Get Lucky (20 page)

London straightened, shoving wet hair over her shoulder, when the bathroom door opened.

“Are you okay?” Marc asked.

She must have hit the shower wall harder than she realized. “Yes,” she told him. “No. I don’t know.” She was most definitely not okay.

“Care if I join you?” he asked.

Immediately her insides soared. A pressure built inside her, her pussy started throbbing, and the quickening in her gut almost made her stagger. Regardless of what her brain thought, her body very much wanted him to join her. She’d fallen asleep last night and missed an opportunity to make love to him. Now her body screamed—demanded—let him in and fuck him now.

“That’s fine,” she heard herself say, even as her brain and body continued arguing.

Obviously, her body was bigger than her brain.

Marc took almost all of the space when he came around the shower curtain, his large body barely fitting in the average-sized bathtub and shower. His hands were on her immediately, holding her by the waist as he helped her move to the back of the shower. When he let her go and turned his back to her, ducking into the shower spray, London got an eyeful of his well-defined muscles bulging along either side of his spine. She also discovered a few new scars. War wounds. Proof he was a lifer, as her dad used to say whenever London cuddled next to him, or her mom, found a new scar, and traced it with her finger.

“Think of them as trophies.” Her father’s voice was as clear in her head as if he stood next to her. London had later found out “lifer” didn’t mean someone sentenced to life in prison. It meant someone committed to a life of crime. A “lifer” was a person who knew from their first heist that they’d be a criminal for life.

London shivered and forced the old memory to go away. Her hands were on Marc’s back and she yanked them away. She wasn’t sure when she’d started touching him.

Marc’s chuckle was a deep baritone. “Feel free to scrub my back while you’re at it.”

She glared at the back of his head but didn’t trust herself to speak.

When her gaze travelled down him, his ass looked hard as steel. She itched to touch it, run her fingers down it, and grab him from behind. Forcing her attention higher, watching roped muscle twitch and flex in his biceps and triceps, didn’t help her any. London’s mouth watered, heat rushed over her, and the steam trapped in the bathroom suddenly made her light-headed. When soap started flowing down Marc’s body she thought she might swoon from the need to have him. It didn’t matter how many scars she counted. She wanted to fuck him so desperately it washed all of her anger away. Later she would worry about him killing his sexy ass. Right now she just wanted him inside her.

“Something occurred to me just now,” Marc said, breaking the silence when he turned his back to the shower and started scrubbing his front side.

“What’s that?” She could barely speak. His cock was fully erect. Soapy water streamed around it, getting caught in the dark, tight curls at the base of it. But Marc’s smooth, thick, hard cock called her name loud enough to make her ears ring and blood pump through her veins faster than it should.

“The package the pictures showed up in today wasn’t addressed to anyone. The pictures sent to your home, and to my family, were addressed and posted. They’d gone through the mail. These this morning were hand-delivered.”

It took everything she had to focus on his face and not that virile body of his. She heard what he said and tried to guess his meaning.

“They would have had to mail them to the motel. Whoever it was wanted to make sure we received the pictures and so pounded on the door, dropped the package, and ran.” London watched his gaze drop down her body when he nodded his agreement. She swore her flesh singed with energy wherever he focused.

“It means they are here, somewhere in Flagstaff.” He turned sideways, letting the water rinse off the soap.” Dad would have my ass for not spotting the obvious sooner.” “You’ve been a bit distracted.”

“Don’t ever defend me to my father, please.” Marc chuckled sardonically as he wiped his fingers down her cheek. “A good bounty hunter doesn’t allow distractions.”

“I’ll do my best not to become one,” she said, her tummy twisting into knots from the meaning behind his words.

This time Marc’s laughter was more sincere. “You’d distract a blind man,” he told her, grinning, then tweaked her nipple.

Sparks exploded inside her and shot straight down her middle to her pussy. London gasped and felt the heat grow inside her as his grin turned into an enticing smirk.

“The pictures taken of your parents and mine when they were captured offer a clear view of the buildings in the background. Jake and I recognized one of those buildings as a bed-and-breakfast we all stayed at on one of our family vacations when we were kids. That’s why we came here. All of our parents were here in town and might still be here.” His gaze travelled hungrily over her even as he continued brainstorming.

“It would explain why they shot at us,” he muttered more to himself. But when he met her gaze, his light blue eyes darkened a magnificent shade. “Maybe they weren’t testing us. We were just getting too close.”

Marc’s theory made sense and he looked rather satisfied with himself for thinking it through. She imagined him piecing together clues all of the time. With a father as a cop, Marc probably grew up learning how to solve crimes. London grew up hearing how to commit them. Her parents didn’t raise her to be a criminal. And she wasn’t any worse or better of a person than Marc. London could only imagine what her father would think of him, though.

“Then I guess we’d better hurry with this shower so you can go get them.” Her voice sounded flat, but she wouldn’t cry. Marc was damn near perfect. But the look on his face reminded her of her father’s right before he raced out the door into some perilous, life-threatening situation. She’d hated it then and refused to let herself live through it again.

It sucked mourning the loss of someone before she ever had the chance to truly love them.

Chapter Eleven

London wrapped fresh gauze around Jake’s shoulder. It amazed her how clean the wound looked and how quickly it was healing.

“I take really good care of myself,” Jake explained, glancing over his shoulder at her with that crooked grin planted on his face.

A couple cups of coffee sure did transform his personality.

“It sucks we can’t take more time to plan this out and bring in the big guns,” Marc said, pacing the length of the bed and pausing, staring at the piece of typing paper they’d used to draw a map of the ruins at Canyon Diablo. “There’s not time, though, to get what we need to do this any other way than what we’re going to do. Dad’s never going to let me live this down if it takes too long to rescue them.”

He looked at her and London swore there was an apology in his eyes. She wouldn’t let him see how all of this bothered her. They were going in after their parents. London pictured the shot of her father, looking pissed as hell. Where were her parents right now? Were they in some jail cell, being tortured, coerced into joining some kind of militia? Were both of their parents together? That would be interesting.

“You got him wrapped up?” Marc asked.

“Yeah. It’s hard to believe it’s a gunshot wound.”

“How many gunshot wounds have you seen?” Marc asked.

She hesitated. “A few.”

“Can you shoot?” Jake stood, rolled his shoulder, and twisted to get a look at her handiwork.

The times her father had taken her target practicing when they’d lived in Indiana were some of her better childhood memories. They’d shot tin cans until London could hit her target almost every time. The pride in her dad’s eyes made her look forward to any time he would take her out there.

“I can shoot,” she said, glancing at the guns the two of them had already cleaned and loaded.

“We should use her, too,” Jake suggested, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“No,” Marc said, slicing his hand through the air.

“Wait a minute,” she said, studying him as his frown deepened. “Do you think I can’t shoot?”

“I’m sure you can,” he said, dismissing her comment and walking over to the laptop. “We’re going to drive down there. I want to drive past the ruins to those rocks before we park. This time we’ll have daylight in our favor.”

“We’ve got our guns, mom and dad’s, and binoculars,” Jake said, then nudged a black bag on the edge of the bed.” There’s bottles of water in there and a few snack bars.”

“It’s not a lot.” Marc shook his head and sighed, then shut down the laptop. “Hopefully Dad and Mom, and her parents, have been fed. We’ve got the rooms reserved for another day?”

“Yup,” Jake said.

London watched them meticulously continue through their checkoff sheet as they armed themselves. She suddenly felt very naked going with them and being unarmed.

“Marc.” She stepped in front of him when Jake started to the door. “I want a gun, too.”

It wasn’t something she ever thought she’d hear herself say. Up until very recently, London would have laughed at anyone who told her she’d be running with bounty hunters, carrying a gun, and chasing after someone who’d kidnapped her parents.

“London, I’m not sure,” he began.

She put her hands on his chest. “Since I first met you, I begged for you to display some kind of trait that would turn me off. I really didn’t want any kind of relationship with you at all,” she told him, whispering.

Marc’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. She took advantage of his stunned reaction and continued before she chickened out and didn’t say what needed to be said.

“Learning you were a bounty hunter didn’t turn me off. I tried to convince myself that someone who knew more about breaking the law would never make it with someone sworn to uphold it.”

“Actually, I’m not sworn,” he began.

She placed her finger on his lips. “Let me say this,” she pressed, a sense of urgency hitting her. “Then this morning, listening to the two of you plan to return to where Jake was shot, and knowing you did this all the time, was the first time I wavered. I panicked. This was the reaction to you I wanted. I’d prayed for something about you that I wouldn’t be able to stomach, so I could walk away. Because if I don’t walk away from you I’m going to fall in love with you,” she said, speaking faster and managing a breath.

This time Marc didn’t say anything. He stared down at her, his blue eyes darkening, her only indication that emotions were climaxing inside him. He didn’t interrupt, though, so she gulped in another breath and got the rest of it out.

“The more you talked about guns, seeking out this bad guy, rescuing our parents, the more real it became. Jake has already been shot. You might get shot. This is how your life is. How can I live every day with you knowing that you could be shot at any time? I was convinced I’d found my out.”

“You were convinced?” he asked, searching her face. “What changed your mind?”

“Nothing,” she insisted. “But today, when we leave this room, we’re going after our parents. You have no idea how many times I’ve been left behind, believed I’d been forgotten, or finally the day had arrived when my parents would never come back.” She let out a choked laugh. “It made me nauseous every time they walked out the door.”

London dropped her hand and focused on his chest, unsure if she could get the rest of what needed to be said out if he started looking like he felt sorry for her.

“I’ve sat here listening to both of you all morning and came to a decision.”

“What’s that?” His tone sounded guarded.

“I’m going to rescue my parents.”

Marc nodded once, reached inside his coat pocket, and pulled out a small handgun. It would protect her against anyone trying to attack her, but that was about it. He’d saved the good stuff for himself. More than likely he believed he would be rescuing both of their parents and covering her ass at the same time. It would fit his nature and arguing over it would waste more time. She wouldn’t bother telling him she would cover his ass, too.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the gun and checking the safety, then confirmed it was loaded.

“Here,” he said, reaching for his leather holster.

“No.” She smiled up at him, trying not to dwell on how incredibly gorgeous and concerned he looked as he focused on her. “This is a secret my dad taught me when I was a kid,” she said, sliding the gun inside her coat and into the pocket next to her chest. “If you’re frisked, the first thing they will do is pat down your body, especially if you’re a woman.” She couldn’t help grinning when every inch of him tightened at her comment. “After they pat down your front, they turn you around, pat down your backside. That is when you pull your gun and ensure your freedom.”

“Your father taught you how to escape if you were arrested?” Marc’s look of disbelief was classic.

“Are you two about done?” Jake stood by the motel room door. “Let’s get out of here.”

“On our way,” Marc said over his shoulder, but then grabbed her, his actions rougher than usual. She stumbled against him as he held on to the side of her head, twisting his fingers through her hair. “Did he also tell you that long hair could work against you? There’s very few men on this planet who don’t get off yanking a woman by her hair,” he whispered, pulling her closer until he gripped her jaw and pulled her face to his. “Now it’s my turn to tell you something, London. Be scared all you want. Be terrified. I’m not letting you go, though. Put your hair up. The only man who is ever going to pull it will be me. Understand?”

She nodded, her heart suddenly throbbing so hard in her chest she could hardly breathe. Marc lowered his mouth to hers, his kiss hot and demanding. When someone pounded on the motel room door, she yelped, her heart exploding in her chest.

“Who the hell is that?” Jake had his back to them, blocking the door.

Whoever it was knocked again, the repetitive rap sounding how it did when someone woke them up that morning. Instinctively she leapt out of Marc’s arms, backing as far from the door as she could. The weight of the gun in her coat brought more comfort than she expected. London patted it, and kept her hand over the gun, feeling the hard metal, and the shape of it, press against her body as she moved behind Marc. With both men in front of her now, their large frames making it impossible to see the door, she should have felt a bit of comfort when the impatient knocking sounded again. Instead her world turned into a surreal experience, with first her instincts kicking into high gear, then reality shoving in right beside it.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to dive to the ground when Jake opened the door. Most likely old habits die hard. London scrambled alongside the bed farthest from the door. It had been a lot easier to scurry under beds when she’d been a child. She didn’t remember her heart going off like a jackhammer when she’d been younger and rushed to a safe hiding place. But it did. It beat so hard against her ribs the pain was excruciating. Not as painful, though, as when she’d bashed her knee and forehead simultaneously against the pedestal under the bed.

“Hello, gentlemen. Welcome to Flagstaff,” a deep, smooth-sounding male voice said, his tone a bit too friendly.

There wasn’t anywhere to hide. A panic attack worse than any she’d ever had as a kid ransacked her system. London rolled toward the bed, trying to scoot under the blankets hanging off the side and knowing if she tugged on them to cover herself someone would see them move off the bed.

“Who the hell are you?” Marc demanded, his bellowing baritone sounding pissed off and dangerous.

“Your escort into the game.” The humor in the man’s tone was terrifying. “The two of you should be honored. Marty Byrd underestimated your skills and talents, unlike me. Shall we go?”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Jake growled.

Something crashed and London was sure she screamed. She bit her lip and her heart pounded so hard in her chest it hurt. Her eyes watered so furiously she couldn’t see, and the floor shaking from large men slamming into one another was making her sick to her stomach. There was no way to know if moving or staying put would be smarter.

The skirmish that followed ended in seconds. London remained flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling and breathing so hard everyone probably heard her. There wasn’t any slowing her heart down, though. Every muscle in her body clenched with terrified anticipation. She hurt from head to toe. It was all she could do to catch her breath. The worst part was, London had learned many years before that trying not to move, not to breathe, not to be seen, was easily as painful as being part of a brawl in the middle of a motel room.

And why was it that fights always happened in motel rooms? There were no good hiding places. There was even less room to fight.

This was the life she vowed to give up. What the hell was she doing here? Whether it be a good or bad guy, the life for London would be the same. It meant continual fear for her life, and for those she loved.

She strained her eyes until they burned, frantically trying to see as far over the top of the bed as she could, knowing someone would appear any moment and snatch her up. Every time someone moved it was as if he jumped as hard as he could, making the floor move. Her stomach continued churning, motion sickness and panic making for a terrible combination.

The grunts and profanity continued as large bodies knocked into furniture and one another. There wasn’t any way everyone in the entire motel wouldn’t be able to hear the fighting. Someone would call the police. Someone would come running.

London was afraid to breathe as she waited for the first gunshot to go off. She didn’t know who was winning the fight. In her frantic state a clear thought actually slid through. She needed to protect herself. Marc and Jake were incredibly tall men and probably very skilled in their line of work. That didn’t mean they could dodge a bullet or stop these men from winning by sheer force. The good guys didn’t always win. Her parents were proof of that.

She shook, desperately trying to slide her hand inside her coat. If she looked down to see what she was doing she would miss the first glimpse of anyone moving to this side of the bed. She had to be ready.

As she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal of the gun inside her pocket, the room grew silent. She prayed for the ringing in her head to go away so she could hear everything. But it was quiet, too damn quiet.

“Where is your pretty girlfriend?” That cocky, rich tone made her jump.

“She went to her room,” Marc said, sounding winded.

“What is her room number?”

“Go to hell.” Marc grunted loudly when someone hit him.

London fought the urge to squeeze her eyes closed. She wanted to disappear until this entire ugly nightmare was over. She would do anything to back time up, even just a few minutes, to when she was standing with Marc, in his arms once again. She couldn’t close her eyes, though. Her life depended on them staying open. Instead she slipped the gun out of her pocket, held on to it, and moved her finger to the trigger as she slid it down her body. She would have to shoot whoever appeared at the end of the bed. And she had to aim to kill or seriously injure. It was her life or his.

“Find his bitch,” the man ordered, still sounding way too amused. “Bring her straight to me.”