“Now.”
She broke out in a sweat, her vision blurred. She cursed the cosmos—the liquor kind—and her hangover. Hugging the ladder tight, she focused straight ahead. Which put her at eye-level to the sign with her family’s motto:
Practical shoes for practical people
.
“Not for long,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“I won’t ask twice,” Jack said.
“New crowd gathering,” Ziffel muttered, then switched to an authoritative tone. “Move along, people. Nothing to see.”
She tensed when the ladder creaked under more weight. She felt a couple of soft bounces, then a hard body climbing up behind her. Every nerve in her body pulsed. She told herself it was because she’d had a fright. Not because Jack’s front was plastered to her back.
Pursuing an intimate relationship would only end in heartache.
“When did you get so damned stubborn?” Jack said close to her ear.
No way was she going to admit to a hangover-induced dizzy spell. Aside from all the nerve pulsing, she felt slightly better. Probably because she was focused on the feel and smell of Jack and not the long drop down. She relaxed against him, and next thing she knew she’d been plucked from the ladder. Her knees buckled when her boots hit the sidewalk, but she didn’t crumple due to Jack’s hold on her waist.
“You can go, Ziffel,” he said. “Drop your shirt at the cleaners and be sure to send Miss McGraw the bill.”
“Hey,” she complained. But Ziffel was already stalking off and Jack was hauling her inside McGraw’s. She pried at his hands. “Stop manhandling me.”
He let her go, but backed her up against the wall in between the gumball machine and the cashier counter.
She didn’t like being bullied. She especially didn’t like the erotic thrill she got when he braced his hands on the wall and fenced her in. Or the heat between her thighs when he leaned close. Or the fluttery feeling in her stomach when his gaze slid over her mouth.
“Find a new hiding place for your spare key, Tiger.”
What?
Then she flashed on the night before. Jack driving her home. Lost purse. Locked door.
Oops.
He made eye contact and her stomach flipped. Ice-blue eyes on fire.
Yikes.
“Under the doormat? Why don’t you leave the door open and a plate of cookies on the table for the burglars and rapists?”
His sarcasm grated. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic,
Chief
Reynolds?”
“Another thing. Hire someone to install motion-detector lighting and think about an alarm system. You live in the fu—” he glanced away and back “—frickin’ middle of nowhere.”
Kylie scrunched her brow. “Is this a lecture on home security? Is my trailer even in your jurisdiction? I’m pretty sure I’m suppose to call the county police if I need help, which I won’t, since nothing ever happens in the
frickin’ middle of nowhere.
”
“You left your purse at Boone’s last night.”
Did he just skate over her rant? “So?”
“I assume you keep your drivers license in your wallet.”
Uh-oh.
“It’s unlawful to operate a motor vehicle without proof of license.”
Well, duh. “So lock me up.”
He quirked a humorless smile. “No.”
“Then let me go.”
He didn’t budge. “What’s with the motorcycle?”
“This conversation is giving me whiplash.”
“What’s the projected repair time on your car?”
“A week or so, depending on when the part comes in. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Are you aware of the statistics on motorcycle accidents?”
“What are you? Standing in for my brother?”
“Someone has to look out for you. You’ve gone a little loopy, hon.”
“Loopy?”
Breathe, Kylie, breathe.
No. Don’t breathe. Blow!
“Just because I want to redecorate the store? Just because I own a motorcycle? Or is it my flower-power boots? You lived in New York City. Surely you’ve seen more outrageous shoes than these. Stop trying to squash my spirit, Jack Reynolds!”
Her skin burned with fury…or something…when his gaze dropped to her boots and slowly skimmed up her bare legs, over her funky attire, settling at long last on her mouth. Oh,
God
. Was he going to
kiss
her?
Her brain and body sizzled with dread and hope. What if she felt something this time? What if he reignited her crush, full flame? Then she’d be doomed to be alone
forever
, because no other man would ever measure up!
“I wouldn’t dream of squashing your spirit, Tiger. Long as you don’t break the law.” He pushed off the wall, severing the anticipation, the tension.
Relief and disappointment warred, making Kylie snap. “You’re not the boss of me!”
Doh!
Was it any wonder he still thought of her as Spenser’s kid sister?
This time his smile was downright cocky. He tugged at the brim of his EPD cap. “Where the law is concerned, yeah, I sort of am.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pointy-ear dog that wasn’t Jack’s peek out from under a chair and follow him outside. Had she been in here the entire time?
Travis walked in, carrying gallons of paint and a roll of tarp. Had he been out there the entire time? Listening?
Kylie flushed and smoothed her disheveled hair.
He flashed a sympathetic look. “I’ll start on the interior. You get the permit.”
And just like that, she didn’t feel so alone in her quest for adventure.
CHAPTER NINE
T
RAVIS PULLED INTO
HIS driveway and cut the engine. He glanced at his luminous watch—12:05 a.m. He rubbed his hands over his weary face. He was exhausted.
Mentally.
Emotionally and physically.
He sat in the dark, not wanting to go inside. Not wanting to go to sleep. When he slept, he dreamed of another life. His old life. It made him melancholy. It made him angry.
At least when Mona had been alive he’d had someone to confide in. She had similar dreams. Sometimes they’d lie in the dark and talk about the past. Friends. Family.
Enemies.
Enemies were the reason they couldn’t be with friends and family.
It was why they ate jarred sauce and American cheese. Why he drank beer instead of Chianti. Why he spoke with a nasally twang instead of his native Philly accent. Why he dressed in jeans and flannel shirts instead of Armani suits. He hated that he’d attended Mona’s funeral wearing cheap oxfords. She deserved better. But if he’d worn the Ferragamo slip-ons he kept hidden away, she would’ve rolled over in her cheap-ass coffin. God rest her soul.
Travis gripped the steering wheel and endured a fresh wave of grief. Mona’s suffering had started long before the cancer. He’d never forgiven himself. He’d tried to make it right, though. He’d sacrificed everything to make it right.
Today, he’d taken another step in that direction. While painting the walls of Kylie’s store and listening to her lovingly brag and gripe about her family, he couldn’t help thinking about the way Mona would reminisce about her family. Did the Vespas reminisce about her? Had they mourned her death? Had her brother gotten the letter he’d sent? Circumstances prohibited him from contacting them directly. But he’d followed procedure. He’d done the right thing. He realized in the midst of Kylie’s ramblings that he’d been hoping to hear back from someone, anyone from their past. The silence made him wonder. Had his letter gone missing?
Don’t do anything stupid.
He should’ve called WITSEC, but he was still pissed by his new contact’s lack of response to Mona’s death. The U.S. marshal/inspector originally assigned to them had been transferred, which made Travis feel even more isolated. At least he and Burton had a history. He’d never even met his replacement face-to-face. Obviously, Travis Martin was no longer a priority.
Feeding off Kylie McGraw’s determination to buck the system, he’d taken a break and made a quick trip to the library. He’d borrowed a computer terminal, created a bogus account and sent an e-mail. He’d taken more risks in this one day than every day of the last several years combined. He felt anxious. He felt empowered.
He squinted through the windshield, expecting the new chief of police to appear out of the shadows. He’d been anticipating a visit from the man all night. No dice. Either Reynolds was letting him stew or he hadn’t yet read the file. One thing was certain, he’d riled the cop’s interest. He’d seen it in his eyes.
“This is bad,”
he could hear Mona say. But Travis barely cared.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Too late.
If not for today, he probably could’ve avoided contact with the new chief of police for a good long while. Maybe forever. He didn’t know Jack Reynolds, but he knew he wasn’t a rube like Ben Curtis. A former NYPD detective, Reynolds had experience with men like Travis. Or at least the man he used to be. The question was, would he allow Travis to exist as he had for the past seven years? Or would he make waves?
If only he hadn’t offered his services to Kylie. But when she’d shown him those pictures and when he’d expanded on her vision, he’d gotten that old rush. He was born to create, not to corrupt. Certainly not to kill. He was the defective son, the troublesome brother. A disappointment to the family. He’d tried to conform. He
had
conformed. As had been expected of him, he’d married a nice Italian girl. Instead of going into interior design, he’d become a lawyer, the mouthpiece for the family business. Able to finesse his way around the stickiest legal issues, those in his circle had dubbed him the Artful Dodger. He’d been respected, revered even. But then he’d broken with convention. That one indiscretion had instigated a bloodbath.
The memory of those final days still sickened him. Their reaction. His retaliation. Vengeance went both ways. He had a lot of regrets, but there was no way to mend that bridge. He couldn’t go back. But, dammit, he was sick of Travis Martin.
He reached across the seat and snatched the brown paper bag filled with his late-night booty. Red wine, provolone cheese and pepperoni. Three of the Artful Dodger’s culinary favorites.
CHAPTER TEN
J
ACK AWOKE AT
3:15
A.M.
with a hard-on. He’d been dreaming about Kylie. Kissing Kylie. Stroking Kylie. Rolling in the sheets with Kylie. He’d never had a woman get under his skin so fast. She wasn’t even his type. Not that he hadn’t sampled a variety of women, but he had a definite weakness for fair-haired women in distress. Something he’d discovered when he’d gone to a marriage counselor with Amanda. A fascination rooted in childhood. When he was twelve, he saw Alfred Hitchcock’s
Vertigo
and fell in love with Kim Novak, or rather the character she portrayed in the film. He not only lusted after her, he wanted to rescue her. Since then, he’d always gravitated toward curvy, classic beauties. Most of them blond. All of them needy.
Kylie had a petite, athletic build. She had dark, quirky features and a modest sense of style—usually. She ran a business and looked after her mom and grandma. She didn’t
need
a man, although he was surprised no man had snatched her up. Unless the men of Eden were scared off by her competence and stubborn streak. She’d proved herself a handful today. He couldn’t say what fired him up most—her contrary spirit, her shapely legs, the striped boxer shorts or that sassy mouth. Horny and pissed, he’d backed her against the wall.
He’d wanted to shake her.
He’d wanted to kiss her.
Neither action seemed prudent.
So he’d lectured. Home security. Motorcycle safety. He’d pissed her off. He didn’t feel bad about that. She’d pissed him off when she’d climbed that ladder. Something told him they’d knock heads again. Fine. If they kept pissing each other off, maybe the attraction would fizzle. The “kid” barrier was history. The face that intrigued him, the body that tempted him, belonged to a thirty-two-year-old woman.
Except she’s still Spenser’s sister. She’s a nice girl and you’re a cynical bastard.
Getting physical with Kylie would be disastrous. He could list a dozen reasons.
Maybe he
should
list the reasons. Right now. Mentally. Like counting sheep.
It was that or a cold shower.
Christ.
He rolled over and got a face full of fur. Thanks to the vet, at least Shy didn’t smell bad. “What are you doing up here?”
The dog groaned and curled into a tighter ball. At least someone was getting a good night’s sleep.
Jack thought about nudging Shy off his bed, but he didn’t have the heart. She’d probably spent the last month sleeping in the woods or in a random barn or shed. He’d walked her around town today. No one recognized her. He dropped her at the vet for an examination. Aside from being malnourished and flea-bitten, she was healthy. For her gas, Dr. Price had suggested a high-quality pet food. No dairy products or table scraps. Jack had purchased a small bag of the recommended dry food. Enough to last until he found her a home. To Shy’s dismay, she’d been shampooed, deloused and groomed. A flyer featuring her picture now hung on the animal hospital’s bulletin board:
Free to a good home.
Jack thought about his niece. He wondered if she liked dogs. Yeah,
that
would go over well with his prissy, snobby sister.
Shy barked a split second before he heard the sharp knock on the front door. He glanced at his clock as he swung out of bed—3:25 a.m.
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He braced for something bad. People don’t drop by in the middle of the night with good news. He should know. He’d paid many a nocturnal visit while working Homicide.
After motioning Shy to stay, he tucked his Glock in the back of his waistband and navigated the stairs in the dark. He peeked through the living room curtains. What the hell? His sister—the woman who’d been avoiding him for days—stood on the front stoop, balancing a little girl, his niece, on one hip and a bulging backpack on her shoulder.
Alarmed, he switched on a light and opened the door.
“Sorry to wake you,” Jessie snapped before he could ask
what’s wrong?
“No problem.” He quickly surmised she hadn’t been in a car accident or house fire. No blood, no bruises, no burns. Maddie looked okay, too. Oddly wide awake for the middle of the night, but fine. He focused back on his sister. She looked frazzled. Pale and fidgety. No makeup. Lopsided ponytail and ill-fitting clothes. This woman didn’t look anything like his confident, pageant queen, fashion-conscious sister. This woman had fled home in the middle of the night in a panic. Had the Cheating Bastard shown up? Called? Harassed her? Scared her? He didn’t want to ask in front of the kid.
“We couldn’t sleep,” Jessie said.
“Our house is sad,” Maddie said in a small voice.
Chest tight, Jack relieved his sister of the weighty backpack. “Come in.”
“Are you my uncle Jack?” Maddie asked as they moved into the sparsely furnished living room.
“Sure am, sweet pea.” He hated that she had to ask. Hated that he’d allowed work and pride to interfere with family.
“Where’s your badge?”
“Upstairs.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Can I see it?”
“Not now, Madeline.” Jessie set her daughter on the couch.
Jack set the backpack on his recliner. He noted the little girl’s pink pajamas, her bunny slippers and the colorful bear clutched to her chest. He recognized that bear. He’d sent her that stuffed animal as a Christmas gift two years earlier. Jessie and Frank had made it clear he was unwelcome in their home, their lives. Naturally, he thought they’d deprived Maddie of the gifts he’d sent over the years. Jessie had intimated as such. It warmed him to learn otherwise.
Throat thick, he smiled even though he knew something was wrong. “Can I get you ladies, anything? Milk and cookies?”
Maddie glanced at her mom, at Jack. “We don’t eat cookies.”
“Why not?”
“Too fattening.”
That was his sister talking. A woman—thanks to years on the pageant circuit—obsessed with body image. No five-year-old should be worrying about her weight unless she was obese, which Maddie wasn’t. She was a skinny little thing with long black hair and big brown eyes.
“Well, I eat cookies,” Jack said, cursing himself for not being a better uncle, or for that matter, a better brother. “And I could use a late-night snack.”
He wondered if Jessie ever snacked. Hell, he wondered if she ate, period. He’d have to refrain from force-feeding her an entire bag of Fig Newtons. She looked rail thin in her baggy jeans and shapeless shirt. She’d always been thin, but this was troubling.
He smoothed a hand over Maddie’s silky hair. “I need your mom’s help in the kitchen. We won’t be long. Do you want to lie down?”
“Can’t sleep.” Maddie hugged the bear tighter—a chubby teddy he’d stuffed himself at one of those Build-A-Bear stores. Patches looked worn and loved, and suddenly he didn’t feel like the worst uncle in the world, just a lame one.
“Do you have a DVD player?” Jessie asked.
He nodded.
She unzipped the front pocket of the cartoon backpack they’d brought. “Here.” She passed him a DVD. A Disney flick.
Jack put the disk in his player and fired up the movie without comment. He wanted Jessie in the kitchen. He wanted answers.
“Who’s that?” asked Maddie.
Jack turned and saw the pointy-eared mutt sitting at the bottom of the stairs. So much for following orders. “That’s Shy.”
Mother and daughter spoke at the same time.
“Does she bite?”
“Is she yours?”
“No and no. We’ll be right back,” he said to Maddie, while motioning Jessie to follow.
Once inside the kitchen, he spoke frankly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing I can’t fix. But I can’t do it tonight.” She tucked her hands under her armpits and paced. “I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I hate this.”
So did Jack. Until he knew what was wrong, he couldn’t fix it. If he pressed too hard, too fast, she might bolt. Considering they’d been estranged for years, Jessie being here like this was a breakthrough. He didn’t want to screw it up. “How about some hot tea?”
“How about something stronger?”
Given his recent battle with booze, he hadn’t stocked the house with hard liquor. “All I’ve got is beer.”
“I’ll take it.”
As far as he knew, she never drank anything other than wine spritzers. Damn, he itched to press.
What’s wrong?
Instead he got her a beer and poured a glass of milk for his niece.
Jessie paced and chugged. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice.”
“That’s flattering,” he said while loading a plate with cookies.
“Look. I know we’ve never been on great terms. As kids or adults,” she said in a tight, brittle voice. “But I…we…Madeline and me…need a place to spend the night.”
He should have said
okay.
Plain and simple. But there was nothing simple about their relationship. And he’d be damned if he’d let her freeze him out in his own house. “Why? Did Frank show up? Does he want to move back in?”
“No.”
“Did he call? Threaten you?”
“I haven’t talked to Frank in two weeks.”
“He calls to speak with his daughter, right?”
She didn’t answer.
Jack looked over his shoulder. “You’re kidding.”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Frank never wanted…Madeline was…”
An accident? Unexpected? So what? Just when he thought his opinion of his brother-in-law couldn’t sink any lower. “You can stay here as long as you like, Jessie.”
“I don’t like it at all,” she said, still pacing, still drinking. “But I can’t impose on friends and I can’t afford the Orchard House.”
Jack blew over the personal jab and focused on the financial. “Are you telling me that fu—” He glanced toward the sound of cartoon voices and cheery music. “That Frank’s not supporting you?”
“I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything to do with him or anything that belonged to him—including the house. We’ll be fine. Madeline and me. I just want…I need to make my own way. And I will. Starting tomorrow. I mean, later today.”
Jack worked his jaw. She’d shut him out of her life for years. Avoided him like the plague since he’d returned home. He couldn’t help himself. He had to push. “What happened between fuck-off and showing up on my doorstep, Jessie? It had to be damned bad for you to come to me, in the middle of the night, no less.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I…I can’t.”
He noted the crack in her voice, the trembling of her hands. “Okay.”
“Please don’t grill me.”
“Fine.”
“Or think you have to save me.”
“You want to make it on your own.”
She stopped in her tracks. “You don’t think I can?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Just because I didn’t finish college or devote my life to some noble cause…” She trailed off and looked for a place to ditch the beer. She looked embarrassed, upset and exhausted.
“Why don’t we revisit this discussion after some shuteye?” Jack relieved her of the empty bottle, then grabbed the milk and cookies. “You keep Maddie company while I change my sheets.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that. Nicknames are…I don’t know.”
“Humanizing?”
“Undignified.”
“Jessie is undignified?”
“My name is Jessica. Jessica Lynn.”
“Sounds stuffy,” said Jack.
“To you, maybe. But it’s my given name and I’m proud of it.”
“Okay.”
“So you’ll call me Jessica? And Madeline, Madeline?”
“Probably not.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “Why do you have to be so headstrong?”
He looked at her and smiled. “Runs in the family.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. After a thoughtful pause, she changed the subject. “Why do you have to change your sheets?”
“No furniture in the other two bedrooms yet,” he explained. “You and Maddie take my bed. I’ll take the couch.” Before she could argue, he slipped into the living room. His niece was fast asleep. So was Shy. They were curled up side by side—one hand, one paw on the stuffed bear.
Jessie groaned. “I hope she doesn’t get attached to that dog.”
Jack hoped the exact opposite.