Bad to the Bone (12 page)

Jessica rubbed her temple and drove to the front of the house, Sully right on her tail—as he had been the
entire trip. She swore under her breath, tired of being chased and just plain tired. They hadn’t left Houston until almost five o’clock. Between the long drive and stopping to get Iris some dinner, it was after seven.

And
still
plenty of day left, Jessica thought irritably.

In the odd way of daylight saving time and summer, twilight had abandoned the early evening, delaying the night. Ordinarily she worshiped the light and dreaded the dark. Night was a time for facing the past, a time for the nightmares.

Funny how perspectives changed so easily. After a day in Sully’s company, she craved a little darkness in which to hide. Since the afternoon visit to Munro Security, Sully had grown icy, as if holding himself in check, but the anger was still there, smoldering, waiting to flame. With Iris between them, dinner had been neither the time nor the place to continue their last discussion. So they had maintained an uneasy truce, responding to innocuous questions with vague answers.

Dreading the next confrontation, Jessica climbed out of her car. There would be one. Of that she was sure. Although he hadn’t grilled her yet, Sully wouldn’t have forgotten the sober suits with boxes. Cops never forgot, and they never forgave. Especially not stubborn cops like Sully, ones who got the job done without excuses.

He was already out of his car, eating up the ground between them with long purposeful strides. Sully looked like a man with a few things on his mind and the newly found time to say them. As much to escape him as to wake Iris, Jessica started to lean back into the car. Sully stopped her, his voice reproachful.

“Let her sleep. The kid’s wiped out.” He
shrugged. “I’ve seen it before. It’s the emotion. It’ll be better if I carry her inside.”

“She’s too …” Before she could voice the objection, he was around the car and easing the door open. “… big,” she finished lamely.

With one hand Sully kept Iris from tumbling out while he slid the other beneath her knees. In a smooth, quick movement, as easily as if she weighed no more than air, he had her out of the car and against his chest. Jessica realized the girl wasn’t that big at all. Now that her eyes were closed and the perceptive watchfulness was hidden, she looked younger than twelve. She seemed fragile and innocent.

An unfamiliar and unfocused anger stabbed Jessica as she realized that Iris had spent her life relying on the kindness of strangers. An entourage of bodyguards, maids, and hit women didn’t count for real companionship and guidance. What kind of family was that for a kid? None at all. Unfortunately that’s all Iris had. And hope.

The kid wanted so badly for her father to be alive. Iris loved him, worshiped him. Jessica wasn’t at all certain an absentee father like Phil Munro deserved her love. Money didn’t matter to a kid like Iris. Neither did the houses, the cars, and the private schools.

None of it had ever mattered to Jessica. None of it could replace the gaping hole ripped out of her heart when she realized her own father had cared more about money than getting his daughters back alive. Whenever someone asked her what a life was worth, she could tell them to the penny. A quarter of a million dollars.

She’d pay ten times that much if it would bring Jenny back. But it wouldn’t. Nothing could bring
Jenny back. There was no way she could ever make it right.

Jessica dragged her mind to the present as Sully turned to bump the door shut with his hip. She saw Iris’s eyes fight against the drowsiness weighing them down. They fluttered open long enough to register Sully’s face. At least that’s what Jessica thought, but the stare was slightly off—more like over his shoulder than on his face.

“Good,” Iris mumbled as her lids fell, and smiled at Sully. Her chin dipped toward her chest. “She stopped … crying.”

Puzzled, Jessica wondered if she’d heard Iris correctly. Then she watched Sully’s knees buckle—just for an instant. That was only an illusion of course. The man’s knees wouldn’t dare betray him. Nevertheless he appeared ill at ease, frozen in his tracks, frowning warily at the top of a head full of blond curls. As if he was afraid Iris might say something else. Something worse.

Jessica raised an eyebrow and shut the car door.

What do you know that I should know, Iris?
Sound asleep and without even trying the girl had managed to shake Sully right down to his cowboy boots. Jessica found herself smiling. The man was human after all.

Before she could ask about the cryptic mumbling, Lincoln stepped outside. He looked every inch the bodyguard today. His impeccably starched shirt and saw grass-colored trousers were sharp enough to have been featured in
GQ
magazine, but the shoulder holster and 9mm Beretta were straight out of
Mercenary Monthly
.

Lincoln held the door for Sully, checking Iris carefully as she was carried by. “I was beginning to worry.”

Trailing in Sully’s wake, Jessica told him, “Don’t
stop now, Linc. It looks like we may have plenty to worry about.” Although she didn’t have much hope, she asked, “Has Phil called?”

“No. No one has.” That was a subtle reprimand. The next statement was a subtle request for information. “The police weren’t with you when you left.”

“Give us a minute, okay?” she asked, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Iris doesn’t need to hear this again.”

Sully waited silently for her at the foot of the stairs. She brushed past and led him to Iris’s room without a single hesitation. Making a mental blueprint of her surroundings was another old habit that had snapped into action last night. Iris had given her the nickel tour before they’d settled in for that long talk.

The room was cool and semidark. A welcome relief after the day’s heat. Above twin beds were posters of unicorns and a road sign that said “Angel crossing.” Jessica smiled, remembering her own preteen fascination with unicorns, and moved to one of the beds. She subdued the family of trolls inhabiting it—they looked more manageable than the explosion of clothes on the other bed. Then she shoved back the purple spread and stepped out of the way. For all Sully’s rough handling of women, he was apparently also capable of gentleness. That was obvious as he put Iris down on the mattress. She landed so softly that she simply snuggled into the pillow and didn’t move again. Not even when a lock of hair slipped down across her cheek to tease her nose.

Sully reached out to brush the hair away, his big hand making the girl’s cheek look delicate by comparison. Abruptly, as if embarrassed to have been caught in a random act of kindness, he pulled his hand back and walked out of the room.

“Don’t worry, Sully,” she whispered as she followed him into the hallway, “I won’t tell anybody you can actually be decent when you try.”

“I don’t imagine there are many people who’d believe you.”

Bristling, Jessica said, “If that cutting little statement was supposed to be another insult—”

“No, Jessie.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “This time I was taking the knife to myself. ‘Decent’ isn’t what most people expect out of Sullivan Kincaid.”

“Then what do they expect?”

He turned and blocked her path down the stairs. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t ask them.”

The grim set of his jaw convinced her he did know
exactly
what people expected. His colleague in Houston had called him the devil and, if Sully’s not-so-tongue-in-cheek response was to be believed, so had his father. Jessica sensed the darkness in Sully’s soul, but she couldn’t bring herself to accept that Sully embraced it. There was too much anger in him for there to be much peace. He fought the darkness every step of the way.

She’d seen him pull himself back from the edge. The darkness didn’t own him because he used it. His anger was like a shield, something he could focus outward. Jessica envied him that ability. Her anger was always bottled up, a physical thing pressing against her ribs.

“Do you care what people expect?” she asked finally.

When he didn’t answer, the silence wove a spell of intimacy around them. The world suddenly narrowed to the two of them, and she didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way he made every second seem a victory. He was
waiting for her to do something stupid—like give in to the impulse inside her that urged her to take one tiny step closer.

A second before she gave in, Jessica broke the spell. “What was Iris talking about, Sully? Who cries for you?”

A slow, sinful smile crossed his face, as if he’d been anticipating the question or her retreat. When he spoke, his tone was patronizing. “Jessie, Jessie, you didn’t buy into that sleep-talk, did you? Iris is an adorable flake. Who knows what she was dreaming about at the time.”

“Yeah, I bought it,” Jessica confessed and pushed past him. “I bought it because you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Sully hauled her around, keeping her from descending the stairs. “Not a ghost, darlin’. An angel.”

Her expression must have been incredulous. His grin got bigger, but his eyes were deadly serious.

“Shocking, isn’t it? To find out that even Sullivan Kincaid rates an angel. Yessiree, buddy, Sullivan Kincaid, the devil
himself
, has his own personal angel. That’s what they tell me anyway.”

“Angel? I don’t understand.”

“I spent yesterday trying to track down our illusive Madame Evangeline, remember? Which means I spent the day with an assortment of psychics. Most of them see auras and feel vibrations and read those cards. But one of them claims to see angels.”

“Lucky for you.”

“Yeah. Lucky me. She told me mine was weeping.”
Good. She stopped crying
.

A chill slithered through Jessica as she remembered that when Iris said those words, she had been looking
beyond Sully—over his shoulder. Involuntarily Jessica glanced back toward Iris’s room.

“Gives you pause, doesn’t it?” asked Sully softly. “Shook me up for a second or two. Maybe you should ask her about your angel.”

“I don’t have one.” Her answer was sure and quick.

“Why? Did yours get tired of crying and fly off to find someone who was worth redeeming?”

If Sully’s intent had been to wound, he did a fine job. Because he was right. She wasn’t worth redeeming; she’d known that for a long time. Jessica covered the pain of the truth with a joke and started down the stairs. “Silly me. When St. Peter was handing out angels, I thought he said, ‘bangles.’ I had plenty of bracelets, so I very politely said, ‘No thank you, sir.’ ”

“What a shame,” Sully commiserated, but he didn’t sound sympathetic. “I have a feeling you could use an angel right about now.”

“Now is way too late. I could have used one sixteen years ago.” Jessica recognized her mistake before Sully even asked the question.

“What happened sixteen years ago, Jessie?”

The only sign of tension as she answered him was the white-knuckled grip she had on the railing. “Puberty.”

When he laughed, she breathed again, was safe again. For a while. Until the next time she forgot that Sully’s jovial little conversations were intended to trip her up. He was much too good at uncovering her secrets. Telling herself to be careful around him was redundant, not to mention worthless. She’d known to be careful the first time she met him, and so far “knowing” hadn’t made any difference.

She kept stepping into his traps, or was maneuvered skillfully into them. No matter how she got
there, the result was the same. Sully had another bit of the puzzle, another tidbit to tickle his suspicions. And she was one step closer to disaster.

Lincoln waited impatiently for them in the living room. Sully gave him a thumbnail sketch—Phil’s car had been found, no evidence of foul play, and no details were available. Lincoln was visibly shaken, and his frown deepened, but his response was the same as it had been the night before. Nothing unusual had happened in the last few days with the exception of the unlocked door and Jessica’s arrival.

“I’d like to see the office,” Sully said.

“Is that smart? I didn’t think you were on the case,” Jessica reminded him.

“Who said anything about the case? I’m just taking a little tour of the house. The office is part of the house, isn’t it, Lincoln?”

“Yeah, but I already locked it,” Linc apologized. “It seemed like the thing to do. I had the electronic team in to sweep the house. They cleared it. Nothing was planted; nothing was missing, and that’s Phil’s private room. So I locked it. It’s just a button lock, but I don’t have a key.”

“Nice work.” Sully sighed. “Munro gets his money’s worth.”

Reluctantly Jessica tightened the noose Sully already seemed to have around her neck and volunteered, “I can let you in.”

Sully swung around, brows upraised. In unison, he and Lincoln asked, “You have a key?”

“No.” She refused to flinch as the men worked it out in their minds.

Lincoln’s mouth dropped open in uncertain surprise, but Sully smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t ask
you to pick the lock to begin with. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Getting rid of you has been beyond my talents so far,” she murmured sweetly as she went to get her kit. “Lincoln, show him where the office is.”

When she joined them, Sully timed her. The lady picked the lock in less than five seconds. Impressive. So the kit wasn’t a new toy. It obviously wasn’t a toy at all.

The longer he was around Jessica Daniels, the more certain he became that the innocence in her kiss was an illusion. There wasn’t an ingenuous bone in her body. The flesh on those bones wasn’t particularly innocent either, he decided. She’d taken her boots off upstairs and now her bare legs seemed to go on forever.

He wondered if she’d done it on purpose. Part of him, the lunatic part, hoped she had, that she’d made a conscious decision to attract his attention. Jessie chose that precise moment to turn around and look him squarely in the eye, completely unrepentant for her nefarious skill. With the barest push of her fingertips the door swung open. Their gazes locked. She lifted a brow, waiting for the compliment that he wouldn’t give.