“Unlike you, cowboy,” Shelby replied, her hands bracing against the counter as she leaned toward him, “I like being with someone more than every few decades. And don’t give me the ‘no one could understand’ bullshit either. You could have had Cynthia any time you wanted. The woman utterly adores you and sure as hell knows you aren’t quite there in the reality department.”
“She’s my secretary-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nick! You wouldn’t be the first guy to bang his secretary.”
Nick’s eyes widened. The thought that Shelby actually felt bad for his lack of relationships had never really occurred to him. “That’s not the point.”
“Okay, sorry.” She ran her fingers through her hair and heaved a sigh. “I’m frustrated and pissed off and sad.”
“Yep, me, too, Shel. Me, too.”
“Bad time?” Reggie’s form seeped up out of the floor and stopped in the center of the table.
“You!” Shelby pointed an accusatory finger. “You need to quit spying on me.”
Reggie chuckled. “You’re far more fun than the boss here, Miss Shelby.”
She dropped the finger. “Why are you here?”
“That FBI girl you wanted me to, you know, spy on, might be in a spot of trouble.”
“Drake?” A tremor of panic rumbled in Nick’s gut. It couldn’t be. Jackie would not fit any family member’s profile.
“Oh, no. That devil seems to be busy bouncing between here and the beyond. Your agent seems to have gotten herself a bit drunk and taken a man home with her.”
“Why is this any of our concern?” Nick wondered. “She probably is just looking for some comfort after losing her friend.”
Reggie winced and shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so, boss. Not the way she’s talking.”
“Talking how, Reg?” Shelby said, sounding worried.
“Well,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin in thought, “that dead agent keeps trying to contact her, and I think it’s about driven her crazy.”
“Shit!” Shelby ran for her coat on the living room sofa. “Let’s go, Nick. I’ll meet you there.”
Nick marched purposefully toward the garage. “I’ll drive, Shel. You’re on your fourth beer, and I don’t want you on the death bike when you’re buzzed.”
“I’m not buzzed, you old ninny.”
“Just get in the car,” he snapped back. When she arched an eyebrow at him, he eased off. “Please.” She rolled her eyes, walked up to the car, and got in. “Thank you.” He turned back to the door. “Where does she live, Reg?”
He drifted out and gave them an address. Nick slammed the door shut and gunned the engine, backing out just clear of the rising automatic door. Jamming the brakes, he spun the wheel halfway down the driveway and had them heading out onto the road. He ignored the fact that Shelby had refused to buckle up. She gave him an amused smirk.
“What? Don’t tell me I’m going too fast.”
“No, just reminds me of why I was in love with you once upon a time.”
“My driving reminds you of that?”
“No, you dolt,” she said, laughing. “You racing after the damsel in distress, or maybe it’s the thought of some strange guy between her legs.”
Nick stared at her in disbelief. “Were you such a bitch when I met you?”
“Worse.” The thought amused her, but she turned and looked out at the scenery racing by the window for a minute before continuing. “I do love you, Nick. You know that?”
“Should I even try to answer that?”
“Not in love. I have no desire to dive between your sheets anymore, but I do love you. Always will. You’re a good soul, babe. I just wanted to make sure I told you that before… well, before shit hits the fan and you go all martyr on me and get killed.”
Ouch. “I don’t plan on just getting killed, you know. I could have done that years ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
The question momentarily stumped Nick. Why hadn’t he just given up, even after four failures and so many deaths? It wasn’t clear enough that he couldn’t do it? Or was it that he hoped Drake would slip up just once so he could nail him? “Hope, I suppose.”
“Exactly-hope that you can somehow figure out a way to get him, or hope that he fucks up along the way, and hope that one day this might all be over so you can live your life again.”
“That’s…”… So true, Nick thought sadly. I’ve been waiting 144 years to live again. “Sounds a bit pathetic when you put it that way.”
“Only if you lose, babe, and until that fucking door slams shut on you, there’s still a chance. You used to say there was a way around or through everything if you were patient and kept your eyes open.”
“I’ve been patient for a long time, Shel.”
“And is it going to hurt anything for you to kick some ass for a few more days? If not for me, then do it for Gwendolyn.”
He winced. “Must you use her every time you want to make a point?”
She shrugged. “Works, don’t it?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, heaving a sigh as he smoked the tires up a freeway on-ramp. “Sadly, it does.”
Chapter 35
Blood. For a moment, Jackie thought she smelled blood, but then Scott grabbed her wrist and spun her around, yanking her into his embrace. One hand clenched into the short, unwashed hair at the back of her head and pulled on it so his mouth could have easy access to hers. The top of the piano pressed into her back while she bit at his lip. He eased off for a moment and then bit back, twice as hard. When he pulled away, Jackie could taste blood.
She licked her lip. “It’s a good start.”
He bent her over the top of the piano, laying his bulk against hers until she lay flat on the cool wood surface, her feet not even touching the floor. His hands pinned hers over her head. “Exactly how bent are you, Jack?”
One hand slid up beneath her shirt, finding a small, bra-less breast. Jackie smirked until his fingers found a nipple and pinched hard. Alcohol numbed it for the most part, but she still sucked in her breath at the brief, piercing pain. An image of her mother, hands bound to the headboard of her stepfather’s bed, flashed in her mind. It was not the fact that her mother had been tied up that had unnerved her nearly twenty years ago, but the reddened welts across the backs of her mother’s legs from the nightstick in Carl’s hand, and the wild, rage-filled eyes that had turned on her when the bedroom door had squeaked in her hand.
“Live and learn, you stupid little bitch!” he had yelled at Jackie with the slightly slurred speech of a twelve-pack, tempered with a quarter ounce of coke. “Someday,” he said, snapping the nightstick across the back of her mother’s legs, as she did little more than sob into the pillow, “you’ll grow up and be just like her.”
Her mother had picked up her head, turning for a moment so she could speak. “Go, baby. Just… go.” Her face had been swollen and smeared red with blood.
“Truly fucking bent,” Jackie said, her voice barely coherent. “Bedroom… now,” she demanded, pushing at his chest but too drunk to move him at all. “Cuffs are there.”
“My kind of girl,” Scott said with a grin and pulled her back to her feet. “I think I need to visit Tarnigan’s more often.”
“Don’t worry,” Jackie replied, shuffling toward the bedroom hall. “I’m the biggest slut there, hands down. I’ll sleep with anyone.”
Scott laughed. “You should really try to make this more difficult.”
Jackie paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You should quit being so nice.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding and grabbing her arm in a viselike grip. “I can get into this game. You just say stop if it gets too much for you, Jack.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “You aren’t man enough to take it that far, Scottie.”
Inside the bedroom door, Bickers hissed at him and darted out between their legs into the safety of the kitchen. Scott then pushed Jackie to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Halfway down, he stopped.
“What the hell? Is that a gun?”
Jackie rolled to her side, gazed over at the dresser, and laughed. “Oh, shit. I shoulda put that away.”