Wake Me Up (Fallen Angels MC Book 2) (9 page)

And now, an excerpt from the sizzling sequel

Call My Name

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CHAPTER ONE

Caroline took a long, long look at the clock on her computer, and then glanced over at Jack, her co-worker, who looked like he’d been poured into his chair by a masochist. Even from here, she could see how crappy he felt. His nose was red from tissues, his eyes were dazed and bleary, and he flinched at every noise, winced at every movement. “Jack,” she said, and he turned toward her, though she didn’t get any sense at all that he was seeing her. “You really should go home and lie down.”

“No.” He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m fine.” He gripped his desk as the world shook around him, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Fine is very different than this. Stop dripping your germs everywhere. Go home and get some rest. Come back tomorrow.”

“No,” he said again, sounding like nothing more than a 3 year old in a snit. “I told you I’d come in and cover the desk for the last two hours so you’d have time to get ready for your date with Mason.”

“My date isn’t that big a deal. I told Mase to pick me up at 6, it’ll be fine if I tell him 7 instead. Besides, Missy will kick my ass if she knows I kept you here, feeling like you do.”

Jack made a sound. If his sinuses were less full of cement, it would have been a snort. Instead, it sounded kind of like a truck backfiring, especially since it was completed by him whimpering and grabbing at his forehead. A few months back, Jack and Missy had offered her sanctuary at their house after the former leader of the Fallen Angels, Mason’s motorcycle club, had assaulted her there. They’d developed something of an informal relationship since then, sometimes just her and Missy, sometimes all three of them.

One extraordinary night, Mason had joined in the fun. But more than all of that, she and Missy had become friends. Caro’d never had a lot of female friends; she’d never quite managed to know the right secret handshakes to fit in at baby showers and weddings, and at some point, she’d stopped bothering to try. But she and Missy could talk for hours about physics, math, science fiction--it was fantastic.

“That’s probably true,” Jack said. “Are you sure Mason won’t be annoyed? I don’t need the king of the Fallen Angels mad at me.”

“President,” Caroline said, automatically. “He’s called the president.” And she had yet to decide who was more uncomfortable with that title, her or Mase. On the bad days--of which, admittedly, there were only a few--she was pretty sure they both hated it, but for completely opposite reasons.

She felt Jack watching her, and worked to keep her expression neutral. He had not expressed any disapproval of her relationship with Mason, just some surprise that the relationship was continuing after the initial heady rush of the amazing sex.

Missy had been less circumspect. She still didn’t come right out and say that it was a bad idea for them to continue to see each other, but she watched Caroline’s reactions very closely whenever Mason was out the house, which was often.

“And no,” she said, realizing she hadn’t finished her sentence. “He’ll understand.”

Jack held out for another moment, and then sighed, which triggered a coughing fit. “All right. Fine. I’m going.”

She watched him sway just a little as he stood up. “Are you really okay? I could call you a cab and then drive your car home later.”

He considered it for a minute, which was the only reason she accepted when he said that no, he was fine. She resisted the urge to help him get his things together; once he was up and moving, he seemed to gain momentum, and she didn’t want to get in his way, poor guy.

***

It was a Friday afternoon on a sunny day in September, probably one of the last really nice days they’d have before fall came in with a vengeance and moved quickly to winter. It was the curse of New England; once the leaves turned, the cold freeze, whether it brought snow or not, was close on its heels. No one wanted to think about their 401ks, their payroll dramas, their mutual funds. If she was the sort to put her feet up on the desk and take a nap, she probably could have. Instead, she indulged herself by watching the webcam feed that Elizabeth had set up in her backyard so that Caroline could visit with Gloria, her Lab, whenever she had a free minute.

Gloria had, thank the powers that be, fully recovered from the assault. But Caroline hadn’t ever felt right bringing her back to the house--hell, she could scarcely walk in the front door without crying--and Elizabeth had offered to take care of her until Caroline could figure out her next step. It was a wonderful offer, but at the same time, she couldn’t stay with Jack and Missy indefinitely. It felt wrong to sell the house because of what had happened, but at the same time...what else could she possibly do?

The bell over the door tinkled, surprising her utterly. She glanced up, and the man in the doorway smiled as he entered. She smiled back, but it was mostly to hide the way her skin crawled as his gaze traveled over her. He was dressed normally, slacks and a jacket, shirt, tie, but his eyes, as he took off his sunglasses, were cold and flat. His features were handsome, and he looked fit, based on how his suit caressed his frame, but those lizard eyes made her flinch and look away.

“Hi,” he said, walking across to her desk and extending his hand. “Mike Randall. You’re Caroline Lewis?”

She stood to take his hand, and forced himself to look directly into his eyes, no matter how they made her shiver. “Just like the nametag says,” she said, and managed a small smile. “I haven’t seen you here before, Mr. Randall. Are you here for personal finance, or business?”

“Oh, a little of everything,” he said, sitting down in the chair across from her desk. He reached into his pocket, and her whole body tightened; when he pulled out his badge, her heart almost stopped. “And, I should have said.
Detective
Mike Randall. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about a missing person.”

She tried to keep breathing. She was sure she could do it if she tried.

“Do you know who I’m here to ask about, Ms. Lewis?”

Her heart was absolutely throbbing. She shuffled papers around on her desk, realized she was fidgeting, and made herself stop. “I don’t--my social circle isn’t very wide, Detective, and everyone I know is where they should be.”

“Go ahead and think hard,” he said, and his lizard eyes were gleaming with anticipation.

She wasn’t sure what snapped in her, but it went with a rubber-band pop. “I’m sorry, but I’m really bad at guessing games. If you have questions--about finances, or about whatever you came here about, please ask them. Otherwise, I have work to do.” Her voice didn’t quaver, and she didn’t flinch away from his eyes.

A small expression bent his lips, but she wouldn’t have called it a smile. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He opened it up, and she saw a color copy of one of the pages from the logbooks that Mason had brought her, back when this mess began. A name was circled, again and again, on the page. She hadn’t circled it. She’d known that Mason was going to need to have these books back, untouched, like they’d never left the garage, so she’d kept separate notes. But looking at the books brought back all the memories.

The feel of her hands, tightly bound against the chair behind her. The whisper of Mason’s voice in her ear, the feeling of his fingers brushing against her hand as he tried to pass her a message, a message that she hadn’t understood at all. The top of her head was too light, she was going to float away, fly away, vanish, disappear. She couldn’t breathe.

And the detective was still watching her with that cold expression, that soft, fake, predatory smile, and breathing was not a thing that she could do. Stars danced in her vision, and she wondered what would happen to her if she fainted, if she passed out right now.

“Tell me,” he said, and his voice came from far away, echoing through the tunnel as she fell. “Who is Anna Bressette?”

“She was my sister.” Mason’s voice was so cold and clear that it felt like a dream, but she let it be a line to pull her back to reality from the nightmare where she was drowning. “Baby, is everything okay here?”

“Detective Randall had some questions. About--a missing person, I guess?” Fuck, she’d nearly said Declan’s name. That would have been convenient, wouldn’t it? Fuck.

Mason stood at his full height, broadening his shoulders, crossing his arms, and planting his feet. Moments like this, she knew damn well that he’d been in the military for a long time, that he wouldn’t ever really be out. “If you have questions, Detective, I suspect that they’re really for me.”

Randall stood, matching Mason’s stance with one just as balanced, just as casually aware of the violence that could break free at any moment. “Mr. Butler, I would love for us to talk. But somehow, for an outlaw, you’re shockingly well connected within the legal system.”

Mason stayed silent, watching Randall, but Caroline could see his pale knuckles whitening further, and she was sure Randall could as well. She breathed in a prayer that Mason wasn’t stubborn enough to punch a cop.

Randall saw whatever he wanted, and then shrugged, his lizard eyes flashing as he put his sunglasses back on. “Thanks for talking with me, Caroline. I’ll be back later, so we can finish our conversation.” He gestured towards the piece of paper on her desk. “Keep that. Think about what it might mean.”

He walked out, and she gave in to the shaking in her knees, putting her head in her hands and trying to breathe. Somewhere far away, she heard Mason shoot the lock on the door and flip the sign over to closed. He came close, but he didn’t touch her, not right away.

“Please,” she said. He’d wait there for permission forever if she needed him to, because once he’d moved too fast and she’d screamed like she was being murdered. But now--she needed the grounding, the purifying motion of his hand spinning tiny circles over the muscles in the small of her back.

“Breathe, baby,” he said. “We’re gonna be okay. That dirtbag cop doesn’t know anything, he’s just sniffing around hoping someone leaves a lead where he can dig it up.”

She looked up at him, tried to find a way to ask how sure he really was, and decided to let it go. Asking would only make things worse. And that was something that she couldn’t afford to do. “Okay,” she said, reminding herself to focus on the now, on her breathing, and on the man she knew loved her.

It was a lot harder than it should have been.

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