Wicked and Dangerous (12 page)

“That’s good to hear.” Decker smiled faintly. Nice to know that the good professor
had listened and understood.

Carly led him into a little den and picked up a few dirty glasses on the table—then
swiped a pair of her panties from the floor and shoved them behind her back pocket
with an even deeper flush. “I should thank you, in fact. He told me that Rachel didn’t
say much, but that you really set him straight.”

Which told Decker that the professor had gotten somewhere between frisky and freaky
with his girl in the last few hours, and that she was really pleased.

“He seemed distraught.”

Setting the dirty glasses in the adjacent kitchen, she rushed back to the den. “We’ve
had a rough time lately. We were going to get married a few weeks ago, actually. I
didn’t plan anything elaborate, just a small ceremony at the Justice of the Peace.
I think . . . I knew I wouldn’t go through with it. I kept thinking that it takes
two to tango, and Owen couldn’t tell me why Rachel left him. Somehow, I just knew
it was important that he understand. I think now he does. And I’m so glad.” She winced.
“Sorry to ramble. You don’t know me from anyone, and I’m blurting out my personal
life to you. Bad habit. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Let me go back and find Owen. I think he’s . . .” She blushed again. “I’ll be back.”

So Owen had been enjoying his postcoital nap when Decker had knocked on the door.
Nice.

As Carly disappeared into the bedroom, Decker contemplated what the hell he could
say to Rachel’s ex. What if this was the dead end he suspected? Yeah, he supposed
it was possible that Owen had been enraged that Carly had put a stop to their first
wedding because of what she perceived to be unresolved issues with Rachel. But Owen
really didn’t seem like the sort to deal with anger via violence. With logic and scientific
theory? Absolutely.

What the hell was he going to do next? Talk to Rachel. Why wait until Tuesday? He
had to tell her everything now—and tell her that he loved her. Let the chips fall
where they may. Decker raked a hand through his hair and rose, pacing the small room.
He didn’t know exactly when he’d lost his heart. Probably when she’d laughed at his
really terrible pick-up lines. He only knew that he couldn’t lose her now.

He was about to bolt for the front door when he spotted a framed photo on the wall.
Obviously taken a few years ago, Carly stood in a red cap and gown, smiling wide as
she held her college degree. Beside her, her parents stood, smiling proudly. But none
of that caught his eye. It was the man hovering just behind her.

Carly bopped back into the room. “Owen will be out in a minute.”

The toilet flushed, and the sound faded into the background. Decker’s world narrowed
and his heartbeat roared as he stared at the photo. “Who’s this in the picture with
you and your parents?”

“My brother Christian. Why?”

Decker’s blood ran cold. “Where is he now?”

She shrugged. “Um, he said something about putting in a few hours at his shop before
taking us to the airport.”

Monday.
Yeah, the guy would be at work. That fit. Decker breathed a sigh of relief because
he knew now that Christian Adams had been the man who hired him to commit murder.
And the asshole was occupied on the job and out of Rachel’s path. No reason to think
that if he wanted to hire a killer, he’d go do the work himself.

“Does your brother like Owen?”

“He’s been reserved so far, but I think he’ll come around now.” She nodded. “Christian
was pretty pissed when I called the wedding off, and I know he thought Owen was still
hung up on Rachel. He just wants what’s best for me, especially since our parents
passed away. But Owen and I are going to be so much better now. We decided today to
plan another wedding, a big one, next summer.”

Good. It would be awkward with big brother in prison, because Decker intended to nail
this asshole to the wall and make him pay for ever thinking about hurting Rachel.
But no need to clue Carly in on that now.

“Congratulations.” Decker opened his mouth to excuse himself when his phone buzzed.
It was Xander.

911. London says Rachel never showed for lunch. Is she with
you?

The text made his world stop on its axis.

“I’ve got to go.”

Decker didn’t wait for Carly’s reply, just ran for the door. He tapped out Rachel’s
iCloud password to track her phone. She should have been at the restaurant twenty
minutes ago, and the location of her phone indicated that she was home. Fear stabbed
his heart.

Dear God, let her be safe.

He hopped onto his bike, Carly chasing him, and called 911. After sending the police
to Rachel’s house, he shoved his helmet on with shaking hands. Revving the motor and
racing down the street, Decker prayed that he wasn’t too late.

EIGHT

AT THE FIRST STOPLIGHT AWAY FROM HER PLACE, RACHEL
reached over for her phone to text London that she was on her way. As she dug through
her purse, she remembered leaving it on the kitchen counter to charge. With a sigh,
she made a U-turn as soon as the light changed to green, then headed back to her house
to grab it—just in case Decker called. Yes, he’d said he’d be back after lunch. She
hoped he meant it because she wasn’t ready to be without him.

Gosh, she sounded awfully attached . . . and maybe a bit in love.

Wrestling with the realization, Rachel let herself in absently and headed to the kitchen,
pulling her phone from the power cord.

Suddenly, Val hissed low and loud, then let loose a cantankerous meow, snagging her
attention. When she turned to find out what was troubling her high-strung feline,
Rachel discovered a man of average height and build standing in her foyer with grease
under his fingernails, a determined look in his eyes . . .

And a gun pointed at her head.

She froze with terror. Her brain told her to scream, but the moment was like a bad
dream. She felt pinned, immobile. Useless.

Her assailant trekked closer, keeping both hands on the pistol and the barrel trained
right between her eyes.

“No. Please.” She hated whining pitifully, but it was instinct. “Don’t.”

Who was he? What did he want? How could she get out of this mess? A thousand thoughts
flew through her brain.

“Shut up,” he snarled, his dark, unkempt hair falling limply into his face. He wore
mechanics’ coveralls that proclaimed his name was Chris and an icy expression full
of murder.

“M-my wallet is out in my car. You can have—”

“I don’t want your money, bitch. I want you dead.” He spotted the phone in her hand,
then nodded at it. “Put that down and step away.”

She shook so hard that as she reached toward the counter, the phone rattled out of
her hand and skittered across the slick tile, plopping into the sink with a
thunk
that jolted her nerves. Though he wanted her to, Rachel couldn’t bring herself to
actually come closer to the violent stranger in her house. He stood between her and
the front door. He’d get multiple unobstructed shots off if she tried to dart down
the hall or toward the patio. He blocked her path to the front. The only place to
step was deeper into the kitchen.

Rachel trembled as she veered two deep lunges into the narrow galley, near the sink
and cutting boards.

And the knives.

Mercy, could she be brave enough to grab one and defend herself?

If it means the difference between life and death . . .

Good point.

“W-what do you want with me? Why kill me?”

He crept closer, still aiming that gun at her. “You’re in the way of my sister’s future,
slut. She and her fiancé can’t be happy because of you.”

“I don’t know who you mean.” She shook her head. “You have me confused with someone
else. I’m not involved with anyone—” Except Decker. Was he secretly engaged?

The man rubbed a greasy hand across his cheek. “Maybe you’re not involved with him
anymore, but Carly called off the wedding because she was sure that the professor
was still hung up on you. My sister has been through a hell of a lot, losing our parents
in the last year. If your sniveling ex-husband makes her happy, I’m going to make
sure she gets him. That means you’re going to die.”

Understanding dawned with terrible clarity. Rachel’s heart stuttered, and she shook
her head frantically. “You’re wrong. Owen isn’t hung up on me. He loves your sister.
He came to see me yesterday and told me how much he wants to make Carly happy. I don’t
want him back, and he doesn’t want me either, I swear! You don’t have to shoot me.”

“My sister was worried enough a few weeks ago to call off their wedding. If you’re
not around . . . problem solved.”

“Owen wants to marry Carly,” she insisted. “And I’m in love with someone else.”

Her attacker sent her a snide grin. “That slick guy with the sunglasses and the leather
jacket? The one who’s been in your bed since Saturday night?” He snorted. “You really
are a dumb bitch. I hired him to kill you.”

This time, Rachel’s heart stopped altogether. “What?”

No way could she have heard that right.

Chris nodded. “I gave him twenty-five grand on Saturday to have you dead quick. But
I’ve been watching. I guess he wanted to fuck you before he killed you. I can’t wait
on him anymore. If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

Rachel almost couldn’t process his words. Patient, passionate Decker was a contract
killer? His rough-around-the-edges demeanor didn’t hide a tender heart, but a brutal
one? He’d intended all along to watch her gasp her last breath?

Her first instinct was to refuse to believe it. No way. Decker wasn’t violent. He
was protective and would never hurt her. He had feelings for her, didn’t he? She would
have sworn that he did.

Why was he so persistent about picking you up in the bar Saturday night? Other women
were looking at him. Younger, prettier ones. More experienced ones. You wondered at
the time why he focused on you. This would explain it . . .

But she’d believed that whatever he felt was real. She would have bet her life on
it.

Apparently she had . . . and she’d lost.

Betrayal gashed open her chest. She felt so damn alone and frightened. Decker had
seduced her, intending all along to off her? For a brief second, she closed her eyes,
but when she tried to imagine him hurting her in any way, she only saw his face, his
understanding, his encouragement, his blue eyes filled with caring.

It didn’t add up. He’d had a hundred opportunities to kill her. He could have done
it in her sleep. He could have poisoned her when he brought her breakfast. And why
would he have introduced her to his friends or let her go to lunch with London if
he just wanted her six feet under? Granted, she didn’t really
know
everything about Decker, but she’d been sure that she had felt his heart. It had
been big and kind and caring. It had called to her own.

The click, the connection, the depth of her feelings . . . She refused to believe
it was all a lie. He’d shown her pleasure and consideration. Affection even. Why do
that, only to kill her? Before Decker she would have never believed that she was sexy
enough or special enough for him, but he’d made her see something different in herself,
in her heart.

Rachel refused to doubt her feelings for another minute. Maybe this psycho had mistaken
Decker’s identity. Maybe he’d been watching her and lied about Decker’s intentions
to throw her off her game. Heck, maybe ol’ Chris was just insane. Whatever the problem,
it was on him. Decker wouldn’t kill her.

But he also wasn’t here, so if she was going to make it through this encounter, it
was up to her now. She had to talk this guy off the crazy train and fend for herself
somehow, because she wasn’t ready to die.

“I-I’ll cut off all contact with Owen. I’ll change my number. I’ll move and not leave
a forwarding address, if you want.”

But the gunman was already shaking his head. “You moved out once. That didn’t pry
you from his mind. In fact, not being able to find you might only make him obsess
more. But knowing that you’re totally beyond his reach . . . Then he’ll have to move
on. And my sister will be there for him. They can finally get married and she can
be fucking happy. But Carly and Owen are flying home tonight.” He glanced at the clock
on the oven wall. “In fact, I’ve got to be back at my place to take them to the airport
in less than an hour. By the time they land, I want her to know that she has Owen
all to herself.”

And he intended to leave her lying lifeless in a pool of her own blood, staining the
white tile of her kitchen floor. No way was she going to let that happen.

Rachel swallowed, gathering her courage. Then she jumped him with a growl, shoving
him back toward the foyer with all her might.

He went careening back, flailing and trying to catch his balance. He reached out to
brace for his inevitable fall. The pistol fell from his grip, clattering to the hardwood
floor beneath him and sliding all the way to the front door as he landed on his butt
with a thud.

She didn’t wait for him to get his bearings, but darted back into the kitchen and
grabbed her biggest knife—a huge, serrated sucker. For insurance, she grabbed the
paring knife, too, and held it down by her thigh.

When he jumped to his feet and charged toward her with murder narrowing his menacing
eyes and his large hands outstretched like he meant to strangle her, she was ready.
Rachel knew that once he got his hands around her neck, he was too strong, and she’d
be done for. She’d never see her family or friends again. Mercy, her mother . . .
She’d miss Thanksgiving, Christmas, Shonda’s wedding. She’d never know her future,
her children, or see old age. She would never be able to tell Decker that she loved
him.

Oh hell no!

As the criminal came closer, she raced toward him again, big knife stretched over
her head. Rachel didn’t think she could kill him. She wasn’t sure she would be able
to live with that, no matter how terrible he was. The idea of sinking this into his
chest made her wince inwardly—but he didn’t need to know that.

She darted closer, and as she expected, her assailant grabbed her wrist and tried
to wrest the knife from her grip. She only had seconds and one chance to surprise
him. No way was she going to screw this up.

While he clamped down on her wrist, trying to make her release the wicked blade, Rachel
drove the paring knife into his thigh, seriously close to his groin. She hoped she
at least nicked something vital.

He screamed and dropped his grip from the wrist above her head, cupping his leg protectively.
“Bitch! I won’t give you an opportunity to cut me again.”

Blood dripped from the little knife and onto her fingers, onto the floor. Rachel watched
in horror as he managed to hobble away and went after his gun. She was either going
to have to chase him and finish him off . . . or let him shoot her dead.

She swallowed. Her heart thrummed, and fear laced her veins with ice. Her skin felt
tight. Her thoughts raced. Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? She could try to
pick up her phone and call the police, but she’d barely finish giving the 911 operator
her address before he’d be back with his gun to shoot her. Same if she tried to dart
out the back door to freedom.

No choice. She was going to have to hunt him down and snuff him out before he did
the same to her.

Steeling herself, she gripped both knives and rounded the corner from the kitchen,
into the long walkway to the foyer.

The thug stood there, frozen and bleeding.

In front of him, Decker stood, legs akimbo, arms outstretched, a gun in each hand.
“Don’t move a muscle, motherfucker. If you even twitch, it will give me a lot of pleasure
to put a bullet in your miserable brain.”

•   •   •

WELL AFTER THE
police had taken Christian Adams away in handcuffs for a trip to the hospital to get
some stitches, Rachel sat, drinking a cup of coffee for warmth. She was fully covered,
but she felt chilled to the bone. An EMT had wrapped a blanket around her after he’d
checked her out and doctored a cut on her finger. He’d cautioned her about some bruising
and given her something for her headache.

She had stabbed a man. In self-defense, yes. In her spinning thoughts, the moments
slowed and replayed in an endless loop. More than once since, she’d tried to wash
the blood from her hands, but she swore she could feel it seeping into her pores.
Christian Adams hadn’t given her a choice. He would have killed her if she hadn’t
fought back. That knowledge gave her peace of a sort. She’d finish reconciling it
all later.

In the interim, the police had taken her statement. They’d taken Decker to the back
of the house to get his separately, and she hadn’t seen him for hours. Carly and Owen
had come. Who’d called them or why, she had no clue. But her ex-husband’s fiancée
had been absolutely horrified at what her brother had attempted. The woman’s pleading
apologies ran through Rachel’s brain. But nothing sank in. Vaguely, she recognized
that Owen had stepped up for Carly and now seemed like the man she needed. He promised
her they’d get through this together and have a big wedding whenever she was ready.
The way Owen had looked at Carly, like she was his moon and stars, had made her really
happy for the couple. She wished them well. It wasn’t Carly’s fault that Christian
had taken it upon himself to think killing his sister’s man’s ex-wife was a good idea.
Rachel hoped that Owen and his fiancée could live happily ever after now, despite
the jail time Christian had coming. Someone should be happy.

The hope that it might be her looked increasingly dim.

The police told her that Christian had, in fact, hired Decker to kill her. They found
the twenty-five thousand dollars and the number of a disposable phone Christian had
purchased when they searched Decker’s belongings. In her head, she knew that must
mean everything between them had been a lie. He had likely conned her, and she’d eaten
up every morsel of the bait. She would just need time to recover, get over her anger,
grieve. Maybe a decade or two would be long enough to forget him.

The problem was, her own stupid heart insisted that what they’d shared was real. Even
if Decker hadn’t been completely honest, somewhere in the midst of his ruse, she’d
seen his heart, how good and kind and genuine he could be.

“You all right?” a woman’s gentle voice asked behind her. Rachel turned to find London
standing at her back, her pale hair loose over her slender shoulders. London draped
an arm around her with a face full of soft empathy.

Rachel wanted to crawl into a corner and lick her wounds, even as the thought pissed
her off. Where the hell was Decker so she could at least have a good scream at him?
How
dare
he lie to her and hurt her?