Destroyed With You

by J. Kenner

  Fortunately, Emma had been working with him that night. She’d taken the bitch down as Winston fought to stay conscious.

  He’d been lucky. The hidden needle in the ring had held only a sedative. But it could have just as easily been poison.

  Now Linda had the same ring. And the only good that he could see coming from that was the fact that any lingering doubts were now soundly swept away. This was no wacky coincidence, no unfortunate misinterpretation of facts.

  His wife wasn’t just dead; she’d never existed.

  And knowing that made it a hell of a lot easier to do his job.

  He’d bring her in. And if it came down to him or her, he’d kill her without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Are you staying here?” Linda asked, and though Winston couldn’t see her, he knew Bartlett must have nodded affirmatively because she whispered, all sultry and sweet, “Oh, that’s very good.”

  “You, um, you think so?”

  “Well, it’s a very nice hotel. I’ve been to the bar and restaurant a few times, but I’ve never seen one of the rooms. I’m guessing they’re exceptional.”

  “Oh, yes. Very nice.” Bartlett cleared his throat noisily. “If you—I mean, we could have wine and appetizers sent to the room. Maybe, um, order a movie.”

  “I love that idea,” she said. “But Tommy, I don’t think we need to waste money on a movie we’ll just end up ignoring, do you? I mean, unless you like background noise.”

  As Tommy Bartlett cleared his throat and probably blushed like a teenager, Winston closed his eyes, not sure if he was battling shock or disgust or something far more disturbing. Like arousal. When they’d been together he’d always taken the lead in their sex life. But he couldn’t deny that he’d often fantasized about her seducing him in his office or slamming him hard against the entryway wall the moment he got home at the end of the day, ignoring his protests that he was exhausted, and then going down on him right there in the front hall.

  He’d never told her about those thoughts. God knows their sex life had been plenty fine, and he’d always feared she’d feel obligated to try and be something she wasn’t if he confessed his fantasies.

  Now, he wasn’t sure which was the real Linda.

  Neither, he assumed. She was playing a role now with Bartlett just as she’d played one with him.

  She was a chameleon, and the only way he was going to manage not to lose his grip during this assignment was if he kept that basic fact firmly at the forefront of his mind.

  “—take the check?”

  Winston grimaced, realizing that he’d tuned out the conversation. He kept his back to them as he tossed a fifty on the bar, more than covering his own bill, then he headed out, certain they’d soon be following.

  It was easy enough to get to Bartlett’s room. He had the number from Noah as well as a master key, and he moved quickly since he was certain that Bartlett would be eager to get Linda to the room before she changed her mind.

  But once he reached the actual door, he moved with more care. Bartlett might be an accountant, but he was an accountant who did the bulk of his work for criminals.

  Winston checked the door for any threads or micro-wires that might have been put in place in order to reveal if anyone had opened the door despite the Do Not Disturb sign. Nothing.

  So far so good. He pressed the key against the pad, heard the lock click, then entered slowly. He was almost certain the room would be empty, but he wasn’t about to leave anything up to chance.

  Silence greeted him, and he saw no suggestion of another person. Only a suitcase open on a stand and a magazine tossed on the bed. Simple indicators of one guy, not intending to stay too long.

  But there was no laptop sitting out.

  Winston frowned. Bartlett hadn’t had the computer with him in the bar, of that much he was certain. The man had been wearing trousers and a button down, and he’d carried no briefcase. If there’d been even the slightest chance that the man had the laptop with him, Winston wouldn’t have come ahead to the room. Linda already had the accountant wrapped around her finger. If Bartlett had brought the laptop to the bar, she would have suggested they go to her hotel. Someplace where she had all the control.

  Unless the laptop wasn’t here, either…

  The thought made Winston frown, then glance at his watch. They might already be on their way, but he needed to know. He shot a quick text to Noah, who responded almost immediately, assuring Winston that Bartlett hadn’t stored a laptop in the hotel vault, nor was there one logged in with the bellmen.

  He also gave Winston the override code for the guest safe located in the closet. But before Winston could access that vault, he heard the snick of the lock on the door. He eased all the way into the closet and carefully slid the door closed. The panel was louvered, giving him a striated view of the room. And the bed.

  “Oh, this really is nice.” Linda’s voice preceded her into the room, and Winston stiffened, stepping back as they passed in front of the door. “I’m so glad you invited me up.”

  Bartlett was laughing as he stepped into view. “Funny. I could have sworn you invited yourself up.”

  “Oh, did you notice that?” She moved to stand in front of Bartlett, the two of them positioned sideways in front of the closet. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward.”

  Bartlett cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

  She slid her hands around his neck. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  From his vantage point, Winston could see her fiddling with the ring, obviously judging when to dose him. Winston was certain that the drug was intended to make Bartlett pliable enough to reveal the laptop’s password. But that type of maneuver was always dicey. Give too much, and your subject could pass out before revealing any information. Give too little, and they wouldn’t be susceptible.

  And there was the small matter that the computer wasn’t in plain sight.

  “You must be doing more relaxing than working,” she said. “I assumed an accountant would be surrounded by papers. At the very least, I would have thought you’d have a computer.”

  “It’s in the room safe. I trust hotels, but not maids.” He stood up. “Besides, who wants work around us while we’re sharing some wine and what? Oysters? Dessert?”

  “Either sounds wonderful.” She was practically purring, and Winston wasn’t sure who he wanted to strangle more—her or the accountant.

  He leaned forward as if to kiss her, but she pulled back, then pressed her fingertip over his lips. “I like anticipation,” she whispered, and it took all of Winston’s strength to keep himself from bursting out of the closet and confronting her right then. How many collective hours had he spent in a sensual haze, his cock hard as steel, his body hot with need. “I love feeling like this,” she’d tell him. “Needy and desperate. The buildup of anticipation. Don’t you?”

  God, yes, he’d loved it. So much that it became a sensual game for the both of them. Out in public, on the couch watching television. Any time one or the other had the urge, they’d start an hours-long sensual dance that would end with a wild, explosive taking, all the more potent because they had held back for so long.

  It had been intimate and intense. And, he’d believed, only for them.

  “Anticipation is good,” Bartlett whispered.

  “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  “Why don’t you get comfortable? There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door.”

  “Is there?” She glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed slightly. Winston was certain she was weighing her options, an assumption that was proved when she said, “But if I go in there, you might forget all about me.”

  “I won’t think about anything but you, and how I’m going to make you feel for the rest of the evening.” He grinned, all smug and confident. “Anticipation, right?”

  She turned back to him. “You are a fast learner,” she purred, and though Winston hated himself for it, he felt the cold fingers of jealousy crawl up
his spine.

  As Winston watched, Bartlett nodded toward the bathroom. “Go on. I’ll order.”

  She hesitated, and Winston was certain he knew what she was thinking. If he were in her position, he’d be weighing the same options. Was it better to play this out or to show her hand now?

  As he would have done, she headed toward the bathroom. Until she actually accessed the safe and saw the laptop, she couldn’t rely on what Bartlett had told her. Better to keep her cover until she had full certainty that the mission could be completed.

  And that, of course, was why he was still standing behind the louvered door, watching the drama play out in front of him.

  He heard the click of the bathroom door and watched as Bartlett loosened his tie. The man had been a little shy and awkward in the bar, but in this room he was full of confidence. The prick.

  Now, he walked to the closet. Winston tensed, then stepped to the side as one half of the door slid open. Bartlett took a step forward, and Winston moved fast, grabbing the accountant’s arm, flipping him around, and trapping him against the metal frame in which the closet doors slid open.

  “Wh—”

  Winston clapped his arm over the man’s mouth, then whispered. “Quiet. I’m not going to hurt you. I have a gun, but I’m not using it. I’m here to help you. The woman you’re with—she’s not what you think. She’s a professional assassin, and Hawthorne sent her to kill you.”

  That got through to the man. Bartlett’s eyes widened, then cut sideways as if he was trying to look to the bathroom.

  “Quiet,” Winston repeated as he loosened his hand over the other man’s mouth. “I’m here to help. I’ll take care of the woman. Then I’ll get you and the laptop somewhere safe.”

  “Safe?”

  “Where you’ll be protected until you can testify. I’m working with the SOC. Seagrave sent me.”

  The man visibly paled. “Oh, God.”

  “I know. We need to get you where Hawthorne and his people can’t find you. Just do as I say and I’ll make sure this goes smoothly.”

  Bartlett nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

  Cautiously, Winston loosened his hand. At the same time, he heard the click of the bathroom door. Winston pushed Bartlett all the way into the closet, then shoved past him into the room as he drew his weapon.

  “There wasn’t a robe,” Linda called as an electronic beep sounded from inside the closet. There was a teasing lilt to her voice as she added, “So I just borrowed a towel.”

  Winston silently cursed Bartlett for getting into the safe before he had Linda contained, but he couldn’t deal with the man right then. Not now that Linda had come into sight.

  He saw her mouth open in shock, then felt the hard bash of metal crashing against the back of his skull. He fell forward as the hotel iron dropped to the carpet next to him. He rolled to his side, swinging his arm wide so as to knock Bartlett’s legs out from under him even while Winston brought the gun around to lock onto Linda.

  She froze, her mouth open, her eyes as wide as if she’d just seen a ghost.

  At the same time, Bartlett’s laptop went flying, landing hard on the thick carpet as Bartlett managed to keep his balance. Winston cursed, but kept the gun on Linda.

  “Why the fuck did you bean me?” he snapped at the accountant. “I’m here to help you.”

  He expected Bartlett to snatch up the laptop, then go cower in a corner. Instead, the accountant bolted for the door, terror coming off him like waves.

  What the hell?

  Winston clambered to his feet and followed, keeping the gun trained on Linda even as he paused in the doorway, weighing his options as Bartlett plowed through the stairwell door. They were only on the third floor, which meant he’d be at the lobby before Winston could call down for security to apprehend him. If he followed, Linda would bolt.

  Plus, the laptop was still in the room. Two birds in the hand and one on the fly.

  Not perfect—not by a long shot—but he was staying. And it had taken him maybe half a second to run through his various options.

  Now decided, he shut the door and held the gun steady, aimed directly at her heart.

  “Winston.” Her voice was steady. Flat. Without a hint of remorse. Hell, without a hint of anything. “Would it be cliché if I said that this is quite the surprise?”

  He shook his head slowly, wishing he could unhear her flat, cold words. “You think I won’t pull the trigger? You think I wouldn’t gladly destroy you? You ruined my life, damn you. You killed the woman I loved.”

  One brow rose, and she released her hold on the towel. It fell to her feet, leaving her naked in front of him, and just as beautiful as he remembered. “Maybe I did,” she said, taking a single step forward. “And if it’s payback you want, now’s the time.”

  Chapter Six

  Almost six years before…

  The single towel is barely enough to cover me, but I hold the edges together with one hand between my breasts as I meet his eyes. Not two seconds ago I’d stepped out of my bathroom, still damp from the shower, because I’d left my new deodorant and toothbrush in the grocery bag on the coffee table. What I found instead was Sheriff Winston Starr.

  I keep my chin up, determined not to be flustered even though my heart is beating like a butterfly’s wings, and not just because he’s so damn good-looking with that muscular body, rugged face, and kind eyes that crinkle when he smiles.

  No, the bigger reason for my nerves is that I have secrets. And if this small town sheriff has found them out … well, my bosses aren’t going to like that.

  I clear my throat, realizing that neither one of us has spoken. “Do you want to tell me what you’re doing in my apartment?”

  He takes off his hat as he glances down at the floor. When he lifts his head, the apology is right there in his eyes. “Linda, I’m sorry.” He gestures behind him. “I knocked. The door swung open.”

  “Oh.” Dammit. I draw a breath and offer him a small smile. “I’ve called the landlord twice. I should have just fixed it myself, but I haven’t had the time.” I shrug. “New job. New town.” Busy secret life…

  “I can take care of that for you.”

  “Oh.” The flutter in my chest starts up again, underscored by a nice, warm glow. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks that pair with the uniform shirt, decorated with his badge and other symbols of his office.

  “Well, I won’t turn down the help. Thanks.” When he returns my smile, I feel lit from within. Light and fresh and new. I realize I’m smiling like an idiot. I always seem to be smiling around this man. An unexpected reality that makes my job both easier and harder.

  I’ve only been in town for two weeks. I lived here for a year in high school when my dad was dragging me all over the country as he scrambled to find work. He’d died here, too, when there’d been a blowout at the rig. I’d stayed at a friend’s house for the rest of the year, then moved to Wisconsin when my aunt came to claim me.

  I ran away six months after that, got my GED, made my own way.

  But now here I am back again. The fact that my daddy had died in that blowout helped me land the job in the mayor’s office. That, and the fact that my real bosses pulled a few strings behind the scenes.

  My cover job is easy enough. Mostly I file, answer the phones, and fetch coffee for the folks higher up the ladder, which includes pretty much everyone.

  I’d been carrying a tray with four coffees from the cafeteria back to the mayor’s chambers when I saw Winston for the first time just four short days ago. Hades is small enough that the city and county offices share a building, and he was walking into the cafeteria as I was walking out.

  He’d taken the tray from me without a word, then fallen in step beside me. Any other man, and I would have icily berated him for being a condescending, presumptuous prick. With Winston, I floated along as we made small talk that didn’t seem small at all.<
br />
  When we paused outside the mayor’s office, he said, “I’m glad I was right.”

  I frowned. “About what?”

  “You know,” he said, then gave me back my tray before tapping the brim of his hat and walking away.

  I watched him go, my pulse beating in my throat. Yeah. I knew.

  For the next few days, our eyes would meet whenever we crossed paths. Once, he walked me to my car, and when our hands brushed casually, I felt the shock of it so intensely that I’d actually gasped out loud, my skin burning from a full-body blush. And I’m not a woman who blushes.

  But we haven’t really talked yet. Haven’t shared a meal. Hell, we haven’t even shared coffee. And yet here he is in my living room, and as much as I want to fight my own reaction, it feels as if he belongs here.

  There’s a pull between us. Something physicists might never understand but which nonetheless exists. The kind of chemical reaction that had me coming home after work and stripping off my clothes, then sliding into bed and foregoing dinner for the pleasure of my fantasies. The kind of obsession that had my mind wandering during my pre-dawn meetings when, honestly, I should have been paying more attention.

  Now, standing in front of me in my living room, he clears his throat. “I know I shouldn’t have come in. But with the door open like that…”

  “You thought I had an intruder?”

  The corner of his mouth lifts in a slow grin. “Crossed my mind. Hades might be a safe little town, but you still need to be careful.”

  I almost laugh. In a lot of ways, he’s an innocent. Especially about this town. He sees only the cute little houses and the charming Main Street. As far as he’s concerned, the only problems are a few drunk and disorderlies or teenagers stealing candy and DVDs. He might be the sheriff, but Hades’ rot is so deep he doesn’t even see it.

  One day, though, it will bubble to the top. There’ll be an assault case or a body discovered far out in the county. He’ll get sucked in. Start looking. And once he opens his eyes, he’ll see me standing right in front of him.