Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (13 page)

“Forget it,” he tossed over his shoulder while he searched through a jean-packed chest of drawers.

“How can I forget it?” She stood and padded over to him, placing her hand on his tanned, muscular arm and slowly turning him around to face her. The spotlights in the ceiling gave his features a harsh, angular quality, which then softened with a smile. “It was bad enough for me, but I can’t imagine what was going through your mind when Harknett’s crony—”

“Does Harknett have a twin brother?” he asked, interrupting her. “Or should I start believing in ghosts?”

“I could really do with a drink.”

Ross narrowed his eyes at Jessica’s seemingly new, annoying habit of not answering questions. “Chamomile tea?” he sneered, referring to what he knew she drank at the office.

“Actually I was thinking of something stronger. Like that bottle of JD. And wind it in, Ross. You know I explain things better when I’ve got something stiff in my hand.” His towel chose that moment to drop to the floor. She pointedly stared at his hardening cock, raising a smile from him. Her hopes were raised, too, before Ross well and truly poured cold water over them.

He donned a pair of boxers and said, “Ah. Had a bit of an accident with the Jack Daniel’s.”

“What sort of accident?”

“The sort of accident where the words bottle, kitchen, smash, and cupboard are all used in the same sentence.”

Her neatly trimmed brows furrowed into a frown as she again placed her hand on his arm. “You smashed the bottle of JD against a kitchen cupboard. Why?”

“I had a sudden urge to throw something.”

“Because of me?”

He stared at her for one very long moment, before replying, “Because of you.” He then swore with brutal force. He jerked his arm away and stuffed his legs into his jeans with equally brutal force. “You’ll have to make do with black coffee.”

“Damn you, Ross,” Jessica muttered as he stalked from the bedroom. What the hell was wrong with the man? Sure, she hadn’t answered his questions, but she was still trying to take in the events of the night herself.

Tugging the robe’s belt tighter, she wandered through to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. She reached for the TV remote, but then thought better of it. To annoy Ross further would culminate, she knew, in wearing the coffee, not drinking it.

Ross ignored the dazzling smile she gave him when he handed her a mug of rich-roasted and well-brewed black coffee. He took a seat in the armchair opposite. “I’m all ears, Jess. Start talking.”

She balanced the mug on the sofa’s arm. “Harknett’s definitely dead,” she began, knowing for certain if she said it was his ghost, and that she was a believer in them, Ross would measure her up for a straitjacket. “I’m not sure if he has a twin brother. It’s possible, but I’ve never come across any reference to one. Have you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“It could have been somebody wearing a mask. You know, like a death mask, made of latex.”

“Bit early for trick or treat.”

“It was just a suggestion,” she bit out, indignant at his mocking.

“Meathead. The crony. Who was he?”

“No idea. Never seen him before. I’d know if I had. I don’t think I’d have forgotten him. Never likely to again.” She shuddered and took a healthy swig of coffee to steady herself. It didn’t work. “Oh, Ross…” He was beside her in an instant, taking the mug from her and wrapping his arms around her. She sniffed into one muscular pec, his chest hair tickling her nose, his clean, soapy smell soothing. “Oh, Ross, he was going to…He was…”

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” His fingers on her chin, he gently tipped her face up. Though moist, her amber-flecked, cobalt eyes glowed with determination. “Harknett’s BlackBerry. What’s on it? And don’t even think about lying to me.”

“Did you hear about Senator Williamson?”

“Or changing the subject.”

“I wasn’t changing the subject.” Jessica pulled away and shifted to the far end of the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and clutching the robe closer. “I was there when he shot his wife. Poor woman.” She shuddered and reached for the coffee again, taking a large gulp before replacing it on the table. “That night, in your bed, Williamson called me. Demanded I come to his house and tell him why I’d been tailing his aide. I went.”

“Why didn’t you tell him where to get off? It’s what you usually do.”

“I was curious.” She faked a casual smile. There was no way she was going to tell Ross about her financial situation. Her debts. Her problem. And hers alone. He wasn’t buying it, though, especially if the cynical expression was anything to go by. “Like I said, I was curious,” she stated firmly, angling a scowl in his direction. “I do wish I hadn’t gone. I nearly got my ass shot off. Again. Harknett had connections trafficking drugs. His BlackBerry probably lists all his contacts—”

“So us tailing Harknett because he was a lying, cheating scumbag was bullshit?” he asked, interrupting her.

“You know it was, Ross. You’re not stupid.”

“You’re sure about that? You did call me a moron. Remember?”

Her scowl deepened. “Do you want to hear this or not?” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Like I said, his BlackBerry probably lists all his contacts. When Williamson asked, I told him about what his aide was getting up to—”

Again, Ross interrupted her. “And how did you know? Oh, c’mon, Jess!” he huffed when she didn’t answer. “Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation for why I saved your life, and for why it was threatened in the first place?”

Jessica’s sigh was deep and long. “I was on a dinner date. Harknett was seated at the table next to us. He was dining alone. It was during dessert when my date went to the bathroom that Harknett received a phone call. The restaurant was really busy, and I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but I distinctly heard the words ‘half a kilo’ and ‘China’. I put two and two together and made drugs.”

“Who were you with? Is it somebody I know? Were you seeing him when you jumped into my bed?”

What was this? First, she’d encountered a ghost. Second, the Grim Reaper. And now, a monster of the green-eyed variety? Ross’s jealous side, a side she never knew he possessed, was uncalled for, and she felt compelled to explain who her date had been. “I was with Mike.”

“Mike? As in Mike Travis, my partner? You do know he’s married. With three kids. All under the age of seven.”

“Separated, Ross. I only saw him that once. As a friend. So take that home-wrecker accusation off your face.” He duly did as asked. “I didn’t say anything to Mike about what I’d overheard. I thought he had enough on his plate.”

“So you came to me instead.”

“And why not?” she quickly countered. “Unless something’s changed within the last two weeks, any crime involving drugs still falls under police jurisdiction. And you’re a cop.” She paused for another gulp of coffee. “Getting back to Williamson—”

“Not so fast, Jess,” he again interrupted, still not happy. “Why the bullshit? Why not tell me about the drugs in the first place?”

Jessica chose her words carefully. To admit she wanted recognition as a PI would be to admit Magnum Investigations was going to the wall. And there was no way she was going to tell Ross that, either. “Because I wasn’t sure if Harknett was trafficking drugs or not. Mike told me you’re thinking of applying for the lieutenant’s job when he retires. I didn’t want to ruin your chances of promotion by getting it wrong.” Well, okay, that part was true. She wasn’t that selfish not to help Ross up the career ladder, and busting a major drugs ring, she knew, would be several rungs in the right direction.

Since Ross seemed to accept her explanation, Jessica continued. “I didn’t think there was much harm in telling Williamson what I knew. And I certainly didn’t think that he, in turn, would whip out a gun, point it at my head, and demand the BlackBerry back because he was going to fill Harknett’s shoes.”

“I’d have to agree,” Ross conceded, reaching for and taking a sip of his own coffee. “Williamson’s always portrayed himself as being purer than fresh snow. A no-nonsense kind of guy. A straight politician. Sits on the police commission even though he’s never worn a badge, but because of his tough stance on crime. Gang warfare. Drug smuggling. Guns. Yada yada yada. What a hypocrite!”

“Quite.” This time, her smile was genuine. “Anyway, before he could end my life, his wife burst in saying she was leaving him, and he ended her life instead. I called the cops. You’ll never guess who turned up.”

“Not Rafferty?”

“Yes, Rafferty. Man’s a jerk.”

“How come,” Ross drawled, bending to set his mug on the floor, turning his face to shield his eyes from her, “I’m a moron, yet he’s a jerk?”

She pursed her mouth and glared at him, but then she caught the teasing glint as he straightened. She threw the scatter cushion under her arm at him, hitting him square in the chest, his rumbling laugh doing funny things to her insides. “I love you,” she declared, those three little words sounding strange but right. So right. She made a mental note to say them more often.

“No, you don’t. You ended things with me. Remember?”

“I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me!” he repeated, incredulous. “From what?” He snorted when she didn’t answer. “You say you love me, Jess, but I doubt if you even know the meaning of the word. My father said our friendship was a good, solid basis for marriage, but so is truth and honesty. How can I ever trust you when all you’ve done is lie?”

“I didn’t want to involve you,” Jessica finally admitted. She removed the towel from her hair and finger-combed the still-damp tresses before continuing. “When I eventually got away from Rafferty, I found a photograph. On my car. Of me. I thought it was a joke, but then when I went to the office, I found the same photo, only this time it had the line, ‘Your choice. BlackBerry or your funeral.’

“Despite the fact my life’s been threatened, there’s no way I’m handing that phone over. When it comes to your life, however, I’m not willing to risk it. I thought if I ended our relationship, I could keep you alive. Protect you.” She shook her head. “Moot point now, though. You’re very much involved.”

“If you didn’t want me involved, Jess, you shouldn’t have asked for my help in the first place.”

Suddenly feeling tired, Jessica rested her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. “Yeah, well”—she yawned—“hindsight’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

* * * *

Ross couldn’t agree more. “That it is.” He crossed his arms before the urge to wrap them around Jessica became too strong to ignore. “You say the phone probably contains details of Harknett’s drug contacts. Don’t you know for sure?” he asked, focusing on the matter in hand and not on the way she absently twisted a coil of hair around her slim fingers.

“Nope. It’s password protected, and I can’t crack it.”

“Where is it?”

“In a strongbox in my walk-in wardrobe. There’s a concealed space in the ceiling at the far end. Above my shoes. It was one of the main reasons why I bought the apartment.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. A soft smile, full of promise.

Oh, what the hell,
Ross thought. He sidled closer and took her into his arms. The collar of the robe slackened, and he noted the purplish-black finger-mark bruises to her neck. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to them.

At her low moan, his hands reached for the belt, and he tugged it loose, the robe gaping open to reveal the full extent of the bruises to her body. One to her right shoulder, the scratch from the splinter he’d removed making it ten times worse. Several to the valley between her breasts and over her ribcage. A cluster to her soft belly. Her hips. Her thighs. Finally, one to each shin.

The sight of her beaten body and the pain reflecting in Jessica’s eyes made Ross’s blood boil. Somebody was going to pay. And pay dearly. She went to close the robe, but he stopped her and took her hands in his. “No. Let me kiss them better.”