Live and Let Love (19 page)

Jack forced himself back away from the siren look in Willow’s eyes that was calling
him to renounce his cover, took a step out of kissing range, grabbed a can of soup
sitting on the counter next to him, and handed it to Willow. “Duke and I are going
to check out the house. Stay here and defend yourself.”

“With soup?”

“Sure; paired with a strong throwing arm, soup is good ammo. If someone threatens
you, let him have it.”

“My fastball won’t make the majors. And this will float right through a ghost.”

“If you see a ghost, run like hell for the car.” Jack shrugged and pointed after Duke.
“My partner’s leaving without me.”

“No way.” Willow shook her head. “I’m not staying here alone. This reminds me too
much of a scene from
Halloween.
”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“You aren’t babysitting.”

“I’m watching the dogs.”

She had him there. “Okay, I guess that counts. Just stay back.” He followed Duke through
the living room toward the stairs.

Duke howled, made as if he was going to dash to the stairs, and fell over with the
effort. Jack took pity on him and moved toward him, hoping to help the poor dog to
his feet. It was the least he could do. But Duke growled at him and bared his teeth
as Jack approached and reached for him.

“Jeez,” Jack said, pulling his fingers back out of nipping range just in time. “Dogs
usually like me.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Willow said, sounding completely unconvinced. “Duke, leave
Con alone.”

Jack gave up on the dog. A tennis ball lay at the bottom of the stairs. Jack was certain
it hadn’t been there before. He picked it up and held it for Willow to see. “Looks
like this may be our culprit.” He looked up the stairs.

“Poltergeists?”

“Settling houses. There’s a bin of balls for the dogs at the top of the stairs. When
the furnace shut off, the house shuddered and this ball rolled out and thumped its
way down the stairs. That’s what I’m guessing. It was only footsteps in our imaginations.
Stay here while I check the second floor out.”

She rolled her eyes. “What about the bang we heard before the footsteps? That was
right over our heads.”

“That’s what I’m going to check out.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No way.” Jack used his firm
don’t argue with me
tone. “You stay here and run for help if I don’t come back in a reasonable amount
of time.”

She looked at him, shrugged, and went to comfort Duke as Bud snored in his bed. “Call
if you need help and we’ll come running.”

Jack laughed. “Maybe
you
will, but I’m not counting on the dogs.”

At the top of the stairs, out of sight from Willow, Jack drew his gun. A floorboard
creaked as he entered the master bedroom. He scanned the room, gun in front of him,
ready to take out any intruder.

Kennett’s dead friend Grant really needed to fire his interior decorator
and
his cleaning lady. The place was a mismatched hodgepodge of ugly and uglier. A lot
of the old-lady décor up here, too. And the musty smell of a house that needed airing
and dusting.

Jack hadn’t had much time in this room before Willow called, but everything looked
pretty much as he remembered. Except for a work boot, which had toppled off a shoe
rack onto the floor. That explained the thump they’d heard.

He relaxed. Simple explanation—an old, settling house, and sloppily stored shoes falling
off shelves. Nothing sinister there.

He surveyed the room all the same. His gaze fell on the nightstand and the hair stood
up on the back of his neck. Someone
had
been here. In the last fifteen minutes while he was doubling back for Willow.

Kennett’s alarm clock was in a different spot. Jack could tell by the dust pattern
on the nightstand. There was now a clean spot on the wood where the clock should still
be. The settling hadn’t caused that.

He checked the closet and underneath the bed. Then he moved to the bathroom and two
remaining bedrooms.

“Everything okay up there?” Willow called to him from the bottom of the stairs.

Yeah, just peachy. But empty. Whoever was here is long gone now.

“Yeah. I think I found the culprit.” He raced back to Kennett’s room and grabbed the
boot. He carried it to the top of the stairs to show Willow. “This fell out of the
shoe rack.”

Willow put a hand to her heart, let out a breath of relief, and laughed. “Scared spitless
by an old shoe.”

“Yeah, we’re a pair.” He grinned, trying to keep his anxiety from showing. “I think
our job is done here. The haunting is debunked.”

She shook her head. “This time. Next time we’ll have to be more scientific. We’d better
bring a deluxe EMF meter and an EVP spirit box.”

The kind of spook that worried Jack wasn’t the kind that showed up on EVPs. Still,
he grinned. “Those sound cool. I like gadgets.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the way your eyes lit up.”

“Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed her arm. “It’s creepy being here uninvited. What
if Kennett comes back and finds us?”

She nodded.

“This stays between us. Neither of us can mention anything about being here, feeding
the dogs, them being drunk.…” Jack tried to sound casual. But his sense of urgency
must have slipped through.

Her eyes went wide. She nodded. “Sure. Mum’s the word. This random act of kindness
is just between us.”

*   *   *

Con drove Willow home and walked her to her door.

“Thanks for coming with me.” She paused, not wanting Con to leave, not wanting to
go back into the house alone. These past few days had just been too much. And tonight—all
the hurt and injury, she was overwhelmed. She needed comfort. She needed Jack.

Con took her in his arms. “Hey, it’s all right. The dogs are fine, thanks to us. Shane
will live. You’re just tired and need some rest.” He tipped her chin up and looked
into her eyes.

Her breath caught.

His face bent to hers.

She leaned up into him. Their lips met and it was like coming home. To Jack.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to him. The Sense screamed
at her,
This is Jack. This
is
Jack!

It was an ethereal knowledge deep in her soul. This man was Jack. She just knew it.
He had to be. And if he wasn’t, she wanted him anyway.

She opened her mouth to him and suppressed a groan of pleasure. He tasted like Jack.
He kissed like Jack, with a gentle probing dance of his tongue. With pressure to keep
her melded to him as if they really were one.

But this man kissed her hungrily, the way Jack did when he’d been away on a mission
too long.

Jack
had
been gone too long. Far too long.

Con pulled away from the kiss suddenly. He ran his hand through his hair and stuffed
both of his hands into his pockets as if he didn’t trust himself to keep them to himself.
As if he was on the edge of losing control completely.

She thought about pushing him, this man who could be Jack, to the edge, inviting him
in. Begging him to come in. She wanted her tiger. She wanted to know for sure whether
Con was Jack or simply a man she could love. She wanted to make love to him and hear
Jack’s sexy chuff. Or Con’s grunt of pleasure. Either sound would tell her the truth.

The chuff would give him away as
her
Jack. She wanted Jack back, no matter what he’d done, or where he’d been, or where
he was planning to go from here. But she hesitated just a second too long.

He cleared his throat and stared at the ground. He was under control again.

Sadly, she knew she’d missed her opportunity. Next time she wouldn’t think; she’d
simply act.

Con pulled his keys from his pocket. “Good night. I’ll see you Monday.”

On Monday, he wouldn’t get away.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

On Sunday morning before seven, Jack lounged in a leather recliner in Aldo’s guesthouse
reading the Sunday paper and sipping a dark-chocolate mint mocha that he’d had to
drive twenty minutes out of town to get. Yes, he’d gone rogue and gotten what he wanted,
damn it all. He had to satisfy one of his cravings before he went crazy and went to
Willow’s to do what he really wanted—make love to his wife.

Which would blow everything to hell.

The sun still wasn’t up. Jack liked the peace and quiet of the morning.

The guesthouse was a one-bedroom, one-main-room, one-bathroom affair. The kitchen
occupied the wall opposite where Jack sat in direct line to the bedroom. Though the
kitchen was small, Aldo had spared no expense on it. He’d lined the counters with
fine Italian marble, installed Italian tile backsplashes, and put in top-quality stainless-steel
appliances. A round, four-person table and chairs completed the ensemble.

The apartment was homey and upscale, decorated in a rooster motif and Italian design,
with vases and wreaths of fall flowers. Except for the rooster motif, Jack liked it.
He’d like it even more once Kennett was dead. Damn, that man had nine lives.

Jack opened the paper to the Sunday crossword and pulled a pen out of his pocket.
Doing the crossword cleared his mind and opened him up to creativity, which he sure
as hell needed right now—a creative way to kill. One Willow wouldn’t inadvertently
interrupt.

He’d thought about sneaking into the hospital where Kennett had had to stay overnight
for observation and taking Kennett out. He’d even scoped it out. But it was too dangerous
and had too little chance of success. Too many medical people around to revive Kennett.
Not enough time to figure out their schedules. Too many questions would be asked.
In a cost-benefit analysis, the risk of failure outweighed the chance of success.
So Jack would have to chill, be patient.

He started the crossword.
A five-letter word for low point
 …

He became so engrossed in the puzzle, he almost didn’t hear the gentle click coming
from the kitchen. Almost. He cocked an ear.

Click. Click, click. Click.

The little apartment was full of pops and hisses, the bump as the gas furnace ignited
and kicked on, the whisper of the furnace fan. But this was something different.

Jack pushed the footrest down, set the paper and pen in the chair, and stood, listening.
Click. Click, click. Click.

Not an explosive. Not a detonator noise he recognized. It sounded like … an oven turning
on and warming up. At that moment, he glanced across the room at Aldo’s beautiful
glass-top stainless-steel oven. The electronic display glowed orange-yellow, happily
lit to display the setting and rising temperature.

Broil. Four fifty. What the hell?

He hadn’t turned the oven on.

Acting on instinct, Jack pushed the recliner aside, jumped out of the line of fire
of the oven, and rushed toward it. Standing off to the side of it, he fumbled with
the controls, found the
OFF
button, turned the thing off, and opened the oven door at the exact instant the oven
fired a bullet at him.

It whizzed past him and where he’d been sitting in the chair and sliced through the
wall between the bedroom and living room. If he’d slept in and been in bed or was
still in the chair, he’d be dead.

Jack swore beneath his breath.

Damn that Kennett! What the hell else has the Rooster booby-trapped?

Jack took a look around the room with a trained eye. His range of motion around the
apartment was limited until the oven cooled down and he could disable the gun. He
couldn’t risk stepping into the line of fire. Place a gun in an oven, heat it up,
and it will discharge.

Very creative, Kennett. Not particularly effective, but creative.

Had it been successful, no one would have suspected Kennett, not when he’d been in
the hospital having his vitals checked every half hour. Jack wondered whether the
Rooster had slipped in and set the oven timer or he’d rigged it so he could arm it
remotely.
Remotely
seemed like the most efficient and certain way to make a clean kill. And the Rooster
was sneaky—the gun had been quiet. He’d even used a silencer.

Jack did routine sweeps of the guesthouse for bugs and monitoring cameras, which had
most certainly thrown the Rooster off and made him take a gamble that Jack would be
in bed at the time of the shooting.

Jack shook his head. He had to take that asshole out soon.

The bathroom wasn’t in the direct line of oven fire and was the next most lethal room
in the place. Jack had been out all night and was so groggy when he got home and again
when he’d gotten up, he hadn’t paid much attention when he’d used it.

He scoped it out now with a keen eye. An aerosol can of germ-killing cleaner sat on
the heating vent.

Heat an aerosol can up and it will explode. Jack wasn’t certain the vent would blow
hot enough air to explode a regular can, but he had a feeling this can was specially
modified to blow up when the Rooster wanted it to. He removed the can and stored it
in the explosive containment container he’d brought.

He unscrewed the showerhead and found it filled with powder that would produce poisonous
gas when water coursed through it. A careful search turned up nothing else.

Jack didn’t scare easily.

He went back into the kitchen. The oven had cooled enough for him to take a look.
He grabbed a pot holder from a drawer and, using caution, removed the pistol from
the oven. He shook his head.

The serial number had been filed off and he was certain there’d be no prints. Jack
set it on the counter and followed the line of fire into the bedroom, where he dug
the slug out of the wall.

He didn’t like the fact that the Rooster had gotten past his security measures. Time
to step up things around here. He grabbed his laptop and listening gear and did a
quick check on Willow’s place to make sure she was safe, lingering a second to watch
her as she sat sipping her morning coffee, braless in a sheer tank top, as she pounded
away on her laptop. He knew what he’d rather be pounding. He also knew what she was
doing when he looked at the keystroke-monitoring software. She was trying to get the
dirt on him.