Explosive (The Black Opals) (6 page)

Despite the sudden shaking that invaded her limbs, she managed to keep her voice calm.
“Thank you for your advice. I will certainly take it into consideration while I’m writing my letter to the Bar Association.” She keyed the ignition. With courage she didn’t feel, she added, “Don’t threaten me again, Mr. Bryer.”

Before he could squeak out another slimy protest, Alyssa terminated the call.
Her false bravado fled, and she dropped the phone into her lap, her hands now shaking. For the first time all day, she was grateful Brice had the wherewithal to have Jayce analyze their security system. It would make her feel forty times better once she knew, without question, that she and Brice were the only ones aware of the design and access codes.

As she twisted to reverse out of her parking spot, a muscle cramped in her side.
She winced, waited for the pain to pass, and exhaled long and slow. The whole day had her in knots. Wine and her bathtub wouldn’t cut through the tension that invaded her body. She needed a massage. A chance to clear her head completely.

Alyssa picked up her phone again and dialed Brice.
He answered on the second ring, “Hey, gorgeous.”

“I’m going to the spa.
Parker’s asshole attorney just called me.”

Immediate concern filled his voice.
“What happened?”

“He threatened me, Brice.
They want me to fabricate reports that won’t reflect poorly on him and hide the originals.”

A stream of curses drifted through the phone before Brice found the ability to tame his instantaneous anger.
“That son of a bitch. Give me a few to make some calls.”

“Don’t bother.”
She sighed as she turned onto the main road. “His word against mine. I’m not even an attorney, and I know how that will go. I just want to unwind for a bit. I’ll see you around dinner time.”

“Okay, babe.
Hang in there. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Somehow, she doubted his conviction.
Jayce had already turned her world on end. “Right. I’ll see you later.”

S e v e n

H
alfway up the pavestone path that led to McTavish’s front door, Jayce halted as loud country music blared in chorus with the sound of an approaching vehicle on the street. He turned as a bright yellow Hummer pulled into the drive. McTavish’s elbow rested on the open window, and he waved as he braked to a stop. The godawful music wound down into the
click-click
of a cooling engine. Jayce folded his arms over his chest, waiting.

“Sorry I’m late,” McTavish called as he slid out of the SUV and closed the door.
The alarm beeped twice.

“Just got here.”
Jayce fell into step behind him, following to the front porch. His gaze canvassed the tidy white columns, matching shutters on wide front windows, and the subtle planks of astute grey siding. “Nice place.” His focus zeroed in on the key McTavish inserted into the lock,
not
the passcode he
should
be tapping into a security pad. “Okay, so cut the crap—with you working for a mob boss, why the hell don’t you have home security?”

McTavish shrugged and opened the door.
“Never worried about it.”

Entering the cool front foyer, boots clicking on a polished marble floor, Jayce arched an eyebrow.
“Never worried about it? What kind of asinine remark is that?”

McTavish’s chuckle drifted over the tick-tock of the grandfather clock to the left of the door.
He tossed a wry grin over his shoulder. “When you’re working for the threat, there’s not much reason to worry about safety.”

Until you pissed the threat off.
But McTavish was no idiot, and Jayce suspected pointing out the obvious wouldn’t accomplish anything worthwhile. McTavish knew he’d been stupid. That Jayce was here now was proof enough.

“Come on back.
I’ve got beer in the fridge.”

“Ah, I should probably get to work.”
And get the hell out of here before Alyssa left the office.

McTavish tossed his keys on the formal dining table and waved Jayce into the living room.
“Oh, come on, surely you can spare a few minutes to kick one back. My dinner plans are toast—Alyssa has errands to run.” He meandered into the kitchen as he talked.

Jayce’s apprehension faded by several degrees.
Still, hanging out with McTavish given what had just transpired with Alyssa didn’t rank on his list of desirable pastimes. He opened his mouth to offer a suitable excuse, but returning from the kitchen, McTavish beat him to words.

“So Jasmine’s getting married?”
He thrust an open, frosty bottle of Sam Adams in front of Jayce’s nose.

Jayce accepted the offering, took a swig, and nodded.
“To some peacock who probably squeals over spiders.”

McTavish’s grin flashed over the rim of his bottle before he slugged back a drink.
He motioned for Jayce to follow him to the couch and sat down, his feet propped on the table top. Jayce dropped into the opposite chair.

“Leave it to your sister.
Shame she wasn’t more like you and Jordan.”

Jayce waited for the customary question that had always accompanied any mention of
Jordan:
How’s she doing, man?
She still single?
Strangely, though, this time the questions didn’t come. Ten years really had changed them all. Jayce turned his bottle in his hands, staring at the watery label. “Jordan’s good,” he volunteered, uncertain how to continue.

“She still dancing?”
A faint touch of McTavish’s old curiosity registered behind his eyes.

“Yeah.
She’s got the lead in
Nutcracker
this year.”

“Good deal.
I’ll have to check that one out.”

He wouldn’t—Jayce could tell by the tone of his voice.
But then, his time in the Black Opals taught him how to read between the lines, how to hear unspoken truths. And though experience should have kept him from being disheartened, McTavish’s obvious disinterest in Jordan, the girl he’d never quite put out of his head in high school, disheartened Jayce. Growing up sucked. He sighed inwardly.

After a few moments of silence, McTavish asked, “So how’d you get into security?”

“Answered an ad.” Jayce couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d been working on a renovation at a CIA civilian office, when the suits, the salaries, and the proposition of not living hand-to-mouth became enchanting. He’d thought he had been applying for an IT position. But his test scores and psych exams placed him elsewhere. Before he’d fully realized what kind of contract he was signing, he found himself whisked away to DC and buried in the belly of the intelligence community.

He chugged another cold gulp.
“And you? How’d you get into law school?”

This time, McTavish smirked.
“Took a criminal justice class.”

That bit of news was enough to surprise Jayce.
McTavish, who’d always had one foot on the wrong side of the law? “A cop?”

“Thought about it for a bit.”

It made sense then—a cop shop would have been too restrictive for McTavish. As an attorney, he could bend the law without ever breaking it. Perfect for the almost-criminal kid. Defending those who committed the crimes? Even better. Jayce grinned. “Still doesn’t tell me how you ended up working for Delfranco.”

McTavish tossed back the rest of his beer and stood.
He gestured at the bottle Jayce held. “Want another?”

“I’m good.”

With a nod, McTavish wandered to the kitchen once more. Glass rattled as the fridge opened. “I started with the D.A. Delfranco was up on charges of forgery. He could have gotten off easily if his attorney hadn’t been in our pocket. I couldn’t deal with that.” He returned to the room, opened bottle in hand, and resumed his spot on the couch. “There’s justice that’s won fair and square. Skewed justice ain’t my ballgame. I told Delfranco. He offered me the job.”

“And you’ve been there ever since.”
Jayce reclined, tossing his own boots onto the coffee table. His gaze cut to McTavish, suddenly sharp. “And Alyssa? What’s she got that the cops want?”

For an instant, Jayce would have sworn McTavish squirmed in his seat.
The way he abruptly focused on the ceiling fan, his fingers plucking away at the loose label on his beer, set off Jayce’s survival instincts. He narrowed his gaze, convinced McTavish was hiding something. “Is she tied in with Delfranco?”

Sighing, McTavish shook his head.
“She’d probably be better off if she were.”

Better off?
Apprehension slid over Jayce. No one could be
better off
mixed up with a notorious mob boss. He arched an eyebrow but remained silent. Experience taught him people volunteered more without specific questioning.

“James Parker.”

The name hit Jayce like a lead fist. Parker had been a key person of interest in several investigations. Jayce hadn’t heard details, knew only bits and pieces of each case. The barest minimum, and only because he’d happened onto conversations. Still, enough to realize Alyssa wasn’t exactly disconnected from corrupt money and power. Parker’s arrest had made too many people on both sides of the law fidgety.

Concern for her brought Jayce upright and his boots to the floor.
He eyed McTavish warily. “You don’t think that was just a random break in, do you?”

“Not sure.
Better safe than sorry, right?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”
Too many years of intimate experience with McTavish’s ability to talk around things hardened Jayce’s voice.

He shrugged.
“Nothing really.”

“But you suspect something.”

McTavish shook his head. “Sorry, Jayce.” He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid I have to pull the confidentiality card here.”

Son of a bitch.
If he had any kind of idea the level of security clearance the Black Opals held, or just what sorts of secrets they were expected to keep, his confidentiality clause wouldn’t amount to crap. The man knew something. Something that had him suddenly reevaluating his own personal security.

Alyssa’s too.

A chill wafted down Jayce’s spine. He wasn’t dealing with a simple break-in gone awry. No kids pilfering through desk drawers in hopes of finding the night cash drop. This was the kind of shit made for Black Opal work, particularly given it might include Delfranco or Parker. Only Jayce was the wrong man for the job. McTavish needed someone who specialized in security, not someone who knew bombs. Time for a phone call to Clarke.

“Tell you what.”
Jayce set his empty bottle on the table. “It’s getting late. I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m starved. I’ll come back in the morning. There’s a guy I know—I’d like him to take a look at your setup with me.”

“Why?”

The speculation in McTavish’s quiet stare was enough to make Jayce want to fidget. He resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his jeans and forced a chuckle. “Someone will have to maintain it when I leave, right?”

“I guess I thought—”

The opening of the front door silenced whatever McTavish had intended to say. He stood, a grin spreading across his face, and tossed Jayce a wink. “Hungry, you said? Looks like the spa didn’t happen.”

Alyssa.

Her perfume hit Jayce before her shadow ever neared the doorway. His gut cinched into a knot. His heart stalled, then stuttered into an unsteady rhythm. He couldn’t sit here and watch her walk into the room, greet McTavish like the lovers they were, and pretend nothing had happened in her office. He pushed to his feet, prepared to make a speedy exit.

Alyssa stepped through the entryway.
The warm smile that softened her expression rested briefly on McTavish, before her gaze skidded to Jayce and her smile vanished. Awareness sparked in the depths of her rich brown eyes. Unspoken acknowledgement of the desire that had raged between them…and still glowed like abandoned embers on a field of dry grass. Silent truths flowed between them, confessions Jayce felt certain McTavish could hear.

One look.
One not-so-simple stare, and Jayce burned for her all over again. He looked away, only to find McTavish glancing between the both of them, one eyebrow arched.
Aw hell.
Jayce cursed inwardly.

“I thought that was your truck outside.”
A veil tumbled across Alyssa’s expression. Her smile returned effortlessly. She crossed to McTavish and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“No spa?” McTavish asked as he returned the affectionate gesture.

Jayce stuffed a hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Enough—he refused to be party to this. He was damned if he’d be part of this particular deliberate duplicity. Whatever arrangement they might have, he refused to participate and wound a friend who’d never been anything but loyal.

“Decided I’d rather take my frustrations out in the kitchen.”
She turned to Jayce once more. Again, her eyes sparked knowingly. She gestured at his empty beer bottle. “I see you’re nursing yours. Can I get you another?”

“I was just leaving.”
Jayce gritted his teeth and pivoted toward the doorway.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” McTavish suggested.

Jayce shook his head, avoiding the challenge that glinted in Alyssa’s gaze. Damn her. She was doing her best to make him uncomfortable. “Nah. I’ll let you two enjoy your evening.” He struggled to keep his tone casual.

“Oh, join us, Jayce.”
Alyssa let out a light laugh as she toed off her heels, making herself more comfortable. “You don’t have to run off just because I’m here.”

Sure, he didn’t have to—what was he supposed to do?
Kick back with his ex fiancée and her new boyfriend and pretend everything was
right
in life? That they were teens again, and that he’d never been part of her life? That they hadn’t just been tearing each other’s clothes off in her office?

Right.

He shook his head again. “I’ve got other plans.”

Stepping around the coffee table, he whacked his knee on the corner.
The sharp jab of pain was enough to sidetrack him from his purpose and knock him off balance. As he braced a hand on the polished walnut edge to keep from falling face-first onto the floor, his gaze locked on Alyssa. Her fingers moved over the back of her skirt, lowering the zipper there. As she turned into McTavish, who set a hand at her hip, the momentary flash of an upturned corner on her sultry mouth told Jayce she deliberately taunted. But the way she looked up at McTavish and leaned into his embrace spoke of rote habit. As if she was completely unaware of her actions and following a long-established routine.

McTavish looped his arms about her waist.
He held her casually,
comfortably,
against him and looked over the top of her head at Jayce. “C’mon. You just said you were starved. Stay for dinner.”