Too Hot to Handle (6 page)

“No spider, just your T-shirt.”

“It’s a uniform shirt.” Honey let go of the gun with one hand to tug self-consciously at the shirt’s neckline. “I wear it when I’m passing drinks for my Uncle Mike.”

“I like the color.”

“Sure.” The shirt was white. The neckline was rounded and low, revealing more than she cared to show on a sunny morning. Two words were emblazoned across her chest: “Drink Moore.”

Blood rushed to her face, making her cheeks hot. The shirt was one of her favorites. She’d always thought of it as slightly naughty, but the way Jack was staring at her made her feel obscene. Not entirely in a bad way.

“What do you want?”

“For you to take off your shirt.”

For a moment, she thought he was serious. Then he shook his head, the sudden motion indicating a change in topic. “What’s under the house, Honey?”

“You really want to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“I was checking for structural damage.” Confidence was the key to any good lie, and there was no way she could tell Jack the truth. The safe had survived for more than twenty years, preserving its secrets from feral cats, burglars, and multiple police raids. She wasn’t about to give it up now. Not even to Jack.

The items she’d pulled out of it didn’t look dangerous, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be used to send a friend of hers to prison for life. And the envelope—well, she didn’t know what to think about that. She needed to make a closer inspection of it without a detective breathing down her neck.

“I’d appreciate your opinion if you think you can fit down there,” she added.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jack shifted forward slightly. “I saw inside. The place looks like a war zone. Someone doesn’t like you very much.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“How did you find me?” In all the years they’d known each other, he’d only been to her house once before—the night they’d snuck into the movies.

He’d been sixteen for all of two days, still getting used to the Super Bee’s power. The car had stalled twice on the way to the drive-in, and they’d arrived too late to park inside. That hadn’t stopped them from seeing the movie. He’d given her a boost while she climbed over the fence.

As far as she knew, it was the only time in his life he’d broken the rules, and he’d done it because she’d asked.

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

“I came for my gun.” He smiled. “You know how to use that thing?”

Her body was beginning to shake. She bit her lip, forcing herself to remain still. Her arms straightened, regaining that perfect shooting position. “I can hit a bottle at forty paces.”

“Bottles are good practice, but it’s not like hitting a man. Sending your bullet into his flesh. The distance we’re standing, my blood would spray all over you.” He gave her a long, appraising look. “I don’t think you could do it.”

“My soft heart will be the death of me.”

“You just don’t want to go back to jail.”

Here she was pointing a gun at his chest, and he was treating her like some kind of joke.

Damn him for not respecting her enough to think she was a threat, and damn him for not trusting her. Damn him for making her life harder when all she needed was help.

Everything was happening too fast, and it was too much. She couldn’t deal with Jack on top of everything else, not with the burned-out shell of her house only a few feet away.

Tears began to roll down her face. She bit her lip to keep from crying out audibly, but it was already too late. A cruel sob exploded from her throat, making her entire body shake.

“Damn you.”

“It’s all right, Honey.” He was trying to be reassuring, but his voice sounded rough and abrasive. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He took a quick step forward, too fast for her to figure out what was going on. Pushing the gun out of the way, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight against him. The minty scent of his toothpaste overpowered the stench of smoke that still hung in the air. The warm chest and strong muscles that had made her feel so safe the night before were stifling in the mid-morning heat.

No matter how hard she struggled, he just stood there, blocking out the sun.

“You left without saying anything. I was worried about you.”

“Worry.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You were worried about your badge, your gun, and your car.”

“Damn straight. Do you know what happens if a police officer loses his gun? It’s not like I can go down to the corner store and buy another with my six-pack of beer. Internal Affairs gets involved. That’s something I can’t have.” Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A bird cried out. Jack dropped his head closer to her ear. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

One of his hands enveloped hers, taking the gun away. When he finally had the weapon in his grasp, he let out a sigh of relief. “You shouldn’t play with guns. You could have hurt yourself.”

“I was going to hurt you.”

“You weren’t going to hurt me, Honey.” His chest rumbled with silent laughter. “You had the safety on.”

“I didn’t know.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to calm the screaming in her head.

So much had happened, it was hard to keep everything straight. Between her house burning down and the way she’d felt with Jack’s lips on hers, his hands moving across her body, she was finding it hard to concentrate.

A soft kiss landed on her mouth, real and reassuring. The flutter of his lips against hers. Nothing harsh or predatory, but it touched her somewhere deep inside. Despite everything else that had happened, Jack Ogden was a good man, stalwart and trustworthy.

Damn him.

“Will you help me?” she asked.

And then—because that might not be enough—her lips formed another word. One she didn’t use often. “Please.”

He nodded toward the burned-out building. “Were you inside?”

“I was supposed to be.”

“Damn.” So it wasn’t just arson. It was attempted murder.

Someone wanted Honey dead.

Standing in her backyard, less than ten feet from the husk of her house, she was a sitting duck for any villain who decided to come looking for her in order to finish what they’d started the night before. He had a dozen questions he wanted to ask her about the fire, but first he needed to make sure she was safe.

“Let’s get out of the open, sweetheart.”

Nothing happened. “I’ll take you out to breakfast,” he added.

Breakfast
seemed to be the magic word, because her head started nodding against his chest.

“I could use some coffee.” She stepped backward, tightening her grip on the backpack she was carrying. The bag was heavy, weighed down by contents that shifted and bulged when she moved.

There was definitely something in the crawl space under the house—or there had been until a few minutes ago. Now it was in the bag.

Prying might give him some answers—a hint as to what was going on—but it would also make Honey pull away, and he couldn’t risk that. He turned her, slipped one arm around her waist, and began to lead her back toward the parked cars.

He’d take care of this. What kind of police officer would he be if he couldn’t figure out who had set fire to one house? What kind of man would he be if he couldn’t keep Honey safe?

“Where do you want to go?”

…

Slumped in the passenger seat of the Super Bee, Honey took one deep breath after another. Her grandfather’s words rang in her mind.
The only protection you’ll ever have is your wits.

Still, she felt calmer with Jack sitting beside her. Her wits might be powerful protection, but it sure felt nice to be able to count on his broad shoulders and strong right hook.

Jack’s hand dropped down to rest on her knee, the move familiar, possessive, and surprisingly reassuring.

“Don’t worry, Honey. Everything’s going to be all right,” he promised. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He took his hand off her leg long enough to pull the car out of the driveway and throw it into gear. Then his long fingers were back, squeezing her knee, working their way slowly up her thigh.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he repeated.

No amount of kind words could stop the hair on the back of her neck from standing up. “Jack,” she said, a short gasp. “Jack—”

“What is it, Honey?” He drew each word out, like he was talking to a child. “You want me to turn on the radio?”

They pulled out of the small side street onto a major thoroughfare. Four lanes in each direction, heading toward the freeway.

“Something’s wrong. Something…” Staring out the window, straight into the side mirror, Honey took a deep breath.

The wrongness was only a feeling, an itch at the base of her spine, until she saw a car switching lanes behind them. A boxy sedan in a nondescript color somewhere between beige and green. Aftermarket headlights made it look heavy, ominous. Fog lights that had cut through the darkness the night before like a knife.

“There.” Honey twisted in her seat to point at the car. “That’s the guy who burned down my house.”

He sucked in a sharp gust of air. “What are you talking about?”

“That car. It was outside my house last night. Jack, please—” He had to believe her. They were in danger. “It followed me last night.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he said. “There have to be a hundred cars like that in this city. Maybe a thousand.” But a second later, he yanked the steering wheel to one side. Making a sharp right without signaling, he sent the Super Bee off down a side street. Two blocks of calm, quiet, and then the sedan turned onto the street behind them.

“It’s a coincidence,” he said.

Neither of them believed it.

Another turn.

“Wait.” In the mirror, Honey could see the boxy sedan idling at the corner. “They’re slowing down.”

“They’re giving us time to pull ahead.” Jack kept one eye on the rearview mirror. “That’s a good thing. The driver doesn’t know he’s been spotted.”

“Put your foot on the gas.” They needed speed. The sedan was getting closer with every passing second. A lead foot on the gas pedal was the only thing that could save them.

Last night, she’d darted through traffic for forty-five minutes before finally losing the sedan on a freeway entry ramp. Luckily, the Super Bee was faster than her old truck.

“Come on, Jack,” Her teeth were clenched. “That thing’s a boat. You can outrun it any day of the—”

“I’m not outrunning anyone.” Another quick turn. “Not in a residential neighborhood.”

It was Saturday at eleven in the morning. No one was on the streets. They were all sleeping in.

The only person whose safety she was worried about was her own. “Oh, sweet lord, why did I let you drive? Pull over, we’re switching seats.”

“Over my dead body. This is my car. I’m driving.” Jack leaned forward slightly. “I can lose him on Eucalyptus. This guy’s a good driver, but he doesn’t know the neighborhood.”

“He’s not the only one who doesn’t know the neighborhood.”

She twisted around to look at the sedan and thought of something else. Nothing said they had to run away. If they faced the sedan’s driver now, they’d have the element of surprise.

“Let’s get this over with. Turn around.”

“Like hell.”

“I thought you were going to help me.”

“I am helping you.”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me?” Her voice broke on the last word.

“All right, Honey.” Jack took a deep breath. “What do you think we should do?”

Turn around.

A short confrontation and a quick ending. The sedan’s ominous occupants against Jack’s gun. It could all be over in a matter of moments.

Rough justice. Her blood sang at the thought.

Of course, it could always go the other way. There was no telling how the sedan’s driver was armed. A man who could burn a house down, putting nearby homes and families in danger…he could do anything. He could do anything to Jack.

“Run.” Honey licked her lips. “Not Eucalyptus. Take Porter.”

Porter was narrow, a small alley between two larger roads. It was also a straight shot to the Santa Monica pass. Five minutes, and they could be home free.