Protective Ink (Urban Fantasy) (8 page)

She nudged his foot with her hip as she walked past. “I don’t know if I have enough for both of us, but I guess I can share.”

He gave a light snore and she smiled. It wouldn’t hurt to let him sleep a little. He’d been trying to hunt down Garrett’s attacker all night, which was hardly an easy task. Perhaps he’d found him and needed to sleep off the adrenaline.

If he had found him maybe he would stop his drop-in visits after all, and she’d get what she wanted. Her stomach dropped at the thought, which she decided to ignore.

Setting out two plates, she evenly divided the orange chicken, beef and broccoli. She kept the spring roll for herself. Tucking herself into the chair across from the couch, she watched him sleep. He’d never looked so peaceful. Normally—at least when he was around her—his angular features were severe, his brow furrowed, his wide mouth drawn into a frown. She knew he smiled at other people, and she’d seen him share a laugh with Dory and Garrett. But he was never carefree around her anymore.

Thinking about it was only going to make her lose her appetite, and she’d been craving Chinese food for days. She crunched into the spring roll as she continued to watch Jackson.

An hour later, he was still asleep. Going into her bedroom, she dressed for sleep in a tank and men’s boxer shorts and grabbed a spare blanket from the foot of her bed. He could stay out there all night. He didn’t look comfortable, but it couldn’t be that bad if he was sleeping through his discomfort.

Back in the living room, she settled the blanket over his chest then turned off the lights and stared at him for one more minute. The tingle in her midsection should be ignored, she knew, yet she couldn’t help but think she could make room for herself on the couch. Right where his stomach curved in and his arm was flung out would be the perfect pillow.

Sighing, she tiptoed to the end table near his head and switched off the light, leaving only the glow of the kitchen light in the next room. She didn’t fear tripping in the dark since she knew the apartment like she knew her tools in the shop downstairs. But she was just one step away from the couch when her path was blocked by a hot palm wrapped around her thigh below the hem of her boy shorts.

She held herself perfectly still, not sure if Jackson was awake or having a nightmare. He’d come out of his years in the military a whole lot darker than when he’d gone in. Some of that anger had diminished, but there were moments when she was sure he was still stuck back in the sands.

“Down. I told you to get down, goddammit. Do it!” It was said in a growl. “Get down!” He shot into a sitting position and swung her around, pulling her to him. She ended up in his lap, her head facing his, her rear end on his thighs, her hair a tangle around her face. She didn’t dare move the strands of inky black out of her eyes. She had no idea if he was still in the grip of a nightmare and wasn’t willing to chance a fist to the arm or an elbow to the eye.

His eyes were shut, but they darted back and forth behind lids that looked bruised. She wanted to run a hand down his arm in a caress meant to soothe but didn’t want to risk it.

“Jackson,” she said quietly. “Jackson,” she repeated as she took the chance and cupped his cheek, the skin rough with bristly stubble.

He nuzzled her hand and breathed in hard, his hand coming up to her face to mirror the caress. And then he drew her in for a kiss that made her toes curl. A kiss that almost made the one from yesterday pale in comparison. Had it really only been yesterday?

* * *

Somehow he had gotten from the dust and dirt of a roadside shack in the back end of nowhere to a room filled with vibrant colors and soft fabric, a kind of heaven after the heat and desperation of the desert.

Soft lips moved under his, questing hands promised pleasure and safety. Solace.

When he recognized Lissa’s face, he stood up before he could let the dream go further. He heard a thud on the floor at his feet.

Snapping out of his dreamy state, he was bewildered to look down and see Lissa in a close-fitting tank top and some little shorts sprawled across the area rug. She rose to her elbows, glaring at him. “Thanks a lot, Big Guy. I didn’t see that coming.”

“What? How?” But he stopped himself before he could blather like an idiot, taking a moment to consider his surroundings and how he had come to be here. He’d staggered into Lissa’s apartment earlier after cleaning up his bloody nose at Garrett’s. He’d had no idea when she was due home, only that she wasn’t downstairs tattooing people. Since breaking into her apartment had worked for him before, and he hadn’t wanted to go home without talking to her, he’d taken up residence on her couch to wait for her to come home. And here he was now. He had no memory of the in-between except the feel of sand under his fingernails and the taste of something sweet and a little dangerous on his tongue.

Jesus, had he actually kissed her again? Sure, he’d thought of it about a billion times over the past day, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do it again.

She completely ignored his outstretched hand and rose gracefully from the floor under her own steam. And there was quite a bit of steam. He imagined he could see it coming out of her ears and was tempted to take a step back from her.

Fortunately, his phone rang, cutting through the sound of their heavy breathing. He would have kissed Garrett if he had been here, too.

“Yeah?”

“I have another cleanup, Jackson. The guy’s in the alley behind the Laundromat. I’m hurt bad, so I need to get to Dory as soon as I can. I need to get to Lissa for that protection tattoo, too. We should step that up pronto.”

Fucking A.

“Go, I’ll take care of it.”

“It was weird. Like it was staged. A play. Be careful.”

“I will, Garrett. Go home now.”

As soon as he hung up he called Dory. “Incoming.”

“Again? I’ll do this all day if I have to, Jackson, but I don’t know if he can handle any more.”

“I know, chicky. Let me get back to you. I have to go.”

“Be careful. You’re important, too.”

“Bye.” He stared at the phone in his hand for a brief second then checked his shoes and made sure his T-shirt was tucked into the waistband of his pants. Anything except for looking at Lissa.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything.” And he turned around and left.

Chapter Seven

Lissa stomped down the interior stairs from her apartment to the downstairs parlor. She needed something to do to keep herself sane. He had kissed her again, made her feel things again, and she would cheerfully have killed him for it. Damn him for his soft lips and his demanding touch that sent waves of heat racing through her body even now when she was simply thinking about it. Why had he come to her apartment at all?

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she rested her back against the wall of the landing and thought about how she had shyly asked him if he would take her to prom long ago, right after the first tattoo she gave him. He’d declined because he had to ship back out, but something had passed between them that had been more than friendship.

Jackson had left the marines almost ten years ago and moved here, wanting to be close to Garrett’s hometown. The convenience of having Garrett’s tattoo artist somewhat nearby had probably enticed him, too. They’d settled comfortably into a distant yet intimate friendship. Until last night.

She whipped open the door to Wicked Ink, intent on getting some fresh air. She would not think about either last night or tonight’s kisses. There was no need because they changed nothing.

The back of her neck prickled a warning only a second before someone grabbed her around the middle, imprisoning her arms against her sides with hands as cool as glass. She opened her mouth to scream and a hand clamped over her lips and nose, cutting off her air supply.

She had enough sense to go limp for a second, catching her assailant off guard, then stepped back and flipped him over her head with a jerk of her whole body. He went down with a grunt but was up again in a flash. They circled each other, his hands out and making grabs for her as she danced out of his reach.

He was several inches taller than her and built lean. His face was covered in a ski mask, leaving her with very few clues to help her identify him if she got out of this alive.

Where the hell was Jackson when she needed him?

* * *

Another frustrating dead end. Jackson felt like beating the snot out of Garrett, no matter how old he was. He should have been at home resting, but he’d gone back out instead, taunting these people to come and get him. Jackson did not enjoy the chase, even on a good day, and this was most certainly not a good day.

He had told Lissa he’d call her if he found anything after cleaning up the signs of Garrett’s latest tussle. There had been no new leads, though, and he was tempted to go straight home and get some shut-eye. The morning would come soon enough. With it there would be new stress. In addition to everything else he was juggling, he and his construction company would be starting a new project.

Yet something told him he should check in with Lissa before heading home. He could have called her, but he was only a block away from her house. It was easy enough for him to stop by. If she were asleep, he’d leave and call her in the morning.

As he walked past the back of the building, he glimpsed commotion in the room where Lissa did her tattooing. Two shadows wrestled in the light thrown from the neon All Girls All Night sign across the alley.

He fumbled his keys in his hands, trying to get the right one. This was taking too long. She was going to be pissed, but he had to break a window. Whoever the shadows were, he wouldn’t be able to take them by surprise with stealth.

Whipping his shirt off over his head, he balled it in his fist and punched through the small window of the back door. He reached in and unlatched the door between one breath and the next, then slammed the door open, making no secret of the fact that he had come to kick some serious ass.

One shadow broke and ran. Jackson flew after the son of a bitch and nearly tripped over Lissa, who was lying on the hard black-and-white checked tile. Shit. Help or pursue? There was no real question when Lissa started moaning at his feet. Dropping his glass-covered shirt to the floor, he bent down and picked her up.

He gently cradled her in his arms as he heard the back door slam. More glass fell out of the window, tinkling to the floor. She was warm against his bare chest, but she didn’t move. It killed him not to go after her assailant. Lissa needed him, though. The asshole who had hurt her would just have to wait. It would not be pretty when his time came.

Using the hand cradling her legs, he made short work of carrying her upstairs. She was no heavier than the standard issue military pack filled with everything important to his survival that he’d had to carry through the dunes in his posts overseas.

He wedged through the door to her apartment, careful not to hit her head or feet on the walls. He had no idea how injured she was, and he probably shouldn’t have moved her at all. But he was used to doing things his own way and had enough experience to check her out before deciding whether to call an ambulance. He, Lissa and Garrett tried to stay under the radar as much as possible. She would not be happy if he called 911 without putting serious thought into it first. He needed more information. And to get more information, he was going to have to clean her up and try to get her to wake up.

Placing her on the couch, he flipped on the end table lamp, choosing its lowest setting, then stood back to make a visual inspection. She had a cut on her head that might need a stitch or two but could be taken care of with a butterfly bandage. He didn’t see any other visible injuries at first glance. He was going to have to put his hands on her to make sure. Well, shit.

He thought of her as a field casualty as he ran his hands through her mass of thick, curly hair, down her slender neck and along her shoulders. He imagined her in a field tent on a makeshift cot while he tested her arms and used his fingertips to trace a line down her breastbone and around her ribs to make sure nothing was broken. He pictured her in the back of a swiftly moving Humvee as he checked her hip bones, ran his palms down her smooth legs and around her ankles.

Sitting back on his heels, he swiped a hand over his sweating brow.

Nothing he could see or feel was broken, but she had dried blood and some blossoming bruises. It occurred to him that she might have a concussion. She needed to wake up soon so he could look into her eyes to make sure she was responsive before getting her story.

Her arm twitched at her side and a second later she jerked into a sitting position, her hands raised up like a true fighter.

“Easy, Tiger. Whoever that was downstairs, he’s long gone.” He watched as her pupils dilated in the penlight he’d taken from his pocket. “Now, follow this with your eyes.” She tracked okay as he moved the light left and right. Since he didn’t see anything that concerned him, he headed into the kitchen to start some infernal tea for her and grab a frozen bag of peas for the cut on her head. When he arrived back at her side, he breathed out a sigh of relief that seemed to help dislodge his damn heart from his throat. She was going to be okay. And she would stay that way even if he had to stick by her side twenty-four hours a day until this guy was found.

She wasn’t going to like it, but quite frankly he didn’t give a damn.

Squatting down next to her, he rested on his haunches and handed her the bag of peas. “Put it on that cut on your forehead, then we’re going to have to do some first aid. Where’s your kit?”

“Bathroom,” she groaned, her eyes shining with tears. He took that as his sign to get out of her way for a minute. He didn’t do tears and he knew Lissa wasn’t the type of woman who liked to be seen crying.

He found the kit under the sink then took the time to wash his hands in hot, soapy water before returning to her side.

She’d cried and now she looked as pissed as a wet feline. Good, that was better than tears any day.

He put a butterfly bandage over her cut. “You want to tell me what happened?”