Dangerous Kiss Page 6

  “You mean you’re staying to guard the house with the broken front door?” Sam nodded toward the few stained-glass shards still clinging to the splintered door.

  “That can be fixed. I have plywood in the garage. Anyway, Jake’s staying with me.”

  Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh, that is so much better. The two of you are going to stay here, with an oh-so-secure plywood front door while some…some…psychopath is out to get you?” He took a step forward. “That’s a great plan. A perfect plan. Why don’t you just let us know where your will is, so we can take care of things after this guy kills you.”

  That stung. She’d always sought his approval above all others. The hurt bubbled up, her throat tightened and her stubborn streak widened at least a mile.

  “Samuelson Aaron Layton, that was a mean thing to say.” Something in her quiet voice must have called out to Onion. He lopped over and sat with his body pressed against her leg. “I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it. I won’t concede victory to the Voice of Doom.”

  “The Voice of Doom? What is he, a cartoon supervillain?” Sam looked heavenward. “I swear you’re more obstinate than is good for you. For once in your life, think, don’t react.”

  Chris, ever the peacemaker, strode up to Claire and blocked her line of sight to Sam.

  “Claire, I think what Sam is trying to say is we can’t sit by and watch you risk your life. We love you.” Chris paused for a breath. “Anyway, Mom would force-feed us nothing but steamed broccoli for a month of Sundays if anything happened to you.”

  She chuckled at that. She didn’t know how he managed to do it, but Chris sucked the tension out of a situation better than anyone else in the world. God, she loved him.

  Really, she loved all of them. But they had to learn she could take care of herself. She’d graduated from college, earned her MBA, had her heart pulverized and started her own restaurant, a successful one at that. Was it a baby sister thing? Was it a girl thing?

  Who knew and who cared. It ended now. Today, she took care of them.

  Her fingers trailed through Onion’s fur, causing his tail to thunk on the ground.

  “Thank you all for coming out. I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Hank, let’s get that report over with.” She glanced back at Jake still sitting on the porch steps. “My fridge is empty. Do you mind going into town to grab a pizza?”

  Jake ambled over to her side. “Sure. What do you like?”

  “Everything.”

  The smirk returned. “My kind of woman.”

  Chapter Six

  Jake had no clue how he’d ended up as the pizza delivery boy. He’d started off the afternoon as the valiant protector. Now he sat in the King Pizza parking lot waiting for a large pepperoni. The scent of warm grease did little to distract him from the redhead who had somehow submarined his free will.

  Claire said jump and he asked how high. And he liked it. Damn. The old man would be calling him six kinds of a wimp if he knew, but he couldn’t put off checking in with his father any longer.

  “’Bout damn time you called.” The old man coughed. “Damn cigarettes. I quit two years ago, haven’t stopped hacking up a lung ever since.”

  He nodded as if his father could see him. “If you quit, how come you have a pack in the freezer?”

  “In case of emergencies.” The old man wheezed in a breath. “Enough with the pleasantries, what’s going on there?”

  “Ran into a bit of a snag here.” Jake relayed the case developments to his father. “What the hell could be on that phone and flash drive?”

  “This is crazier than a raccoon on meth.” The old man paused. “Let me do some digging on this end. In the meantime, you play it cool.”

  “Will do.” He paused, chewed his thumbnail and spit it out the window. “You eat today?”

  “Little of this. Little of that. You know chemo can’t kill my appetite.”

  Jake pictured the Francis Warrick of his youth. Tall. Strong. A Lucky Strike always dangling from his lip. Contrast that with the wisp of a figure he cut today. Damn. Cancer was a bitch. Lung cancer? The queen bitch.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Don’t need you to be glad. Need you to get this case in your rearview and get your ass back here. I can’t do it all, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Now give Burlington a call. He wants a progress report.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  “What, you’re too big to tell your old man you love him?”

  “No, sir” Jake grinned into the phone. Dad had been all huff and puff as long as he could remember. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too.” A cough rang through the phone. “Now get your ass back to work.”

  Jake hung up and flipped open the case file and found Burlington’s personal cell number. What the hell could he tell him? No parent wanted to hear their daughter’s killer spent his free time terrorizing other women. They had to be sick with grief. Jake wished he had better information to offer than he did.

  He’d worked with Burlington before, the guy was a pain in the neck, but no one deserved this. He pictured Burlington in his corner office. Short and skinny with Mick Jagger hair, the hedge fund manager thought of himself as a master of the universe. The fact he hadn’t saved his daughter must be agonizing.

  Burlington answered on the first ring. “Good to hear from you, Mr. Warrick. I hope you have good news I can share with my wife.”

  “No, sir. But the sheriff’s investigation is progressing.”

  “And the phone? Have you recovered it?”

  Jake’s trouble detector flared to life, raising goose bumps on his forearms. “No. Not yet.”

  “I understand that the woman who found poor Kendall is looking for the phone, too.”

  His body stilled but his heart jacked up to a hundred miles an hour. “How do you know that?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I get that phone. Also, Kendall had a flash drive. I want them both.”

  Burlington’s superior tone and demands grated on Jake’s self-control. This wasn’t parental grief talking. “If I did find the phone and flash drive, I’d have to turn them over to the sheriff’s office.”

  “Mr. Warrick,” Burlington’s voice turned icy. “You will do no such thing. The woman has what I want. She must. I do not care if you have to fuck her or frisk her to get them, but you will get them.”

  Jake snorted with disgust. “I’m not one of your so-called bodyguards, Burlington, who take care of the less savory aspects of your personal life. I won’t break the law for you.”

  “How about for your father?”

  His gut collapsed in on itself. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Who am I? I am the man who can guarantee your dying father lives long enough to see the company he built from scratch fall apart. Loans will be called in. Francis Warrick will be watching his business go belly up while hooked to a chemotherapy drip. Do you understand, Mr. Warrick?”

  “You bastard.” Jake ground the words out.

  “Get me the phone and flash drive, or your father will face the consequences.”

  If Jake could reach through the phone, he would clamp his hands around Burlington’s privileged throat. “I’ll see you pay for this.”

  “I doubt it. I expect to hear from you soon, Mr. Warrick.” Burlington disconnected.

  Jake glared at his phone. Impotent fury blazed through him, locking his muscles and sending his blood pressure sky high.

  The phone and flash drive had to be at Harvest, because they hadn’t appeared in Kendall’s dorm room, car or the Dumpster where Claire had found her. He’d talk Claire into searching again. Once they found them, he’d make the phone and flash drive disappear. She’d never have any idea it was him. He’d take the devices and hit the road.

  Kendall’s killer would still think Claire had the phone and flash drive. He’d come after her again.


  The thought twisted Jake’s insides, but he couldn’t put the old man through Burlington’s version of hell. Anyway, Hank would take care of Claire and catch the killer. He was just a private investigator. Her brother had the entire county sheriff’s office behind him. She’d be fine.

  Jake had to pick, and family came first. He was making the right decision.

  So why did he feel like shit?

  He hurled his phone out the SUV’s open window. It shattered as soon as it hit the concrete parking lot.

  “Hey man, you okay?” A pimply teenage boy wearing a red and blue King Pizza uniform stood outside the passenger-side door.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  The boy gulped, his wide eyes aimed at the smashed phone. “Well, Benny said your pizza is ready. You can go in and get it if, uh, you’re, uh, ready.”

  “Thanks.” Jake rolled up the windows and stepped down from the SUV.

  He didn’t head to King Pizza. Instead, he dug his SIM card out of the pulverized mess in the parking lot and walked next door into the electronics store. A buy-one-get-one-free sign dominated the front window.

  A few minutes later, two new cellphones in hand, he picked up the pizza, ready to drive back to Claire’s. He slid the pizza box onto the passenger seat and tossed one of the phones into the glove compartment. The other phone sat charging beside him.

  The twenty-minute drive went fast. Too fast. He spotted Claire’s house as soon as he turned off the highway. Painted a virginal white with dark-green shutters, the house stood alone on the vast prairie. Jake flinched at the idea of sullying it with his presence.

  “Damn.” He slammed his palm down on the steering wheel as he pulled into Claire’s driveway. “There’s no other choice.”

  Onion trotted over to the SUV as soon as it stopped. Jake sat, frozen behind the wheel. Dread careened through his veins. It made his limbs heavy and created a dull ache in his chest.

  He grabbed the pizza box, its warmth stealing into his palm. Onion panted beside him as he walked up to the porch. Jake’s self-loathing grew with each step he took.

  “Fuck.” He couldn’t do it.

  There had to be another way. He’d find it, and Burlington would pay.

  The last nail pounded home with a satisfying thud. Claire stepped back and surveyed the plywood-covered front door. She pushed against its rough surface. It gave a little, but not too much. As a bonus, all that whacking had done wonders for her mood. She’d pictured the Voice of Doom’s face on each nail. Smashing the hammer had been cheap therapy.

  Still, as her temper relented, doubts about her decision to stay home raced through her mind. Really, did she want to be the delusional scream queen who thought she could take on a killer?

  Big no to that one. She wanted to live to see the Voice of Doom rot in jail.

  A quick set of taps on the door made Claire jump. She clutched the hammer, claw side out, arched high and ready strike.

  Her body tensed. “Who is it?” The words came out in a high-pitched squeal.

  “Pizza delivery.”

  Jake. Thank God. Unbidden, a nervous giggle escaped. She lowered the hammer to her side and opened the door.

  Looked like her body wasn’t the only one drawn to Jake. Onion sat by Jake’s boot-clad feet. Great. Puppy love. Her stomach growled as she inhaled the scent of melted mozzarella and greasy pepperoni. Jake quirked an eyebrow.

  “Come on in.” Claire stepped back to let Jake inside. The dog followed behind, his ears perked up into perfect triangles. “Et tu, Brute?”

  Onion’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. Without even stopping to be petted, he followed the pizza scent into the house.

  Jake, already in the kitchen, popped open two bottles and handed her one. The dark, porter-style beer slid down her parched throat like bitter honey. Heaven. Her body unwound all the way to her toes. She couldn’t have been more relaxed if she was neck-deep in a vanilla bubble bath, a glass of Malbec wine balanced on the tub’s edge and Chef Anthony Bourdain’s latest book in her hands.

  They ate in companionable silence, standing around the kitchen island. The setting sun filtered in through the window and acted as their candlelight. Onion wandered from one to the other, occasionally successful at begging a piece of pepperoni.

  “So…” Claire watched the string of cheese connecting a pizza slice to Jake’s delectable mouth. “Is this how your days normally go?”

  He laughed and swiped at the wayward cheese. He swirled it around his finger and deposited it in his mouth. Claire’s knees turned to jelly.

  “No. Normally, I spend most of my time in the office working on computer investigations for businesses dealing with corporate spies. Every once in a while I’ll spend the afternoon tailing a cheating spouse, but that’s rare.”

  “Really? I kind of pictured you always up in someone’s personal space.”

  “Nah, I prefer to let my brain do the work.” He paused, looking Claire up and down. “But when it comes to play, I’m all about being in someone’s…personal space.”

  Heat raced up from her toes. There was no missing the meaning behind that. The dinner’s easygoing vibe dissolved into heated anticipation. Would it really be so bad to touch him? They were comrades in arms facing off against the Voice of Doom.

  And man, it would be amazing to be wrapped up in his arms.

  Claire licked an errant bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth. “So why are you here on a murder investigation?”

  The leer slid off his face, blank affability taking its place. “It’s the old story of money and power. Kendall’s dad has plenty of both and uses them to ensure things turn out the way he wants. Like having me on this case. His company is our biggest client. We weren’t going to turn him away when he asked for a favor.” Jake polished off his second piece of pizza and reached for a third. “Now it’s my turn. How’d you end up at Harvest?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’ll be here all night.”

  The idea made her insides whirl, picturing his tan legs twisted in her white silk sheets, the bed rocking beneath them. One bold move and she could make it happen. Contemplating, she nibbled on her crust then dipped one end in the marinara. “I grew up wanting to be a chef. As a kid, I had the hat, the white jacket, everything. But I cannot cook to save my life. I went to business school instead. After graduation, I managed a restaurant in Denver.”

  “How’d you end up back in Dry Creek?” He flicked a pepperoni slice to Onion. The dog snapped it out of midair.

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of Brett. Handsome. Funny. Smart. Scumbag. They’d been together three years, lived together for two. She’d made him the center of her world, turned down job offers at restaurants in New York to stay close to him.

  She’d found out how misplaced her trust in the shit had been when she’d discovered him in bed with another woman. She’d kicked him to the curb. In retaliation, he’d emptied their joint bank account and gotten engaged. The asshole probably used her last paycheck for the engagement ring. Pissed off all over again at the unfairness of fate, she took in a cleansing breath.

  “Old story. Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love. Boy sleeps with another girl.” She shrugged as if it didn’t still hurt. “I came home, opened Harvest and here I am.”

  Jake had inched closer to her while she talked. Her hip touched his thigh. His body heat seeped in, scattering her thoughts.

  “What’s the idiot’s name?”

  “Brett Green, why?”

  “That way I know who to slug if I ever meet him.”

  She laughed. Pounding Brett was a fantasy she nurtured herself. Jake reached for a napkin, his elbow grazing the side of her breast.

  “How about you?” Her voice squeaked. Hoping to distract herself from his hard body, she swept the pizza crust crumbs scattered across the island into a small pile.

  “No, I haven’t fallen in love with a boy recently.” He chuckled. “So, do killers tend to stalk you on a regular basis?”

>   She shrugged. “I’m just a boring restaurant owner. Half the time I think Harvest owns me, I’m there so much. No excitement in my life except when a customer’s car gets towed.”

  “Too bad. You seem like a woman who enjoys stimulation.”

  Right now, she had too much stimulation, judging by the dampness between her legs. Desperate to put something in her mouth before she said something stupid, Claire reached for another slice of pizza but hesitated. Her hand hovered over the only piece left.

  “We can arm wrestle for the last slice.” Jake’s voice warmed her skin as if he’d touched her.

  Claire took in his thick biceps. Without thinking, she reached out toward him, but squashed the impulse. Memories of Brett had her on guard again. Jake was the definition of eye candy; pretty to look at, bad for her heart. Her hand switched course. She grabbed her beer and took a swig.

  A mouthful of the dark liquid went down the wrong pipe. Coughing, she gasped for breath. Jake patted her back until she regained her normal breathing ability.

  But his hand didn’t move. It stayed between her shoulder blades, fingers spread wide. Sparks shot outward from his palm through her body.

  Her breath slowed. Awareness prickled her skin. She yearned for his touch. Everywhere. Her lips parted. Slowly, she turned around. His hand left a trail of fire as it slid down and around her body until it landed on the curve of her hip.

  He brought up his other hand to brush a stray hair from her face. His eyes drew her into his sexual orbit.

  “You have some sauce right here.” His voice’s deep timbre sent an unmistakable signal to which her body responded. Her breasts became full and heavy. Her clit demanded attention.

  He wiped the spot by the corner of her mouth with his thumb, then tracked the red liquid across her bottom lip. His head dipped lower. Hers moved up. When their lips met, thoughts of Brett and the Voice of Doom disappeared.

  His firm tongue stroked her lips and begged for entry. She opened and his tongue swept in. She wrapped her tongue around his, dared him to taste his fill. The hand on her hip tightened and pulled her closer to his hard body. In return, her fingers found their way to the bottom of his T-shirt and started an upward exploration. His coarse chest hair tickled her palm, so alien and enticing at the same time.