Assassin P.I. (21 page)

She sighed. “I know what you’re doing—finding Trevor’s killer—is important to you, and to her, but I swear I’ll never forgive you if you miss the birth of your own son.”

“Son?” His heart leapt at the unexpected news. He was going to have a boy! “I thought we were waiting to find out the gender until the baby was born.”

“A nurse slipped and told me at my appointment today. It was an honest mistake.” She giggled, clearly as excited as he was.

“Do my parents know yet?”

“No, I thought we could tell the together when you get back home.”

A boy. His heart filled with joy at the thought. Nicholas Alexander Shaw, Jr. The name had a nice ring to it, if he did say so himself. He smiled.

As he succumbed to sleep only one thought permeated his dreams, haunting him throughout the long, still night.

Someday he, Nicholas Alexander Shaw, would have to pay for killing a man.

Chapter 22

Jack awoke with a start. What time was it? He pushed himself up and scanned the room for a clock. The few times he’d been lucid enough to take notice of his surroundings, he was pretty sure he’d been lying on Angie’s white couch. Somehow he’d managed to move to the bed, Angie’s bed, though he had no recollection of doing so himself.

The neon light from the clock read 5:58 a.m.

A warm body sighed and shifted next to him, still peacefully sleeping. He settled back down and studied the woman who’d saved him.

Dark hair fanned across the plush pillow. Curled on her side, butt tucked against his crotch, Angie’s legs tangled with his, an intimate promise of what could be, but never would. The temptation to touch her silky skin, to lay a trail of kisses over every exposed area of her neck, back, and shoulders, overwhelmed him to the point of near madness. Blankets shucked aside, the T-shirt she wore had ridden up, revealing the thin black lines of the tattoo on her ribs.

She shivered in the cold morning air, goosebumps rising on her delicate skin. Despite the stiffness he felt, the dull ache in his left shoulder, he pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her. Unable to control himself, he grazed her neck with his lips. Angie stirred and snuggled deeper into his embrace. The tantalizing circles she made with her hips had Jack reconsidering his resolve to end things with her. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, biting back the groan that whelmed up in him. She wasn’t going to make this easy. Any of it.

Angie stretched and rolled over to face him. Long lashes fluttered open and he found himself drowning in her loving gaze. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell.”

Her eyes flicked to his shoulder, a worried expression marring her face. He wanted to kick himself for being such an ass. Here she’d done her best to stitch him up, and all he could do was complain about the pain.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” he lied. He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek to soothe away her concern. “What happened?”

Other than a few fleeting flashes, he still couldn’t piece together any semblance of the night’s events. He remembered walking in the rain, and waking up on the concrete, but other than that, his mind was nothing but a canvas with paint splattered in random displays of smudges and colors. He wasn’t even entirely sure how he’d ended up back at Angie’s place. Only knew that he had and she’d played nursemaid, cleaning his wound and caring for him.

She propped her head up and looked down at him, her hair forming a curtain that shone in the morning light. “I was hoping you could tell me. By the time I got to you, you’d been shot. Agent Shaw was standing over you, with the smoking gun, so to speak.”

Jack tugged her down so he could kiss her. Her lips trembled beneath his.

“What’s that for?” She scooted away, her lip caught between her teeth.

“For saving my life.”

He meant it, too. For some crazy reason she’d risked everything to save him. Once she found out that he’d been the one to kill Trevor, saving his ass would be a decision she’d eventually regret. He hated what he’d done to her, to them, but it couldn’t be helped anymore. No matter which way he looked at the situation, there was no future for them.

Despite what his head knew to be true, his heart wouldn’t listen.

Angie smiled and slipped from the bed. The T-shirt she wore skimmed the top of her legs, showing only a cheeky glimpse of her toned backside.

Jack’s body stirred in response. Well, at least his libido was still somewhat intact. When she bent to grab something from the floor, he reached out and gave her a light smack on her bottom.

She gasped and whirled around. “What was that for?”

“For not being smart enough to walk away from me while you still had the chance.” He gave her a wicked smile and tugged her back down onto the bed, rolling until he was on top of her.

“What am I going to do with you?” He bent to kiss the sweet spot along her neck, feeling her pulse jump into overdrive.

“Anything you want.” She was panting now, eyes closed, mouth parted in pleasure.

Trailing his lips lower, he dipped his head to partake of the many sweet joys her body could offer him. Nipping, sucking, and teasing, he worked his way down her body, leaving her skin flaming in his wake.

Reluctantly Jack left the
warmth of the bed. The realities of the situation he now found himself in was beginning to seep in. He and Angie showered and headed into the kitchen to scrounge up some food. Much to Jack’s surprise, Little Frankie, Mo, Vito, Knuckles, and Sal were still there, in varying states of undress, playing a friendly game of Who’s Got The Biggest Battle Scar.

Knuckles flexed his left bicep. “That ain’t nothin’. I got clocked so many times while in the ring, that my scars have scars.” He pointed to the multitude of marks on his arms.

Yanking his shirt up so that his chest was exposed, Vito pointed to the surgical incision that spanned the length of his torso. “Got this one after a knife fight in 1987 with a guy high on drugs, dressed up like a ninja on Halloween.”

“Bullshit. You got that scar after your triple bypass last year. I told you you should have laid off the junk food.”

Vito dropped his shirt and tucked it back into his pants. “You’re one to talk. That scar on your belly used to be nothing more than a quarter inch. Now it’s gotta be at least three inches long.”

“You calling me fat?”

“You calling me a liar?”

The room went still as all five of the older men took notice of Angie and Jack for the first time. Stammering apologies, the men blushed as they tried to redress themselves, their game cut short.

Beside him, Angie stifled a laugh with a cough and peered up at him with barefaced beauty. Damp hair clung to her skin. She’d never been more beautiful than she was in that moment.

The clearing of a throat drew Jack’s attention away from Angie and back to the situation at hand.

“So, you gonna tell us what that was all about last night?”

“Nothing to be worried about.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Jack. You snuck out on us and walked to the middle of God knows where and got yourself shot!”

He knew it wasn’t fair to his friends, but they were already in deep enough without drowning in the sea of shit he was swimming in. Spelling it out for them wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Just tying up some loose ends,” was all Jack would say.

“Loose ends don’t leave you staring down the wrong end of the barrel.” This from Mo, the quiet one of the gang. His voice was laced with hurt.

Angie threaded her fingers through his, giving his hand a small squeeze of encouragement. “How can we help?”

“We stick to the plan. A little bullet hole doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Little Frankie snorted. “Hole, schmole. What you’ve got there is nothing more than a flesh wound.”

“More like a scratch. You should see the scar on Sal’s ass. Now there’s a battle wound if I ever saw one,” Vito said.

There was a sudden rasp of a zipper being yanked down. A second later, Sal was baring his backside for the world to see.

Angie gasped and averted her eyes. A small titter turned into raucous belly laughs, breaking the somber mood. For a moment, Jack could almost forget that the Fed wanted him dead, or that his former friends in blue wanted to frame him for a murder that he didn’t commit.

Almost.

And almost was a sobering thought. Time to get down to brass tacks. “Frankie, toss me your keys.”

Frankie dug the key ring out of his pocket and tossed them through the air. Jack caught the keys with his good hand and pocketed them, tossing his own car keys to Frankie.

“Little Frankie here is going to drive my car up to the prison to have a little chat with Edwin Doheny’s big brother. By now a bolo has been issued for both my vehicles. Might as well give them something to find.”

Frankie nodded. “Smart thinking. And while they chase me, you two can give them the slip and head for Mexico.”

Jack shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “My daddy taught me better than to tuck tail and run. I’ll stand and fight my own battles. Like a man.”

“As for you boys . . .”

For the next thirty minutes, the crew hammered out a rough plan. Frankie would draw the police and Feds away on a wild goose chase while Mo and Vito would take Shamus with them and check Jack’s mom out of the convalescent home. More or less. He told them about the key he’d hidden there for safekeeping, and about the safety deposit box it unlocked. Once they got her situated in a new home, they’d keep watch until the smoke cleared. For his part, Jack would escape town with Angie. He’d take her to his family’s cabin a couple hours away. Sal and Knuckles would act as watch guards and report back, so no one was caught by surprise again.

Or at least that’s what they told Angie the plan was.

In truth, Jack planned to slip out while Angie was sleeping, leaving her safely tucked away from harm’s way with Sal and Knuckles acting as her personal bodyguards. Once his mom and Angie were both safe, Jack would—

Do what? Give up? Turn himself in? He was by no means an innocent man. He’d done many things he wasn’t proud of, things he regretted, but prison didn’t seem like a likely end for him.

He could fight to the bitter end, but whose life would be ended? His own? By his count, he was outmanned and outgunned. Walking away alive seemed as unlikely as being allowed to live the rest of his natural life in prison.

Whatever life had in store for him, he knew one thing for certain. He would face this alone.

Still rattled from the events of the night before, Nick
spent the morning alternating between poring over Trevor’s financials while listening to the several hours’ worth of voice recordings from Jack’s office, and doting on his wife. She was still sore at him for missing out on the doctor’s appointment but eagerly lapped up all the extra attention he lavished on her. With only a couple more days to go until D-day, her Braxton-Hicks contractions had become more frequent.

“What name should we give him?” she asked.

Nick turned a page in the ledger with one hand while absently kneading Sara’s right foot with the other. They were prepared in every way for Baby Shaw to make his grand appearance . . . except for the naming him part. When they first got pregnant, they’d tried discussing names. If it was a boy, she’d wanted to name him after her grandfather Ralph. Too old-fashioned, he’d said. He’d suggested Liam. Too trendy, she’d said. That had been the end of the baby naming conversations.

Sara prattled off a string of names, which he, only half listening, rejected. Instead, his attention was on the column of dates, numbers, and abbreviated names in Trevor’s notebook. He kept coming back to one set of initials: S.S.D. It was the only one that repeated in regular intervals. What was Trevor keeping record of? Bribes? Kickbacks? Whatever it was, it happened every two weeks for the three months prior to Trevor’s death. Could S.S.D. be Trevor’s killer? Nick shook his head. Or was he seeing patterns where there were none?

By noon, Nick received an angry phone call from his commanding officer, demanding a full explanation. Shortly afterward, he received another call, this one politely ordering him to return to the Ellington Bay Police Department to undergo a new round of questions. It was with a heavy heart that Nick left his wife to fend for herself. Only one more day to go, and then he’d be cleared of any wrongdoing and could return home to wait for his son’s arrival.

He hoped.

Chapter 23

Night had fallen by the time gravel crunched under the tires. Paved road ended and the woods surrounding the family cabin began. The thick fog and limited visibility forced Jack to slow his pace. Low branches scraped along the top and side of the car. He finally abandoned the car in the thick brush and decided they could hike the last quarter mile to the cabin.

The going was slow and more treacherous than he remembered it being. Beside him, Angie struggled to keep up. She took two steps for every one of his, but to her credit, she didn’t complain. He prayed that her hastily gathered overnight bag held more than just sexy lingerie and stilettoes. High heels might be good for killing a spider and seducing a horny man, but beyond that they would be about as much good in the woods as lipstick was as a weapon against an ax murderer.

Or an entire force of corrupt cops.

Or a Fed who might try to finish what he started.

If desperate, he supposed she could chuck the shoes at someone and hope the pointy heel poked the attacker’s eye out. But even that was a long shot.

Fortunately, he’d packed more sensibly than he suspected Angie had. After they’d devised their plan, hashing out logistics, they’d scattered and hightailed it out of town, taking a very circuitous route to be sure no one was following them. Once Jack felt confident they’d put enough distance between them and everyone who was hunting them, he’d made a series of stops at stores along the way. Always paying cash. His duffle bags were filled with weapons, ammo, a portable digital television, fresh clothes, and enough basic provisions to make the stay more palatable for them.

“Is that it?” Angie asked, pulling him back to their present situation.

He looked to where she pointed. The cabin loomed ahead, nestled in a small clearing. It wasn’t much, and sure wasn’t as pretty on the eyes as it once was, but it would do. Under the circumstances it would have to suffice, though one look at Angie, in her sleek black dress, nylons, and heels, was enough to tell him that the cabin wouldn’t be up to snuff in Angie’s eyes. He could only hope no creatures were currently residing in the home.

The reluctant door hinges squeaked in protest, but no rodents scurried from the residence. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have any new calamities to deal with tonight.

He found the light switch and the cabin was suddenly awash in a soft yellow glow. Just like he’d remembered it. The place where his father had taught him how to fish. And hunt. Now, his father was dead, and
he
was the one being hunted.

“Bed’s in there.” He pointed to the second door on the left, hoping the room would be to her liking. It didn’t boast of all the creature comforts she was use to but at least it had a queen-size bed that was soft. “I’ll sleep out here.”

Too tired to put up a fight, Angie disappeared behind the closed door, reappearing only briefly as she entered and exited the bathroom.

Jack dropped his bag on the couch and headed into the kitchen to take stock of the pantry. Since the cabin hadn’t been used in close to a year or so, he doubted he’d find anything with an expiration date that hadn’t already passed, but he checked anyway. Nothing but bare shelves stared back at him. He’d brought a few packages of Top Raman and cans of soup with him, but food was the last thing on his mind at the moment. At least the cabin was clean, other than the dust motes, thanks to the twice-yearly cleaning service he paid for. Rummaging around, he managed to round up a lighter, more than a few matchbooks, and a stack of faded newspapers.

Within minutes, Jack had wood stacked in the fireplace and was coaxing a fragile flame to life. The kindling caught fire and before long, the logs crackled and popped as the cabin slowly warmed. Building a fire at all was a huge risk, but taking the chill off their temporary home might help soothe their frayed nerves. Soon enough, he’d need to douse the fire to keep them from being discovered.

Convinced the flame wouldn’t sputter and die, Jack sat back on his haunches and watched Angie, who’d come to join him. Sitting on the rug, dressed in an oversized sweater and yoga pants, with her arms wrapped around herself, she appeared utterly vulnerable. Shadows, cast by the flames, danced on her face. The effect was stunning, ethereal even. When had she ever been so beautiful before?

In another time, and another place, maybe they could make an honest go of their relationship. But in this time, and in this place, the only thing waiting for them was heartache.

For now, there was only tonight. If that’s all the time they would ever be granted, there was no way Jack would waste the time pining for what could never be. The last of his twenty-four-hour respite had ebbed away, leaving Jack a dead man walking.

Exhausted and emotionally drained from the events of the past few days, Nick slid into his car and headed for home.

The litany of questions had seemed never ending. Before he’d been allowed to leave the police department, he’d faced the same questions all over again with his commanding officer. Losing his career over this was becoming a very real possibility.

“And where exactly were you standing? What caused you to draw your gun? Where is Mr. Jack Gaines right now? Did you identify yourself as an agent? Why were you there again? Do you know where Jack is?”

Earlier in the day, he’d transferred the voice recording from Jack’s office to his iPhone so he could listen to it while on the car ride. Since the pen was voice activated and only recorded when someone was speaking, the recording was surprisingly short considering the amount of days it recorded the goings on of the office. He plugged his phone into stereo system and pushed ‘play.’

Most of the recording was filled with Jack’s parrot randomly cussing. His favorite phrase seemed to be, “Shut the fuck up, Jack.” On more than one occasion, Shamus and Angie could be heard verbally sparring, each throwing insults at the other. And then there were Jack’s many, many attempts to fire his girlfriend. Clearly she didn’t take too kindly to being ordered around, which she told him more than once. For the most part, there was nothing in the recording that could incriminate Jack, prove he’d done what Nick thought he did. Nick started the recording over again as he was nearing home.

“Jesus Christ, Jack. What the hell has gotten into you recently?”
Why did that voice sound so familiar? The recording wasn’t fabulous which made distinguishing voices tough.

“What the hell, Deluca? I could have shot you.”

Did Jack say Deluca?

The conversation continued. The chief had ratted Angie out, making damn good and sure Jack knew she was lying to him.

“Take out your frustration on some low-life gangbanger who needs to be popped.”

There it was, the smoking gun. Not only did Chief Deluca know about Jack’s God complex, but he condoned it. It might not prove Jack killed Trevor, yet, but it was something. Maybe even enough to hang a case on when combined with all the other circumstantial evidence they had.

On the recording, a door shut. Seconds later, he could hear only one side of a conversation. A phone call, most likely.

“Yeah, it’s me . . . It’s a go . . . Take ‘em out, sweet cheeks . . . Shoot to kill.”

“Come here.”

Jack’s voice, barely above
a whisper, demanded her compliance.

Her body hummed in anticipation.

Normally, Angie thought, she would have bristled at such a command, refusing with all the stubbornness of a mule, but tonight something was different. She was different. Or at least she felt different. Regardless, she scooted closer to Jack. A draft wafted down the chimney and she shivered.

“Cold?”

Braless and with only a sweater to keep her warm, her nipples hardened to stiff little peaks.

She nodded.

He wrapped his arms around her, lacing his fingers with hers.

Angie closed her eyes and tilted her head back onto his good shoulder, letting his warmth soothe her. How long had it been since she’d felt truly at peace? Truly happy?

If she was being honest with herself, the answer was never.

She turned her head and found his lips. His lips parted to say something, or maybe just to take a breath, but the only sound Angie heard was the sudden pounding of her heart.

Would it always be like this when she was with him?

She tugged one hand free and traced his lips with her fingertips. So soft. So gentle. She rubbed her thumb across his bottom lip. So tantalizingly near.

With one kiss, Jack stilled her fingers. He kissed each fingertip before planting a kiss on her palm, and another on her wrist. “I’m no good for you, babydoll. I’ve done terrible things in my life. Things no man should ever find forgiveness for.”

As he kissed his way down her arm, she caressed his cheek. The rough stubble prickled her skin, sending a shockwave of goosebumps down her body. Her fingers, acting on their own accord, buried deep in his thick hair. “I don’t care. I’ll always love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

He kissed her shoulder, and then her neck, sending another aftershock of chills coursing her skin. The humming got louder, settling deep in her belly, traveling lower until her entire body was taut with tension.

She sighed, her head dropping back into his waiting hand. He tugged her closer and angled her head so he could steal another kiss.

Lifting her, he rearranged their bodies so she was straddling him. His fingers played at the hem of her sweater, skimming her bare skin underneath, occasionally dipping beneath the waistband of her yoga pants to caress her hip. There was no denying his need. She could feel it, hard, straining to be released, pressing into her.

In one fluid motion, he robbed her of her sweater, stripping away all her inhibitions as well. For the time being, there was only her and Jack. Even as the world threatened to close in on them, this one moment in time was for them, and them alone.

And Jack apparently had no intention of rushing through the moment.

Desire was such a delicious emotion, especially when staring into the face of someone you loved as completely as she loved Jack.

Oh, God. When had that happened? She’d never meant to fall in love with anybody. Not Trevor and most definitely not Jack. Falling in love meant losing control. It meant being responsible for somebody other than herself. It meant commitment.

And that scared the hell out of her.

“Lay down.” Jack’s eyes glimmered in the firelight.

She licked her lip. “As you wish, my love.”

Releasing his hold on her, she did as he’d demanded, pressing her bare breasts into the plush fur of the rug.

A cool breeze pricked her skin until a fresh round of goosebumps arose. The fire crackled in time with every breath she took. His touch, soft at first, began at the base of her back. His fingertips pressed into her muscles, massaging and coaxing loose the knots she’d almost forgotten she had. He worked his way up her spine and down each arm. When he tackled her shoulders and neck, kneading and working her muscles into submission, she could feel her entire body relax in pure heavenly delight.

“Roll over.”

She shivered and did as he asked, lifting her hips so he could strip away the final scraps of clothing that separated her from his sight.

She groaned. “Not fair.”

“What?” The firelight danced across his face, lighting his normally dark eyes until they shone with passion.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Patience, my dear, is a virtue you do not have. Thankfully I have enough self-restraint for both of us.”

That was what she was afraid of. He was planning to tease her until she lost her mind. But she had other things in mind.

She grabbed him then, tugging him down to her. The weight of his body settled on her and she sought his mouth, forcing him to give in to her. Each kiss, each touch was like a power play, both of them determined to win. Evenly matched in every way, they gave in to the passion that had been mounting. Unbuttoning his shirt, she pushed it off his shoulders, letting her fingertips gently touch the edges of the bandage where the bullet had ripped into his body. She’d done a lousy job of stitching him up. He’d have a nasty scar once it finally healed fully, but it was the best she could do given the circumstances.

A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest, trailing down in a line, disappearing beneath his pants. Her fingers slid through the coarse hair, traveling the length of his torso. In no time at all, Jack was freed from his clothing, his pants kicked to the wayside. He resumed planting feathery kisses along her collarbone. When his mouth trailed lower, over her breasts, across the smooth plain of her belly, Angie arched her back, rising to meet him.

When at last he finally claimed her as his and his alone, she nearly cried out with the force of her release. Again and again, the power struggle continued, carrying on well into the dark hours.

Shit! How had he missed this before? Nick’s vehicle s
kidded to a stop on the side of the road. Did he really just hear what he thought he heard? He replayed the last bit of recording again to be sure.

“Yeah, it’s me . . . It’s a go . . . Take ‘em out, sweet cheeks . . . Shoot to kill.”

Only it wasn’t Shamus doing the talking like all the other times Nick heard that phrase uttered. It was Chief Deluca. The chief had hired a hit on his own best friend. There was only one possible reason for that.

Holy shit!

Nick flipped a U and grabbed his phone. First he called Sara to say he was going to be late coming home. Then he called his brother-in-law, Ben. Thankfully he answered.