Hard as It Gets (12 page)

Sonofabitch
.

As they hit the eastern side of town, Nick chanced a look Becca’s way. Her expression was absolutely bleak, one tiny push away from shattered, and her skin was pale as snow—except for the swollen goose egg above her left eyebrow from when the lowlife had shoved her to the floor. That was bright fucking red.

Say something, asshole
.
Throw her a goddamned rope.
“What’s, uh, what’s with the dog?”
Outstanding, Nick, truly
.

She tilted her face and rubbed her cheek against its big ear. “I found her.”

“She has three legs.” Rixey winced at the idiocy of the observation.

“Uh, yeah.” Her gaze slid out the passenger window, making it crystal clear she wasn’t in any more of a mood to chitchat than he’d been before. And fine. Until he got her off the road, situational awareness was his top priority. Everything else could wait. He cut in and out of traffic on Eastern Avenue, eager to get her home. Eager to get her safe. A few moments later, Becca’s posture straightened and she leaned forward, like she was looking for something. Her gaze whipped toward him. “This isn’t the way to my house.”

Icy slush slid into his gut. As if she wasn’t already dealing with enough, he was going to have to find the words to tell her what had been done to her home. “Not going to your house.”

“But I thought—”

“It’s a new ball game, Becca.”

“Because someone tried to grab me.”

Her tone was way too fucking nonchalant for his taste. He glared. “Because someone tried to
abduct
you and stabbed you. For starters.”

“And? Why else?”

Shit. He really didn’t want to have this conversation in the car. But she was going to think him a royal asshole if he refused to answer. The words tasted like acid as he gathered them on his tongue.

His phone rang, the vibration skittering against his hip from within his coat pocket. “Hold on a minute.” He fished it out, read Miguel’s name on the screen, and put the cell to his ear. “This is Nick.”

“Did you find her?” Miguel said by way of greeting.

“Yeah, about thirty seconds before some lowlife nabbed her from a staff break room.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Is she okay? Did you get a look at the perp?” Nick could tell from the cadence of Miguel’s breathing that the man was pacing.

“For whatever good it’ll do me, yeah, I got an eyeful. Becca’s a little banged up, but she’s a trooper.” Which, honestly, was a goddamned understatement. She’d resisted her assailant, gotten in an elbow to the guy’s kidney that had probably ensured Nick wouldn’t have to make good on his threat to shoot, and dealt with a frenzy of well-wishers and questions and general ER chaos with patience and grace. She was more than a little like her old man—in all the best ways. Rixey glanced her way and found her blatantly listening in on the conversation. Not that he blamed her. “Listen, things wrapped up over there yet? I think you should clear out until I get a better handle on this. That location is too hot.”

“Door locks are changed. The guy’s doing the sliding window locks now.”

“Good. Did the police come?” Silence. “Miguel?”

“That’s not an option right now. But I’d rather explain in person.”

Aw, for fuck sake. Not an option to call the police? The whys behind a statement like that could not possibly be good. “You know where to find me. My door’s open.”

“Yup. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Okay. Listen, watch your six on the way out.”

“You got a tail?” Miguel asked.

The question had Nick doing the mirror-mirror-windshield circuit one more time. “Not anymore. But maybe earlier.”

“Will do. Stay safe, Nick.”

“Right back atcha.” They disconnected.

Instinct was telling him they hadn’t yet hit bottom on this situation, whatever the fuck it actually was. And figuring that out was job one. Because right now he was running blind in the middle of a shit storm he hadn’t seen coming. How he was going to come up with the who, what, when, where, and why all on his own was a whole other problem.

You can get help if you ask for it
.

It wasn’t just the men who’d been killed that he’d lost last year, it was the other four survivors, too. Because he’d been too fucked in the head to find a way to get right with his role in what’d happened to them. How could they possibly want to stay friends with someone who’d failed them so spectacularly? But, goddamnit, they’d be the world’s best ace in the hole to bring in on this situation.

“Who was that?” Becca asked.

“Friend named Miguel Olivero. Private investigator I told you about. Ex-cop. He was helping me out at your place earlier.”

Rixey purposely passed the road that led most conveniently to Hard Ink and drove four blocks out of his way. His rear still looked clear, but this situation had proved again and again that he couldn’t be too careful. And it was driving him crazy, because he felt like he was missing pieces to a puzzle that he somehow found himself in the middle of.

“You think someone’s following us?” she asked, twisting to look out the rear window.

“Just a precaution. Someone obviously knew to find you at the hospital. They knew what you looked like to make the grab.” A right turn to double back. “And whatever this is, Becca, they want you.” He glanced in his rearview. Still clear. “Can you think of anything else Charlie might’ve said that could be relevant?”

Becca was silent for a long moment, a frown of concentration on her face. She shook her head. “No. Although I keep wondering what kind of information would make him say he could prove Dad had been involved in something bad.”

“It’s a good question. And figuring that out might lead us to Charlie.” Two more turns and Rixey eased the Charger into the lot behind the shop, his mind churning on the situation.

He backed into a spot, wanting an easy out in case he found himself needing to leave quick. Suddenly he was looking at everything differently. Now he saw a situation that needed a whole host of plan As and Bs. A security problem that required planning and redundancies and fail-safes. An operation that necessitated a team if it had a prayer in hell of being successful.

A mission that needed to be completed—with everyone getting home safe and whole. At one time he’d committed his whole life to that very ideal.

Killing the engine, he was up and out of the car immediately, gun in hand, eyes working a three-sixty sweep. He opened Becca’s door and offered her his palm.

She lifted the puppy to him, and Rixey made quick work of depositing her onto the ground.

Becca gasped. “She’ll run away.”

Helping her stand, he shook his head. “She defended you. Twice. She won’t leave your side.”

Flinching, Becca rose to her feet. “Man, I think I’m gonna need a fistful of ibuprofen and a bottle of wine for dinner.”

He hated that she was hurting, but he was also glad she wasn’t one of those people who refused to admit their limits. It took strength and courage to know when you were at the outside of what you could handle. It was a lesson Rixey wasn’t sure he’d fully learned, so hell if he didn’t find himself admiring that about her. Just one more thing in a growing list. “I think that can be arranged.”

She reached the panel first and entered the code with no hesitation. The mechanism clicked free and they stepped inside, the fur ball rushing in ahead of them.

In the shade and security of the hallway, he managed to get the first deep draw of oxygen his lungs had had in hours. He holstered his weapon.

Becca whirled, almost pinning him against the door. Eyes of blue fire threatened to scorch him and held him captive. “All right, Nick. Enough. We’re here. Start talking. Now.”

Chapter 11

B
ecca’s insides nearly vibrated with the need to know what the hell Nick wasn’t telling her. She’d hit the edge of her tolerance for any more mystery, even of the tall, dark, and achingly handsome kind.

His lips pressed into a grim line and his eyes flashed. “Becca, let’s just—”

“No.” She stepped right into his space and jabbed a finger into the granite of his chest. “Don’t put me off anymore. I deserve to know. I
need
to know,” she said, hating the strained pitch of her voice.

His expression went dark and his jaw ticked. She saw it in his eyes the minute he made the decision to spill. Her stomach plummeted to the floor. It was bad. He didn’t need to tell her that much. Everything inside her braced for the onslaught of bad news.

When he spoke, the words were even, straightforward, factual. “Someone ransacked your house. Picked the back door lock again. Went through just about every room.”

The brick walls bent and warped around her, but she shook off the dizziness and forced herself to focus on Nick’s face. His presence was the only thing grounding her. “Why would they do that? Could you tell if anything was missing?”

He shook his head. “The why of it I intend to figure out. I promise you. But the place was too much of a mess to—”

“Take me.” Becca pushed past him and hit the handle on the door.

Arms wrapped around her from behind. “Becca, we—”

“No!” She threw off the hold and scrambled away, her back coming up hard against the wall.

Nick’s expression was a roiling sea of emotion. Surprise. Fear. Anger. Concern. “I’m sorry. What just—”

“That was how he grabbed me.” She swallowed hard and shuddered at the remembered press of the man’s flesh against hers. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, embarrassment heating her face, despair and exhaustion sucking the fight out of her.

He came forward slowly. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice cranked tight. “And don’t cry.” His thumb swiped under her eye, once, twice, and then his knuckles caressed her cheekbone. The little touches were comforting, sweet, and she thought maybe he needed to give them as much as she needed to feel them. He tucked the loose strands of her destroyed ponytail behind her ear.

“I’m not crying,” she said despite the wetness plain on her face. She shook her aching head, then pressed her cheek into his hand. “I’m not.”

“I know.”

Peering up at him, her breath caught.

The moment their gazes connected, his expression shifted from sympathetic concern to uncontrollable desire. His mouth fell open. His chest rose and fell against hers. His fingers burrowed into her hair.

Becca went hot all over, like the sun had hung itself in the stairwell above them.

He leaned closer, closer, his free arm bracing on the wall above her shoulder. The warm puff of his breath caressed her lips as his gaze bore into hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.

He kissed her on a groan so needful it made her dizzy and wet. His mouth devoured hers, his big hand cupped the back of her head, his body completely surrounded and trapped hers against the bricks. It was a full-body onslaught, with every part of him engaged in the act of claiming and seducing.

Becca clutched at his coat, his shoulders, his back, his hair. Anything to bring him closer, deeper. His lips pulled and tugged, his tongue stroked and twisted. He smelled of leather and mint and tasted like sin.

The harder he came at her, the more her conscious mind let go. Her aches, the stitches, her house, even Charlie—for a few minutes, just a few precious minutes, Becca let it all go.

The surrender was euphoric. It rushed through her blood and sent her flying.

“That was so close, Becca. Too close,” he rasped, kissing her jaw, her ear, her neck, and sending her heart flying. His fingers stroked down over her breasts and found the hem of her shirt. And then those warm, calloused hands snaked up her stomach, pulled down the cups of her bra, and caressed her breasts skin to skin. He massaged her, teased her with roughened fingertips, and tormented her nipples until she was panting.

She gripped the collar of his coat, half afraid her knees would go soft and give out. Nick pulled his body away just enough to tear the coat off his arms and throw it to the floor. Geez, the gun holster was sexy hugging tight over his shirt, but he slipped out of it, too, and eased it to the floor with a
thunk
. Then his hands were back on her breasts and his tongue was back in her mouth, stealing her breath and convincing her she could live without it.

God, this kiss. It was the kind she’d remember forever, that would invade her dreams and haunt her in quiet moments. The kind her older self could look back on and know, once, she’d really lived. The kind that, no matter what, she could never, ever regret.

And it made a part of herself bloom with affection for the man who’d made her feel that way.

She snaked her hands under his shirt, moaning when her palm smoothed over the hard planes and muscled ridges of his abdomen, his sides, his chest. Her fingers swirled through the light covering of hair on his chest and swiped light, teasing brushes over his nipples. The low growls he released into the kiss as they explored each other thrilled her, made her yearn for the opportunity to bring a man as powerful and deadly as him to his knees in ecstasy.

“Closer,” he ground out. With one arm, he ripped the cotton over his head, revealing a body that was no doubt capable of inflicting pleasure and pain in equal measure. Desire roared off his skin and his hands were everywhere, plucking at her nipples, kneading at the swell of her ass, pulling them harder together.

The heat of his demanding touches ripped through her and settled a pressing ache low in her abdomen. She squeezed her thighs together in response, emphasizing the wetness of her arousal against her panties.

“I want you, Becca. I’m not gonna lie.” He spoke in low tones against her cheek, but pulled back to meet her gaze. “But I think—”

She placed three fingers over his mouth. “Don’t think.”

His eyes flared and his mouth dropped open. He caught her middle finger with his teeth and ran his tongue in tight circles over the tip, making it perfectly clear how good that particular action would feel if applied elsewhere. With a groan, he released her finger and dragged his hand around to cup the space between her legs. “Are you wet for me?”

Becca nodded, her heart doing its best imitation of a jackrabbit.

One of his eyebrows arched. “Yeah?” He slipped his hand into her scrub bottoms and under her panties. He kicked one of her feet to the side, opening her thighs to his touch. “Oh, fuck, sunshine, you are so wet.” His fingers stroked through her folds, and her heart skipped a whole stanza of beats. Did he just call her—

His mouth came down on hers at the same time his thick middle finger penetrated her. He swallowed her moan as he mimicked the act they were barreling toward. “I am wound too tight, Becca. Do you understand? In about ten seconds, I’m going to be all over you. And I’m not going to be able to go slow. It’s gonna be hard and fast and rough.”

He meant it as a warning, but Becca heard it as an engraved invitation on fine linen paper. That was a party she sooo wanted to attend. “Good,” she said, groaning as he removed his hand.

Green eyes blazing, Nick slipped his visibly wet finger between his lips and sucked. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.

With a sound that was nearly a growl, he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and removed a condom. His gaze trapped her against the wall as if she couldn’t move unless he told her to.

Suddenly, the floor went wavy under her feet, challenging her hold on reality. Was this really happening? Would someone see them? Did she care? Her headache flared behind her eyes and Nick went blurry, and then a rush of white noise shoved the questions away.

O
UT OF NOWHERE,
Becca swayed to the right.

Rixey grabbed her by the ribs, holding her steady. “Whoa, you okay?”

She sucked in a harsh breath and flinched away from his right hand, eyes flying wide, her pretty mouth shifting into a grimace.

Ice trickled down his spine and extinguished his arousal. “Shit, your stitches. I’m sorry.” He dropped his righty to her hip, afraid she wasn’t yet steady. What a fucking dog he was, crawling all over her when she was this vulnerable. Exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t do. No matter how hard his body craved the connection. And not with just anyone. With
her.
But not like this. And not with everything that was going on. “I’m sorry,” he said again, a wave of self-loathing turning his voice to gravel.

“It’s okay,” she said with a small, embarrassed smile.

He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s about a million miles from okay. I shouldn’t have—” The words stuck in his throat, because so many failures competed to flesh out the sentence.
I shouldn’t have let you go to work this morning. I shouldn’t have sent you away that first day
.
I shouldn’t have tasted your juices on my tongue, because now I’ll never be able to forget just how sweet you are
. “Something about you Merritts screws with my judgment every time.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, that little frown of hers filling the space between her eyes.

Smooth, Rixey
. “Nothing. You steady?” Because he really needed to stop touching her.

“Steadier. It’s just a headache. But I want to know what you meant.” She fixed her bra and crossed her arms over her breasts. Fierce animation roared back into her eyes.

“Not a goddamned thing, Becca.” Giving her a last, searching look, he dropped his hands and bent for his T-shirt. He tugged it back on, failing to force away the remembered feeling of her hands on his skin, then grabbed his jacket and slung his holster loosely over one shoulder. “I’ll take you upstairs. You should rest.”

“I’ll go upstairs, but I’m not resting. We still haven’t finished talking, you and I. If someone broke into my house, I should go there. Call the police.
Something
. This can’t all be coincidence.” A flush on her cheeks replaced the pallor from moments before.

“I know, but we can’t.”

She froze. “Why the hell not?”

He heaved a weary sigh, not sure what he was going to do if she insisted. “On the phone earlier, Miguel made it sound like there’s a reason we shouldn’t report the second break-in. He wanted to tell us in person. I trust him implicitly, so I’d like to wait to hear what he says. He’ll be over as soon as he can. But it is your decision.”

She rubbed the skin above her eye, bringing his gaze to the bruise forming on her forehead. “You really think it’s better to wait?”

“I don’t think Miguel would advise that unless he had a good reason.”

“God. What now?” Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead again. “Okay. I’ll hear him out. And thank you for being straight with me.” She sighed and turned, then crossed the stairwell to where the puppy lay curled in a ball by the door to Hard Ink. “You’ve been waiting patiently, haven’t you?” she said.

Rixey caught up with her, hollow pressure expanding in his chest at the sadness saddling her shoulders and dimming the lightness he’d admired about her from the start. He wanted that back. For her. For himself. “Wanna see something funny?” he asked, hoping his idea might replace the anger and hurt in her expression. She shrugged, her guard back up again. “Open the door and let—what’s her name?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Maybe Sadie. Or Georgia.”

“What about Cujo?”

Her disapproving expression was almost comical, and it was a lot better than what she’d worn a moment before. “Cujo is a boy’s name, and he was a crazy killing menace. Plus Cujo was a Saint Bernard.”

Rixey winked, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, then, open the door and let Sadie-or-Georgia in by herself. We’ll hang back and see what happens.” All right, it was probably stupid, but if it made her smile, he was all for it. No plan was stupid if it worked . . .

She glanced from him to the puppy, who was now sitting up and watching the two of them talk like she knew the conversation was about her.

Nick opened the door from the private stairwell, and Sadie-or-Georgia loped in. He and Becca followed, and she now wore an amused expression. They peeked around the corner and watched as the puppy sauntered around the empty lounge for a few minutes before making its way up the hall between the tattoo rooms toward the front.

“What in the hell?” came Jeremy’s voice out of one. “Hey, Jess, what is walking—”

A shriek sounded from the lobby. “Holy shit.” Jess’s laughter followed a moment later. “Somebody lost a tripod,” she snickered.

Becca had her hand pressed to her mouth, and the rise in her cheeks told him she was enjoying the show.

“Hey! No! Gimme that back,” Jess yelled.

The puppy trotted down the hall again, something red in its mouth. Jessica barreled after her with a scowl on her made-up face.

“Is that a dog?” Jeremy yelled. “Why is there a dog?”

Beside Nick, Becca was giggling.