Assassin P.I. (11 page)

What would it be like to kiss her neck again? Would she still gasp when he hit that sweet spot on her neck, the one that sent goosebumps down her body, tightening her nipples into hard little pebbles? Would his body respond in kind at her soft moans, tiny utterances that escaped her lips?

He was staring. Gentlemen don’t ogle their guests, particularly one as emotionally fragile as Ang. His eyes snapped back up to meet hers.

“I brought you this.” He held out a glass of scotch. “I know it’s not a martini, but it was the best I could do given the circumstances.”

Placing the drink on the edge of the tub, he stepped back, keeping a respectable distance between them. Any closer and he might not be able to remain the perfect gentleman.

He cleared his throat. “I’m here if you want to talk. I mean, you don’t have to, but I’m offering. If you want.”

It had been a long time since he’d seen her so vulnerable. For one moment, he could see how badly she wanted to be loved, how much she ached from past betrayals. And just as quickly, her tough-as-nails exterior slipped back into place, shutting him out. The persona she portrayed to the world, the sultry seductress, was all a ruse.

He turned to leave.

“Stay.”

Her voice, soft and quiet, burrowed into his heart. “Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

Unsure of what she wanted from him, he sat on the edge of the tub. His hands cupped her face, thumbs chasing away the lingering tears. “You can stay here for a couple days. Until things cool down.”

When she didn’t respond, he berated himself for being such a clumsy oaf when it came to talking to women. Of course she wouldn’t trust him to keep his hands off her. Why should she? He didn’t really have a great track record when it came to her. For whatever reason, he’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, and Angie was definitely a damsel in distress at the moment.

“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Jack abruptly stood and turned his back to her, then paused. “Hey, Ang?”

“Yeah?” Her voice, barely audible, tore at his heart.

“I’m proud of you. You did good tonight.”

Even though only a couple of hours had passed, the night seemed endlessly long. With Angie only a
few feet away, in
his
bed,
alone
, Jack had to question the sanity of offering to sleep on the couch for the night. He’d read for a while, enjoying the familiar antics of Sam Spade, and when he’d lost interest in that, he’d found an old gumshoe movie on TV. Eventually, he’d turned it off and tried to sleep. But sleep proved elusive.

It was the right thing to do, and he knew it. But dammit, he could be snoozing away next to the hottest dame in town, and instead he was stuck on a lumpy old sofa.

He shifted his hat lower to cover his face, blocking out what little light remained in the midnight hour.

“I can’t sleep.” Her voice, soft and husky, cut through Jack’s thoughts.

That makes two of us, doll.

He tipped his hat and opened one eye. Angie stepped into the doorway to the living room. A thin strip of moonlight fell across her face. Wrapped in a long satin robe, hair slightly mussed and cascading over her shoulder, she was the vision of a movie star from the silver-screen era.

“Come to bed, Jack.” She took another step toward him so that the moonlight was like a spotlight on her.

Did she really know what she was asking of him? His body stirred and jumped to life. “I shouldn’t. I can’t be trusted.”

The truth hung in the air between them. There was no denying how badly he wanted her, wanted to taste every inch of her body, wanted to breathe her in, fill himself with her essence.

No. He definitely could not be trusted to behave himself around her.

There was a hitch in her voice when she finally responded. “I know.”

“Are you sure?” Jack’s voice, deep and deliciously raspy, sent a shockwave of desire through her body.

No.

Yes.

She didn’t know. But watching him cross the room, stalking her with his eyes, was enough to set her senses on fire.

Nodding, she sucked in a breath. It was like the room had suddenly shrunk until there was only Jack. And he was the only one she could ever trust. The only man for her. “Hold me. Keep me safe.”

That was all it took for Jack to sweep her into his arms and carry her back to bed. He nudged the door open and gently laid her down. His weight shifted on the bed beside her, and then he was pulling her into his warm embrace, wrapping her in the safety of his arms.

She laid her head against his bare chest, letting his body heat finally began to thaw the icy fingers of fear that had taken hold of her. “Just one night. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You could stay longer.” There was hope in his voice.

She changed the subject. “I think Marco might have . . .” What? Killed her fake husband?

Even saying the words made the act seem impossible. Until recently, she’d always thought of Marco as an undersized big brother, lovable and annoying. But now? It was hard to ignore the threat he posed.

She shuddered.

Jack tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing against her cheek in the process. Her eyes drifted, lulled by the familiar, loving action. Had Marco really killed Trevor? Why? Jealousy?

Did she really have it all wrong? Could Jack be innocent after all? She’d been so sure she knew who the killer was. But now . . .

“Shh. He’ll never hurt you ever again.” He leaned forward, his lips dangerously close to hers.

Too close.

His breath, warmed her, and goosebumps rose, pricking her skin.

Oh, God it would be so easy to just give in, forget everything she knew about him. She could forgive the drinking. It was the only way Jack knew how to keep his demons at bay. She could even learn to forgive his wandering eye, so long as he kept his hands to himself, reserving himself for only her.

His lips hovered above hers, waiting for her to meet him halfway. He was so close she could smell the minty tinge to his breath, could almost taste his lips.

“Don’t.” Her voice, barely above a whisper, caught. If he kissed her now, it would be all over. She didn’t have it in her to resist him much longer.

Suddenly the urge to confess her sins, admit her betrayal, was so strong it threatened to overcome her. It wasn’t right, what she was doing, serving him up on a silver platter for the FBI to skewer. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead instead and drew her even closer, close enough for her to feel the tension in his body, the sheer effort it was taking for him to hold back. “Tomorrow. You can tell me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow might be too late.

By the time Jack finally drifted off to sleep, everything she’d come to believe had become a hopeless tangled mess, but wrapped in Jack’s arms, none of that mattered anymore. So long as she was with him, all would be right with her world, even if only for one more day.

When she awoke, long before dawn broke, she was alone, and Jack was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 11

“
What’s wrong?” Sara asked, her voice thick with sleep. She rolled onto her side and propped her head up in her hand.

Nick cringed. He’d been hoping Angie’s call in the dead of night hadn’t woken his wife. All too soon, sleep would be hard to come by when the baby made his or her grand appearance.

“Shh. Go back to sleep.” Nick dropped a kiss onto his wife’s forehead and slipped out of bed. A shiver ran through him. The temperature in the house had dropped significantly. According to the weather forecaster, a new cold front was pushing in. Sara mumbled something but rolled back over, already halfway to dreamland.

Moonlight cut a swatch across the carpet from the bedroom to the kitchen where his laptop was charging. He followed the ribbon of light, grabbed his computer, and took a seat at the table. On the phone, Angie had sounded scared, her voice a mixture of fear tinged with waning adrenaline. Yesterday, while at the diner, she’s said something about the manager at her club possibly being involved in Trevor’s death, rather than Jack. And now this? The man attacks her in her own home only a day later?

Going based solely on what little information he had, Nick scoured the Internet for information on Marco Costa and found a virtual treasure trove. No stranger to a jail cell, the man had wracked up a formidable rap sheet and had dozens of lawsuits pending against him, mostly from former employees and business partners. Had he killed Trevor to protect his investment in Angie? Without her, could Marco’s burlesque nightclub survive much longer? He doubted it.

Before she’d hung up, Angie had insisted he pay her former boss a visit and gave him all the info he needed to track the man down. He’d agreed but it would have to wait. This weekend, he was going to be the husband and dad-to-be that his wife deserved.

It wasn’t
that Nick necessarily minded big family gatherings, especially when it was a baby shower for his own child, but when you combined his large Irish family with his wife’s loud Italian family, things tended to go sideways pretty quickly. Things had started off innocently enough. Nick’s four big sisters and their husbands, along with Sara’s little sister and her longtime boyfriend, had decided to throw a joint party. They’d invited everyone they knew and before long, Nick’s small two-bedroom house in the burbs was overflowing with aunts, uncles, parents, grandparents, cousins, co-workers, and old friends from every nook and cranny of his childhood. There were people there he didn’t even know, wishing him well, offering advice he didn’t ask for. And everybody had advice to give.

“If it’s a boy, and I think it is, when you change the baby’s diaper, hold his feet up real high. That way if he pees, he’ll just pee all over himself instead of you,” his Aunt Edna had informed him.

A random church member whose name he’d forgotten two minutes after being told suggested, “Whenever the baby takes a nap, turn on the TV real loud so he gets accustomed to noise. After you do that for a few weeks, the kid will sleep through anything.”

“And if the baby gets fussy or colicky, whatever you do, don’t take the baby for a car ride. If you do, I swear, you’ll be forced to do it every night for months. Maybe even years.” This from a cousin who’d just had her fifth child.

“The best way to wean a baby from the pacifier is to chop the end off of it. The baby will hate it and spit it right out.” After a while, the advice became like white noise to him. He’d smile and nod and keep moving.

And the presents? Somewhere along the line, buying a few bibs and a package of diapers had turned into a game of one-upmanship. Each gift that his wife opened was more lavish than the last. The baby’s room soon boasted of a towering pile of diapers in every size from newborn to size four, for when the child was a few years old. Baby clothes spilled out of the closet and were hanging off of the crib. There was a pile of blankets-some purchased, some handmade-and a small lake of shoes in the center of the room. Stuffed animals, all zoo creatures to fit their zoo animal theme, filled the crib.

Lunch was served, games played, and cards read. Nick was pretty sure he’d even seen their grandparents placing bets on when the baby was going to be born, the gender, and the weight. When the grill was fired up for an early dinner, Nick escaped to the sanctity of the garage for some peace and quiet.

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” His brother-in-law, Ben Keegan, stepped into the garage and handed Nick a cigarette.

He accepted it and waited while Ben lit the end. “Don’t tell Sara. She thinks I quit.”

“Something’s bothering you.” Ben said this as if he already knew the full depth of his troubles.

“Nothing. Just couldn’t think over all the friendly advice everyone was doling out.”

“Yeah, baby showers will do that to a man. But that’s not why you’re out here. You wanna talk? I got time,” he offered.

Nick eyed Ben. He was a fellow agent, only Ben worked up psychological profiles on serial killers. Talking a case over with him always helped him see things in a different light. But he wasn’t working a case. At least not a sanctioned one that anyone knew about.

“Nah, I’m good, man.”

“Suit yourself.” Ben clapped a hand down on Nick’s shoulder. “I’m always here to talk, day or night. And if you need any more advice . . .”

Nick playfully jabbed Ben in the stomach. “Keep your advice, dude.”

It wasn’t until Sunday midafternoon th
at Nick managed to steal away for a bit. He kissed his wife’s cheek and promised to return before dinnertime, though he doubted she’d heard him at all. She’d gone into full nesting mode—washing baby clothes, organizing dresser drawers, packing the baby’s diaper bag. He wouldn’t be missed.

With little information to go on, Nick decided to head to Angie’s old club, The Naughty Dolls, to see if he could have a word with her former boss. Crossing the threshold, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong. Nick blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Loud music blared and lights pulsated, but there was no audience present.

“Can I help you?” a rather voluptuous woman asked. She appeared to be a little too old to be one of the performers. “Show doesn’t start until six.”

Upon closer inspection, he could see that she’d been crying recently. Her eyes were glassy and filled with unshed tears. Small groups of woman huddled together on a couch consoling each other.

Nick whipped out his identification. “Special Agent Nick Shaw. I’m here to see Mr. Marco Costa.”

The woman, a Dolly Parton clone, sucked back a gasp. “Are you here about his death?”

“He’s dead?” That was news to Nick. Not the good kind, either.

“Yeah, it happened last night,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, I just assumed . . .”

“How?” Nick asked. The man dies less than twenty-four hours after Jack pummels the man?

The woman had resumed crying. “He was a jerk, you know?” She hiccupped back her sobs. “But I loved that man, despite all his flaws.”

Nick pattered her shoulder awkwardly. “How did he die?” he prodded.

“I don’t know. The police just said he appeared at the hospital all banged up, like he’d been in one helluva nasty fight. While he was waiting to be seen, he passed out and died.” More tears flowed and she threw her arms around Nick, sobbing into his chest. “Just like that, he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ma’am.” He didn’t know what else to say to the grieving woman.

Abruptly she straightened, pulling away from him. She dipped a hand into her cleavage and extracted a tissue, which she used to dab at her eyes. “That’s enough crying for now. The show must go on, you know? It’s what Marco’d want. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No.” Nick shook his head, bid the woman goodbye, and then left the club. Had Jack beat Marco so badly that it was enough to kill him? Or had Jack gone back for round two to be sure Marco wouldn’t get back up again?

As soon as he was back in his car, he dialed Angie.

“Oh, thank goodness it’s you. Did you find him? Find Marco, I mean?”

There was no easy way to soften the blow. “He’s dead, and I have reason to believe your boyfriend killed your boss.”

There was an audible gasp on the other end of the line. “I swear, Jack didn’t do it. He was with me the whole night, and Marco was still alive when he left my apartment.”

It sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of Jack’s innocence than him. “Do me a favor. Be careful. You don’t want to find yourself sleeping with the enemy.”