out of necessity. He’d thought to transport his new heat lamp though. That was a plus. On the minus side, he’d likely made his egg mildly ill. It wasn’t life-threatening unless left unchecked. He had to give his egg a hot bath and then put it right under that lamp and rub olive oil all over it a couple times a day for the next few days. He hoped Lucy would be in the mood for that because he couldn’t afford to stay here and do it himself.
Jack sighed heavily and stood, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves before dragging the box to his own huge bathroom. He set the water running as hot as it would go without burning his hand and then carefully took the egg out of the box. It was a strange sensation to hold the egg by itself, out of its box. He was supposed to be doing that. He was supposed to be holding the egg on occasion and talking to it.
Except that now as he held it in his hands, he felt tears prick his eyes. He gently set the egg in the water and watched it sink halfway in, not quite floating and not sinking into the bottom. Instead, it bobbed there in steaming water as Jack felt that tear slide down his cheek. It was hard not to touch the egg directly and not think about Sean. Sean, who had died. His good friend since forever. He choked on the lump in his throat and coughed, forcing it back down painfully. He didn’t have time for that. He didn’t have time to think about Sean, who had fallen into trouble somehow and gotten killed for it. He didn’t want to think about he’d never see Sean again. He remembered all those times Sean had come over after a bad night at his own place and Jack had welcomed him inside and made his own family Sean’s family too. They’d grown apart a little over the years but he’d always thought of Sean as something like a brother.
Now he was gone. Forever.
“Fuck,” Jack whispered, rubbing his leaking eyes. “Fuck everything…”
He cleared his throat, forcing the tears back down again. No time for that. Emotions, Jack thought of as like the bottom of a To Do list, you got to that stuff if you happened to get the time. He had no time though. There was too much real shit to do.
Now Jack got to his feet and turned off the water, leaving the egg in its hot bath for a while. He went downstairs and retrieved the heat lamp from his car and trotted up again, unlocking the guest room door and peeking in to check on Lucy who still lay on her side on the bed, unconscious, her mouth slightly agape. But she would be up soon, Jack was pretty sure. She was still wearing her shoes, so he went in and set the heat lamp down before gently removing the shoes and putting them aside. He picked up his heat lamp and gave her one last look before leaving and locking the door again.
She was really beautiful.
Now for the olive oil.
Olive oil had seemed like an easy enough task except that apparently he had none on hand, having not lived in the mansion for quite a while. Any olive oil that had ever been on hand had likely expired and the staff had probably thrown it out.
Great, he needed to go to the store and buy olive oil and leave Lucy here to wake up in a strange room and flip out. Well, the windows were constructed of the most secure glass on the market, so she wasn’t getting out. As uncomfortale as it made him feel to be keeping a woman prisoner, it also meant that she wasn’t getting murdered. So he called that a win.
“Oh my God, I hate fatherhood,” Jack said, rubbing his eyes. He checked his phone. He had a mess of unanswered texts and phone calls. He spent the next hour addressing them and then accessing his email on the laptop and taking care of those.
The instructions regarding the egg’s hot bath said to leave it in the water for at least a few hours. But he went to refresh the hot water a few times, trying to keep it hot.
When he saw how late it was, Jack sprang up, muttering obscenities. He set up the heat lamp on his desk and cranked it up. He took out the egg and dried it off, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.
Sean, your good friend, Sean. This is the last piece of him in the world and if you fuck this up, it’s like killing him all over again.
Jack sniffed and shook his head, willing the troublesome thoughts and feelings away. He had to go to the store to buy olive oil and then he had to come back and be here to explain
to Lucy what the hell was going on and try to reason with her. Which he didn’t expect would be easy.
He was about to leave when it occurred to him that leaving a note would be polite.
Jack grabbed a piece of printer paper from his desk and a Sharpie and wrote:
Lucy,
I can explain this. Your life was in danger. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I had to do it this way.
-Jack.
It was a ridiculous note. He knew that even as he slipped it under the door. But it would have to do for now. In the meantime, Jack trotted down the stairs and focussed on the next task. Get the olive oil.
He found himself worrying about the state of the egg as he got in his car and backed out. He nearly backed over a very expensive stone sculpture of a fawn he’d imported from Germany.
For what? He thought to himself. For who to see? You have no family. You’ve lost Sean. You have even less now.
He wiped his eyes and clicked open the gates before driving on into town and away from thoughts that were too hard to think about.
7
Lucy
When Lucy woke up, her head felt groggy and mildly achy. Except she didn’t wake up all at once. She stirred back into consciousness by degrees. She kept dreaming of gangsters chasing her with big guns. The dreams were visceral and terrifying. Julie was after her and she didn’t know what she had done. In the nightmare, it was something to do with dancing. She’d taken Julie’s spot in the show and Julie was pissed. So Lucy was going to have be killed. It was only as the dream faded that she remembered. She saw that man getting killed right in front of her again and she remembered the awful terror she’d felt the whole time.
She murmured little cries for help that sounded louder in her head as she rolled over, weakly trying to get away from the horror of it. Then even the memory faded and all she felt was the coziness of wherever she’d fallen asleep. It was all a vague blur. She was at Blue Suede but this comfy bed was too nice for Blue Suede and Blue Suede didn’t even have any beds. It wasn’t a motel. She must have gone home, but this was bigger and more luxurious than her shrimpy old mattress. She must have…
Lucy remembered Jack Damon coming for her. Jack Damon had attacked her. He’d always been such an obvious asshole. She’d always hated him. But she’d never truly thought he was evil, someone who would ever truly hurt her. But he had. He’d attacked her and she couldn’t remember… He’d knocked her out, she was pretty sure…
“Hmm...no…”
Lucy finally opened her eyes and rolled over in bed to find herself in a strange room. She was still woozy and disoriented. It took a couple minutes to piece things together and actually accept all of them. Jack Damon had been there and Jack Damon had attacked her and drugged her and now she was somewhere he’d put her. Lucy’s heart pounded, and her breath was short as she struggled to sit up. She was in a luxurious bedroom. It was modern and very classy, at least to her mind. Everything looked expensive and carefully chosen. She was still wearing her cocktail outfit but her shoes had been removed.
But she was still in a strange room and in a strange house and her boss had put her there after drugging her. Lucy sprang to her feet and swayed for a moment as she stood, trying to get her bearings. The drugs were still in her system, she thought. She wasn’t just sleepy. She felt a little nauseated and sat down again, taking deep breaths. When she could gather herself, she got to her feet again and walked to the door.
Lucy stared at it; an innocent silver knob on a pristine white door in a perfectly decorated room. It was going to be locked, she thought, as she frowned down at it. She knew that. It was the most logical conclusion to draw. But now she stared at it and prayed to gods she wasn’t even sure she believed in before shaking her hand out, as if readying herself, and trying the door.
The door was locked.
“Goddammit,” Lucy hissed.
She tried the door again. She tried the door an absurd number of times before running to the other end of the room, taking a running start and slamming her entire body into the door. It didn’t budge even a little. She threw furniture at the windows. She found a pen and a paper clip and she tried to pick the lock and got nowhere. The lock at least kept her busy for a while. She sat herself on the floor and took off her jacket and gave the lock as much attention as she could stand. It was no good, of course. She was not getting out of this room. There was a folded up piece of paper on the floor and she swept it aside unthinkingly.
She didn’t take it well.
She screamed. She screamed as loudly as she could and then she burst into tears, burying her face in a pillow.
It was all so obvious now. Jack Damon was working with the gangsters who had killed that man. That was the most logical explanation. It all made sense. Julie must have known about it too. She’d made the boneheaded mistake of telling Julie what she’d seen and Julie had either told Jack or told her boyfriend who maybe worked for Jack. Then Jack had kidnapped her. He was doubtless planning to kill her. It was weird he hadn’t killed her already but then disposing of a body properly was probably harder than it seemed. Maybe that was why? Killing a guy in a parking garage didn’t seem very stealthy either but then maybe that was the point. She had witnessed. But now Jack knew better. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He was going to make sure there were no witnesses to this murder.
Lucy curled up on the bed and sobbed her heart out. It wasn’t the fear so much as the fact of knowing she would be killed. The thing was, as hard a slog as life could be, Lucy happened to like it. She loved life with all its hardships and triumphs. She loved dancing and the lights of Las Vegas and even the seediness of it and feeling like a star at every show, even when she was so clearly not one. It was still showbusiness. It was dancing and the stage and she liked putting on a costume and entertaining people with a big, phony smile on her face. She loved that and seeing her friends and even going on bad dates. She was really going to miss life.
This sucked alright.
She got up again, her eyes puffy and sore, and pounded on the door helplessly, only now seeing the paper on the floor again and bending to pick it up.
Lucy,
I can explain this. Your life was in danger. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I had to do it this way.
-Jack.
Lucy felt a kind of rage toward Jack Damon of which she had never known she was even capable. It wasn’t exactly the message itself. She wasn’t even sure it was a lie. In fact, it sounded just like Jack. He was the most entitled man in the world. She had seen him time and time again barking orders and “delegating” and hiring and firing on the fly as if people’s real jobs weren’t at stake. There was a chance Jack really was a gangster, but then why would he bother to write such a note? But there was an even greater chance that Jack thought he had some kind of logical explanation for this. Thought he did, anyway. According to his entitled insanity. Perhaps he’d somehow learned of what had happened with the murder and Julie and he was actually getting Lucy out of harm’s way?
But that didn’t seem likely.
Jack probably had some self-interest of his own that this was about and Lucy was just a pawn in his game. Maybe he was trying to get her on his side.
Well, Lucy wasn’t about to play along.
When there was a soft knock on the door, Lucy sat up on the bed and braced herself, feeling overly vulnerable in her cocktail waitress outfit.
“It’s Jack,” Jack said through the door.
Lucy rolled her eyes. But she clenched her fists as she sat there, waiting. She let him push open the door and he regarded her warily before walking inside and closing the door behind him. He wasn’t armed, that she could see. Not that it mattered. The dude was built. He worked out all the time. He was famous for it. He looked more like a personal trainer than a hotel and casino owner.
Jack was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. She had never seen him so dressed down. He had beard stubble growing where usually he was carefully clean sh
aven. His eyes were sad too. He looked like he was about to tell Lucy that her grandma had died.
Puppy dog eyes, they called those.
Lucy scowled at him. She wouldn’t fall for it. Not ever. He might have been hot as hell but he’d kidnapped her after all.
“Lucy,” Jack said calmly. “I-”
“You son of a bitch,” Lucy spat.
“Hold on-”
“You son of a bitch!” She got to her feet and screamed at him.
Jack narrowed his eyes and said with a voice like thunder: “YOU SAW SEAN GET MURDERED!”
Lucy shut up and stared at him, blinking dumbly and feeling even dumber. “What-”
“The man you saw,” Jack said slowly, “in the parking garage. The man who got murdered. He was... He was…” Lucy saw Jack’s mouth twist, and he cleared his throat, spinning around to face the wall. “Listen. They know you know. Alright? They’re after you. And I knew you wouldn’t listen to me so-”
“So you fucking kidnapped me,” Lucy hissed, getting to her feet.
She looked him up and down. His eyes were a little red. He looked the picture of a grief-stricken man who didn’t want to be taken for one. He was a little hunched, his hair uncharacteristically messy, his eyes shining. She scowled at him, pulled back her fist and punched him in the face.
The hit, when it came, was short and sharp and Jack reared back. “Ah! Fuck!” She’d gotten him right in the nose and it was bleeding now. She felt a little vindicated for that. Good for me, she thought.
“Jesus,” Jack muttered.
Something about the way he said it made her suddenly burst out laughing. It was just too amusing. He had kidnapped her and locked her up in a room after attacking and drugging her and he seemed so indignantly surprised that she had been upset enough to punch him in the face. He glared at her now, pinching his bleeding nose and wincing. He looked rather like an annoyed cat and she snorted a laugh that made him raise an eyebrow.
Vegas Baby Dragon: Guardian of Mates Agency Page 5
