Chasing Thunder (13 page)

He wanted to punish her for worrying him. He wanted to throttle her for risking her hide when it didn’t matter. For every kid she sent home, five more took that kid’s place. It was endless, and as far as Snake was concerned, it wasn’t worth the price.

He was there when Joe was murdered. He never wanted the same thing to happen to M.J.

It was archaic and it was old-fashioned, but he wanted to protect her. She had always been a wildcat who could never be domesticated or tamed, though he had gotten damned close a time or two. She’d rather die than admit it, but they belonged with each other and to each other. Their bond had been unbreakable, even she couldn’t deny that.

God, she felt like paradise in his arms. She always had. She was supple and she was willing, so eager to take him deep in her body in exchange for keeping him locked outside her heart. He knew why she did what she did, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Looking into her eyes, he lost the battle with himself once again. With another angry growl he bent his head to crush his lips on hers.

She met his need and his desire with equal measure. He knew just where to touch her, just how to love her. She quivered under his hand as it covered the swell of her breast. He dragged his mouth from her lips to her hardened nipple, and she gasped as he captured it between his teeth. His fingers disappeared between her legs, which opened for his hand. He kissed his way down her body, kneeling between her parted thighs. Without any preamble, he touched her throbbing clit with the tip of his slithering, skillful tongue, reminding her yet again how he had earned his nickname.

She bucked against his face, and he held two fingers together and penetrated the velvety soft lips he had thoroughly explored with his tongue only moments before. Her body clutched his fingers and he groaned into her. She made him crazy, so he returned the favor. She was practically incoherent when he crawled up her body and sank into her with a grunt. He kissed her again, harder and deeper, and she tasted herself on his lips. He lifted her arms over her head, his fingers tangled with hers as he held her flat.

She met each thrust, grinding herself onto him, feeling herself teeter right on the edge of where she wanted, needed, to be. “Fuck me, please,” she whimpered.

He complied. In fact, he couldn’t get deep enough. He wanted to disappear inside of her. “God, M.J.,” he muttered as he stared into those bright green eyes. “Tell me that you need me just as much as I need you.”

She nodded. There was no way she’d be able to lie. “You know I do. You’re the only one,” she promised softly.

He groaned as he covered her mouth for another kiss, riding her harder until she was screaming into his mouth. “Fuck . . . M.J.—” he cried out as he came. She squeezed herself around him as he let himself go, which was enough to do her in.

They were panting as they collapsed against each other in a sweaty heap. He fell over to his side and she caught her breath on hers. When their eyes met, she scooted over into the crook of his arm, which he wrapped around her. His damp, hard body was solid in her arms. She traced a finger along the traditional color tattoo covering the left side of his chest. It was a head-on view of a coiled rattlesnake, fangs bared, that looked like it was striking right from his heart.

Likewise, he traced the lines on her back piece. An angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other watched over the people in the centerpiece of the tattoo, a black-and-white photo-realistic image taken from one of her favorite photos. She sat astride her grandfather’s bike, with him sitting right behind. She couldn’t have been more than five when the photo was taken. She’d told him it was the first time Joe had allowed her on his beloved bike, and she sat right in front of him, reaching her arms out toward the handlebars with the biggest smile on her face. It nearly matched the one on Joe’s.

To her, it symbolized her grandfather’s continual protection as she reached for her own destiny. After she confided that to Snake, he had snagged a copy of the photo from her grandma, and it now sat atop a dresser in the guest room where Baby slept.

But on her body, it seemed alive, somehow.
Joe
seemed alive somehow.

If only
, he thought for the hundredth time with a sinking heart. How different would their lives have been if Joe Bennett had not been murdered in cold blood? In those dark early days after Joe’s death, that question had fueled his anger, an impotent rage with a thirst for revenge. He drank, he fought, he railed at the world for its inherent unfairness. Now the question only made him sad for what might have been, especially for this scarred and angry woman at his side. “I love you,” he murmured. It was all he could offer to heal her wounds.

She hugged him tight. It was still a promise she could not make.

The next morning they awoke to the smell of sausage and bacon filling the house. They peered at each other through half-open eyes, until finally their growling stomachs could take no more.

Baby placed a platter of fluffy scrambled eggs onto the dining room table just as they entered the room. “Good morning,” she said, smiling wide.

Snake was the first to speak. “What’s this?”

Baby shrugged. “I just wanted to show you how grateful I am to you for taking me in and helping me out.”

M.J. sat at the table. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know,” Baby said as she poured juice into her glass. “I wanted to. I want you to know that I want to pull my own weight. It’s important to me.”

Kid brought a plate of pancakes into the room from the kitchen. Both M.J. and Snake immediately knew a plot was afoot, but they let their young hosts serve them without comment. As they dug in, Snake complimented his young cook. “She looks like Morticia and cooks like Betty Crocker. I think I’m in love.”

Baby laughed. “I love to cook. I’d probably find a job doing that, but it’s going to be hard to get one without an ID.”

M.J. and Snake shared a look. “You want to work?” Snake asked, and Baby nodded.

“Always,” she answered. “Gifts are nice, but they always seem to come with a price.”

Neither M.J. nor Snake could argue that point.

What she couldn’t say, what she wouldn’t say, was that the price for being kept was in the keeping. She’d learned a long time ago that a gilded cage was still a cage. As long as people paid her way, they controlled her destiny. She owed them. And she was quite over that, thank you very much. She never wanted to be that girl again, lost on Hollywood Boulevard without a cent to her name, at the mercy of the world around her.

But to say any of that would open her up to difficult discussions she wasn’t yet ready to tackle, if she ever would be. “I mean, I’d work for you,” she told Snake, “but it’s a bar and I’m underage.”

Silence followed her statement, as every eye at the table drifted toward M.J. She kept her head down and focused on the food on her plate. Kid sent a nod of encouragement toward Baby, who forged on. “Retail would be perfect. I don’t have a lot of marketable skills, but I can fold a mean T-shirt.”

Snake looked at M.J., who concentrated on her fluffy scrambled eggs without lifting her head or contributing to the conversation. There was no way she’d ever allow this girl out in public, especially in an establishment that could be linked back to her. Baby might as well have been asking for the moon.

Finally M.J. finished her meal, lifted her head and said, “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” before throwing her napkin on the plate and leaving the room. They all jumped when the door slammed shut behind her. Minutes later, her bike roared from the driveway and down the street.

Baby sighed and Kid gave her a helpless shrug. He’d known it was a long shot, and he knew why. He was actually kind of glad M.J. was so hard-nosed, because it meant that Baby was safe another day.

Baby gathered the dishes, and Snake touched her arm when she brushed past. “Sorry, Baby.”

She shrugged and disappeared into the kitchen. “Well, that was pretty,” Snake commented to no one in particular.

Kid answered anyway. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s kind of hardheaded.”

Snake laughed. “I’m familiar with the dynamic.” When Baby returned, Snake turned to her with a big smile. “I think this most excellent breakfast deserves a reward. Let’s go do something.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He smiled wider. “Let’s ride.”

Much to Kid’s surprise, he led them to the garage rather than the truck. There were several bikes there, including their dad’s old Triumph. Kid gave Snake a puzzled look, and Snake silently answered his question by handing him a helmet.

“Really?” Kid asked.

“Yeah, really,” Snake answered. He gave Baby a helmet and said to her, “You should probably ride with me, though.”

“Asshole,” Kid said, chuckling.

Baby wrapped herself in Snake’s leather jacket and they all roared down the driveway, headed in the opposite direction of where M.J. had gone.

By the time they hit the open road, M.J. was nearly to Hollywood. She pulled into the motel where she’d left Todd. As she walked up, she ran into Rose. The woman was juggling several canvas bags full of groceries, so M.J. was quick to lend a hand. “Twice in one week!” Rose exclaimed happily. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Just wanted to check up on our little friend,” M.J. said. “How’s he doing?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Rose replied. “No one in or out all night. You must have put the fear of God into him.”

“Nope. Just the fear of M.J.” They shared a smile before they entered Rose’s living quarters out back. It was a modest one-bedroom apartment attached to the back of the office, and just as cluttered, kitschy, and homey as the rest of the motel.

“So what’s the story there, anyway? Or can you say?”

“I’d rather not,” M.J. said frankly, knowing Rose would understand. “Suffice it to say that no one needs to know where this kid is for a while, and leave it at that.”

“I’ve been watching that room like a hawk,” she assured. “It’s not like I didn’t trust you, but you never know with kids on drugs. So I can personally guarantee that no one came in or out from the time you left yesterday.”

“I appreciate it,” M.J. told her, squeezing her arm. She helped her put away her groceries and then headed straight for room 201.

Her approach slowed when she realized that the door was slightly ajar. She glanced downstairs toward the office, wondering if maybe he went for the vending machine or outside to smoke. But the only thing that stirred on the lower level was Rose as she watered her plants.

M.J. eased her keychain from the back of her jeans and slipped it into her hand, the spikes of the keys protruding through her clenched fist. With her left hand, she pushed the door open.

There was someone sitting on the bed, but it wasn’t her tweaker. In fact, she didn’t know who the hell it was.

The man, who was likely in his late twenties, sat casually on the edge of the bed, which had been made up with crisp military corners. He was tidy himself, with laundered jeans, brand-new sneakers, and a button-down shirt that looked freshly ironed. The only thing that looked battered at all was his brown leather jacket. Even his five o’clock shadow, which looked as though it had arrived four hours early, was trimmed and neat. His flinty blue eyes glinted as he stared at her. He clearly had the advantage.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, holding her fist at her side but poised to strike. She tensed as he reached inside his jacket, until she saw that he had retrieved a badge to flash at her. She rolled her eyes and put her keychain back in its place.

He stood. “Detective Kelly Harris,” he introduced himself. “LAPD, homicide.”

“Of course,” she said. She glanced around the rest of the room, which she immediately saw was empty. “What can I do for you, Officer?”

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “I want you to do absolutely nothing.”

Her hard eyes bored holes into his. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart girl.” He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

She walked over to the long desk under the mirror opposite the bed. On the desk was a pizza box. She lifted the top. “Full pie decimated,” she said before walking to the fridge, which had been emptied of all the soda she kept supplied there. “No sodas.” She walked to the bathroom, flipped on the light. “Shower used,” she said as she stepped inside to feel the towel left on the floor. “Still damp.”

She emerged from the bathroom. “From the looks of things, a teenager occupied this room, unsupervised.” She picked up a soda can and listened for the fizz. “Up until fairly recently. Within the hour, I’d say.” She faced him. “What did you do with him?”

“He’s safe. That’s all you need to know.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I need to know a hell of a lot more.”

He chuckled. “You would think so. But you’d be wrong.” He walked to the long desk, picked up the box, folded it in on itself, and fit it in the trash can. “This is a police investigation and that kid is our only witness. He’s been relocated for his own safety.”

“He was safe,” she corrected. “No one knew he was here.”

“Then how did I find him?” Harris challenged.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “He called you.”