Deathblow (9 page)

“What if I can’t save you?”

She held his gaze. “We are safer with you here.”

Yeah. But what if “safer” wasn’t enough? He wanted Keith locked away. If the bastard showed up and threatened Wendy, Joe could toss his ass in jail and throw the book at him. Problem solved. Except long-time abusers were a lot cannier than that.

“Good night, Joe.” She started up the stairs again.

“Good night, Wendy.”

He lay back on the couch and swore silently. He shouldn’t have told her about Lil’ Gomez. That was his burden to bear.

He shouldn’t be wishing that he could go upstairs with her either.

He shouldn’t be thinking every five minutes about the night they’d spent together. He seriously needed to quit doing that.

They’d slept together once. Barely knew each other. She’d gone out of her way, on multiple occasions, to let him know that she was less than impressed with him. He didn’t understand his fascination with her. Normally, he wasn’t a masochist. She had a kid and an asshole of an ex—the very opposite of uncomplicated.

Okay, she was a good mother; that was obvious from watching her for five minutes. But since when was that sexy? Yet he wanted her. He’d wanted her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

She was a city girl. Too tall, really. She had no rack, he reminded himself, hoping that would somehow save him from making a complete fool of himself.

Oh hell.
Who was he kidding?

* * *

She had one of those dreams where you’re aware that you’re dreaming. Wendy could have fought to come awake, but she didn’t.

She was in Philly, heading back into the Ritz Carlton to have concierge call her a cab when Joe Kessler walked out, the after-party still in full swing in the Grand Ballroom behind him. Glittery models, industry people, and paparazzi filled the place, including the foyer and the hallways.

In a sharp tux, he looked good enough for the runway. No, not the runway. He had those wide shoulders, that easy cop walk of his, that athlete’s body. He looked good enough for a spy-thriller blockbuster. The zing she’d felt the first time they’d met was still there, which annoyed the living daylights out of her.

“Can I give you a ride home?” He had a smile that should have been on billboards. Lips that put sinful thoughts into a woman’s mind. A playful glint in his eyes that a person should simply turn away from unless heartache was her hobby.

She put on her coolest, most unaffected model expression. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” Her life was plenty complicated already.

“There’s always next season.”

“Is that some clever football expression?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked her over, took his time, missing no detail of her floor-length gown, not the slit over her thigh or the neckline’s dangerously low dip. His gaze had a life of its own, leaving tingles on her skin.

A cocky smile flickered over his masculine lips. “Odd how sex is the first thing you think of when you look at me.”

As a model, she was good with facial expression, so she managed to keep her unaffected smile.

“A ride?” he offered again. “Nothing implied.”

She glanced through the glass doors at the concierge, where people waited ten deep. Somewhere behind them, Keith was searching for her. He’d shown up unexpectedly.

She turned back to Joe. “Fine. But I’m not inviting you in for a nightcap.”

He nodded, then handed the valet attendant his ticket and a generous tip.

She half expected a police cruiser, but the car brought up was a souped-up black Camaro with red racing stripes, the engine a throaty rumble. The car fit him. When he opened the door for her, she slipped into the black leather bucket seat with appreciation.

“You attend charity balls a lot?” she asked after she gave him her address.

His lips stretched into a mysterious smile.

She refused to acknowledge the tingles. The guy had BIG MISTAKE stamped all over him. She’d already made her big mistake with Keith. She was determined to be smarter going forward, if it killed her.

“Look, I know you probably came because of me. It’s flattering. And, okay, there’s an attraction here, I’m not going to pretend there isn’t. I’m just saying I’m not going to go with it. Under any circumstances. You look like a nice guy. I don’t want to waste your time.”

His smile turned devilish. “You admitted to being attracted to me. And you care. Otherwise, why worry about wasting my time? Attraction and caring.” His dark gaze cut to her with an amused glint. “Sounds like you’re half in love with me. You might be going too fast. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She might have responded with some travel advice, recommending a hot, dry climate.

“I won’t take offense,” he told her causally. “I know city girls can be a little brash. They lack that sweet hospitality of a good country woman.”

“Maybe you should stick with those country women. Could be you’re out of your league here.”

“Could be,” he agreed, but didn’t look the least disturbed.

In the end, she did invite him in. For a cup of coffee, because it was two in the morning and he still had a long drive ahead of him to get back home to Broslin. He’d given her a ride. She’d been rude to him, presumptuous too, and she wasn’t normally like that. She didn’t know why he got her hackles up so thoroughly.

And then there was the fact that he’d walked her to her door to make sure she was safe, then pulled a small police car from his pocket. “For Justin.”

So really, she couldn’t just say,
Go away.
 

But she gave him the coffee in a travel mug. She wanted him gone and her equilibrium back.

As she handed him the mug, he gently folded his long fingers around her wrist, pulled her to him, and brushed his lips against hers. “Thank you. Good night, Wendy.”

His gentle touch was like a whisper against her skin. And despite the fact that he made her blood flow faster, he did have a steady, calming presence that felt nice to be around. Definitely a contrast to Keith, who’d dragged her across the apartment by her hair that morning, threatening to take Justin away from her.

“I’d like to give you a proper good-night kiss,” Joe had said, asking for permission, and then he waited patiently for her answer.

No.
The word was on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want a kiss. She didn’t want sex. She’d managed to avoid Keith’s advances for months. She didn’t like sex anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time intimacy hadn’t hurt.

She wasn’t sure anymore if she believed that things could be different. Yet part of her desperately wanted Joe to show her that it could be.

And then the next thing she knew, she was kissing him. “I’m on the pill.”

“I have protection. I’m going to use it anyway.”

“Yes, you will.”

And then they were naked, and he was carrying her to bed. And then the next thing she knew, she was flying in the stars, the orgasm ripping through her so thorough and powerful that it scared her. Everything felt good. All of it. So incredibly good that it made her want to cry for some reason. She wanted him to stay, so as soon as she caught her breath, she sent him away.

In her dream, Wendy was back there again, exactly as she had been that night, spent, lying naked on top of the tangled covers, staring at the ceiling as her heart raced, wondering what had just happened, swearing it was never going to happen again.

When she woke from the dream, she spent a moment appreciating the irony that she was now living with Joe Kessler.

Keith got out of his Lexus in front of the apartment building across the street from Wendy’s, tossing the last of his coffee into the garbage. She was at Sophie’s place in Broslin. With a man. Who the hell was he? Did Sophie have a brother? Hell if Keith knew. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy’s face through the curtains. He hadn’t seen Sophie when he’d looked in the window last night, but it’d been late. Maybe Sophie had been in bed already.

Wendy had gone up to sleep too. The man had stayed downstairs. Which was why they were all still living, even though Keith had a mind to set the whole damn place on fire and watch them burn.

He felt calmer this morning. Wendy was too stupid to outsmart him. If he wanted her, he’d get her back. End of story.

He walked in through the lobby, scuffed walls, worn carpet. Management was sprucing up the hallways in Wendy’s building, but he considered that place just as bad as this one. No doorman. No amenities. He had a penthouse in the best building in town. That Wendy would choose something like this over that burned his temper.

He rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, to Ginny’s apartment. He’d seen Wendy’s schedule, stuck on her fridge, when he’d stopped in to check on her the day before yesterday. She’d be at a shoot this morning, which meant Justin would be with the babysitter.

Wendy had no right taking off with his son. She needed to be taught a lesson.

He knocked on the door.

Ginny opened it, a twenty-year-old single mother of twins. She wore faded jeans and an even more faded T-shirt. Size large. She’d never lost the baby weight. Keith tried not to look at her body. Fat women disgusted him.

“Hey. Nice haircut.” He turned on the charm anyway. “I’m supposed to pick up Justin. Have the day off. I figured we’d hang out and do a father-son day.”

The confusion on her face was instant and seemed sincere. “I don’t have Justin.”

In the living room behind her, her two little girls were watching cartoons. No other kid.

Keith reached up to rub his eyebrow. “Oh man. I’m an idiot. I bet Wendy said she was dropping him off at Sophie’s. I was in the tunnel when she called. The phone was cutting in and out. Sorry.”

“No problem.” The woman gave a chubby-cheeked smile.

Biggest favor someone could do her would be to lock her in a room with a bowl of fruit for a week. He almost told her that, but then again, what did he care? Ginny was nothing to him. Wendy was his. She was the only one who mattered. Even if she didn’t always understand or appreciate the kind of attention and energy he gave to carving her to perfection.

He strode to the elevator. Maybe Sophie did have the kid. He considered the guy at Sophie’s place. If he was a visiting brother, how long could he stay? Probably no longer than a day or two.

Keith stabbed at the elevator button. He could be patient. He’d wait out the bastard. Then he’d pay those bitches a visit.

He already had a gift in the mail for Wendy, to make sure she didn’t forget him in the meanwhile. He allowed himself a small smile as he waited.

* * *

Joe’s presence at the photo shoot, and the zing she felt every time their eyes met, threw Wendy off stride. Joe was so not the man she needed in her life right now. She had her son to think about.

Justin had the time of his little life, the models fussing over him. Nobody had an issue with him being there. True to his word, Joe kept him busy. He read a couple of pop-up books he’d grabbed from the house, then did magic tricks.

He could pull coins and candy out of people’s ears, apparently. Well, she did already know that he had clever fingers. She tried not to think about that as she worked.

The other models were nothing but smiles around him. All right, he was good-looking, and not in the androgynous way of some male models. He was a real man, all testosterone, hot cop, the whole package. The scar didn’t hurt. Of course, everybody had to take a closer look at that, ask questions. Not that Wendy was jealous. The girls were welcome to him. She had no romantic interest in him whatsoever.

After the photo shoot, she asked him to swing by the post office on their way home. She was having most of her mail forwarded to a PO Box. She’d set that up when she realized that Keith liked going through her mail.

She unlocked her unit and gathered up the stack of flyers and bills, grabbed the small box wedged in the back. Then she hurried back to Joe and Justin in the car. She slipped in and tossed the box at her feet, dropped the rest of the mail onto her lap, and began separating bills from junk mail as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Hey, want to look at kitties?” She handed a pet-store flyer back to Justin.

When she was done sorting, she put all the important mail on top and went through it one by one. Her agency was changing the contract, and they sent her a copy of the new one. Fifteen pages. Jeez. They were in Broslin by the time she combed through it, her careful study of legalese interspersed with fending off Justin’s entreaties for a cat. Clearly, she should have kept that flyer to herself.

“We can’t have one in our apartment. It’s not allowed. I’m sorry. If someday we move to another place, we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“Kitty!”

“How about if I take you over to see Aunt Sophie and you can play with Mango.” Mango was Bing’s cat.

“Mango! Mango!” Justin laughed with sheer joy just thinking about it.

She stuffed her new contract back into the envelope, grabbed up the entire mail pile, and tossed the stack on the backseat. Her lap cleared, she picked up the package next, trying to remember if she’d ordered anything online lately. Might be makeup samples. She was on the list for a couple of cosmetics companies.

She ran her fingernail under the tape and popped the box open, gave a startled scream before she could stop herself, shoving the box off her lap, to her feet.

OhGodohGodohGod.

“Are you all right?” Joe was pulling over already, putting out the four-way blinkers.

She was out of the car before it fully stopped, then lifting Justin out of the car seat, shaking as she walked away, trying to keep it together.

“Hey, want to look at the Indian?” She trotted to the cigar-store window with him, nervous energy racing through her. “Wow. He’s pretty big, isn’t he?” Her heart beat in her throat.

There’d been something furry in the box.
And blood.
 

Her heart raced.
Dammit, Keith.
 

Justin stared at the carved, wooden Indian with wide-eyed rapture. “He’s got feathers.”