Rev It Up (31 page)

It wasn’t.

But finally,
finally
the elevator door slid open. Hurrying down the smoky hall, he fished in his pocket for his room key. Pushing inside room 602, he rushed to the bed and thumbed through the folder the PI had sent him until he found what he was looking for.

Lisa
Brown.

The file said she was a part-time graduate student at Northwestern University in Liberal Studies—whatever the hell that was—and a full-time nanny for Michelle Carter. Scanning the sheet for the information he sought, he smiled when his eyes landed on an address.

Folding the piece of paper, he tried shoving it in his jacket pocket only to stop when his fingers brushed against something glossy and flat.

He pulled out the photo of Michelle with her son and unfolded it, running a thumb over the full line of her lush breasts. What the red-headed whore in the lobby had paid a plastic surgeon a pretty penny to construct, God had given naturally to Michelle.

His blood began to pound in his cock, and he reached down to adjust himself.

Oh, we’re going to have some fun, you and I.
A
whole
lot
of
fun…

Tossing the photo on the bed—he didn’t need it, he’d know her face anywhere—he shoved Lisa Brown’s information into his pocket and strolled from his room, whistling happily.

***

“Snake, can I talk to you out in the hall,” Boss asked, causing Jake to glance away from the sweet, innocent face of his sleeping son.

His son…

Yo, it’s going to take some time to get used to that.

He was a
father
. He had a
son
. Maybe if he said it over and over again, he’d finally be able to believe it.

“I guess,” he said, pushing up from the stiff chair he’d pulled beside Franklin’s hospital bed. The boy looked like a little doll among the covers, so small, so pale. He tried to see some of himself in him…

And it rankled more than he’d ever admit to find none of his physical characteristics in that cherubic little face. It was insult added to injury. After all, he’d already been denied his rights as a father, was it fair the universe had decided to deny his genetics, as well?

Franklin stirred, a small frown wrinkling his brow, and Shell reached up to brush the boy’s hair back from his face, whispering words of comfort.

“You comin’ or what?” Boss asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, striding toward the door, refusing to glance at Shell as he passed her.

Pushing into the hall, he closed the door behind him and crossed his arms as he leaned against the jamb, glaring at Boss. Oh, he knew his former CO was innocent in all this, but it didn’t help that the guy was determined to take Shell’s side in everything.

He felt like he was fighting a war on two fronts.

“What’s up?” he asked when Boss eyed him concernedly.

Screw that. He didn’t want concern. He didn’t know what he wanted exactly; he was still too shaken up and confused, but he did know it wasn’t concern
.

“Becky and I have to get back to the shop,” Boss said, the scars on his tight face standing out in rigid, white relief. “Rock has finished questioning this latest hit man, and he’s on his way back to resume his surveillance and reconnaissance duty at the hotel. Steady’s having to wait back at BKI in order to give me the sit-rep on what Rock discovered before he can resume his duties, but before I can take care of that I need to swing by Shell’s place and close up. I left in such a hurry, I didn’t lock the door or set her security system, and it’ll be a miracle if she hasn’t already been robbed blind. I’m leaving Ozzie here to look after Shell and Franklin. But what I need from you is some assurances you won’t—”

“You don’t need to have the kid stay,” he interrupted. “I can look after Shell and Franklin until it’s time to take them home.”

Boss’s expression belied his hesitation, and that pissed Jake off all the more. “Look, dude,” he ground out, “just because she broke my heart and hid my kid away from me doesn’t mean I’ll let anything happen to her. She
is
the mother of my child, after all.”

The mother of his child. And that was another concept it was going to take some getting used to…

He suddenly had the urge to hit something.
Hard.
And, unfortunately, the wall didn’t look sturdy enough to be satisfying.

Boss’s eyes narrowed, searching Jake’s livid expression, and then the big guy did something totally unexpected.

He grabbed Jake by the shoulder and dragged him into a bear hug.

“W-what the fuck?” he sputtered, trying to push away. But it was like trying to move a mountain.

“I’m sorry,” Boss whispered close to his ear. “I’m so sorry this happened. If I’d known…” He let the sentence dangle, and all the rage and frustration that’d kept Jake from breaking down into a pitiful heap of tears and snot vanished like smoke on an ocean breeze.

Oh, fuck a duck!

The first hard sob wracked his lungs and had him threatening to squeeze the life from Boss as he wrapped his arms around the man’s back.

“How could she do it?” he choked, burning tears clogging his throat and blinding his eyes. “How could she do this to me?”

“I don’t know, man,” Boss patted his back with a big, square hand. “That’s why you need to ask her. That’s
what
you need to ask her.”

“I can’t even
look
at her,” he admitted, pushing back to wipe his nose. “How can I after what she’s done?”

“You can because you remember she’s Shell. She may’ve fallen off that super high pedestal you had her on,” Boss said, undaunted by the fact there were big, fat tears streaming down Jake’s face, “but she’s not the heartless witch you’re trying to convince yourself she is either.”

And that was the whole damn problem now, wasn’t it?

Because he knew she wasn’t.

He knew Shell. And there wasn’t a malicious or vindictive bone in her body.

Which meant she’d made her decision four years ago, because she’d actually thought what she was doing was right
,
just like Boss had said. And
that
meant she’d believed him either unable or unwilling to uphold his responsibilities toward her and their unborn child. Which, in turn, forced him to admit that maybe she
was
right. Maybe he would’ve been unable or unwilling to uphold his responsibilities.

He’d been so screwed up…

“You go back to the shop with your people,” he finally managed, taking a step back and scrubbing a hand over his face, hating the fact that it came away wet, because that meant he’d been blubbering like a goddamned baby.
Again.

One more breakdown like that and he’d have his “man card” permanently revoked.

“I’ll watch after Shell and Franklin.” When Boss turned his head to the side, his expression wary, Jake blew out a breath and nodded. “I won’t say one cross word to her.”

“I have your word on that?”

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” Boss scoffed.

“Goddamnit! Why does everybody keep
saying
that?”

***

Johnny waited on the stoop outside the four-flat building in Lincoln Park with a dozen blue roses in hand until a twenty-something kid wearing a Chicago Bulls cap climbed the stairs and opened the door to the apartment building. The dude was talking into his cell phone—in a fight with his girlfriend by the sound of things—so he didn’t see Johnny slip in behind him.

He quietly followed the Bulls fan up the stairs, shaking his head when the kid swore to the woman on the other end of the line that he
wasn’t
interested in Gabrielle Eyler, and to prove it, he’d never look at another girl again.

You
better
man-up, my friend, or else that bitch will be wearing your balls as earrings in no time.

He turned his head away when Mr. Pussy-Whipped stopped on the second floor landing to let himself into his apartment, adjusting the Silly Lilly baseball cap he’d stolen from the shop when he went to get his first bouquet, and quietly slid past as if he was in a hurry to get to one of the top floors. The kid barely glanced at him before closing the door of his apartment behind him.

The stairwell leading to the third floor smelled like cheap air freshener, and the carpet on the stairs was stained, but other than that, the place was clean.

And
quiet
, he noted with some concern.

Which meant he’d have to be quick and smart with his work. He couldn’t have the neighbors calling the cops now, could he?

No. Definitely not.

After all he’d done and gotten away with, he certainly didn’t want the killing of some no-account grad student/nanny to be the one thing that finally landed a needle in his vein.

Hoofing it up to the fourth floor, he slipped on a pair of fitted, leather gloves and knocked quietly, then stepped to the side, away from the view of the peephole as he held up the roses.

“Who is it?” a soft, young voice sounded through the door.

“I’m from Silly Lily Flower Shop,” he said. “The guy who lives on the second floor let me follow him in. Are you Lisa Brown?”

“Flowers?” she inquired. “So late?”

“I tried to stop by earlier, ma’am,” he explained, “but you weren’t home. And since I was in the neighborhood anyway, I figured I’d try again.”

“On your own time?” Her voice sounded wary, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t let another scene like the one with Michelle happen again. He had to think fast.

“Oh hell no,” he chuckled, careful to keep his tone friendly. “We’re a twenty-four-hour shop. Because, ya know, we’ve found most guys who stumble home from the bar at 2 a.m. are less likely to receive any guff from the missus if they have flowers in hand.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Hang on just a second.”

Christ,
he thought, shaking his head,
most
women
will
believe
anything
if
flowers
are
involved.
According to Lisa’s file, she didn’t have a boyfriend, so just who did she think was sending her flowers?

Some clichéd secret admirer, no doubt. She obviously needed to take a page from Michelle Carter’s book on “don’t open the door to strangers.” Of course, he wasn’t going to complain.

He listened anxiously as the deadbolt clicked and the chain rattled, his palms itching inside his gloves, the sweet scent of the roses burning his lungs. The minute the door inched open, he planted a booted foot in the center of the thing, sending it crashing backward along with the woman behind it.

He was on her before she had time to scramble up, before she had time to scream.

Securing her arms behind her back and smashing her face into the rug so that all she was able to manage were a few muted whimpers, he quickly scanned the little apartment, checking to ensure she had no guests. When he found everything quiet, he bent to breathe in her ear, “Lisa Brown.” He loved the feel of her heaving and bucking beneath him. “I need you to tell me where I can find Michelle Carter.”

***

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Becky said with a wry grin, sauntering up to Jake and opening her purse to show him the huge assortment of colorful plastic acorn containers you find inside vending machines, the ones filled with cheap toys. “Not to mention repayment on the sliver of pride I lost while plugging money into that stupid machine. The guy working in the gift shop thought I’d lost my mind. On the up side,” she wiggled her blond brows, “if you ever have a need for acrylic fashion rings, bouncy balls, or flavorless gumdrops I’m your go-to gal.”

“But you were able to finally get them?” he asked with concern.

She winked and held up a small sheet of press-on tattoos, grinning.

He made a grab for the sheet, but she whipped it behind her back, shaking her head. “Ah, ah. You slide me a nice, crisp Andrew Jackson, and I slide you the tattoos. I like you and all. But I’m no gift fairy, and my boss is kind of a tightwad.” At this last bit, she turned and winked at Boss who was leaning against the hallway wall.