Silken Threats (8 page)

Entranced her.

Her gaze grew languid, and she moved on past that enticing show of strength, over his back and toward his hips. The derriere she’d teased him about earlier made an impressive picture under the worn denim of his jeans and the thought of Tucker Buchanan in a tuxedo drifted through her thoughts once more.

He’d be devastating clad head to toe in silky black.

Without warning, he turned toward her and shot her a wink as he sat back on his haunches. Even through the protective goggles he wore, she didn’t miss the very clear interest stamped in his gaze. Cassidy nearly stumbled from her standing position, mortified to realize she’d been caught midstare.

Oh, who the hell was she kidding?

She’d been caught red-handed, smack in the middle of a rather delightful fantasy.

Tucker stood and pointed toward the hole, his grin wicked. “She’s all yours, Max.”

As the insistent whine of the demolition saw filled the echoing space, Cassidy took solace in the ear-splitting noise. She couldn’t hide from Tucker’s knowing gaze, but at least she could fantasize about throwing herself into the big, gaping hole they were about to cut into the floor of her business.

* * *

Josephine Beauregard flipped through her dismal choices playing on late-afternoon TV and fought a snort of disgust when she came upon a judge show. A landlord was demanding back payment from a tenant for painting his apartment walls without permission and claimed—with a series of fist pumps and red-faced rants—that he was in the right.

She knew the show meant the display as entertainment, but as she watched the theatrics she couldn’t summon much past a decidedly sour taste in her mouth.

She knew she was particularly lucky with the tenants she had. Between the property she’d inherited from her father and the acquisitions she and her husband had made years ago, she had a roster of profitable homes and buildings full up and well paid for.

Yes, she maintained contracts on each and every one, but she endeavored to ensure she treated all fairly and allowed them the leeway to make those environments comfortable. Her father had been the first to teach her that people would quickly renew if they felt a place had become their home.

Thinking of her tenants immediately brought her back to her girls. She was so proud of Cassidy, Violet and Lilah—so excited for what they were building with Elegance and Lace—and had enjoyed watching from the sidelines as the young women worked toward their goals.

And boy, did they work hard.

Although she avoided being nosy, she’d seen Lilah’s hot-pink delivery truck at all hours of the day making deliveries. Had heard more than one tale from a satisfied bride of how attentive and available Violet was for anything and everything. And Cassidy.

Jo held back the light sigh that floated up from her throat. Oh, the creations the girl could make. Gorgeous yards of silk and tulle, specially fashioned for the brides, who were destined to wear the most amazing dresses on their most amazing of days.

As the volume rose on the TV with another red-faced rant, she snapped it off, suddenly irritated at the display. She wasn’t some burly curmudgeon, badgering her tenants and making their lives miserable. She cared about them and wanted to see them succeed. And yes, she wasn’t ashamed to admit it, she took pride that they succeeded in a place
she
owned. A place—

A thick, menacing change in the atmosphere pulled her from her musings and a loud beep echoed from the monitor next to her head.

Had she drifted off?

She pulled herself from the imagined haze of white silk that always made her smile and tried to focus on her surroundings. Mere moments before she’d taken comfort in the large bed and warm stack of blankets that kept her cozy, but now she dragged at them, suddenly suffocated by the layers.

Was someone there?

Her nurse had pulled the blinds closed earlier when she’d urged Josephine to rest but the room was still lit in the golden hue of late afternoon.

The monitor beeped once more, a reminder that she needed to take it easy, and she took a deep breath.

And nearly screamed as a thin man in a dark suit slipped into her room.

He wagged a finger back and forth with the precision of a metronome. “Say nothing.”

The scream still lingered in her throat—she was a Texan, after all, and she did what she wanted, others be damned—but something held her back. Something big and large that had settled on her chest years ago. She might have gotten used to carrying the burden, but it didn’t alter the fact that it was a great and terrible weight.

And like a life preserver pressed beneath the water, it desperately wanted to surface from the depths.

“Excellent. I can see we understand each other.”

Jo kept her gaze on the man, refusing to be intimidated, but couldn’t stop the racing of her heart.

Good! Let it race and draw the attention of the nurses.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he slipped something from his pocket. His moves were lightning-quick, and before she could scream he injected something directly into her IV.

Panic and something akin to living fire coursed through her like hot lava, seemingly heating her blood to the point of boiling.

“That should keep your heart rate at a nice, steady level, no matter how badly you wish to scream.” He shoved the syringe back into his pocket and used his other hand to cover hers where they lay folded over her body.

Despite his long, slender build, he was strong, his fingers like iron bands around hers. “I’m not going to kill you. But I do expect you to listen to what I have to say.”

Another wave of panic coursed through her, magnified in her head like a million buzzing bees.

Yet her machine—her lifeline to the nurses’ station—stayed quiet.

His dark, reptilian gaze hadn’t left hers since he’d entered the room, but she gave herself a moment to really look at him. To memorize his face and to understand what she was up against.

His eyes were a pale, practically colorless shade between hazel and green that really did remind her of a snake’s. His skin was equally pale, yet he had a shock of black hair at odds with his fair coloring.

“You have something I want.”

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his hypnotic one. “I have nothing.”

“Come now, Josephine.” The use of her name added another layer of fear to the moment—how did he know her?—and that swarm of bees buzzed louder in her head. “Of course you do. In fact, you have quite a large something. And if you persist in this ridiculous notion of lying to me I’m going to hurt those beautiful young women who make that old warehouse their home.”

“No!” The word ripped from her throat, tearing at the edges of her vocal cords like razors.

“Then we’re agreed.”

Defeated, she nodded. No matter how badly she wished to keep her secret, she couldn’t hurt the girls.

“Excellent. Now, since your young women have gotten nosy and managed to bring in reinforcements, we need to remove them. All of them. For their own good, of course.”

When she said nothing, he squeezed her hands. “Nod for me like a good girl.”

Every muscle locked in hatred, but she nodded, unwilling to put her girls at risk. At her acquiescence, he continued. “Excellent. Now, here’s what I’d like you to do.”

She listened as he detailed a sudden problem with some nonexistent bureau of the city, and a series of inspections they were tossing at her that she needed to see to or risk losing her own right to lease the building. How she’d pay her lovely young tenants to vacate their business for a few days. And how she’d add a fresh paint and carpet job to the mix so they would come back to a business that was even better than new.

“You can do this for me, right?”

“Yes.” Although she’d attempted to snap the word, it came out sluggish and weak to her own ears.

“My men and I will be in and out before anyone’s the wiser. And your girls will have a fresh new store so they can keep making dreams come true.”

His hands tightened over hers to the point of pain and he shifted over her so that he filled her vision. An ocean of pain and misery swam behind his pale eyes, and she knew he meant every word.

Knew even more certainly that he’d enjoy inflicting pain if given the opportunity.

“Do we understand each other?”

“I understand perfectly.”

This time her words were clean and clear, no emotion clogging her throat, and she took that as a small victory.

He must have sensed it, too, because his grip tightened yet another notch, a vise—worse, a python—squeezing ever harder, before he let go. “I want them out by tomorrow night.”

He slid from the room once more, leaving as fast as he’d arrived. Although the light from outside had remained steady through the edges of the closed blinds, the room appeared lighter.

More airy.

And now devoid of that pervasive sense of evil that hovered around the slender man like a shroud.

She was still, willing her blood to cool and her mind to slow with the ramifications of what he asked.

Her father had given her a task. Had prepared her for it and told her of her legacy. She wouldn’t fail him.

But she couldn’t fail Cassidy, Violet or Lilah.

Nor could she fail Max.

Ideas whirled through her mind on swift feet, and she reviewed each of them, twisting, considering and then discarding nearly every one. And as one bad idea piled on top of the next, that swarm of bees in her mind grew louder.

More insistent.

Until, finally, the machine next to her began to buzz in time with the endless ringing in her mind.

* * *

Tucker hefted the sledgehammer and felt the satisfying break of concrete shiver up his arms. Max had finished up with the saw, and he took on the finer precision aspects of the job in between each of Tucker’s rounds of demolition work, ensuring they didn’t ruin whatever lay beneath the surface.

They worked well together—they always had—and he normally let his mind drift as they measured, forced and hammered their way through a demolition job.

But not this time. His thoughts were focused in one place.

Cassidy.

She intoxicated him. Her scent. The beautiful porcelain of her skin. And the hue of indigo that filled her eyes and telegraphed her interest.

Damn, but that shade of blue absolutely destroyed him.

He was interested in her. Hell, he’d have to be an idiot not to be. But it was something more. His reaction to her was so visceral. So intense.

And he was rapidly losing any interest in what lay beneath the floor.

Instead, the only thing that filled his mind’s eye was
her
. More precious than jewels and more fascinating than any historical treasure. Cassidy Tate was a vision.

And she grew more precious to him by the hour.

The real question, to his mind, was if she felt the same way. None of the women had said anything directly, but he hadn’t missed their little powwow earlier. They had their concerns about whether or not to allow him and Max into their current situation. And while they needed help, Tucker knew damn well they all struggled with how much to trust their burgeoning friendship.

He could hardly blame them, but it chafed all the same.

Aside from their not knowing each other, whatever surprise lay beneath the floor—and he’d be equally
unsurprised
if the answer was nothing—had drawn some rather nasty interest.

The women of Elegance and Lace needed help. And he’d be damned if he was walking away now.

“I’m trying not to hover but it’s hard.”

The voice echoed behind him, the low register grabbing him way down deep in his gut. As if he’d conjured her, Cassidy stood behind him, her gaze speculative as she stared at the mess they’d created.

“We’re close.” They’d been at it for a while now and were finally beginning to see the benefit of their labor. “Maybe another ten or fifteen minutes?”

The saw had churned up a thick layer of dust that coated everything. As soon as she’d realized the possible damage, Cassidy had charged off, hunting up a series of blankets to throw over her stock. She now had a light mist of white covering her shoulders, the dark blouse she wore a chalky gray.

“You get everything taken care of?”

“Everything’s covered, and Violet and I moved some of the more delicate pieces into the storeroom and covered them there.”

Max sat back on his heels and pointed toward a thick fracture line. “Shouldn’t be too much more. I can feel the pieces giving way here.”

The sharp ring of a phone echoed off the bared surface of the floor, and Max dragged his phone out of his back pocket. “Be right back.”

Cassidy poked a large piece of concrete he and Max had hefted out earlier. “I had no idea it would take so long.”

“Concrete’s a messy job.” Tucker reached for a fresh bottle of water and chugged deeply. The urge to brush some of the white chalky mist off Cassidy’s cheeks was strong, but he held back.

Was it the presence of Max and Violet? Or something more?

He’d spent most of his life perfectly content to reach out and take what he wanted. After a childhood with very little, he’d always had ambition in spades. His supervisors in the Corps had seen that trait in a matter of weeks and leveraged it into active duty. Max had the same core qualities and they’d used that drive and determination to start a business after exiting the military.

He knew what he wanted and he went after it. So why was he so reticent to reach for what was so obviously between him and Cassidy?

No closer to an answer, Tucker stretched his back and shifted into position under one of the loft’s overhead vents. Someone had amped the air, and he reveled in the cool breeze that floated over his neck and shoulders.

The water added a refreshing complement to the air-conditioning, and he took the moment to himself, washing away the grit in his throat. The tension in the loft space had risen with each piece of concrete they broke and now looking at Cassidy, he saw the worry that lay underneath the excitement.

Another tug pulled at his midsection and he ignored it, focused instead on her obvious concern. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”