Dirty Little Secrets (Romantic Mystery) Book 1 in the J.J. Graves Series (30 page)

“Which is just part of the reason you’re going to need my help.”

“I don’t want or need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Obviously. You did a bang up job at hiding from whoever is trying to kill you. Why don’t you tell me about your uncle?” he asked, trying to keep her off guard.

She jerked around suddenly, her nerves showing for the first time that night. “I don’t have an uncle.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Near death is not the time most people feel like making up stories. You said very clearly that your uncle was trying to kill you. The cop that’s headed in your direction is going to want some answers, and I could make things pretty difficult for you. He’s going to want to know who did this.”

“It’s not his problem, or yours,” she said, unknowingly moving closer to his side when the cop approached. “I just want to get away from here.”

Shane wanted to smile. He had her right where he wanted her. Subconsciously she already trusted him, even though her brain was probably telling her she couldn’t trust anyone.

With good reason, he thought.

He put his arm around her and felt the tremors from adrenaline overload and the cold she’d been trying to contain unsuccessfully. Shane didn’t recognize the cop. Through his business he’d run into most of them at one time or another, and most of them knew Shane by reputation.

“I need to ask you a few questions, ma’am,” the officer said when he finally made it over to them. His uniform was pressed and starched severely, the rain hitting the surface and then sliding off the fabric in big fat drops. The stiffness could be nothing but uncomfortable against his considerable bulk. The night air was cool, and the stinging rain made it even colder. Shane was only wearing his sweatpants and running shoes and Rachel the thin cotton boxers and t-shirt she’d slept in. She didn’t even have shoes.

Shane pulled her closer and she burrowed into his warmth. His body temperature spiked suddenly at the feel of her pressed against him. His body was a raging inferno, and he was surprised the rain didn’t sizzle off his sensitized skin. He’d never understand why hormones always picked the most inopportune times to want attention.

Shane looked at the officer’s name plate and made a decision, whether Rachel would go along with it time would only tell.

“Officer Broussard, we’ve both had a really difficult night.” An uncontrollable shiver chose that moment to wrack Rachel’s body, and Shane was pretty sure she wasn’t that good of an actress. At least he hoped she wasn’t. The shiver did the trick though because Broussard’s hard eyes softened and he looked at her with pity. “All she has left are the clothes she’s wearing. She doesn’t even have shoes. Is there any way we can come into the station tomorrow to answer your questions?”

Officer Broussard looked both of them over and then made his decision. “First thing in the morning,” he said stiffly. “This was no accident, and the longer we wait the less likely we are to catch whoever did this.” He walked away and got into his cruiser, watching the firemen put out the last of the flames from the warmth of the car.

“Listen,” Rachel said, pulling away from him. “I really appreciate your help. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, but you don’t understand what you’re dealing with. I have to get out of here, and I have to do it alone. They’ll kill you too if you’re with me.”

Shane was glad she was finally starting to give him a little honesty. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with, Sugar. But this isn’t just about you anymore. Whoever did this could have killed everyone in the building tonight. Me included. I can take care of myself, and I can track down who’s responsible a hell of a lot faster than Officer Friendly over there.”

She was shaking her head and looked ready to run as far away from him and New Orleans as possible. “I can’t ask you to do that,” she pleaded.

“You don’t have to. Besides, this is our very first date. It’ll be a hell of a story to tell our grandkids. I’m not quite ready to let you get away now that I’ve met you and put a name to that stunning face.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

Shane didn’t acknowledge her statement. Maybe he was out of his mind. He wasn’t one to act on impulse. Not ever. He’d been trained to think out scenarios for every situation. He didn’t even know what this situation was yet, but it didn’t matter because his priority had become keeping Rachel alive.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her over to a large black Tahoe. “I’ve got some things to pick up at my office.”

“I don’t even know you,” she protested.

“That’s all right, Sugar. I have a feeling we’re going to get to know each other real well before this is over.” He gave her a look hot enough to make her blush and put his Tahoe in reverse, speeding away from the flashing lights and the dwindling crowd toward the Central Business District. Neither of them noticed Jimmy Grabbaldi watching from his hiding place across the street.

Commuter traffic was just getting started as they made their way down the rain-slicked streets toward Shane’s office. There was still another hour of dark, and the rain had turned back into a miserable drizzle.

“What is it exactly that you do?” Rachel finally asked after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. She’d spent the short car trip with her arms folded across her chest and her eyes staring straight ahead, but she was all too aware of the man sitting beside her.

“I work in private security,” he finally answered.

“Is that like a private detective?”

“It’s whatever the client wants. Sometimes it involves bodyguard work, and sometimes it involves tracking down people who don’t want to be found.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“What is this, a job interview?” Shane asked. “I told you I was qualified to help you with whatever your problems are. I can probably even dig up a few references if it makes you feel better.”

The “mind your own business” signal couldn’t have been stronger if he’d been wearing a sign, but Rachel had never been one to give up easily. If she had, she’d already be dead.

“I have a right to know who you are. You’ve shanghaied my life and not given me any choice in the matter. Of course, I can always walk away just as soon as you stop the car. No harm, no foul.”

The threat was made, but Rachel didn’t want to walk away. She was tired of running, tired of hiding, and tired of looking over her shoulder every time she went to the grocery store. She needed help. And fate had stepped in and given her a bodyguard for a neighbor.

“You look like a cop. But more,” she said, eyeing him carefully now. She’d gotten plenty of looks at him in the two months she’d lived to New Orleans. She’d have to be dead not to notice the dark-eyed god who lived across the hall. He looked like a fallen angel. His hair was dark and longer than she usually preferred on a man, hanging just past his ears and over his collar. His skin was swarthy, and his eyes were so black that the pupil and iris couldn’t be differentiated. She’d lay awake at night and listen to him run his fingers over the piano in his apartment, playing bluesy numbers, and imagine what those same fingers would feel like touching her.

“I was a Marine sniper during the Gulf War, and then I did more of the same for the FBI Hostage and Rescue Unit,” he answered quietly.

Rachel flushed because she’d been staring at him so intently she’d forgotten what question she’d asked. Now was definitely not the time to be having inappropriate thoughts about a man she didn’t even know. She looked at the hard set of his jaw and the white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel and knew it had cost him a lot to tell her that much about himself. She decided not to press the issue for now.

They turned on
Tchoupitoulas Street and parked in front of a non-descript, beige, two-story building smashed between more of the same on either side. All the buildings had red awnings that hung over the sidewalk. Discreet gold letters painted on the window said,
Quincy Security and Investigations.

“This is a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” Rachel said.

“What, you were expecting some hole in the wall in the slums?”

“No, not exactly.” But she hadn’t thought it would be an operation as large as this. Shane Quincy must be very good at his job.

“I’ve got twelve men and women on staff full-time. All of them are retired law enforcement of some kind.”

Rachel let him usher her into a small waiting area where a receptionist’s desk and large fish tank sat among cool shades of gray and blue. She watched as he locked the door behind them and headed up carpeted stairs.

“I’ve got a small apartment up here that I use when I’m working late. It’s got some extra clothes. Unfortunately, I don’t think my shoes are going to fit you.”

“That’s okay. I don’t think your clothes are going to fit me either.”

He laughed and the sound sent tingles down her spine. This was a dangerous man. He threw her a pair of dark gray sweats and white athletic socks and pointed her to a small bathroom.

“Go get dressed and then you need to start talking,” he ordered. “I need to know what we’re up against.”

Rachel did as she was told without argument because he’d said the magic word. We. She no longer had to face her fears alone. And maybe by the time it was all over, her father could finally rest in peace.

Shane took off his sopping clothes and threw them in a basket by the bathroom door. He pulled on worn jeans, a white shirt and a flannel, and he exchanged his wet Nikes for a pair of dry ones.

He went over to the window and pulled down a slat on the blinds, peering out into the street below. It was just after six in the morning and the traffic was light. There wouldn’t be anyone in the office for another couple of hours, but he planned to be long gone by then.

He sent his secretary an email letting her know he’d be out of the office for a few days on a case and to turn over any pressing matters to his second-in-command. Then he went to his safe and pulled out a stack of extra cash, two Glock .9mm’s and a snub-nosed revolver to go in his ankle holster. He had plenty of ammunition. He put all of it into a black bag and went to a locked cabinet behind his desk. No matter how many handguns he owned, his true love was still a rifle.

He unlocked the cabinet and had just pulled out the M40 when he heard movement behind him. Rachel was silhouetted in the door, a halo of light shining behind her, with his sweatpants rolled up at the bottom and the sweatshirt hanging down to her knees.

His eyes roamed over her lazily, taking in her flushed cheeks and damp hair, and his body did a slow melt down. He put the M40 down carefully on his desk and started towards her.

“I thought you wanted to hear about who’s trying to kill me,” Rachel said.

Shane stopped a few paces in front of her. “I do,” he said.

“If you keep looking at me like that you might never get to hear it. I need to leave the area as soon as possible.”

Shane sighed and tried to reel his body back in. She was right, but boy was it tempting to scoop her up and head to Mexico so they could make love in a cabana by the ocean for the next fifty years. He was about to suggest just that when she started to talk.

“My name is Rachel Valentine,” she said quietly, her eyes willing him to understand.

Shane knew the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember why.

“My father was Dominic Valentine.”

His eyes grew big at that bit of information and he muttered a short expletive.

“I see you’ve heard of him,” she said with a forced laugh.

If she knew how well he’d known the Valentine brothers she would have run screaming for the door. Shane had spent so much time trying to ignore her since she moved in that he hadn’t studied her features as carefully as he otherwise might have. But he recognized Rachel for who she was now. She’d only been about twenty the last time he’d seen her—her hair had been lighter, streaked with blonde as if she’d just spent a few weeks on a tropical island somewhere. He’d been a rookie at the FBI then, and his first assignment had been the infamous mob family. It would probably be best if Rachel never knew how close Shane had come to killing her father.

He watched as she closed her eyes and tried to gather her composure. The woman was in big, big trouble. Dominic Valentine had been the head of the largest crime family still operating in the United States. They were based in Chicago, and Shane remembered reading that “Dom” as he was called by everyone, had gone missing just before he was supposed to testify in federal court.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Shane said, taking Rachel by the elbow and leading her over to a small loveseat. “Take your time. Do you need some water?”

She hiccupped out a small laugh and shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I’m tougher than I look.”

He imagined she’d have to be to grow up in the Valentine family.

“I’m going to give you the short version, because I really need to get out of here. I feel like I’ve got a target on my forehead, and the itch at the back of my neck has been getting worse since we left the house.”

“Just give me enough to know what I’m dealing with,” Shane said.

“My father was ready to get out of the business. He hadn’t been the same since my mother was killed several years ago, and things got worse after my younger sister was killed last year.”