Wicked Lovers 01 Wicked Ties (37 page)

Morgan wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off both the cold and a suspicion that Deke’s answer was intended to mislead.

“Good. I just want to get my purse, find my car, and get as far away from here as possible.”

“You mean as far away from Jack?”

“You’re going to blab to him, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Only if he’s too drunk to figure it out himself. As it is, I expect to hear from him shortly, so I won’t have to say a word.”

“Drunk or sober, he’s not coming after me.”

“Give him an hour, two tops.” He glanced at his watch. “My guess is more like forty-five minutes.”

That didn’t seem possible. Was Deke blind? Stupid? “The man walked out on me after I shocked the hell out of him.”

“You shock him?” Deke laughed. “That’s funny, but not possible. You surprised him. He just walked out to think. If I believed for a second that he wouldn’t come for you, I would have left you with him in the swamp.”

Deke honestly believed that Jack was coming back for her. Tonight. Was he delusional? Convincing himself so that he didn’t have to babysit her?

It didn’t matter. She had to get out of here, away from the swamps and Lafayette, and from Jack, before she did anything else she’d end up regretting.

“Why? I want to get away. Why would you leave me with a man who doesn’t want me?”

A fresh rush of February wind cut through the thin clothing, chilling her to her bones. Morgan huddled further into her arms.

“Doesn’t want you?” Deke asked incredulously as he ripped his sweatshirt off over his head. “Woman, you know shit about men. When he comes, ask Jack why he came after you. It won’t be long now.”

Morgan tried to follow the train of his words and not to swallow her tongue. Every sculpted inch of Deke’s torso was blessedly, achingly bare. She took in the angled dips and hard swells of his body. The man was enormous! Those

shoulders…they had to be damn near three feet wide. Holy cow, it was a good thing she already knew Deke wasn’t going to hurt her. Otherwise…she’d be terrified to meet the man in a dark alley.

“Arms up,” he commanded.

“You’re going to get cold.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a spare in my Hummer. Arms up.”

This time, she complied. The allure of warmth was too strong to resist. The sweatshirt settled over her body like a soft, warm cloud that extended at least six inches past her fingertips and nearly down to her knees.

Deke laughed. “You’re a little thing, doll. My sweatshirt makes you look like someone’s six-year-old sister.”

Torn between laughing and screaming, Morgan stomped out of the boat and onto the decaying wooden dock. Deke tied the boat off and followed her.

“If we’re done laughing at my expense, can you drop me off at Sexy Sirens so I can get my purse and blow this taco stand?”

Deke raised a tawny brow. “You know that’s the first place Jack will look for you.”

“Well, then let’s hurry so I can be gone by the time he decides to chase after me.” If he does.

“Your chariot, my lady.” He gestured to a gleaming black Hummer H3 sitting in the dirt-and-gravel lot ten feet ahead, perched up on monster truck tires nearly taller than her.

Morgan snorted. As if a guy that tall and huge needed such an intimidating vehicle to make a statement. Talk about overkill.

Once he unlocked the doors with the press of a button on his key fob, he opened the one on the passenger’s side and lifted her into the vehicle. She couldn’t call it a car. It was more like a tank with leather seats and satellite radio.

Settling into the seat and shutting the door, she was grateful for the fact that it blocked that terrible cold wind.

Behind her, a rear door opened and closed. A few moments later, Deke climbed into the driver’s seat wearing a West Point sweatshirt and a smile.

On the road to Sexy Sirens, Morgan asked him to drop her at the back door. The last thing she needed was to crawl through the crowd wearing Jack’s too-big sweatpants and Deke’s even bigger sweatshirt, sans bra and shoes. She probably looked like a refugee from an all-night frat party.

“As if I was going to drop you off at the front door.” Deke’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I think your stalker friend is in California. I don’t know it. Until I know where the bastard is, we lay low.”

Morgan couldn’t argue with that logic. Better safe than sorry. She wanted to believe Reggie was still in California stewing that she’d given him the slip, but who knew…

Deke parked the Hummer in the alley behind the club, then helped her down. He stopped before the back door and pounded his fist on the cracking paint. A new blast of arctic wind cut down the narrow lane of the alley. Morgan’s teeth chattered. Her thin L.A. blood really couldn’t take this.

With a curse, Deke moved his body to block the brunt of the wind and he wrapped his arms around her.

Alyssa opened the door and stared at them with a surprised gaze that quickly turned jaundiced. “Well, if it isn’t He-Man.”

The sexy club owner was dressed tonight in a black leather corset just shy of illegal and a matching skirt a breath away from indecent that emphasized long legs encased in sheer, thigh-high stockings. She stepped back on black stilettos to let them enter. A wall of throbbing music made the little back room vibrate, despite the doors closing them off from the club’s main stage. It was hard to miss the heavy suggestion of the song, some 1980s tune about naughty girls needing love, too.

They stepped inside and Deke shut the door behind him. “It’s my favorite pole dancer. How the hell are you?”

Alyssa tossed back a curtain of platinum hair and regarded Deke with disdain. “Smart enough to avoid you and your tagteaming cousin. The last woman the two of you finished with didn’t walk for a week.”

“You’re in no danger. We’re looking for a lady.”

The former stripper stiffened. “Fuck you.”

Deke gave an easy shrug. “I would, but you’re not Luc’s type. Thanks, anyway.”

“I wasn’t offering,” she spit out. “Next time you feel the need to be here, send your cousin instead. He’s got charm.”

Meaning Deke didn’t. What was the problem with these two? Morgan watched their byplay with a frown. Alyssa and Deke disliked each other. Intensely.

“I hate to interrupt,” Morgan blurted, lying through her teeth, “but can I get my purse, Alyssa?”

The woman looked at her. “Morgan? Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you with red hair and… What the hell are you wearing?”

“Jack’s sweatpants and He-Man’s sweatshirt.”

Alyssa’s expression turned ripe with X-rated questions.

Morgan flushed with both embarrassment and anger. “It’s not what you’re thinking, but don’t ask. I just want to get my purse and get out of here.”

“Did Jack find your stalker and put him out of his misery?”

“No, but we think he’s gone to California looking for me since he set fire to my house there yesterday.”

Alyssa grabbed her hand. “I’m not so sure, hon. Come with me. You, too, steroid boy.”

Morgan followed her into a narrow hallway that bloomed into an office. Deke trailed behind, grumbling that he’d never used steroids. She barely paid attention. Alyssa knew something about her stalker that she didn’t?

The woman shut the door to the small, cubiclelike office. Ah, soundproofed. Very nice.

Hustling behind her desk in a surprisingly long, confident stride, despite her staggeringly high stilettos, Alyssa produced a big envelope. A familiar manila-style envelope. One without postage marks.

Morgan’s heart took a nosedive.

“These arrived this morning. Apparently, some homeless woman said a man paid her to deliver it by hand. I would have called Jack to tell him, but I was in New Orleans today. I just got back and found them.”

With shaking hands, Morgan opened the envelope and extracted the pictures. There were only two, both taken near Sexy Siren’s main stage the day Jack had brought her here to transform and hide her. Had that been a mere three days ago? So much had happened since then, it felt like a lifetime.

The first picture showed Jack in disguise, his fingers curled around her hip, his palm resting on the curve of her ass. His mouth hovered above her ear. Morgan shivered as she remembered his hypnotic voice and five o’clock shadow rasping against her senses.

She swallowed down a tangle of grief and yearning as she flipped to the next picture. This one knocked the breath from her body.

Jack seizing her, holding her still for the onslaught of his mouth. Eyes closed, he devoured her. The still picture captured aggression, possession in the clutch of his fingers on her neck, the thrust of his shoulders, as if he was determined to get as close as possible. His wide mouth utterly devoured hers. Morgan couldn’t avoid looking at the picture, her arms around Jack’s neck, her breasts pressed against him, her lips parted in eager readiness to taste every bit of his kiss. Not just accepting, but craving it. She tingled just looking at it.

Deke whistled. “That’s one hell of a kiss.”

“Yep, I’ve never known Jack to be so intent on anything that didn’t involve handcuffs,” Alyssa commented baldly.

Morgan cut a pained glance at her. Of course Alyssa had slept with Jack. Probably more than once. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t, given the opportunity? Still, looking at the exotic creature in black leather with a waterfall of platinum hair wrapped in easy sexuality, Morgan felt like the ugly duckling—all baggy clothes, freckles, and repression.

God, she had to get far away from here. If she stayed long enough to watch Jack touch this woman or any other…the sight would crush her. No question. She’d trusted him, opened up to reveal herself to Jack in a way she never had with any man. She cared. More than cared. She didn’t even want to think about how much more.

Twelve kinds of stupid, that’s what she’d been.

“If handcuffs is all it takes to interest you, I’m sure I can scrounge up a pair or two.” Deke baited Alyssa.

The blonde scoffed. “You wish.”

This conversation was crawling on her last nerve. She had no idea why Deke was trying so hard to get a rise out of Alyssa’s temper and she didn’t care.

“Did you call Jack already?” Morgan demanded.

Alyssa frowned at the sharp tone. “No. I was getting ready to.”

Morgan shook her head. “Wait until I leave. I want to be good and gone before he shows up.”

“Doll, you can’t leave with this guy running around. He could be near.”

She tried not to wince at that possibility. “I have to go. I’m exhausted and I want space, some sleep. Tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow could be too late. You have to wait for Jack, tell him about these pictures. Let him protect you.”

“I’ll be fine for one night. I’ll call around and hire someone to protect me bright and early in the morning.” She turned to Alyssa. “Can I just have my purse, please? I need my driver’s license, my keys, my money…”

“What about the note?” the blonde asked.

“Note?”

Alyssa grabbed the envelope from Morgan’s hands and dug to the bottom until she retrieved a folded piece of paper. “Note.”

Trepidation battered Morgan’s nerves as she took the white paper in hand and unfolded it.

You belong to me. Only me. I will kill you before another man touches you again.

The brevity and resolution in those words chilled her. Reggie meant it. Morgan covered her hand with her mouth and felt her knees weakening under her.

Deke caught her in his strong grasp before her legs gave out. Alyssa moved into her line of vision, concern and confusion written all over her face.

“Let me call Jack. He’s going to want to hear about this.” “No, he’s not.” Morgan looked away, fighting the sting of tears that were suddenly like an ice pick in the back of her eyes. Alyssa closed the space between them and lifted her chin in a surprisingly strong grip, despite her long French-tipped claws. “Okay, now I’m really going to call him and ream him out. How the hell did he break your heart in three damn days?”

“I don’t think it’s one-sided,” Deke offered.

He was delusional, Morgan decided. And she’d heard enough from both of them.

Tearing herself away from both Deke and Alyssa, Morgan made for the door. She was exhausted and sore. She wanted a shower, wanted the solace of deep sleep. Until she got out of here, she wasn’t getting any of it.

If Reggie had arranged for the delivery of this envelope to Alyssa, it meant he was still determined and unhinged. He was probably back in the area. He knew who she’d left the club with and when. All the more reason not to stay with Jack, to find a new bodyguard.

For every reason she could think of, she had to get out of here. Now.

“Give me my damn purse!” she shouted. “I’m leaving.”

Alyssa tossed up her hands in a gesture of surrender and walked back behind her desk. She lifted her super-short black skirt and revealed a set of black garters holding up her thigh-high stockings. A small ribbon tied a little desk key to that garter. Alyssa plucked on the red satin ribbon, and the key fell into her hand.

With a taunting glance at Deke’s riveted gaze, Alyssa palmed the key, then straightened her skirt and unlocked her desk. An open drawer later, she handed Morgan her purse.

“Let me call Jack before you go.”

“I’ll be fine. Deke can walk me to my car to help me retrieve my things and make sure I do it safely. I’ll figure out what to do from there.”

Morgan didn’t wait around for either of them to answer. She whirled away and headed for the alley exit. It was dark. She could stay in the alley’s shadows.

A few moments later, she heard Deke’s footsteps behind her.

“I’ll stay with you tonight, until you can find a new bodyguard.”

And let him call Jack to come and get her and probably spank her ass for running off in the first place? “Just drop me off at my car. I’ll grab my stuff and call a cab, just to be on the safe side. Your responsibility ends there.”

“If I do, Jack is going to kill me,” he muttered.

“If you don’t, I’m going to kill you first, slowly, and string you up by the balls.”

Though Morgan was painfully aware that she couldn’t make good on that threat, she was relieved when Deke just shook his head and sighed.