Dangerous Kiss (18 page)

His body tensed and his pulse went into overdrive. He tried to push himself to a sitting position but dizziness enveloped him and he collapsed onto his back. She needed him. He wouldn’t fail her. Not again. Furious at himself, he jerked into a sitting position. A wave of nausea washed over him. He held his breath until it passed.

He hated himself right now. The guy had beaten the crap out of him and taken Claire. He’d failed her. Disgusted, he realized, he had no idea how long ago that had happened. But he had to find her. He’d promised her she’d be safe with him. Some protector he’d been.

His peripheral vision was for shit. What he could see had a slight halo around it. He shook his head as he pushed himself upright.

Claire’s scream for help echoed through the restaurant, followed by a man’s roar. Jake’s gut constricted. She was still here. He wobbled forward on rubbery legs. He had to get to her. Save her.

Aching, he staggered farther into the kitchen looking for a weapon. A bonanza of choices awaited him.

Jake grabbed a cast-iron skillet and dashed into the dining room, fury feeding his need for vengeance. But he was too late. They weren’t in the dining room. He sped past a set of bloody cutlery. Blood rushing in his ears, he dashed around overturned chairs. From the looks of it, Claire had put up a hell of a fight.

He spotted them in the parking lot.

The assailant tugged Claire toward a black sedan parked near the Dumpster. Jake sped out the door clutching the skillet like a baseball bat. His bare feet had just touched the asphalt parking lot when he saw Claire’s body go limp. His steps faltered.

But half a second later, she slammed her hand into the man’s face. Blood gushed from the attacker’s nose. A proud smile spread across Jake’s face.

That’s my girl
.

Too bad the asshole wasn’t hurt enough to let her go. Jake mentally shrugged. Claire’s blow had been enough to distract the intruder from hearing Jake’s approach. That was all the opening he needed. Neither noticed him as he came up behind.

The man pulled Claire’s battered face close to his. “Time to pay.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Jake smashed a cast-iron skillet against the man’s skull.

It made a dull thunk upon impact. The assailant fell to the ground in a heap, silent and unmoving. Jake dropped the skillet and reached for Claire. The pan clanked as it bounced off the asphalt. The goon didn’t flinch. He was out cold.

Pulling her to him, he buried his nose in her auburn hair. Despite everything, the scent of coconut soothed away his anger and worry. Unwilling to take even half a step away from her, he clutched her to his body.

Their lips met in a flurry of unspoken emotions. He wanted it all to come through, all the things he couldn’t find the words to say. The fear that had twisted his insides when he thought he’d been too late. The bone-melting relief when he folded her in his arms. The lust that had somewhere along the way transformed into love. The truth of that reality electrified him.

She broke the kiss. Laid her cheek against his chest. Unsure of what he should say, how he could tell her, his mind went blank. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

She tilted her face up. “Yeah, your timing could have been better.” She grinned at him.

He wiped her bloodied nose clean with his thumb. Pain flashed in her eyes.

“Claire, I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Shh.” She dusted his bruised face with a flutter of small kisses. “We’re quite the pair.”

He grinned down at her. He’d talk to her later, find a way to get her to move to Denver. Now that he’d found her, he wasn’t leaving Dry Creek without her. He glanced down at the unconscious man at their feet.

“We’ve gotta call the cops.”

Claire grabbed the phone and flash drive from where the goon had dropped them. A deep crack split the cellphone’s screen and the buttons didn’t respond to her fingers. “It’s not working.”

“Come on, our phones are inside.”

She wavered a bit. He clasped her hand in his and they hurried to the restaurant. Energy coursed through his body as he planned how to talk Claire into leaving her hometown.

As they mounted the steps, a figure emerged from the shadows. “It seems your services are no longer required, Mr. Warrick.”

A sense of inevitability settled in Jake’s stomach. This case had so many twist and turns, this last one just seemed par for the course. Claire looked up at him. Shock and confusion etched on her pretty but bruised face.

“Claire, let me introduce you to Kendall’s father. This man pointing a Smith and Wesson at us is Charles Burlington.”

The synapses in Claire’s brain shuttered to a stop. She gaped at Charles Burlington. Why did Kendall’s father have a gun?

He wore a dark blue suit. Even in the dim light, she could tell the expensive fabric had been tailored to his lean frame. A red tie twisted into a Windsor knot sat snug against his throat. His crisp white shirt showed nary a wrinkle.

His conservative outfit stood in sharp contrast to the matte-black handgun he pointed at them. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

“Ms. Layton, I presume?” His tone had an Ivy League snobbish quality to it that spoke of boarding school and ski homes in Vail.

Her gaze traveled up to his face. Strands of gray streaked through his dark brown hair and hinted at his age, but his forehead remained suspiciously unlined. His lips compressed to form a hard line. Her heart stopped when she looked into his eyes. A determined finality shone out from them.

Her mouth went dry. She fought to make her tongue function. “Y…yes.”

“When Kendall informed her mother that she was giving that drug addict three million dollars of my money, we both knew it was only a matter of time. But Kendall was her father’s daughter. I assumed it would end badly for her.”

The world zoomed in and out of focus. She wanted to puke.

“You assumed your own daughter would get killed and did nothing to stop it?” Barely restrained outrage trembled in Jake’s voice.

“I most certainly did not.” Burlington’s face darkened. “She was adopted.”

Revulsion spread through Claire’s body like a heat wave. The cold-blooded bastard.

She wanted to tear him apart limb from limb but Jake tugged her closer to his strong bulk.

“Gun.” His hushed tone brought her attention back to the problem at hand.

Unable to claw out Burlington’s eyes, she seethed, “You’re a real piece of shit, Burlington.”

“Women should not use such vulgar language. It is unbecoming of your gender.”

“Want me to shut her up?”

Claire started at the goon’s low rumble. For a big man who’d been knocked out cold a few minutes before, he moved with unnerving quiet. He looked as if he’d been shot out of a cannon and was completely pissed off about it. Without thinking, she eliminated any space between her and Jake.

“No, Mr. Franklin, we’ll deal with Mr. Warrick and Ms. Layton inside.” Burlington tilted his head toward Harvest’s door. “Shall we?”

She turned to Jake, his features as hard as granite. A vein bulging at his temple was the only give away to his state of mind.

“Why don’t you lead the way, Franklin?” Jake smirked and stepped back to let the big man go first.

The giant grunted at Jake’s request.

“No, Mr. Warrick. You and Ms. Layton go right ahead. Please sit down at a table in the dining room.”

Fear shook within her. The odds were not in their favor. They were outgunned and vulnerable. She wanted to make a mad dash for it, go with her gut and pull a kamikaze attack. The impulse nearly overwhelmed her, but it would be suicide.

She had to think, formulate a plan. If she rushed Burlington or the goon, Jake would back her up, but she doubted they could win in this situation. She couldn’t risk getting him killed. He meant too much to her for that.

With the giant at their backs and a gun aimed at their heads, their only option was to follow orders. Stiff with rage, she strode into the restaurant with Jake by her side.

She glanced up at him as they crossed the threshold and his mask slipped. For the briefest moment she saw the anger eating away at him, then his iron facade fell back into place. She squeezed his hand.

They’d come out alive after facing down a gun before. They’d do it again.

D
o not be an imbecile, Mr. Franklin. Put the gas can away and go get the bag of candles out of the sedan.” Burlington quirked his eyebrows at Jake. “Finding good help is a never-ending endeavor. You really were a promising employee, Mr. Warrick. I dislike having to let you go.”

“Yeah, I can tell your heart’s breaking.” Jake squeezed his hands into tight fists. Fury burned just underneath his skin and demanded release, preferably by pounding Burlington’s face to a bloody pulp.

Burlington leveled the Smith and Wesson at Jake. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Warrick, sarcasm is the sign of an uneducated mind. I thought you were better than that.”

“Now
my
heart’s breaking.” Jake stretched his fingers wide and sought out Claire’s hand.

Her fingers held tight to his larger hand. Leaning his head over until her soft, red hair brushed against the side of his forehead, he inhaled her coconut shampoo. “You antagonize while I figure a way out,” he whispered.

She squeezed his palm twice in quick succession.

“You know you won’t get away with this. I’ll hunt you down until you pay for what you let happen to Kendall.” Claire’s voice heaved with indignation.

Burlington let out a frustrated huff. “My dear Ms. Layton, Kendall was not some poor waif tossed asunder by the cruel world.”

Jake scanned the dining room for a weapon. The need to protect Claire overwhelmed all of the worries about what could happen to him. He had to figure a way to get her out of here. The hostess stand with its hidden panic alarm stood a good four feet away near the door, with Burlington standing between him and both options. He’d never be able to smash a chair onto Burlington’s head before the man got off a round.

“No.” Burlington turned the gun so it centered on Claire. “My adoptive daughter brought the end upon herself.”

“Really? I never knew someone could bludgeon themselves to death and toss their own dead body into a Dumpster,” Claire scoffed.

Training his gaze forward, Jake covertly swept the table top behind his back with his fingertips, hoping to nab a set of silverware. A steak knife wasn’t his weapon of choice against a Smith and Wesson, but he’d take what he could get right about now. Moving at the speed of a snail to keep his actions a secret from Burlington, he inched his fingers across the polished table. All he touched was wood. Angry at himself at being caught unaware and unprepared for the umpteenth time in the same day, he returned his empty hand to his side.

“You, Ms. Layton, are an unpleasant woman.”

“Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You’re not so awesome yourself.”

While Claire snarled at Burlington, Jake kept his gaze locked on the gun. Burlington had it pointed in their general direction, but seemed to have forgotten about it. Jake could cut the space between them in three strides.

“Yeah, I don’t think the father of the year committee has knocked on your door lately, if ever.” Claire lobbed the insult at Burlington like a grenade.

His face reddened as she continued to mouth off. No doubt about it, she let loose plenty of venom when angry. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of her diatribes. It almost made Jake feel sorry for the son of a bitch. Almost.

“That is quite enough, Ms. Layton. I believe you have some things that belong to me. Please put the phone and flash drive on the table.”

“No.” Claire’s chin rose and she slid her hand clutching the devices behind her back.

“Do not be foolish. Hand over the items and I shall promise not to personally harm you or Mr. Warrick.” He held out his hand toward Claire, empty palm facing upward. “Chop, chop.”

Jake snorted his disbelief. Burlington couldn’t even arrange his face into a pretense of innocence. The attempt at humble innocence made him look deranged.

The goon, Franklin, rumbled back into the restaurant. Plastic grocery bags crinkled in each of his large hands. He paused in the doorway and light from the parking lot outlined his roided-out body. Time had run out. Jake tamped down the adrenaline spiking his blood. He had to remain calm and in control if they were going to make it out alive.

Franklin lifted a bag. “So, where you want ’em?”

“The table is fine for right now. You have the needles?”

His stomach tightened. Needles were not a good sign. Jake saw the color drain out of Claire’s face. He smiled down at her and hoped she didn’t notice the worry eating a hole into his gut.

A burst of cinnamon apple infiltrated the room. Jake guessed it originated from the bags Franklin had dropped onto a nearby table.

Burlington’s gun hand twitched. The slight movement provided a tell-tale sign that someone wasn’t as comfortable with a handgun as he wanted them to believe. The idea made Jake curl his lip in a smirk; finding a chink in someone’s armor always made him happy.