Assassin P.I. (15 page)

Dangling the bra from his finger, Jack stood at the bedroom door, a towel wrapped around his waist. Water glistened on his chest, sparkling in the florescent light.

Oh no. Not again.

Now that she had sobered up, her resolve had returned. No sex with Jack Gaines. Not now, not ever.

Or at least not ever again, she amended.

“Um, yeah,” she said, but she didn’t make a move to retrieve it. Rational thought had always been difficult when she was around Jack, even when he was fully clothed, but standing half-naked, dripping wet, it was far too enticing.

“Can you throw it to me so you can get back to your shower and I can get back to getting dressed?”

“Come and get it.” He dropped his towel, standing naked in all his splendor, his God-given jewels proudly on display. A sly grin graced his lips.

Correction. Her will to resist temptation all but fled the scene when faced with a naked, living, breathing, pulsating portrait of perfection.

Oh dear.

Those lips.

Those hips.

The sheet slid to the ground. Her walk of shame could wait.

Hair still damp from the shower she’d shared with Jack, and clad only in a
pair of panties and one of his endless supply of white dress shirts, Angie rose on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye. His fingers skimmed her bare thigh, igniting a fire that spread throughout her belly. Breaking the connection, Jack kissed her forehead, lips whisper soft against her skin.

When she pulled back, his heavy-lidded eyes were smoky, and she thought she saw something in them. Regret? Anguish? She wasn’t sure. But whatever demons he’d been battling, the ones that tormented him at night, filling the long hours with night terrors, were back, their grip on his mind strong as ever. His thumb grazed her cheek before he turned and slipped out the door without saying a word. No promise of tomorrow. No loving endearment to warm her heart.

Only the knowledge that she’d see him soon enough at the office kept her from dragging him back into bed, to torture him until he professed his epic love for her.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t deny it any longer. The connection between them was too strong to ignore. His pull, his power over her too great, and for as long as she lived, she’d never find anyone who could compete with that. Like he was a drug she couldn’t get enough of, and she was helplessly addicted to him, to his body, his mind, his strength. Her eyes drifted closed.

What would it be like to start each morning off this way?

Waking up to white-hot sex that curled her toes as she rode wave after wave of orgasmic bliss wouldn’t be a bad way to start each day. She could putter about, making breakfast and hot coffee, before joining Jack for round two cloaked in the tight confines of a steamy shower. While Jack dressed for the office, she’d tidy up the home,
their
home, and wake their children. Sex goddess by night, doting mother and wife by day.

Hell, yeah. That was a life she could get use to.

In the kitchen, she found an apron hanging on a hook. It was a frilly sort of frock a woman would wear while cooking her man dinner. Perhaps a leftover from a former lover? Angie tied it around her waist and set out to make herself a quick breakfast before heading into the office.

Left alone with only her thoughts to occupy her time, the silence settled into her brain, seeping in until even her fantasies of being Jack’s housewife weren’t enough to shut out the tiny voice that reminded her just how close she was to losing it all. As she slid the omelet onto the plate and carried it to the table, the absurdity of the situation hit her full force in the stomach. A wave of nausea rolled through her body. What was she thinking?

Here she was, in
his
kitchen, wearing another woman’s apron, pretending like she was Susie Homemaker. She wasn’t his wife. Not that Jack was the marrying type, but even if he was, once he found out how she’d betrayed him, she would be the last woman he’d ever want to be with.

And she’d have no one left to blame but herself.
She
was the one who tipped off an FBI agent.
She
was the one who’d accused Jack of murder. And by God
she
was going to be the one to fix the mess she’d made. No one was going to screw with her future ever again.

Chapter 15

Jack checked his rearview mirror. There was no denying it. He was being followed. Had been for days now. Different cars each day, but always someone was on his tail. Speeding up, he switched lanes, dodging in front of a slow-moving pickup truck.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. It didn’t really matter who was following him, either. One of the illustrious Ellington Bay boys in blue was surely hard at work, connecting the dots between Edwin Doheny and Jack. Or perhaps it was the Fed, who by now had caught his scent and was tracking him with all the subtlety of a relentless bloodhound baying in the wind. The life he’d been leading couldn’t carry on for much longer. If he was totally honest with himself, he was glad that it was coming to an end.

That didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for whoever was tailing him. He threw caution to the wind and took a hard right turn, his tires squealing in protest. The car following him had no choice but to follow suit.

Game on.

Jack sped through the narrow city streets, carefully winding his way around town, doubling back toward the ocean. He took an intersection at such a high rate of velocity that his car was launched temporarily into the air. He flew through and touched down again, skidding to a halt at the end of a dead-end road.

Time to meet the man who was going to put him behind bars for the rest of his life, however short it may be.

Not bothering to wait for his soon-to-be captor, Jack slid from his car and walked toward the beach. He’d be here soon enough. No point in making it any easier on the mysterious captor than he had to. Seconds later, another car touched down, grinding into the pavement with a thud.

Jack kept walking, never looking back. The biting wind whipped at his face, threatening to unseat the hat from his head. He tugged his trench coat tighter to ward off the bitter cold. It was a dismal day. Whipped into a frothy foam, the waves crashed against the worn pier and then there was a sucking sound as the ocean tore at the sand, leaving wet claw marks where it tried to drag the land back into the sea. The perfect background for a death march.

If only it wasn’t
his
death march.

They met beneath the pier, a mere few feet from where Edwin Doheny’s body had been found. “So we finally meet, Mr. Jack Gaines.”

Jack eyed the boyish man. “And you are?”

“Special Agent Nick Shaw. You are very elusive when you want to be.”

So this was the man who would be responsible for his downfall? Was he even old enough to drive, let alone be a Fed?

“Hello, Agent Shaw. Figured it was time to meet the man who was going to put me behind bars for life. And for the record, kid, you stink at tailing a suspect.”

Under different conditions, Jack imagined he could have worked with Agent Shaw, showed him the ropes, even been friends. But these weren’t those conditions. Staring now at the agent, he realized just how young the man really was. He could see the ambition shining bright in the agent’s eyes. Probably his first big break, but if he played his cards right, it wouldn’t be his last. Hell, in a few years, Shaw’d move up the food chain and wind up calling the shots as Director and then Jack could say he knew him when.

“Why are you following me?”

“You know why. It’s my job to track down and take out people like you.”

People like him? Did the Fed have any clue who or what he really was? For that matter, did he himself? He wasn’t so sure anymore. “You got nothing on me, kid. Nothing.”

Agent Shaw shrugged. “Maybe. For now.” The determined glint in his eyes spoke volumes. “I know more than you think I do.”

“Like what?”

“Like I know all about your girlfriend’s boss, about the fight you two had.”

Jack refused to rise to the taunt, to admit the kid was right. “If I’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead by now. I just gave him a friendly warning.”

“Except he is dead.”

Jack let the information soak in. It was only a matter of time before the Fed connected the dots of his shady past. And then where would he be? Rotting in a cell somewhere? Deluca was right. He was no better than the criminals he’d hunted. Justified or not, murder was still a crime.

“Tell you what, kid. I’ll make it real easy for you.” Jack smiled, praying his gamble would pay out in the end. “I’ll agree to turn myself in, tell you everything, but first”—he scanned the desolate beach—“there’s something I’ve got to do. Gimme twenty-four hours, then I’m all yours. Scout’s honor.”

Agent Shaw snorted. “The Federal Bureau of Investigations doesn’t make deals with criminals. Especially not someone like you.”

Someone dangerous. Even though the agent didn’t say the words, they were implied. How in the world had he strayed so far from the path of the righteous? Just thinking about it made Jack dizzy with self-loathing. He’d been directly responsible for the death or imprisonment of countless lowlifes. Once, when he first began, he’d thought he was doing the city a service. But now? Now he was all mixed up and didn’t know which way was up anymore.

A sudden spray of salt water shocked Jack’s senses to the core, jolting him back to the present. He took a step back, and the Fed reached for his gun. “Someone framed me, Shaw. One of my own guys on the force framed me to take me out of the game. I have to know who.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It matters. It matters to me.” He hoped the sincerity of his voice would be enough to convince the agent. He didn’t have proof. But he knew where he could get it.

“Why? So you can kill them, too?” Agent Shaw drew his gun. “I know what you’re planning to do to Benicio Acevedo, Jack. I can’t let you do that.”

Jack faltered, momentarily caught off guard. “You’re a smart man, Shaw.” Smarter than he’d given him credit for, but that didn’t change anything. Agent Shaw was right. There was no way in hell a federal agent with the FBI was going to let him walk away from this. To let him roam the streets, free to kill again. Hell, the Fed was just a kid, a green rookie trying to be a hero on the job. Given enough time, he’d become as jaded as the rest of them had.

“To be fair, I didn’t kill Edwin Doheny, the dead guy on the beach. But someone did, and I’m guessing that someone’s going to pin it on me.”

“They already have. Why?” The gun stayed trained on Jack. One sudden move was all it would take to shoot a hole through Jack’s heart. “Why would someone want to pin a murder on you? It seems to me, you’ve wracked up enough bodies all on your own.”

He’d been asking himself the same question. Why take Edwin out? Jack frowned. Why frame him? None of it made any sense. “I think I’m the patsy.”

Agent Shaw’s face screwed up in confusion. “For what?”

And there was the million-dollar question. “I don’t know. But someone down at Ellington Bay P.D. does. Twenty-four hours is all I need.”

The gun didn’t flinch, but Agent Shaw didn’t speak either, which Jack took to be a good sign. The two men eyed each other suspiciously. He was taking a huge risk, trusting a Fed. Maybe this guy had some chutzpa after all. He’d need it if he was going to help Jack take down an entire corrupt police force.

“One more thing.” Jack paused, watching for the agent’s reaction.

“Yeah? What’s that?” The man holstered his gun.

Jack drew a deep breath then hedged his bets, going all in. “I’ll need your help to do it.”

Dammit!
Nick kicked a seashell, sending a spray of sa
nd through the air. Letting Jack go was like committing career suicide. Had he seriously let a killer walk away, free to kill again?

This was by far and large the stupidest thing he’d ever done in the short time he’d been an agent. But what other choice did he have? Truth be told, he still didn’t have any actual hard proof that Jack had ever committed any crimes. Nothing but a gut feeling and a hostile Angie. In other words, he didn’t have jack shit.

Time to call in the reinforcements.

Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed his brother-in-law’s number. Ben answered the phone on the first ring. “Agent Keegan, at your service.”

Nick swallowed past the lump of defeat that momentarily paralyzed his vocal cords. “Ben, it’s me, Nick. I need your help.”

Even saying the words left an acidic taste in his mouth. Turning to his brother-in-law for help was akin to running home to mama. Raised as the youngest sibling to four older sisters, Nick had been a constant target for childhood bullies. It was Ben who’d finally taught him how to fight back, stand up for himself. Older by ten years, Ben had been the ultimate cool brother he’d never had, a healthy dose of testosterone infused in a household overrun by estrogen. It was because of Ben that Nick went into the FBI in the first place, still following his footprints, right down to the same career path.

“Trouble with the missus? Worried about becoming a father? I’ve got all sorts of advice I can give. You see, the key to a happy marriage is—”

“It’s about a case,” Nick interrupted before Ben could begin a diatribe that spanned the gamut from how to get stains out of a uniform to how to spice up his sex life. Monthly family dinners at his parents’ house, always ended with an hour-long session of Ben’s advice giving which in turn resulted in another month’s worth of razzing from his sisters and their husbands. Under normal circumstances, Nick would have welcomed the male camaraderie.

“Oh. Sure. What’d ya need?”

A miracle.

“I need you to do your psychobabble thing on my suspect. Help me get inside his head to figure him out.”

He gave his brother-in-law the lowdown on Jack. Saying the words aloud proved that he knew more than he thought he did. An alcoholic ex-cop with a justice-based mindset who felt wronged by the system, determined to rid the streets of filth of the human kind, was now seeking justice for himself. And he’d let the man walk free. What could possibly go wrong?

Jack watched his mother from the doorway of her sparse room. Hands fo
lded in her lap, she sat in her wheelchair gazing out the window. At what he could never be sure. She hadn’t seen him yet, but even if she had, she’d still be staring out that window, just like she did every day since she’d moved to this place. The stroke had robbed her of her body, leaving her paralyzed on one side of her body. Dementia had stolen the rest of her, trapping her mind inside a web of dreams and nightmares. She was a translucent copy of what she’d once been, but she was still his mother.

He pushed off the doorway and walked across the room. “Hiya, Ma.”

She turned her head in the direction of his voice, startled by his presence.

“It’s me, Jack, your boy. You remember me, don’tcha Ma?” He took his mother’s fragile hand in his and gazed into her vacant eyes. What he wouldn’t give to have the ability to rewind time, but time was not on his side, not today. He’d been taking a huge gamble even trusting the Fed. For all he knew, there could be a swarm of agents on their way to town right now, ready to take him out. Spending even five minutes with his mother was a risk, but it was a risk he was willing to take, if it meant getting the chance to say goodbye to her.

Stooping by her side, he planted a kiss on her cheek and turned his head to see what she saw. From this angle, he could see the garden of plastic rose bushes and silk flowers, a far cry from the blue ribbon roses his mother used to grow. Squatty little garden gnomes dotted the unused patio.

“I got trouble, Ma. Big trouble. The kind that won’t go away.” The kind of trouble that usually resulted in a conviction and a long stint in the clink.

Or death.

Death would be much, much worse, and at the moment was quickly becoming a very real possibility.

Waiting for a response was futile. His fingers trailed over the simple wooden jewelry box he’d made her in wood shop as a kid. He’d been so proud of himself when she’d tearfully unwrapped it. Sliding a key from his pocket, he slipped it inside for safekeeping.

He picked up the brush from his mother’s dresser and rubbed the coarse bristles with his thumb. As a young child, he remembered watching his mother brush her chestnut-colored hair until it gleamed in the sunlight. She’d always taken great pride in her appearance, following the same nightly beauty regime just as her mother, and her mother’s mother had, aging slowly and gracefully through the years.

He set the brush back down and picked up his parents’ wedding photo. No two people had ever been so much in love as his parents. So young, so innocent, so utterly unaware of the tragedy that would one day befall them, ripping them apart. Jack set the photo back down amongst the other pictures.

His eyes lingered on a portrait of his father in full uniform, taken on his first day on the force. Next to it was a shot of Jack and his father, fishing poles in hand. Back then, he hero-worshipped his dad and hung on his every tale, determined to grow up to be a cop, just like his dad. It was the last happy memory he had of his father. They’d gone to the family cabin, nestled in the woods that surrounded Lake Gregory, for one final fishing trip before summer ended. He’d caught his first fish that day and his mother had insisted on capturing the moment for prosperity. Two weeks later, his father was dead, killed in the line of duty.

The day he died, his father, dressed in his navy blue uniform, his gun holstered by his side, had stooped to speak with him. “Listen here, son. It takes a real man to stand up for what’s right, to protect the weak, to stare down a bullet. Men like us, like you and me, men with honor don’t come around very often. So you promise me, you’ll always do what’s right and protect the citizens of Ellington Bay.”

The next time he saw his father, he’d been laid in a casket, branded a hero who’d died in the line of duty, trying to protect an innocent.

A hero.