All Jacked Up (25 page)

Her heart was still pounding, she’d cut the crap out of her wrists, but she was focused on reality again and too amped up to worry about her own injuries. And because she could finally do something about her situation, the panic seemed to be receding.

She raced to the big open doorway and peeked around the edge. What she saw sent her into flight again, but not in panic this time. This time it was full-out, in-your-face assault.

Carlo stood a dozen feet behind the car, yelling threats and obscenities he couldn’t follow through on because his face was covered in blood, including his eyes. Aubrey flew by him, swinging out two-handed with her backpack, loaded with dregs of her hastily grabbed household items and a few pounds of pocket change, sending Carlo facefirst into the pitted blacktop before she launched herself onto the trunk lid.

She got the air knocked out of her, but her hundred and ten pounds combined with Jack’s upper-body strength was enough to lock the trunk closed with Uncle Danny inside, yelling his lungs out.

Jack took one look at the knife in Aubrey’s hand and turned his back on her. It was possibly the bravest thing he’d done in the last twenty-four hours, and it went a long way toward making things seem normal. At least for them. Bullets were flying, their lives were in danger, and the two of them were working as a strangely effective team. And there was a hit man climbing to his feet not far away.

Carlo waved his gun around, swiping his other arm across his face, still fighting to get the blood out of his eyes.

“Go ahead and shoot,” Jack yelled at him, “but make sure you hit me and not her.”

Carlo swung the gun toward the sound of Jack’s voice and fired off a couple of rounds. Of course Jack wasn’t there anymore, but before he could do anything, Aubrey tackled Carlo.

Jack waded into the melee, picking up Carlo’s gun and shoving it into the front of his pants, then hauling Aubrey up by the waist of her jeans before she killed Carlo. She’d dropped Harley’s knife when she attacked the kid, but she was doing real damage with those bony fists of hers.

Carlo tried to get up, but Jack put a foot on his wrist, applying enough pressure to make him howl without actually causing severe damage.

Aubrey followed suit, but Carlo kept trying to get free, concentrating on her side because she’d be the weakest. If Carlo had seen the crazed look on her face, he’d have given up instantly because frankly she was scaring Jack. Her expression went way beyond her crabby librarian glare. That look said she’d had enough, and she was way beyond words.

Jack didn’t want her turning that look on him, so he gave her a minute to get it out of her system.

Unfortunately, Carlo was too stupid to know when it was time to back off.

“It doesn’t take a whole lot of pressure to pulverize hand bones,” Jack said in a calm, conversational tone to Aubrey. “Even a small woman can manage it.”

She smiled, which was even scarier, if possible. Her weight shifted, Carlo cried out and stopped moving, glaring at Jack.

“Does my heart good to see you’re finally willing to use violence to solve your problems,” Jack said.

“I could make an exception for a sick, misogynistic bastard like this.” She bent to rip her panties out of Carlo’s front pocket where he’d stuffed them.

Her weight must have shifted, accidentally Jack was sure, because Carlo yelled some more. “You done?” Jack asked.

Aubrey thought about kicking Carlo. A couple of nice shots to the ribs would be really satisfying. In the heat of battle she’d have strangled him with her bare hands, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to inflict any more pain with a clear head. “I’m done.”

“I’m not.” Jack bent and cold-cocked Carlo. “That’s for trying to kill me with my own gun,” he said, retrieving it from where it had fallen. Instead of holstering it, he just stood there with it in his hand, staring down at Carlo.

“You got me to back off so you could kill him?”

Jack blew out a breath and put the gun away. “No.”

“What are we going to do with him? He won’t stay unconscious forever.”

“Okay, Felix, you got anything in that bag of tricks?”

“Felix?”

“The cat,” Jack explained, “it was an old cartoon.”

“Cartoons, it figures.” She opened her pack and dug through it. Birthday candles, bamboo skewers, packets of pepper, and a bunch of other useless stuff. She could torture Carlo, as long as he held still because she had no way to tie him up. “Sorry,” she said, “the bag of tricks isn’t much help.”

Jack stood there a second, going dormant while his brain engaged.

“We need to do
something
,” Aubrey said. “It’s only a matter of time before Uncle Danny remembers to kick out a taillight or shove out the backseat.”

“Stop calling him that,” Jack said, dropping his eyes to the ground and turning in a slow circle. “He’s a hit man, not a kids’ show host.”

“Some of those kids’ show hosts have turned out to be pretty sick individuals.”

Jack ignored her, dropping to his knees and reaching under the car. He came out with Harley’s switchblade, got to his feet, and hooked Aubrey’s backpack in one smooth motion, hacking off one strap, then the other.

“Hey, do you know how much that backpack cost?”

“Was it more than your life is worth?”

The sound of sirens carried to them. They froze, only their eyes moving until they locked together.

“Shit, someone must have called in the gunshots.”

“Don’t just stand there,” Aubrey said, hooking her backpack by the top loop, which was all that was left, “tie him up.”

Jack hauled Carlo over to the car. Aubrey held his arms in the air so Jack could loop the leather straps around his wrists and secure them to the door handle.

They took off at a run, weaving between the buildings, coming face-to-bumper with a squad car. The car screeched to a halt, so did they, hands on the hood, locking eyes with two startled cops already reaching for the door handles. Both doors scraped against brick. The alley was too narrow for the cops to get out of the car.

“C’mon,” Jack yelled, taking off through an even narrower side alley, Aubrey on his heels. Behind them tires squealed, the squad car backing out of the dead end.

Jack came to the end of the alley and stopped, peering either way then looking over his shoulder and grinning. As soon as Aubrey stepped up beside him she could see why. The alley had led them to a part of the industrial complex that was occupied, judging by the cars. And what cars they were.

“Must be some sort of special equipment manufacturer,” Jack said.

“Huh?”

“A company that takes assembly-line cars and turns them into something more. They could make your Focus fly.”

“As I recall it did fly, for a second or two.”

Chuckling, Jack took her by the hand and led the way through the small parking lot, stopping at a vehicle that resembled a sleek black wedge. He stroked his other hand over the roof, all but purring in the back of his throat.

“You and the car want to be alone?” Aubrey asked him.

“Sure.”

“Fine by me, but this guy might have a differing opinion. Not to mention the police.”

A guy in coveralls ran out of the building, yelling over the sound of sirens heading in their direction, “What are you doing?” He took a shammy out of his back pocket and rubbed Jack’s fingerprints from the roof of the car. “This is a Ferrari, modified for racing. Even if this car was for sale, you couldn’t afford it.”

“Who said anything about buying it?” Jack caught the guy by the collar of his coveralls and the seat of his pants, quick-stepping him around to the driver’s door. “Unlock it.”

The guy glanced over the roof of the car at Aubrey. “Don’t look at me,” she said. “He has the gun.”

The man’s eyes bugged out, his complexion went as gray as his coveralls, and he came up to his toes, dancing around and digging both hands into his pockets until he produced a ring of keys. He fumbled out the Ferrari key and opened the door.

Jack took the key ring, gave the man a bit of a push he didn’t need, since the second Jack let him go he raced off yelling at the top of his lungs.

Aubrey climbed in, Jack barely waiting until her foot was off the concrete before he gunned it, the speed of acceleration slamming the door closed.

They raced out of the lot, two police cruisers fishtailing out behind them in hot pursuit.

“Oh goody,” Aubrey said, bracing herself, “another car chase.”

The cops took a couple of shots at them before they hit more populated streets. They actually managed to hang in there for a few miles, too, before Jack got tired of playing with them and punched it. “Don’t want to endanger civilians,” he said.

“I’m a civilian,” Aubrey pointed out.

“You’re a lot of things. Civilian isn’t the first that comes to mind.”

“I just saved your life and you’re already calling me names?”

“You saved my life? I don’t remember it that way.”

Aubrey huffed out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is it with men? First I’m tied to a chair and I have to listen to Carlo the woman-hater—”

“And you couldn’t talk back, which was the real problem.”

“He had my panties! Do you think any woman would sit there watching some rapist sniff her underwear and not say anything?”

At the time, Jack had been too busy to let it bother him, but there was an immediate and near-blinding stab of rage now, which he turned on Aubrey for being too thick-headed to know when to back down. “Any normal woman with a gun to her head would know to keep her mouth shut.”

“There wasn’t a gun to my head, there was a gun to your head. And any normal woman would have sat there taped to that chair while they shot you. With your own gun.”

Jack gave her a sideways glance and hunched his shoulders. He concentrated on driving for a few minutes, but his curiosity wouldn’t go away. “How’d you get loose this time?”

“The knife.”

“I know that but the last I remember, Harley’s switchblade was in my back pocket.”

“True.”

“What?” Jack prompted when she didn’t elaborate. “Houdini make another visitation?”

“Something like that. After they knocked you unconscious in the van, they shoved me down under the blanket with you.”

“Wait. Are you saying they left you conscious? Carlo wasn’t foaming at the mouth to knock you over the head?”

“Danny said something about Corona not wanting my brain scrambled. Anyway, they took your guns, but not the knife, so I squirmed around until I could get my back to you and wiggle Harley’s switchblade out of your pocket.”

“And they never searched you because they thought all your stuff was in the backpack.”

“Exactly. They probably expected me to be waiting around for you to rescue me.” She snorted her opinion of that. “Maybe if they respected women more they’d have been prepared for the possibility that I’d save you.”

“Yeah, right.” They were in a forested area, houses far apart and set back from the road. Jack pulled off into a little clearing away from everything, shot the car into park, and turned to face her. “What would I do without you?”

After the emotional highs and lows of the last twenty-four hours, and with the excitement of the car chase still dancing a jig on her nerve endings, his attitude was the last straw. Aubrey leaned on the console between the seats, going nose-to-nose with him. “I almost opened a vein cutting the duct tape off my wrists, and you’re mad at me?”

“I had everything under control—”

“Come off it, Jack. Danny was inches away from getting out of that trunk. If I hadn’t jumped on it—”

“You’re lucky you didn’t slit my throat the way you were waving that knife around.”

“I don’t think luck is the right word.”

“Well, hell, you’re the queen of words. You tell me where you’d be right now if they’d put a bullet in my brain.”

Aubrey searched her mind, but anger had incinerated almost all of her vocabulary. “Jackass,” she finally sputtered out, “there’s a word for you, Jack. One you can understand.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said with a laugh. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came over to the dark side.”

“You’re a stubborn, chauvinistic, narrow-minded travesty of a federal agent.”

“And you’re a pigheaded, uncooperative, sideshow freak of a librarian.”

“Jerk.”

“Pain in the ass.”

“Loser.”

“Calamity Jane.”

One minute they were trading insults, the next they were all over each other, mouths and hands everywhere, tearing at clothing. Aubrey slipped her hands beneath Jack’s shirt, dancing her fingers over the ridges of muscles.

Jack grunted, squirming away from her touch.

“Ticklish?”

“Gravity.”

She lifted his shirt and saw the bruises blooming yellow and green along his ribs from their tumble over the waterfall. She probably should have been horrified, but it kind of turned her on. “Why is it that nearly dying makes me so . . . hot.”

“Shut up, just shut up.”

For once, Aubrey agreed that words were unnecessary. She peeled off her jeans, fumbling a little when Jack did the same. She’d thought she had a pretty good idea of what she was getting into, but now that she got a firsthand look of coming attractions she was having second thoughts.

He reached over and unhooked her bra, one-handed, and her doubts receded in direct proportion to the hardening of her nipples. She’d been needing this for six days—okay, a lot longer than six days if she was being honest. She’d been needing this for
years
, and what was Jack doing? Jack was playing with his seat controls, the back going up and down, the seat going forward and backward, and then there was the little hum.

“This thing vibrates,” Jack said.

“Great, now explain why I need you.”

That got his attention. “Jeez, are you changing your mind again?”

Aubrey climbed on top of him. “Any more questions?”

“Nope, my mind is totally blank. But you’re crushing my ribs.”

She looked down, but it wasn’t his ribs she was worried about. Thankfully, Jack was still primed and ready for action. It was the car that kept getting in their way. Apparently it wanted to keep all the sexiness for itself. “Couldn’t you have stolen a car with some leg room?”

“Why do you think I was trying to adjust the seat?” He reached for the door handle, but Aubrey was done waiting.

“No time for that,” she said, contorting herself around the steering wheel, the seat, and the console, and taking him in. And then she started moving.

“Wait a second.”

“Shut up, Jack. Just shut up.”

“Okay,” he wheezed out with the last breath of air left in his body, “just don’t stop.” He probably should have participated a little more, but whatever she was doing felt so damn good his eyes rolled back in his head and it was all he could do to hold back. Sweat popped out on his brow and every muscle in his body was locked, but he wasn’t going over until she did.

There was no way he’d let her beat him at sex, too.

“Man,” Jack said when he could breathe again, and his eyes had rolled forward, “where did you learn that?”

Aubrey was slumped on top of him. Since she weighed about as much as a bird, and it kept her in a position for a repeat performance, Jack wasn’t objecting.

“Ever heard of the
Kama Sutra
?” she mumbled against his shoulder.

“No, but I’m guessing it’s a book.”

“A book you’d like, since a large portion of it is pictures. Of sexual positions. It was written a couple thousand years ago in India. I guess having seventeen wives wasn’t enough variety for the maharajas. Or maybe all those wives had too much time on their hands and nothing to do but think about sex, and trust me, where sex is concerned, we haven’t come as far as we think we have.”

“That’s what happens when your country is founded by Puritans.”

“You’ve got a point. But they invented Thanksgiving, so on balance I guess the Puritan’s weren’t so bad.”

She was talking too much, but it didn’t bother Jack this time. “Suddenly I have a whole new appreciation for books. And history.”

“How about my memory?”

“Did you read the whole thing?”

She smiled. “I did, but trust me, some of that stuff is impossible for people with actual bones.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Aubrey braced her hands on his shoulders, not getting with the program. “Maybe we should use a condom this time.”

All the air squeezed out of Jack’s lungs. “Jeez, you’re not on the pill?”

“Well, yeah, but there are other things to worry about.”

He probably should have been insulted, but he was busy being relieved. And now that she’d ruled out the possibility of complications involving child support, there wasn’t enough blood going to his head to muster up any actual emotion. “I don’t have any condoms,” he said.

“You’re not one of those men who carry an emergency supply in your wallet?”

“I don’t carry a wallet. There aren’t any in your backpack?”

“No.”

“You have everything in there but the kitchen sink and no condoms?”

“What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be prepared for anything?”

“I’m a Fed, not a gigolo. For me being prepared involves weapons.”

“What do you think that thing is?”

He looked down. “No turning back.”

“It was just a thought.” She leaned back as far as she could, the little line between her eyes as she assessed the inside of the car and reviewed her memory banks.

“No way,” Jack said popping the door open and budging her out. “I’m on top this time.”

She met his eyes, surprised and a little amused. “Suit yourself. But the
Kama Sutra
has thirty-five chapters.”

Jack’s eyes glazed over for a second before his pride kicked back in. “I don’t have a sex manual in my brain,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He spread his shirt out and pulled Aubrey down beside him.

“The ground’s cold,” she said, “and there’s this one position—”

Jack kissed her, just to shut her up, at first, and then he took it more seriously, hands and tongue and body getting with the program. By the time he came up for air they were both breathing hard, and Aubrey didn’t seem to notice that she was stretched full out on the cold ground. But she was still trying to take over.

“That was really nice, Jack, but if you turn this way—”

Jack dropped his mouth to her breasts. His mouth had done the trick before, and it worked again. Aubrey’s suggestion trailed off into a moan, and she bowed up, fisting both hands in his hair. It probably should have hurt, but he didn’t notice. There wasn’t much to her, but she must be all nerve endings, the way she tossed her head and ground her hips against his, her exuberance nearly ripping away what little control he had left.

He pulled one of her knees up and slipped inside her, keeping his mouth on her breast and easing his hand down between them. She cried out, exploding almost instantly. He nearly did, too. It took a mighty effort to hold back, but it was worth it to feel her come around him, nearly sending him over just with the spasms of her tight little body. And it was a pure pleasure to drive her to that edge again, to fall over it with the sound of her sobbing his name and the feel of her convulsing again, and finally to lay his cheek between her breasts and hear her heart pounding as frantically as his.

She lifted a hand to his neck, toying with the ends of his hair. It kind of tickled, but that wasn’t the sensation that concerned him. “You all right?” he asked before he identified the strange way he felt as tenderness. “I’m not too heavy for you?”

“You’re fine,” Aubrey said on a sigh so filled with contentment that Jack decided to just enjoy his triumph and worry about the rest later. And then she made the triumph even more complete.

“You know, Jack,” she said, “for once I didn’t mind you being in control.”

“Too bad I don’t have my handcuffs any more.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

It took a little longer to recover the second time. Jack had fetched her pants and shirt, but Aubrey didn’t have enough energy left over after she dragged them on to crawl into the car, so she was still lying on the grass hoping they were far enough from any nearby houses. Or local cemeteries. She’d probably been loud enough to wake the dead.

She wasn’t usually a screamer, but she had to admit, Jack knew what he was doing. And that boast he’d made outside of Larry’s One Stop was true, too. Jack was built. All over.

She’d been numb for about ten minutes after he’d slumped next to her. Now the pleasant aftershocks of the orgasm were just a memory, and she was left to catalog the ways in which it hurt too much to get up.

Her face was raw from where she’d ripped the tape off, and her wrists hurt where she’d cut them. Jack’s three-day growth of beard had chafed her everywhere, and she had a feeling she was going to be sore in places she’d only read about in anatomy books.

Jack rolled to his side and leaned on one elbow, looking pretty self-satisfied. He’d pulled his pants on, but they were unbuttoned and bulging suspiciously.

“No offense, Jack, but I don’t think I’m up for round three just yet.”