Midnight Vengeance (19 page)

A rough rumble. Jacko chuckling. It was a charming sound that went straight to her sex. She contracted around his finger and he stopped chuckling. His finger entered more deeply and she contracted again, hard.

His penis pulsed, became somehow harder.

Jacko blew out a breath. He withdrew his finger, slid it back in, and she felt electric pleasure. Her fisted hand slid down to the root of his penis, back up. He was so aroused his hips moved with her hand. When he made a sound of helpless pleasure she did it again, and again.

His finger was sliding in and out of her now, thumb circling her clitoris. She contracted around him so hard her stomach muscles pulled and she moved straight into orgasm just as his penis enlarged even more around her hand and he started coming too, in great pulses she could feel under her hand, jetting all over her stomach.

Her head tilted back against the pillow, all of her concentrated on his hand between her legs, inside her, stroking her as sparks of sensation so strong they were almost painful shot through her. He was stroking her harder, faster.

“Don’t stop, honey. Ah, God...” His hips were moving fast and he groaned when she tightened her fist.

Lauren cried out, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, her body now completely out of her control. Her heart hammered and she felt close to blacking out. Jacko gave a shout, pulsed one more time and stilled. He was sprawling on her now, a complete deadweight, his heavy torso making her ribs creak.

Lauren lifted her hand, which weighed several tons, and caressed the back of his head. “God,” she murmured. It was only foreplay and she was exhausted.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Just as soon as I get some blood back to my head we’re going to do that again, only better.”

Lauren smiled in the dark, remembering what Claire had said about her husband. “Any better than that and I’ll pass out.”

* * *

Slowly, her senses returned. She became aware of the pinging on her bedroom window as the snow turned to sleet, loud in the deep quiet of the house. She pulled in a deep breath, the scent of Jacko mixed with her potpourri heady and exciting. By now his scent worked on her limbic system like pellets to a hamster. She felt lax, but energized, a crazy feeling, but good-crazy not awful-crazy. Actually, she felt good all over, joyful and hopeful all at once.

She turned her head slowly and watched Jacko sleep. He slept like he did everything—intensely. He was utterly still, fierce face slightly relaxed in repose. When he slept he looked younger, without that eternal vigilance. It occurred to her that maybe he was closer in age to her than she thought. He seemed like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes but that was because of the soldiering. When he woke up, she had to ask him how old he was.

When he woke up, she was going to ask him a lot of things, of this man she was unexpectedly going to be living with.

That was another thing. Living with Jacko. She barely knew him but the thought didn’t scare her, not a bit. She lay there, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, turning that thought over and over in her mind.

Sharing her life with Jacko. Not being alone anymore, as she’d been these past two years. True, Suzanne and Allegra and Claire had simply pushed themselves into her life and she’d be eternally grateful that they never accepted no for an answer. Because of course she’d tried to push them away, gently, for their own sakes. Finding peace only when she closed the door of her little house behind her and she was on her own. Only it hadn’t been peace, not really. It had only been emptiness, an emptiness that stretched out before her for her entire lifetime.

She’d been alone much more than the last two years though, she realized now. Maybe her entire life. Because she’d never felt like she did now, with Jacko by her side. He was like a rock. A sexy rock.

So much to look forward to. Coming home to Jacko, who had a strong, vibrant personality behind all that impassivity. Jacko who cared for her. Jacko who would accompany her anywhere, including to movies of ungodly boredom. She smiled at the thought of dragging him to that tedious Danish film. He’d sit through it with her, if that was what she wanted, and he’d pay attention, and he’d talk about it with her afterward.

That took courage.

A lot to look forward to. Someone to care for. Someone to care for her. Someone to have meals with, do things with, someone to share the cares of the day with.

She wasn’t
alone
anymore. It was almost impossible to process. She’d been alone for so long. Most of her life, in fact.

From the living room came the sound of the opening bars of
The Four Seasons
. Her cell phone. She slipped out from under Jacko’s heavy arm and out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown.

Closing the bedroom door quietly behind her, Lauren rushed to catch the phone.

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Paul Andrews. May I speak with Ms. Lauren Dare?” The voice was a pleasant tenor, very Eastern Seaboard, very posh. A light tenor. The farthest thing from Jacko’s Texas basso profundo possible.

“This is Lauren Dare. How did you get this number?” she asked suspiciously. Because she did not give it out easily. Perhaps ten people had the number.

“Ah—Suzanne Huntington gave it to me, I—I hope that is all right? I met with her this afternoon for a commission.” The male voice suddenly quavered.

She took a deep breath.
Start as you mean to go on
. She’d just been handed her life back. Being paranoid and unpleasant would ruin her as surely as Jorge had tried to ruin her.

“Yes,” she said, voice normal. “Of course. How may I help you?”

This must be Suzanne’s three o’clock. The one who had looked at Jacko the way a shark looks at chum.

He must have been reassured that he hadn’t been given the number of a crazy woman. “I am proceeding with a project together with Ms. Huntington—the decoration of the penthouse in the Sorenson building. And I happened to see the show of your pictures of the homes decorated by Ms. Huntington, and I absolutely want to commission your work for the penthouse. I will have offices there and I want the artwork on the walls to be yours. I would have made an appointment tomorrow during normal office hours to begin the process but unfortunately I have been called to New York. An emergency. But I wanted to have a provisional agreement before leaving. My plane is departing later this evening, and I wonder if you could spare me ten minutes of your time. I assure you I am prepared to pay you handsomely for your work and would pay you a thousand dollars just to meet me now. What do you say?”

Wow. The penthouse of the Sorenson Building. Undoubtedly the priciest piece of real estate in Portland, in all of Oregon. Landing a commission to create illustrations, landing a
well-paying
commission...well.

Start as you mean to go on.
She wanted, more than anything, a life. A successful life, doing work she enjoyed, living with Jacko. No more running, no more hiding her light under a bushel, keeping her head low.

She was free. And she had a new life to build.

“Certainly,” she said crisply. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Where do you live?”

She forced herself not to hesitate. Suzanne had given him her number. Jacko was with her. It was crazy to think twice about it.”1124 Evergreen. It’s near Warren Square—”

“I just put the address in my GPS, and it appears that I am not far from you. I could be there in fifteen minutes. So, may I come over? As I said, I will just take a few minutes of your time, which will be recompensed. Can you accept a check?”

“Yes, I can accept a check. And I look forward to our meeting.”

Lauren had to hurry to make herself professionally presentable but before that, she had to let Felicity know she was okay. It had been on her mind a lot, that she hadn’t contacted her virtual friend.

Taking her laptop out of its bag, she set up on the dining room table. In an instant she was diving into the depths of Tor.

Runner: Man, things are happening.

Felicity: Yeah, saw on the news. Your bad guy imploded, suicide by cop. What an idiot. We sure he’s really dead?

Runner: Yeah.

Felicity: You sure he’s not a Time Lord. Won’t be coming back?

Runner: No. So I’m safe. Back in my house.

Felicity: With Captain America?

Lauren smiled. Jacko as Captain America. Well, why not? Except for the fact that he hadn’t been encased in ice since World War II and didn’t have a magic shield...yeah. The same.

Runner: Um, yeah.

Felicity: What’s it feel like?

Runner: What does what feel like?

Felicity: Being safe. What does it feel like?

Runner: Good. Really good. Like someone has given me my life back.

Felicity: That must feel fantastic. Really...fantastic.

Runner: Will tell you all about it later. Bfn.

“Who was that on the phone?” a deep voice asked behind her.

Lauren whirled, heart in mouth. A very naked and very aroused Jacko was standing right behind her. As always he moved incredibly quietly.

“God!” She put a hand over her heart. “You have to learn to make some noise when you move, Jacko. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She waved a hand at him. “And, um, put some clothes on because
that
will definitely give me a heart attack.”

“Who was it?” he repeated, going back into the bedroom.

“Dress fast. That was a client of Suzanne’s. He has to leave unexpectedly but wanted to talk to me first, about a freelance assignment.”

She entered the bedroom, went to her open suitcase and chose a soft turquoise sweater and black slacks. Perfectly respectable for someone who is in her own home.

Jacko was dressing too, putting the clothes he’d been wearing back on. Lauren deliberately didn’t look at him because, well...a naked Jacko was a sight, and seeing him cover up was a real shame.

He pulled up his jeans and she winced because he went commando. But he zipped up decisively without catching one hair, which showed real dexterity.

“How’d he get your number?” He pulled his long-sleeved black tee back on. Jacko never seemed to feel the cold.

Lauren applied fresh lipstick, combed her hair. Ideally she would have showered but there was no time. There’d be time after, though. Hmm. It was early evening. She had the makings of sandwiches and there were still a few beers in the fridge. Maybe they could watch TV once this man had left. Sandwiches on the coffee table, a nice action flick...

She hugged herself secretly. God, she thought that kind of thing had gone from her life forever. Such a simple thing really—watching TV on the couch with Jacko, laughing, munching. So simple, yet it seemed like heaven to her. Jacko would have some quirky take on the plot. He’d probably critique the weaponry.

“Lauren.” Jacko’s voice had gone deadly quiet.

“Hmm?”

“How’d this guy get your number?” He stood stock still in her bedroom, glaring fiercely at her.

“Oh, Suzanne gave it to him. What are you doing?”

He had his cell out, clicked a number on speed dial. “Checking.” She could hear the voice mail message across the room. Instantly, Jacko dialed another number, probably John. Voice mail.

“Wait.” Lauren laid a hand on his forearm. She could practically hear his muscles quivering. “They were going to some theater thing this evening. Suzanne designed the lobby of the theater. I remember John grumbling about going. I think he has a limit of one cultural event per month and
Inside/Out
was it, so he’s pissed. But don’t worry. Andrews had an appointment with Suzanne, and she knew she could give my number out.”

Jacko’s jaw muscles jumped as he sat down on the bed to put his boots back on.

Start as you mean to go on.

Lauren sat quietly on the bed beside him, a hand on his massive shoulder. Oh man, touching him was fantastic. It made her feel safe and excited all at once.

“Jacko.” She stared at him as he kept his face stubbornly in profile, not looking at her. His vibe was strange. Not anger. Could it be—did Jacko do anxiety? “I understand what you feel, believe me I do. But I need—I really, really need—to put this behind me and start living a normal life. I love designing book covers but it’s indoor work. I really enjoyed creating those renderings of Suzanne’s designs. I think it might be a lucrative sideline. I think this man is going to offer me a contract. And more might follow.” She swallowed. The next words hurt, because they expressed a wish, and it had been two long years in which she had never dared to think of anything beyond survival. No desires allowed, just getting from one day to the next. “I want this. Very much.”

He’d finished lacing up his boots and his head hung down as he stared at his knees. A heavy sigh. “Okay.” His deep voice was quiet.

Her doorbell rang. She sat and looked at him for a long moment. He looked sideways at her without lifting his head.

“Doorbell.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“You should—you should get it.”

A rush of joy pulsed through her. It was going to be okay. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

New Jacko followed her out her bedroom door. It was going to take a while to train him not to be paranoid all the time, just some of the time, but she was hopeful. She texted Suzanne—
your three o’clock wants artwork—
and sent it as she walked to the door.

Jacko had installed a video intercom for her. She saw a perfectly innocuous man on the screen. Pale, looking cold and anxious. Well, he said he had a plane to catch.

She switched on the speaker. “Yes?”

He turned eagerly to the speaker grill. “Ms. Dare? My name is Paul Andrews? Suzanne Huntington gave me your name and cell phone number? I’m here to speak briefly about a commission?”

Each sentence was couched as a question. Face scrunched with anxiety.

Lauren swung wide the front door, Jacko right behind her. “How do you do, Mr.—” she began.

He stepped smartly into the room, took a gun out of his pocket, aimed at Jacko and shot twice. Jacko fell heavily to the ground.

Lauren stood still, too shocked to move.

The man pivoted to her. She saw the syringe too late. Something stabbed deeply and painfully into her neck and she simply switched off.