Doing It Right (11 page)

“Easy,” he murmured, “just let me … for another few seconds … it’s all right …” When he was up to the first knuckle he bent to her again, jamming his tongue inside her damp cave and prodding as his nose dug into her clitoris and his finger slid around slowly, out just a touch and then in, no big dramatic strokes, just an overall pressure and gentle wriggling.

She quit trying to get away from him; he could, in fact, feel her entire body quaking as her orgasm neared. She let go of his thighs and he thrust against her warm, inviting mouth, hoping like hell she was getting enough air, hoping like hell he would come soon before he had a heart attack. Meanwhile, the taste and smell of her was in his mouth, his nose, driving him crazy, making him want to never stop touching her, tasting her, and she was bucking against him and he felt her clench around him as she shook with the force of her orgasm. A half-second later, he found his own release, felt his seed pouring down her throat and pulled back, afraid for her, but she held onto his thighs with an iron grip and milked him greedily, not letting go until she was damn well ready.

They collapsed against each other and lay without moving, trying to get their breath back. Finally, she said, “I don’t even remember why I woke up. But thank God I did.”

He laughed, and the laugh turned into a groan as she pinched his inner thigh, then started tickling. He barely had the strength to roll away from her. “Christ, you’re amazing,” he had time to say before falling into a sleep so deep, it was nearly unconsciousness.

K
ara came awake like a cat in the dark. As always when in a strange place, her waking thoughts were chaotic—Where am I? Is it safe here? How long have I been here? Who’s after me?
Am I safe here?

Memories flooded back and she relaxed, then despised herself for relaxing. She certainly wasn’t safe in Jared’s bed. For one thing, the man was deluded into thinking he cared about her, but she wasn’t falling for
that
one, thanks very much. For another, the man was ridiculously talented in bed, a gold star lover—not that her experience was vast, but still. She thought about his hands on her, his mouth on her, and felt her face getting warm. He’d done things to her no one had ever done, things she’d never even thought of. And her body craved more, needed more.

She forced her mind away from Jared’s overall marvelousness and back to the problems at hand.

Carlotti had a contract on the man whose bed she was sharing. Jared was a bomb waiting to go off and blow her life to pieces. It was a simply a matter of what happened first—Carlotti got the drop on them or Jared broke her heart.

Then run
, her mind whispered treacherously and she squirmed in shame. Jared saw a lot—too much, sometimes—and he was right when he called her a coward. It was her nature to run from adversity and emotional danger. Jared had meant something to her from the beginning and that had only made her fight harder.

Now it was too late. She quit pretending when he coaxed her into staying overnight. She was in love. She was such a stupid fool she had given her heart to someone again, despite life’s cold lessons—and look who she’d picked to fall for! A doctor who was as straight and narrow as a ruler, whose idea of big trouble was running out of gauze pads.

Lying next to Jared’s comforting warmth, she wryly reflected on the fact that she would take murderous goons and the threat of jail over falling in love any day. She was the thief, but Jared had effortlessly lifted her heart and taken it for himself. His sleight of hand had been so superb, she had never seen it coming.

She sat up and looked around his bedroom. There was plenty of light from the moon and she observed a single man’s clutter, a man who worked long hours and cared little for keeping up with the laundry. Despite the mess, his bedroom was comfortable
and inviting. And big. Plenty of room for two.

She shook her head at her foolishness. Jared was beyond marvelous, with a healer’s comforting touch and a comedian’s wit, but he would eventually leave her, as everyone did. It wasn’t a bad thing, it was just the nature of things, of men, of family. She knew once you grew to depend on someone, they would immediately leave you to an orphanage or the streets.

Worst of all were the foster families, the ones who didn’t have to care for you, who were paid by the state to feed you, but then pretended they
did
care, right before they shipped you back to the state home. She had sworn by the age of ten never again to fall into the trap of caring and for the most part had kept that promise to herself. There had been a few slips, of course, but the lesson, hard learned, sometimes had to be reinforced.

She eased from the bed and Jared never stirred, though he muttered unhappily in his sleep and his hand sought her. She tucked the blankets beneath his chin, marveling at how boyish and charming he appeared even in sleep. She hated to leave him, this warm, comfortable room, this place. And because she hated it so much, she made herself get dressed and get the hell out.

Once on the street, she paused for a moment, observing the predawn traffic and wondering what to do now. Her attitude toward Carlotti had always been reactive, not proactive—she never went looking for trouble, but when it found her she defended
herself. That, she belatedly realized, was not the way to handle the Carlotti situation. The more time she spent with Jared, the more foolish her thoughts became.

She couldn’t quit bodyguarding, couldn’t walk out of Jared’s life and leave him on his own until the situation resolved itself. Good doctor Jared shortly would become a mob prisoner, then a cadaver. So how best to complete her service and get out of Jared’s life?

Proactive, she reminded herself, buttoning her jacket against the early morning chill. Find Carlotti. It wouldn’t be difficult. Find him and kill him. Now. Before one more day went by. And then get out of Jared’s life—
Before he hurts you—
while there was still time. She had never killed anyone—that sort of thing was never necessary during her hacks—but she figured Carlotti was an excellent place to start. Given a choice between taking an irrevocable step toward corruption and keeping Jared safe—no contest.

Okay. One of Carlotti’s girls was living at Meg’s pross house. Meg owed her several favors. It was a good place to start.

Kara stepped down from the curb to flag the cab at the end of the block.

“I don’t know if he’s here for
sure
,” the prostitute repeated nervously. The woman’s street name was Krystal—”That’s with a ‘K’, sugarbumps.”) and while she claimed to be not yet drinking age, Kara
put her at mid to late twenties. Of course, Krystal-with-a-K could be right. The street was tough on faces and the average pross had a shelf life slightly longer than yogurt. “And I don’t know why we had to come here
now
. I told you, if he
comes
, it won’t be ’til
suppertime
.”

Krystal slung her purse over one bony hip and glared at Kara. She was a tall woman, underweight and twitchy, with a long, narrow face and a gleaming gaze that watched avidly for disaster. The woman had observed a child slip and fall down hard enough to skin both knees bloody, and had laughed so hard she’d stumbled off the curb. Kara hadn’t commented, but did walk over and assist the child to his feet, brushed him off, and sent him on his way. She wasn’t surprised, by either the child’s misfortune or Krystal’s cruelty. The prostitute with a heart of gold was a movie myth. The very nature of their work bred savagery and indifference. Their lives were so hard, who cared about anyone else’s? Kara didn’t like it, but she could understand it.

“I appreciate you showing me the place,” she replied absently. The warehouse was close to the train depot and she imagined it had once been used to store incoming shipments. Krystal told her Carlotti used it to house stolen goods and black market movies—here a customer could get a tape of a movie before it even hit the theaters. “But it’s beginning to occur to me that I’ve been something of an idiot.”

“Huh?” Krystal replied, her ratty gaze darting all
over the empty first floor. “What are you talking about?”

It had taken Kara hours to seek out Krystal and talk the woman into giving her directions to the warehouse. Krystal’s insistence on accompanying her should have been the first tip-off. Now it was past lunchtime and Kara remembered that, as usual, no one knew where she was, or when she was expected back. She’d been led to an abandoned warehouse by an untrustworthy woman who laughed at a child’s pain. And she only had Krystal’s word that Carlotti wouldn’t be here for another six hours.

The oldest trick in the book
, Kara thought, shaking her head as she heard the bolt from the front door shoot home, locking them both inside.
And I fell for it. Because I wanted to rush and get this over with so I could run away from Jared. Stupid, stupid girl. Now pay the price for your cowardice.

A few boxes tumbled to the floor across the room and then Anthony Carlotti was walking toward her, flanked, as always, by several musclemen.
And one musclewoman
, she reminded herself, seeing Krystal’s malevolent grin. The woman had not been nervous about betraying Carlotti. She’d been nervous that Kara would smell a trap and vamoose.

“Looka this,” Carlotti said, pushing more boxes out of the way, “we got us a thief in the house.”

Krystal cackled dutifully, watching avidly while Carlotti slipped black leather gloves over his huge fists. Kara knew he wore them when he planned to beat someone to death. It was a special murder
saved for special occasions—rivals, traitors. Hated enemies. Beating someone to death hurt his hands, broke bones, so he didn’t do it often.

“Gosh,” she said mildly, relishing his annoyance at how she wasn’t cowering, “lucky me.” She knew her expression was mellow, her tone unworried, but inwardly she was seething at her foolishness; she had stopped making such mistakes by her eleventh birthday. Jared had shaken her in more ways than one, but she couldn’t blame him for this. No, she was definitely in a mess of her own making.

And what a mess it was. She could have taken two of the bad guys, maybe three, not counting Carlotti. But there were five total and, judging by the bulges in a few jackets, three of them were armed.

She came to the unsurprising realization that she was going to die, that it was going to take a long time, that they would probably strip her of her valued control before it was over. She didn’t mind dying so much—or wouldn’t have, before loving Jared—but above all she wanted to die well. And she was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be possible.

Worst of all, she had left Jared unprotected. Once she was bleeding her life out on the filthy warehouse floor, Carlotti could pick Jared off at his leisure. All it would take was one phone call—come quick, Dr. Dean, your lady friend is in trouble. And Jared, blessed do-gooder, would come on the run. Dying was awful enough. Dying with the
knowledge that she had killed Jared with cowardice was too much to be borne.

While Carlotti edged closer—cautious, even on his own turf, surrounded by his own people—she decided she would have to take Carlotti with her. She could do that much for Jared.

While she pondered how best to kill her killer, Carlotti had crossed the room and slapped her hard enough to slam her back against the table. She shook off the blow, blew her hair out of her face, and asked with mild curiosity, “Do you throw like a girl, too?”

Carlotti reddened and raised a clenched fist. Kara gathered herself for the fight of her life—and his. Time seemed to freeze for a long moment and then there was a brisk knock.

Surprised, they all looked toward the door.

“O
kay, Jared, don’t panic.” This was good advice, which unfortunately didn’t take because he was trying to put his pants on backwards.

Finally dressed, he fled the apartment, cursing himself at every step. He had known when Kara left, of course—he’d been a light sleeper all his life. A mouse couldn’t creep out of his bed without him knowing it. He assumed she wanted to get up to have some time to herself, maybe use the bathroom. The click of the front door closing had brought him bolt upright in bed. By the time he’d thrown his clothes on and gotten to the street, she was long gone.

And he knew what she was going to do. He wasn’t sure how he had come by the knowledge—no, that was a lie. He knew Kara, had watched her, fought beside her—sort of—had his hands on her while she came, held her in his arms while she slept. He knew her fear, though he only had a vague idea of
its depths. And knew the only way someone with her warrior’s honor could leave his life was if she eliminated the threat to him.

She had gone after ole One Eyebrow. He had to stop her or, if he was too late to do that, help her. And there was only one person he could turn to for help.

“So what’ll it be, doc?” Meg asked, covering her surprise with a friendly leer. “Half and half? Around the world? All my ladies aim to please. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted, “all my girls are retired now. The most we could offer you is a hickey. Five bucks,” she added.

“For God’s sake! I’m here to find out where Kara went, not to indulge in a business transaction.” Jared tried for fierce and hoped like hell he wasn’t blushing. His face felt hot, but that could be because he’d run all the way here from his car. “She’s gone after ole One Eyebr—Carlotti. I’ve got to help her.”

Meg snorted. “Help her what? Get killed?”

Jared fought the urge to choke the former madam. It was more of the street “Kara doesn’t need help and even if she did, you should leave her alone” mentality. Stand alone and never ever ask for help, because that meant you were weak.
These people
, he thought grimly,
have watched too many Clint Eastwood movies.

Even the street punks he’d backed down had cautioned him to leave Kara alone. Funny, how the street knew her—
their
—business, but wouldn’t or couldn’t interfere. Scared of Carlotti, or more of that maddening street code? Either way, it was an infuriating impediment.