Wild Justice (26 page)

The “not commenting” part got harder when I walked into our room. The door opened into a living room with sofas, a full bar, and a massive window overlooking the gorgeous Chicago skyline. There was no way I couldn’t
not
say something, so I settled for, “This is
really
nice,” while walking to the window, giving him the chance to opt out of a reply, which he did.

“Got two bathrooms,” he said after a moment. “Figured that would make things easy. Take the bedroom one. Probably bigger.”

“All right.”

I headed that way, and I was almost to the door when Jack got in front of me, so fast he startled me.

“Um, about the bedroom,” he said. “Only one bed. Got a sofa bed, too. I’ll take that. Wasn’t a two-bed option. Just . . . wanted to let you know.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get ready then.”

“Right,” he said and stepped out of my path.

It took me a while. I might know how to do the dress-up thing, but I’m rusty. After thirty minutes, I realized I was putting our reservation in jeopardy and opened the door to tell Jack I was almost ready. The room was silent.

“Jack?”

No answer.

I slid from the bathroom to peek around the bedroom door. Yes, I was decent, but I wasn’t quite done yet and didn’t want to ruin that first impression.

“Jack?”

The room was empty. The other bathroom door was open and the inside light was off. I was looking around when I noticed a note on the table. I scampered over to it.

Of course I did rush. I took this as a subtle message that I was indeed late. So I finished getting ready and then hurried down.

Was I a little disappointed with the arrangement? Yes, I’ll admit it. I’d taken some serious effort to make an impression, and his first sight of me was going to be as I dashed out the hotel front door while he waited in the car. Worse yet, when I got down to the lobby the car wasn’t even there. Two vehicles idled out front—a BMW and a Jag.

Then the driver’s door on the BMW opened and Jack stepped out. He started to come around. As he turned toward me, getting a full look for the first time, he stopped. He stared. Then he caught himself and continued striding over to meet me.

I was trying not to stare myself. I’ve seen Jack dressed up. He’d worn a tux for the opera during a stakeout. At the time, I’d wondered how he’d carry off the look—it didn’t seem right for him. I’d been wrong. Jack looked as comfortable in a suit as he did in a biker outfit. It just brought out another side to that dangerous edge, making him look like he was ready to throw down in the boardroom rather than in a bar. Tonight he wore a sports coat and tie, but the effect was the same. Freshly shaven. Black hair gleaming. Wearing that suit like it came from his closet, not straight off a store rack. He looked good. Damned good.

“Something happened to our car,” I said as he reached me. “It must have been sitting in that parking garage too long. The other vehicles rubbed off on it.”

He smiled. He didn’t say anything, though, just put a hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the car as he leaned over to open the door. He didn’t say anything about my outfit, either. I didn’t expect him to. Before the opera, it’d been Quinn who’d told me how good I looked—multiple times. With Jack, I hadn’t even been sure he’d noticed. Now, he noticed. I could feel his gaze on me as I got into the car, and that was more flattering than anything he could have said.

When we reached the restaurant, I could see why he’d switched cars. If we’d driven our economy rental up to the valet, they’d probably have refused to park it. As it was, we fit right in. As we walked inside and through the restaurant, Jack’s hand still resting at my back, we caught some glances. Mostly women, checking him out, as discreetly as possible, given the venue. I earned some looks, too, and held my head a little higher. Most of the time, I’m happy to blend. I want to blend. Every now and then, though, under the right circumstances, a little attention is nice.

I’d been worried dinner might be awkward with both of us out of our comfort zone, but as soon as we were seated, we started talking as we would over any other meal. Except it wasn’t “any other meal.” We both knew that. The car, the restaurant, the dress, the suit . . . it all said that this wasn’t just dinner between friends.

We stayed at the restaurant until there was only one other table of diners left. When we finally stepped outside, the cool night air was as refreshing as any country breeze, and I paused a moment, drinking it in.

“Nice night,” Jack said as the valet hurried over.

I smiled. “It is.”

Jack motioned for the valet to wait. “You want to walk?” He shrugged off his jacket. “Saw a park over . . .” He glanced down at my shoes. “Something tells me those weren’t made for strolling.”

“Actually, on the scale of heels, these are as stroll-worthy as they come. I know my limits. I’d love a walk.”

Jack gave me his coat. I didn’t argue. As I put it over my shoulders, he spoke to the valet. He got the keys back and directions to the parking garage for later. Then he slipped the young man a tip and led me down the restaurant steps. When we reached the bottom, his hand brushed mine. I took it, and we headed out.

We talked a little as we walked, but mostly we just enjoyed the quiet and the empty streets. The park was only a block over. As we entered, I could see Jack’s gaze flickering about. We might be pretending we were just ordinary people out for an ordinary night under ordinary circumstances, but I still had a price on my head and I had just made contact with the guy who might have put it there.

It seemed safe enough, though. This end of the park was so quiet we’d hear footsteps if anyone approached. The thick trees made sniping from nearby buildings impossible. I hated having to even think about that tonight, but I had to.

Jack steered me down the most wooded path, where we’d be best hidden.

“So,” I said as we walked. “Am I allowed to thank you for dinner?”

A soft chuckle. “Yeah.”

“But I’m not allowed to show my appreciation in any way. Correct?”

I glanced at him as I said it. My voice was light, teasing. My look was not. Jack caught it, and I heard a faint intake of breath. His grip loosened on my hand and for a moment, I thought he was going to let go. But he only adjusted his hold, pulling me to a stop and turning me to face him.

“Depends,” he said. “You know that appreciation isn’t necessary?”

“I do.”

“And nothing was expected?”

“I do.”

“Then, if you wanted to—”

“I do,” I said, and I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed him.

I was sure he’d known how I planned to show my appreciation, but he just stood there, not reciprocating. I saw the jolt of surprise in his eyes and I thought,
Oh, shit!
I’d screwed up. I’d been so sure, so damned sure. The dinner, the car, the hotel . . . How the hell did that not mean what I thought it meant?

I pulled back fast. “Sorry. I-I thought—”

He cut me off, arms going around me, pulling me into a kiss that took any doubt, shredded it, and set the leftover bits on fire. The last time I was kissed like that— Oh, hell, I don’t know if I’d ever been kissed like that. When it finally broke, I was gasping.

“Okay?” he said.

“Oh, yeah.”

He chuckled and kissed me again, softer this time, his hands moving to my face, holding it in a long, sweet kiss.

When we parted for breath, I said, “I thought I surprised you there.”

“You did.”

“What did you think I was going to give you? A back rub?”

A light laugh. “No. Hoped you meant this. Didn’t expect. Sorry if I—”

“It’s okay,” I said.

I tugged him toward me until my back was against a tree. As my arms went around his neck, his dropped to my waist and then slid down as the kiss deepened, coming to rest on my ass, pulling me to him. Heat shot through me as I arched against the tree, lifting up to straddle him. His hands dropped lower then and pushed my skirt up. I felt a tickling whisper of cold air, disappearing as his hands cupped my ass.

I wanted him. Right there, and I didn’t care if it wasn’t anything I’d done before, if it was something I’d feel guilty about in the morning. The park was empty, and even if I hadn’t been certain of that, I’m not sure it would have changed my mind. All I could feel was the hunger of his kiss and the heat of his hands and the hardness of his body and I didn’t give a damn where we were.

When the kiss broke, I reached for a button on his shirt and murmured, “Yes?”

He hesitated.

I stopped. “Or no . . .”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Hell, yes.” He buried his face in my hair, kissing my neck as his hands gripped my ass, pulling me close. “Just don’t want to fuck up. You want a bed—”

“Next time.”

I undid his shirt as he kept kissing my neck. I couldn’t manage the tie, so I just shoved it aside, then slid my hands under his open shirt, his hard muscles moving under my fingers as he shifted, his lips moving to mine again. His hands shifted, too, tugging my panties down over my hips.

I reached down and pulled at his belt as my panties dropped to the ground, but his fingers moved across my thighs, which completely distracted me from my mission. I paused, realized I was pausing, and cursed as I reached for his belt again.

Jack laughed and broke the kiss. “Let me get—”

A light flickered, somewhere in the trees. We both saw it. And we both heard the click that followed.

“Down!” Jack said, grabbing me by the shoulders.

He pushed me down before I could get there myself. He dropped, too, covering me in a half crouch, his gun already out.

When we heard that click, I’m sure we both thought the same thing: gun. There was no accompanying shot, though. The park had gone silent. Jack stayed over me, scanning the trees. Then it came, the faint crackle of a dead leaf underfoot. Jack trained his weapon in that direction. We could see nothing except black trees against the night. Standing, we’d caught light from the path. Down here, it was completely dark.

When I started to move, Jack stopped me, hand on my shoulder.

“Gun,” I whispered. “In my bag.”

He paused, as if just realizing there’d been no way for me to conceal a gun under my dress. Hell, I think a tube of lipstick would have been noticeable.

“Got it,” he whispered. “Stay.”

He passed me his gun. I bit my lip to keep from arguing. I did, however, grab his jacket, which was lying beside me, and hand it to him, to put over his white shirt. He tugged it on and crept hunched over to where I’d let my purse fall.

I covered Jack as I continued scanning the landscape, still seeing nothing. The leaf crackle had come about twenty degrees away from the light flash and the click. If it was the same person, he was on the move. I listened for footsteps, but the ground here was too soft. I glanced at Jack. He was trying to find my purse—black against the dark ground.

Another crackle. A shape moved from behind the trees, less than fifteen feet away. An arm swung up. I caught the faintest glint of the lamplight against metal.

“Jack!” I said.

I fired. I had no idea if I’d seen a gun. It didn’t matter. I saw that arm raise. I saw a glint of something in a hand—twenty feet from Jack, pointing right at him, and I didn’t care if it was an assassin with a gun or a kid with a knife. I just didn’t.

Jack hit the ground as soon as I said his name. Two shots, mine a split second before the other. A soft grunt, my bullet hitting flesh. Then, almost in echo, a crack as the other bullet struck a tree.

Jack’s would-be attacker swung on me, gun going up. I saw a flash of a pale face under a dark hood. I fired again. My bullet hit him square in the chest. He stumbled back, grunting again.

A grunt and a stumble. Not the proper reaction to getting a bullet in the chest. The gunman was wearing a bulletproof vest.

Jack lunged at him as I shot a third time, aiming for his head, but he saw Jack coming and veered out of the way. He swung his gun around to shoot. I fired and hit him in the shoulder. There was a different sound now, a gasping hiss of pain. The man fired two rounds in quick succession. Jack hit the ground. The man took off running.

I started after him, but Jack leapt to his feet and caught the back of my dress.

“Hold up,” he said.

“But—”

“Let him run. Lots of room here. Got time.”

I nodded and scanned the ground. I caught sight of the chrome clasp on my purse and picked it up. I noticed something else, too—my panties. I grabbed them. Then I gave Jack back his gun after he finished buttoning his shirt.

“The guy’s wearing a vest,” I said.

“Yeah. Figured.”

“In other words, this wasn’t a random mugging.”

Jack gave me a look.

“I know. The chances of that were slim to none. I was being optimistic.”

“Yeah. Wish it was. Could just let him go.” He hefted his gun and checked to make sure I had mine out. “Ready?”

I nodded.

Our attacker may have been quiet when he ambushed us, but he wasn’t nearly as silent as he made his escape. Like the pro Roland sent to kill me at the lodge, clearly this guy had expected an easy mark. It probably even seemed as if he had one, when we strolled off from a romantic dinner to take an equally romantic walk through an empty park followed by a much more strenuous—and distracting—form of romantic activity.

Even when we hit the ground, he probably only thought we’d moved into a more gravity-friendly position. God only knows what he figured Jack was doing, fumbling around on the ground.

And when that bullet hit him? Well, I wouldn’t blame the guy if his shorts weren’t entirely dry after that shock. He’d recovered nicely, his hitman instincts kicking in. But now another instinct had taken over—the one that told him to get the hell out of that park before we put more bullets in his ass.