His Every Desire (5 page)

Vincent jumped at the sound of his voice, and Joel had the pleasure of seeing one of the most feared men in the United States pale. But then he sneered. “She has something that belongs to me, and until I get it, our deal is off.”

Joel smiled, a chilling smile. Without looking at Tracy, he held out his hand as he stared at Vincent. “The deal is off. She’s leaving…with me. And you can go fuck yourself, Grainger.”

As Tracy’s hand folded around his, they both watched Vincent’s face go ruddy with rage. “She’s my fucking wife, even if she is your whore!”

Joel didn’t remember letting go of Tracy’s hand, or flying across the room. As he knocked Vincent to the floor, he growled, “Don’t you call her that. Not ever. She never sold herself—she did what she had to in order to keep you from hurting her. That’s not a whore. That’s a survivor.” Kneeling, he drew the gun from his back and placed the muzzle of the Browning at Vincent’s chin. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Vincent’s eyes widened, darting away, before meeting Joel’s eyes again. “You won’t,” he rasped.

Dropping his voice to a gentle whisper, Joel said, “Believe me—there’s nothing I want more. Nothing I mean more. You don’t leave here alive…is that understood?”

“Get away from him, Mr. Lockhart.”

He cut his eyes to the side, keeping the muzzle of the gun right at Vincent’s chin, pressing until it pushed against flesh and met bone. When he saw Simmonds standing just behind Tracy, holding a gun to her head, fury arced through him. “You hurt her, old man, you die.”

“Get away from Mr. Grainger, sir, and she won’t be hurt.”

“Not yet,” Vincent rasped. Joel wanted to knock his teeth down his throat, but Tracy…she was more important.

Slowly, Joel rose, stepping over Vincent’s body toward Tracy. “Come here, Tracy,” he said quietly.

“No,” Simmonds said, shaking his head. “Put the gun down.”

Joel laid it on the étagère shelf at his right, taking one small step away, still focusing on Simmonds. “Let her go now, Simmonds. You don’t want me angry.”

Simmonds gave a stiff smile. “I can’t do that just yet, sir.”

“No!” Tracy screamed, shoving backwards toward the older man standing behind her. Simmonds fell back, swearing, and Joel heard the thick, wet thud of bone hitting something solid. His eyes cut to Grainger to see the man on his feet, drawing his gun.

Fuck…she had blinded Joel to the necessary things. His worry for her had made him forget, and now…

But before Vincent could level the gun, there was a cracking sound. Vincent’s hand fell to his side, the gun falling from his fingers. Blood started to pour down the side of his face as he went to his knees, his eyes moving to Tracy.

“You…bitch…” and then he hit the floor.

There were shouts coming from all over the house as Joel turned to stare at Tracy. In her hand, she held a gun. The gym bag was open at her feet, but it wasn’t clothes in there.

It was money—a lot of it.  The money her mother had left her, Joel guessed, but he didn't have that much time to dwell on it.

Two of Grainger’s men burst in behind her and Joel dove for her, grabbing her and shoving her to the side. He slid behind the men and grabbed the closest, jerking his head. When he heard the snap of his neck, he let him go and turned to face the other one.

Mick Forster wasn’t one of Grainger’s brighter men, but he fought like a machine. And he was brutal. Without looking at Tracy, Joel said quietly, “Get out of here, Tracy. Now.”

As the bright blonde cap of her hair left his line of sight, he launched himself at Mick, ducking under the big ham-sized fist that came flying at him and driving a stiff hand into Mick’s neck.

In the distance, he heard the powerful purr of Tracy’s little Jaguar and he smiled coldly. She would get away.

That was what mattered…

* * * * *

Tracy waited.

Joel had taken her to the cabin three times, and each time had left one hot, sweet memory for her to look back on when she was alone.

But a day passed, and then two.

And she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.

So she left. Maybe he just wanted to get her away from Grainger…maybe he wanted her forever.

Licking her lips, she reached up, touching the string of pearls around her bruised neck. At first, she started to take it off, but then she stopped.

Memories were all she was really taking with her.

What did it hurt to take these as well?

* * * * *

She abandoned the pricey Jaguar at a strip mall in Shreveport, parking it on the side, right under a camera. If she had done it right, the only thing visible would be the back end of the Jag, with the front end of the car out of sight of the cameras that monitored most of the area. Slinging the black bag she had traded out for the gym bag over her shoulder, she moved the strap between her breasts before climbing out. Drawing a small penknife from her pocket, she sliced a thin line in her forearm, wincing a little at the burning pain.

Bright red blood flowed and she turned her arm, letting the drops trickle down to splatter on the seat.

Then she covered the cut on her arm, wrapped a strip of cloth around it, made sure the sleeve of her light jacket covered it, and no more blood dripped down.

Disappear…make it look like you were taken…leave everything behind…

Joel had been coaching her on what to do—as though he had been preparing her for when he wasn’t there.

Maybe he had been…Tracy shoved that thought out of her mind. Part of her worried that something had happened to him.

But she knew what she had to do.

She’d shot her husband.

She didn’t know if he was dead or not.

It didn’t strike her as a good idea to be seen watching the news. There weren’t many pictures of her to be found, but if they tracked one down, it was going to be flashed across the TV for the next few days or weeks.

All it would take was one person to see her, just one. Too many of Vincent’s friends would want her dead. She didn’t know much about his businesses, hardly anything. But they wouldn’t take that chance.

If one of his friends saw her, she was as good as dead.

She did one last look-through of the car as she blinked away tears. She had everything she needed tucked inside the bag on her shoulder.

Everything but Joel…damn it, where was he?

Heaven above, she wanted Joel.

But he hadn’t caught up with her by now and if he was able to, wanted to, he would have.

She couldn’t keep waiting.

Couldn’t risk it.

No. She wasn’t taking chances. She was going to do as she’d planned—disappear.

So she tossed the keys to the floorboard and walked away.

Walked away from her life.

Chapter Four

He’d signed a plea bargain.

What was the harm in doing that?

Joel stood staring grimly out over the landscape surrounding the prison in Maine. He was guilty as hell.

It had been a year since he’d walked into this place. He knew it was entirely too likely that he’d never leave.

He’d gotten a reduced sentence since he’d turned over all the information he had on Vincent Grainger and all the other bastards. But Joel now had several very angry, unhappy enemies.

He’d testified against several of them. Received a few death threats in jail. Had to fight a few of them off. He even had a new scar.

The thin scar that ran down his left cheekbone could have blinded him—could have killed him. Joel wasn’t really sure which it had been intended to do. But he hadn’t spent the past twenty years of his life knitting.

The guy who had come after him with the knife was paralyzed.

After that, the attacks had stopped for a while.

Today, he was going before the parole board. Not that he’d get out. He was going to die in prison. Just as he deserved. Closing his eyes, he pulled up Tracy’s image.

She was safe.

That was all that mattered.

You really don’t want to spend the rest of your life in jail, do you?

Joel sighed as he felt Carly’s presence settle around him. It was always just a little colder when she was there. Unless she was mad. When a ghost was mad, it wasn’t a little colder. It was a lot colder.

Right now, though, it was just chilly. Carly wasn’t happy with him, but she wasn’t pissed. Just out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faint white glow of her body. She wouldn’t materialize all the way, not here. Some of the men here were likely sensitives and she wouldn’t chance it.

But that wouldn’t keep her from talking to him.

The men out in the prison’s exercise yard gave him a very wide berth and none were close enough to hear him as he said softly, “I deserve to spend the rest of my life in prison, Carly. But my sentence is only fifteen years.”

She laughed. A ghost’s laugh was like a cold breeze—it danced along his skin and made him shiver. That’s long enough. And you know they are going to keep coming after you. I don’t want to keep trusting myself or your skill to save your cute butt.

He winced.

Carly laughed again. Baby, I changed your diapers. I know firsthand just how cute your butt is—even if it has changed quite a bit. You don’t want to stay here. You can be a nice guy. Show some of that charm today. Don’t antagonize them.

Joel closed his eyes. “I really don’t see why it matters,” he said quietly. “She’s safe. You told me she was safe.”

She was, Marc.

The temperature dropped—very abruptly. His eyes opened and he turned his head, trying to see her better. “I’m not Marc. Not anymore,” he said flatly.

You’ll always be Marc to me, honey. And it’s time for you to get out of here. He’s waking up.

Everything inside him went cold.

* * * * *

The hospital floor was quiet.

It was a fairly quiet night at Salle Memorial. The lady with the hip replacement had developed pneumonia and had to be moved to ICU because of complications.

Everybody on the unit was sleeping. One of the patients hadn’t done anything but sleep. The cop who had been stationed at his door for months had finally been reassigned a few weeks ago.

The patient in 502B had been in a coma for more than a year. He had taken a bullet in his brain, and it was a damn miracle that he was alive. Since he’d pulled through the surgery they’d thought maybe he’d wake up, but it had never happened.

The more time that passed, the less the chance that he’d come out of the coma intact, if he came out of it at all.

His name was Vincent Grainger—he’d been a pretty important man, married to a pretty lady who used to model in New York City.

She hadn’t shown up in the news much after the marriage, but Vincent Grainger frequently had. He was a big-time businessman in New York, had a fancy mansion just a few miles up the Maine coast, rich as Midas. Yeah, he seemed like an important man, but an apparently dangerous man as well.

But nobody had come.

There’d been a report a few days after he had come in. Two young men had been pulled over while driving the wife’s car. Later blood had been found in it, but the two men had sworn they’d found it at a mall.

No sign of her—foul play was expected. The hospital staff had been very comfortable having the cops there for a while. But slowly, people had forgotten.

The nurse glanced toward room 502B, then back to her chart. The pale strip of flesh on her ring finger caught her eye. Just a few days ago, there’d been a pretty little diamond engagement ring there. Then she’d found out the truth.

The bastard was cheating on her.

Sighing, she tried to focus on something other than her pathetic love life. It was damn hard, though.

It was too quiet tonight. All the patients were sleeping and—

Her ears detected a harsh change in breathing in the room just across from her. Room 502B.

That couldn’t be right. She sure as hell hoped not. That was the one who’d had an armed man standing at the door for weeks and weeks and weeks—

That guy was bad news—an image of his picture flashed through her mind. Cold eyes—shark eyes. Dead, flat, emotionless.

Lani blew out a breath as she stood up, irritated with herself.

The guy had been in a coma for a damned year. He wasn’t waking up.

And even if he was, the calm, logical nurse inside her head said, he’s harmless, weak as a baby.

The squeak of her rubber shoes sounded terribly loud on the floor as she walked across the hall. Jamming her hands into the pockets of her top, she closed one hand around a couple of pens, the other around the ring of keys.

Damn it, she felt like an idiot.

Cold chills ran down her spine as she drew closer to the door and for a second, she was tempted to run back to the desk and call security. Hell, idiot or not, this guy was dangerous—or had been, at one point. Why else would they have a cop on him?

Then she jerked her hands back out of her pockets and ran them through her hair. “He’s a patient. That’s what he is, Lani.” Reaching out, she pushed the door open.”

And found herself staring into his wide-open eyes—502B was awake all right.

Lying propped up in bed, as he had been when she’d made her rounds, but his eyes were now open and he lay there desperately sucking in air. His cadaverously thin face was covered with a sheen of sweat and he stared at her with those dead eyes.

Lani swallowed as she stared back at him.

Oh, yeah. She was calling security. It would only take Mike two minutes to get up there.

Chapter Five

She had run.

For two years, she had done nothing but move around the country. After abandoning her car, she had managed to buy a black Taurus. It was boring, especially after the Jag, but it didn’t draw attention, and she’d been able to pay cash for it.

That mattered. Because she hadn’t had to provide any ID or any personal information to get a loan. Just cash, to get a key and the title.

It was ten years old, and it took forever to warm up, but the motor ran smoothly, and it got her from point A to point B.

That was all that mattered.

One of the first things she had done after she’d slowed down from that first headlong rush was get a lawyer. Aleisha Williams had helped her get a new identity. She’d gotten her a social security card, established a believable history, and given Tracy all sorts of advice.