Naked Truth (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

Why had he chosen her? How long did he intend to stick around? With the crazy hours he was forced to keep, thanks to his current case, she ought to just give him a key to her house. That way, she wouldn’t have to stumble out of bed whenever he showed up in the middle of the night. She could just roll over, and he’d be there.

Tempting. Very tempting.

Except giving a man a key … that was not very casual. If she offered, Jack would probably react the same way he had when she suggested she didn’t like the fact that he put himself in harm’s way for his job.

So no key, then. Luckily, she only had one more day to work, and then she had a few off, so it wouldn’t be so disruptive when he knocked in the wee hours of the morning.

She finally stepped away from the door, conscious of the fact that a delicious-smelling steak dinner awaited, and quickly shed the scrubs and replaced them with a fitted t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. When she opened the door again, Jack was heading toward her. She stepped into the hall and he paused.

“Good call. I was pretty sure if I made it all the way into the bedroom, we wouldn’t come out for at least a half hour, and those steaks won’t taste nearly as good in half an hour.”

Kennedy smiled, feeling slightly off kilter and a lot bewildered by Jack’s behavior.

• • •

Dinner was pleasant.

They sat across from one another at the table on the covered back porch, an oscillating fan keeping the temperature pleasant and the bugs at bay. They shared a bottle of wine and ate steak, green beans sautéed with onions and garlic, and smashed redskin potatoes.

It was delicious, and the conversation was comfortable, stimulating even.

“Should you be telling me all this?” Kennedy asked after Jack informed her that they now suspected this last murder had involved two victims, and one body was as of yet unaccounted for.

“Probably not,” he admitted as he sipped his wine. “But since you’re the only one I’ve told, I’ll know who to blame if the media gets wind.”

“I won’t tell, I promise.”

“I figured as much. You seem to be handling it better than the other day.”

She smiled and sipped her wine. “Sabrina assures me the mortality rate for FBI agents is actually quite low.”

“You told Sabrina about us?”

About us? What are we, precisely? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. Instead, she shook her head and said, “No. We just talked in general terms, about Cullen’s job.”

Jack nodded. “I’m pretty sure the married guys tell their wives everything. I figure it’s okay to tell you.”

The comment hung in the air between them, turning an otherwise enjoyable and comfortable dinner suddenly awkward. She cleared her throat, finished her wine, and then stood up and began clearing the table. When Jack started to stand, she shooed him back into his seat.

“You cooked; I’ll clean.” The little bit of space and activity helped to alleviate the tension his comment had created. By the time she’d loaded the dishwasher and set it to run, Jack had wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, a hungry look in his eye.

“I was sort of hoping I could sleep in your bed again tonight,” he said as he began advancing toward her, the hungry look intensifying.

“Oh,” she said and let the silence spin out. She had nothing else to offer.

He backed her up against the sink, almost leisurely rubbing his erection against her. She gasped. The man went from zero to ready in the course of seconds, it seemed.

“It’s you,” he whispered into her ear, as he brushed her hair out of the way so he could nibble there. “I think I’m obsessed.”

He dipped his head and caught her earlobe between his teeth. She placed her palms against his chest, smoothed them down to his waist, and then slipped her hands under his shirt. He murmured his appreciation.

His shirt came off. So did hers. The bra was next. He tugged her hair out of the braid it had been in for work. She worked to get the snap and zipper of his jeans undone. They never left the kitchen.

And then his phone rang.

“Shit,” he muttered as he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.” As he turned away from her, he tugged his jeans over his hips, and pulled the zipper up so they’d stay there.

• • •

“Yeah?”

“We have a body.”

“Just a body, or the body? Because if we aren’t at least eighty percent certain, I’m sort of busy here.” He glanced over his shoulder. Kennedy leaned back against the counter, her beautiful, naked breasts thrust out far too invitingly. He almost groaned out loud.

“Get off what’s her name, and get your ass over here,” Cullen snapped. “Since you obviously aren’t at home, come to my place. We’ll go from here.”

He disconnected the call, and Jack turned back to Kennedy, every movement indicating the regret he felt at being forced to leave. She bent over and retrieved both shirts. “It’s okay,” she assured him as she pulled the t-shirt over her head.

“It’s really not,” he muttered as he buttoned his shirt.

“It’s your job. I get it.”

He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her close. “You really are awesome, you know that?”

“That’s nice to hear.”

Unless he was very much mistaken, she sounded … surprised by his off-the-cuff compliment. “I’ll show you just how awesome you are. Later. I have no idea how long this will take, though. Is there a point that’s too late?”

She laughed. “Are you seriously asking that question? You’ve come knocking on my door practically every hour between midnight and five
a.m.
for the last, what? Three days?”

He frowned. “I hate waking you up.”

“Isn’t that why you come over?” she teased.

“Do you have an extra key? That way you won’t have to get out of bed.”

And for the second time that evening, he’d made a statement that hung in the air between them. The worst part was, he wasn’t deliberately trying to confuse the situation. He just felt so damn comfortable around her that he kept—ironically—making the situation uncomfortable.

But he didn’t take it back. Especially when, after a brief hesitation, she walked over to the key ring holder attached to inside of the cupboard nearest to the back door and pulled a key off one of the hooks.

“Front door,” she said as she held out her hand, palm up. The key was attached to a small metal chain, a carving of the state of Texas dangling from the end.

He grabbed her entire hand and hauled her close again. He kissed her, and then stepped away. The key chain was no longer in her hand. “I’ll see you later,” he promised, and then he hurried toward the front door.

• • •

“It’s been every night since we went undercover, hasn’t it?” Cullen asked as he guided his truck onto the shoulder on the side of a narrow, two-lane road.

Jack climbed out of the truck. “Do you have a point?”

“Just that I hope you’re protecting yourself. I don’t imagine the groupies who follow those guys are exactly … pure.”

“Yes, Dad, we’re using protection,” Jack drawled, as they headed toward a group of uniformed officials gathered around the top of a deep cement culvert.

“We’re?” he repeated. “As in one? Are you telling me you’ve been sleeping with the same woman all this time?”

Jack ran his hand through his hair. “Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’ve been sleeping with the same woman for more than a month now.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Can we focus here? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can both get back to a woman’s warm bed.”

“Point well taken,” Cullen replied, and both men turned to greet the officer who was striding toward them.

The cement culvert was a drainage ditch. During dry weather, it was generally empty, with no more than a small trickle of water down the center. But when it rained in Louisiana, it generally poured, and it was difficult for the clay soil to soak up so much rain up very quickly. The culverts were designed to take on the excess water until the earth was able to absorb it. During a typical rain shower, a six-foot deep culvert could fill with rushing water in a matter of minutes.

The local cop who had called them was young and didn’t carry the cloak of animosity that most local law enforcement officials tended to carry when the feds showed up to take over the show.

“I’m the one who called you about Hillary Beauregard,” he explained, shaking each man’s hand in turn and introducing himself as Xavier. “The lady who lives in the house over yonder”—he pointed at a worn, brick ranch home that was about sixty yards away—“her cat came home with a prize this evening. She expected a mouse, which she said was pretty typical of the cat. What she got was a finger.”

Not good.

“Deputy who was called to the scene flashed his light down into the culvert and thought he saw something. Climbed down to check it out and found the body stuffed into a hole in the grates, just inside the tunnel there.”

The tunnel ran under the road. The grates were supposed to keep the area from becoming a place for homeless people to live, or dead bodies to be dumped.

“Have we verified ID?” Jack asked.

“Yes, sir. It’s Hillary Beauregard. Twenty-six-year-old Caucasian female. From Slidell, Louisiana. Time of death still to be determined, although I’m guessing it was about fifteen hours ago.”

“Give or take,” Jack grimly confirmed, and then he and Cullen made their way down into the culvert to have a look at what was left of what they suspected was their killer’s latest victim.

“Nothing substantial on the necklace yet,” Cullen remarked several hours later when he pulled his truck into the driveway at his home and cut the engine. “It’s pretty standard grade, although the diamonds are real. Mass-produced for nearly every chain retail store on the planet. The only viable prints were the dead woman’s.”

Jack blew out a frustrated sigh. “Damn it. This perp is really getting to me. Now I’m starting to develop your damn intuition. I have a bad feeling something is about to happen soon.”

“We’ll be prepared if it does. I convinced the club to let our guys install cameras. They’ll be up and running by the time the doors open on Wednesday.”

“That’s good.”

“Just adds hours to our day, though. We’ll be the ones who get to go through all that tape.”

“It’ll be worth it if we can shut this one down. Sooner rather than later. I don’t like this feeling.” Jack rubbed his chest, as if he had heartburn. “You can take it back. This is supposed to be your forte.”

Cullen chuckled as he twirled his keys around his finger. “Maybe you’re just growing up, partner.”

“Go to hell, Cullen.”

“See ya.”

Jack climbed into his own truck. And headed to Kennedy’s house. As if there was any doubt whatsoever where he would end up tonight. Especially now that he had a key, which he’d already attached to his key ring. He’d even kept the little Texas pendant. It was kind of cute.

He debated stopping by his place to grab some clothes, maybe his toothbrush. But he’d been using a spare toothbrush at her house for the past few nights anyway, and he could always stop at home tomorrow while she was at work. Right now, all he could think about was getting back to her, getting naked with her, and connecting with her in his most favorite way.

She was asleep by the time he arrived. She was curled up in the bed, with one arm stretched across to the other side, as if she missed him being there.

He smiled. He liked that idea. He shed his clothes and slipped between the sheets next to her. She immediately curled into him, as if … as if he belonged there.

The thought gave him pause, and instead of pulling her awake with his hands and mouth on strategic parts of her body as he intended, he simply lay there; he simply enjoyed the feel of her sleeping next to him. It felt good. Really good. He couldn’t decide what to think about that.

He fell asleep. He must have, because the next thing he recalled was being jerked awake by a sound. At least, he thought he heard a sound.

Yep, there it was. The slide of a shoe on the tile floor. A gentle scrape. Possibly a knife being unsheathed?

Someone was in the house.

Jack glanced at Kennedy, still blissfully sleeping, and said a quick prayer of gratitude that he’d decided to spend the night instead of going back to his own place. He couldn’t even let his mind go to where it was trying to at that moment—imagining if she had been here alone, with an intruder breaking into her home.

He silently rolled out of the bed and managed to tug on his jeans. He grabbed his gun from the bedside table, where it was always within reach, and quietly slipped out of the room.

Light spilled from a nightlight she kept on in the bathroom, enough that Jack saw the movement of a shadow. The housebreaker was still in the kitchen. He crouched low and made his way in that direction.

He paused at the end of the hall, his senses sharp, listening intently. The kitchen was silent. He peeked his head around the corner, but no one was within sight. Keeping low, he headed toward the living room, figuring the intruder probably came in through the sliding glass door, which Kennedy must have forgotten to lock before she went to bed earlier. He made a mental note to give her a lecture on personal safety in the morning.

His focus was off. He didn’t see the movement until it was too late. The perp stepped out from where he’d been tucked behind a cabinet and charged with a knife held high. Jack dropped to the ground, tried to roll to the side, and managed to mostly get out of the way of the blade. He felt the pain as the knife sliced his skin, but he was certain the injury wasn’t life-threatening.

He twisted his body and lifted the gun, prepared to shoot, but the perp came at him a second time. Damned fearless, this one was. He pulled back the gun and rolled to the side. By the time he was again in position, the perp was running for the screen door.

“Freeze!”

Not surprisingly, the perp didn’t listen. Jack reached for the phone that was lying on the bedside table in the bedroom instead of stuffed into his pocket, and then dropped his head back against the floor, because he knew by the time he made the call or tried to go after him, the perp would be long gone. Plus, his shoulder was starting to hurt. So he climbed laboriously to his feet and headed for the bedroom instead.