He did a quick survey. Summer had said Huber would want to be able to gloat over his genius. If the man wanted access to the evidence of his deeds, where would he keep them?
Close to him. Jon looked at the bed. On one side there was a clock and a picture of Huber in tennis wear. On the other, there was a small decanter of whiskey and a glass that looked used.
Jon went to the table that held the whiskey and opened the drawer.
A black leather journal inside.
Not likely that Huber kept a diary. Jon extracted it and opened it. Holding it angled toward the glow of the clock, he managed to get it lit enough to see column after column of numbers and notes in small, exact print.
This was it.
He tucked it into his waistband, pulled his shirt straight over it, and went back to the passageway. He waited until he was safely in the study to pull it out and take a closer look.
The ledger catalogued every dime Huber had ever stolen from other people—enough to put the man away for a long time.
What an idiot. Shaking his head, Jon stuck it back in his pants and returned to his room. He let himself back in, startled by the sight of Summer still in his bed, even though he’d expected it.
He was free of his debt to Bradley, but Summer was going to have her dream crushed. His satisfaction faded with that thought. He could picture her blue eyes sad with disappointment and broken aspirations.
She stirred, her arms stretching overhead, still asleep.
Quietly and quickly, he tucked the ledger into his overnight bag and undressed. Because it made sense—and because he wanted to—he slipped back into bed with her.
She immediately rolled over and slung her arm around him, murmuring sleepily. Then her leg slid over his, wrapped around him. Her hand soothed over his chest, soothing, even in her sleep.
He stilled, his heart beating so loudly that he was sure she’d wake up. She was unconscious and yet kind and caring.
The only act of kindness he’d ever received was from Bradley.
Needing to touch her, to make sure she wasn’t a dream, he smoothed a hand down her hair and over her back.
She murmured and nuzzled closer.
He gathered her closer. She was a good person. Even the strange insistence that Huber was innocent showed that, misguided though it was.
Her knee slid up his thigh as her hand glided down his torso, under the sheet that covered them. “If you’re awake and restless,” she murmured sleepily, “you should pleasure me.”
He rolled her over, covering her. “I can manage that.”
“I see that,” she said as her hand roved between them. Her fingers brushed his erection and he hardened more, blood instantly rushing to it.
Sighing, she reversed their positions so her legs straddled his hips.
In the dim ambient light, with her hair streaming tousled over her shoulders, she looked like a goddess more than a princess. She smiled as though cherishing her power as she rubbed over him.
Reaching on the nightstand beside him, he searched for another condom that he’d had the foresight to leave there when he found out that she was in the room next to his. “Here.”
“How prepared of you,” she said, her brow furrowed as she took it. She tore the wrapper apart and eased lower to sheath him.
She fumbled a little, but it just made him harder feeling her fingers groping around, brushing him. He arched into her hands.
“Wait a second, I’m trying,” she said under her breath. She leaned closer.
He could feel her exhale on his flesh and he hummed. He helped her finish the job and poised her above him.
But then he waited for her to take him.
Her hands wrapped around him and she eased herself on, millimeter by millimeter till he was clenching his hands in the sheets to keep from taking charge.
She slid down the rest of the way and then paused. “Do you like this?” she asked, her hands braced on his chest.
“Can’t you tell?” He lifted his hips to accentuate the point.
“I didn’t want to assume that you liked it as much as I do.” She began to move on him in rolling circles that had him gripping her hips.
He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from coming early like a schoolboy. “It’s safe to say I may like this just as much, if not more.”
“I like it a whole lot.”
The hell of it was, so did he.
He turned them over and thrust into her, over and over until she was crying out and as on edge as he was. Just when he was sure he couldn’t take it any longer, she clawed his back and screamed his name, and he fell into pleasure right after her.
She held him on her, running her hand down his back. It was oddly comforting and exciting at once, and he felt himself relax under her caress.
“Did you wake up from another bad dream?” she asked drowsily.
He stilled. “What makes you think I have bad dreams?”
“I know better.” She lifted her head. “Your eyes looked haunted the other morning.”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“What if I want to worry?” she asked softly.
He stared at the truth in her eyes. His throat clogged, and he shook his head. Hoarse, he said, “You don’t want to know what causes my nightmares.”
“I do,” she said, leaning on her elbow to watch him with her guileless eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
“It’s not pretty.”
She shrugged. “Even fairy tales start with horrifying circumstances. It’s in the past, isn’t it? It can’t hurt you or me anymore.”
He wasn’t so sure. Part of him wanted to protect her innocence, and the other part of him wanted her to see who she was flirting with, only so she’d wise up and walk away. “My mother sold me to a gang when I was five.”
She started to smile, but something she saw on his face made her sober. “You’re telling the truth,” she whispered. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“She was a drug addict, and she needed money for her next fix. It wasn’t so bad when I got used to it. There was food and shelter. I was good at not being seen, so I ran
errands
. Sometimes when things became messy, they sent me in to clean the situation up.”
She swallowed audibly. “When did you transition into what you do now?”
He stared down at her. “You don’t know what I do now.”
“I’ve made educated guesses.”
“Like?”
“You’re a hitman.”
He smiled, and that in itself was a miracle. “I’ve never been a hitman.”
“But you’ve had to do whatever it takes.” She frowned. “So what do you do?”
“Extractions, except for this last job. I’m doing this as a favor.”
She propped herself up, her eyes bright with conviction. “Doesn’t that mean you go into dangerous places and rescue people?”
“Yes, but I get paid to do it. I’m a mercenary.”
“You save people,” she said in wonder.
“Don’t make me out to be a hero,” he warned her. “That’s not me.”
She nodded but didn’t look swayed. “And you’re retiring.”
“Much to Trudy’s dismay.” At her puzzled look, he said, “Trudy handles the business end of things.”
“She thinks you should continue to save people?”
He frowned. “I don’t save people. I do a job.”
“Answer the question,” Summer said, poking his shoulder.
For some reason, he heard himself saying, “Trudy thinks we should convert the business to private investigation.”
Summer lit up. “That’d be safer, wouldn’t it? And you could stay in London.”
Yes, but there was his island retreat, where he had books and tropical drinks waiting for him. Only now when he thought about it, he pictured Summer there, draped in his bed the way she was here.
The image should have made him jump right out of her arms, but he couldn’t resist nestling into her.
“What happened to your mother?” she asked, holding him closer.
“I don’t know.” But he could guess. He’d seen any number of crack whores go down the same path. Death was inevitable.
“And your father?” Summer asked hesitantly.
“I didn’t have one.”
“That’s so sad,” she said softly. “I knew my father, and I always regretted not getting to spend much time with him. It seems like a boy would especially need his father.”
He smiled bitterly. “I didn’t have the luxury of need, princess. My mother sold me to a crime ring. The only thing I needed was to stay alive.”
“That’s awful,” she exclaimed, holding him tight. “No wonder you don’t trust anyone. I wouldn’t either if I’d lived through that. My mum was my best friend.”
Propping himself on his elbow and staring at her. “Are you crying?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course I’m crying.” She swiped a hand over her cheek. “You deserve to have someone cry for the lost boy you were.”
With his thumb he wiped a tear she missed, tangible proof of her soft heart. Sniffling every now and then, she snuggled him into her. He had the impression she was trying to protect the boy he’d been, and something in his chest clenched. He closed his eyes, holding the moment close.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, sunlight streamed into the room and he was alone in bed. He sat up, disoriented. Picking up his mobile, he checked the time. Almost eleven.
He couldn’t remember the last night he’d slept so late.
All traces of Summer were gone, including the shreds of her dress from the night before.
The ledger.
He hopped up, going straight to his bag’s pocket. He reached in, relieved to find it still there.
Not that Summer would have taken it. He should have known better. Old habits died hard.
Sitting on his bed, the journal in his hands, he stared at it. It signified the end of one overly long chapter of his life and the beginning of another easier one. He’d turn it into Bradley, and then his debt would be paid and he’d be free.
He couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t give it to Bradley at the expense of crushing Summer’s dreams. He didn’t want her to have Huber either—she deserved so much more—but seeing Huber led off to jail would disillusion her. He liked her sunny disposition. Her didn’t want her optimism killed.
He’d planned on leaving later in the day, to give himself the most time to poke around the estate, but he decided to leave as soon as he had coffee.
In preparation, he packed up, layering the journal between his things inside the small bag. Maybe he’d even see about getting a cup to-go—he’d be better off not seeing Summer again. He couldn’t face her with what he had.
Chapter Twenty
Jacqueline stared at Declan as he worked. His fingers glided over the keyboard, swift and graceful. As he wrote, his expression changed. Sometimes his eyes narrowed, the lines at the corners deep. Every now and then, he shook his head, or he’d smile faintly, his fingers flying faster.
When Beatrice had been born, she’d spent a lot of time, standing over the basinet, staring at the odd creature she’d birthed. In sleep, Beatrice’s face had been like that: a myriad of beguiling expressions that Jacqueline wanted to decipher.
She hadn’t taken the time then—for any of her daughters. But she wasn’t going to make the same mistake any longer. She was going to notice things, and ask, and be interested. She was going to do things differently, because her decisions in the past hadn’t led her down the best path.
She knew she shouldn’t disturb Declan, but she had to ask. “Do you think we’d still be together if we’d married back then?”
He stopped typing, his brow furrowed. “Does it matter? You can’t change the past.”
“I know.” She played with the pen in her fingers. “But I wonder if things don’t happen for a reason. Maybe if we’d gotten together back then our love would have burned out. We were so young.”
His frown deepened. “What’s this about?”
“Idle thoughts as I write,” she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.
“Don’t have thoughts. Just write.”
She smiled slightly. “Yes, sir.”
“And don’t pretend to be obedient.” He shook his head as he looked down at his screen. “It’s not believable.”
Her smile growing, she reopened her notebook and looked at where she left off.
“My love for you would never have changed, Jacqueline.”
She looked up, her heart stopping at the intense look in his eyes. “I don’t know that I believe that, but I want to.”
“Believing was always your problem,” he said without any recrimination in his voice. He set his fingers to the keyboard and began typing as though he were being chased and writing was the only way to keep the monsters at bay.
She glanced at her journal. Was that true? She didn’t think she had trouble believing, but maybe.
She tried to get back into the flow of writing, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, she closed her notebook and put it back in her purse.
Declan’s head popped up. “Where are you going?”
“Home.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck, giving him a rueful smile. “Why do you look like that? You should be happy to be rid of me.”
His frown deepened. “I should.”
She couldn’t help grinning as she stood. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“You haven’t asked me about your manuscript.”
The sudden change of topic made her pause. “Was I supposed to?” she replied finally.
He shrugged. “Don’t you care?”
“Of course I do, but I also know that if I push you you’ll take longer.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’m not pushing. Take as long as you need.”
Frowning, he crossed his arms. “Reverse psychology?”
She smiled enigmatically and left while she still had an advantage.
Fran was on her way out the door when Jacqueline arrived. She smiled at the woman who’d become her closest friend over the years. Fran raised the girls but, truth be told, she also raised Jacqueline.
Fran clucked her tongue, hiking her purse onto her shoulder. “He’s in the gallery again, walking around like he’s trying to decide what to steal.”
“Sebastian’s been very well behaved since he’s been here,” she said with a smile.
The woman harrumphed. “Because I’ve got my eye on him.”
Fran talked tough, but Jacqueline knew that she’d taken him under her wing. Fran could never resist someone who needed mothering, and Sebastian was smart enough to let her.