Inside Out (11 page)

“What’s up?” he asked as Olivia fought to not wipe her mouth.

This was not going to be easy. Shit, her husband had made Forbes’s sexiest Brit male in business, and she was stuck with this slab of meat? Bloody hell.

She flounced her hair, trying to look cool. “Oh, nothing. Shit day. Can you give me a lift home?”

Hunter had to have a home of her own, she hoped.

The man swallowed visibly, eyes huge. “Are you serious?”

“Why? Haven’t you got a car?”

“Car? I’ve got my motorbike parked out back. Let’s
go, baby
.”

So soon? She was just getting used to the various stinks assailing her nostrils. Olivia set the glass down, and he steered her out the back door.

“I can’t believe I’m taking you home in broad daylight. You’re always paranoid Randy’s going to find out. You realize I’m risking my life for you, girl.”

“You’re not Randy?”

Shit.

Was this the guy that had kidnapped her, Hunter’s secret lover? He seemed to have some sort of claim over her. “I mean, yeah, you’re not Randy’s slave.”

“No, I’m not. Jimmy Port ain’t afraid of nobody. We should stop screwing around behind his back and tell him to his face.”

I’d have to recognize his face first,
she thought wryly, then wondered how some people managed to two-time their partners.

Jimmy droned on and on as they pulled up in front of a cement-built, dingy-looking, multistory estate in the middle of Plumstead, a neighborhood so gray she wouldn’t recommend it to her worst enemy. Spiffy.
The mother of all shit holes
. Just like the language she’d warmed to. Why not, when no other words quite did the job? Besides, what was she going to do, get sent to Swearing Hell? This already
was
hell. A tight, twisted hell of her own.

He leaned in for another kiss and she fought not to push him away, but she had to make sure he didn’t leave before she found out which flat she lived in. “Uh, I’m not feeling that good, can you help me in?”

Jimmy smiled and drawled, “Sure, babe.”

Don’t get any fresh ideas, you big elephant.
Her—what had Hunter called it?—
love nest
still throbbed from Shane’s little trick on the barstool. God, he’d been good. In two seconds flat he’d had her right where he wanted her—drooling and willing.

Once inside the elevator, Randy pushed button number seven and winked at her. She wanly smiled back, thinking that she and Shane lived in a penthouse, in a whole different world. She missed him so badly already!

What if she just walked out of here and confronted him with the truth? That way she wouldn’t have to think up an excuse to kick this Neanderthal man out. Olivia couldn’t believe she was taking a stranger in with her. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to go home.

Then again, maybe not. To Shane she was just the thief whose life he’d saved, and who let him screw her before running away. Absolutely nothing would give Shane any indication that she was his wife returned from the dead.

As Olivia and—what was the bloke’s name?—ah, yes, Jimmy, which should have rhymed with smelly—stepped out of the lift they were faced with a stark-looking metal door. She hadn’t thought about that. “Shit. I forgot my key.”

“What’s wrong with you tonight, luv?” Jimmy asked as he pulled out a key from a hole in the wall above her head. She turned. It was literally a hole.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Jimmy opened the door for her and let her by. The sickening smell of Chinese takeaway assailed her nostrils.
Christ, what a dump.
How long have I been living here again?”

Jimmy chuckled. “Years. Bloody ’ell, if your mum and dad could see you now.”

“Yeah? Where are they?”

He sent her a sidelong glance. “In hell, you always say. Are you sure you’re okay?” Jimmy caught her chin and moved in dangerously close. “Come here, luv…”

“Oh, no, no, I’m feeling a little under the weather, actually.”

“What?”

“I…had too much to drink.”

“You?” He snorted, then sat down on a dingy-looking sofa and patted his lap. “Come here, old Jimmy boy’s gonna take care of you nice and easy, just the way you like it.”

He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, and she fell against him, taken by surprise as fear began to rise in her throat.

Oh,
fuck
, came the unexpected curse again, but this was real serious shit.
Now what do I do? Scream?
Olivia had the feeling Hunter never screamed, at least not out of fear. Hunter didn’t know fear.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard a door open and close.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” a voice boomed from the open doorway.

Jimmy jumped and so did she. Randy? Oh, Jesus. He was disgusting. He sported more colors than a color-by-number crocodile. Olivia wondered if he had a tattoo for every crime he committed. These people were real criminals. “Hey, matey. Just brought your girl home. She’s bloody wasted.”

Randy neared them and Olivia took her cue like a pro. She stumbled to her feet, holding her head. Did drunk people do that? She had never even been tipsy before in her life, if you didn’t count her wedding night. Maybe it was time to start living a little? Surely she would never be able to absorb the amounts Hunter apparently did, but she had to be able to hold a few pints down if she didn’t want anybody asking questions as to why Hunter Orlando was going sober. And why she was going to dump Jimmy. This Randy seemed much more powerful, but the slope of his forehead made Olivia question the extent of his intelligence. He
had
to be clever to lead a gang, right? He certainly didn’t look so.

“Hunter, you wasted again?”

Better to get shit for being wasted than cheating on her boyfriend. “Wha— So sorry, baby…” To prove her point, she clumsily got to her feet and tripped, hanging on to Randy for support.

She was getting quite good at this. His arms reached out to circle her, but he continued to frown. “Jimmy getting fresh with you?”

“Jimmy? Nah, he’s scared like shit of you, aren’t you, Jimmy boy? Wouldn’t touch me if I asked him.” There, that sounded pretty good. And for good measure, she let out a loud burp, so coarse her throat hurt.

Yes, it was going to take a lot more than guts to be Hunter Orlando. It was going to take brains and physical strength. It was going to take a bloody miracle.

Randy caught her wrist and stared down at it. “Hunter, what happened to the tattoo on your wrist? The Leo sign?”

Shit. She had to make sure he didn’t notice the one gone from her ankle.

She couldn’t think of a plausible explanation. He would know they had been real.

“Huh? Leo? He went away, baby…” she crooned, and stood up. “Ooh, I’m going to puke. Where’s the toilet?” Then she noticed a few pictures on the wall of Hunter swinging form a circus trapeze, on a motorcycle doing an Evel Knievel, then next to a racing car in a tight, leather suit and a wild look in her eyes. It figured. The woman had a death wish.

“Who’zat? Me?” she asked drunkenly, then tittered.

Randy raised a pierced eyebrow at Jimmy who shrugged. “I told you she was sloshed, mate.”

“Jimmy, get the fuck out of here,” Randy ordered over his shoulder as he set her in the right direction and she pretended to stumble through the bathroom door and locked herself in. So far so good.

Of course the toilet was a dump as well, with stained tiles. Hunter should have patched things up with her parents and returned to a life of decency, or even got a loan and got
the hell
out of there.

Olivia scrubbed her hair and body for as long as the hot water lasted, which wasn’t long, but at least now she could drag a comb through what resembled a rat’s nest, and when she emerged she looked human.

Only she wasn’t human anymore. Not a living one, anyway.

“You all right, babe?” Randy asked from the kitchen. Jimmy had gone and all seemed okay for the moment.

“Spiffy,” she called back, looking around for some clean sheets. They were black satin. But of course. Olivia herself liked San Gallo lace sheets or Egyptian cotton for the summer months, but Hunter—

“Chinese?” he called. Again.

What was he going on about? And didn’t he have his own place to go to? Nothing here indicated a permanent male presence—fortunately. She would have to find an excuse to get rid of him without him suspecting foul play with Jimmy. Of course she wouldn’t want to touch either bloke with a barge pole. Olivia only hoped he didn’t have a habit of staying over. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“What’s that?” she called as she slathered some moisturizer—designer brand, too—onto her face and body. Hunter Orlando actually took great care of herself.

“I’m going down to the Chinese round the corner. You want the usual?”

Chinese takeout? Gross. “Sure,” she called again, cringing. She absolutely hated it. And she hated this shitty flat and
God
, everything connected to Hunter.

She only cared about Shane. She had to get back to him, to her job, and her own safe world. She had seen the way Jimmy Port had blanched when Randy had arrived. He was scared shitless of him. No, Randy and Jimmy would not come highly recommended by anyone in her circles. How to get past them—surely Randy kept a watch on her—without them seeing her?

Olivia scouted around and pulled together a crazy outfit that consisted of a blonde wig, goggles, snow boots, and several layers of clothing presumably borrowed from a clown’s wardrobe. Hunter must have used disguises a lot. Something told Olivia Hunter was in deeper than she thought.

Hunter’s life was not a safe place to be. The minute Shane saw Hunter’s face he’d start badgering her about leaving the gang again. And maybe give her a repeat of the barstool episode.

Olivia closed her eyes and forced herself not to cry. She missed Shane so much! She needed to be with him now. Even if he didn’t recognize her.

She didn’t want to live like this, undercover for the rest of her life. Or Hunter’s life. She had rehearsals to attend, and a new and improved sex life to go back to, for Christ’s sake.

The sound of a key in the lock made Olivia shiver. Did Randy have his own, or did he know about the hole in the wall, too? How many people knew about it? This joint was anything but safe. Olivia hoped he wouldn’t stay the night. She threw herself into the bathroom again and locked the door, the only safe place outside Shane’s arms.

Please go away
.
Please leave me alone. I don’t want you anywhere near me, you big ugly monster.

“Hunter?”

But Olivia held her breath and waited.

“Babe? You still sick? Or are you holding out on me again? Fuck, I don’t need this, man…” he cursed under his breath and let himself out the door, his heavy boots loud and fast on the external stairs, hopefully taking that smelly Chinese food with him.

“Again?” So Hunter was denying him. Part of a plan, maybe? She had to find out. Tomorrow. Olivia unlocked the bathroom door, slid the front door bolt in place, and dived under the covers. Easier than she’d hoped. She giggled with relief, pulled the sheets around her, and cried her eyes out.

Chapter Thirteen

Shane hadn’t understood a single word of the financial report he read over lunch as the rain pelted the large picture windows next to his table at his favorite restaurant. Hunter wouldn’t be going anywhere today, not in this weather—he hoped. The two bodyguards he’d put on her were the best in the business. They were so good not even she would notice them tagging her. Plus, the flat was bugged as a minimum precaution, and the second there was any whiff of trouble they’d be at her side in ten seconds max. Shane had wanted to do it himself but didn’t want to piss her off any more than necessary. Already she didn’t trust him, and Shane couldn’t blame her.

He now knew that two men, a certain Jimmy Port and a Randy frequented her home. His blood boiled at the thought of these two men sharing her. But so far she hadn’t slept with either. One of Shane’s men had reported her crying desperately although she seemed to be on her own. Shane couldn’t stand the thought of Hunter being sad or afraid, not even for a moment.

The sky fell open when Shane left the restaurant an hour later, and still he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The feel of Hunter’s body under his hand, so natural, like she’d always been there, like she
belonged
there, made him crave her even more.

One thing for sure—he wasn’t going to let Alfie put her behind bars. Not the woman whose life he had saved, dammit. It was a miracle she lived at all.

The parking lot behind the restaurant was flooded, he was soaking wet, and his BMW was practically invisible less than six feet away.

Shane couldn’t think straight where Hunter was concerned, and he knew he wouldn’t be of any help to Alfie because he didn't want to be. He didn’t want to put Hunter behind bars. There was no real evidence against her. Shane had read the files and didn’t see the reason why Alfie should be so adamant. There were nothing but hunches and suspicions against her, mostly fed by Alfie’s devious mind. But Shane would protect her. He hated to think of Hunter living amidst all those south London thugs.

And he wasn’t sharing her with anybody.

Reaching for his car door, even before his eyes saw, his body
sensed
her, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Goose bumps appeared on his forearms and he could feel them chasing up and down his spine.

He would have recognized her scent anywhere. His body would have singled her out among thousands. Her image had embedded itself not only in his mind, but within every molecule of his body. And now, he closed his eyes and sensed her, like an old man feels an oncoming storm in his bones, like farm animals feel earthquakes hours, even days, before they strike.

Shane opened the door of his BMW and peered inside as it continued to pour.

“How’d you get in without my keys?
And
turn the engine on? Never mind,” Shane said as he jumped out of the rain and into his car where Hunter had the heating on full blast, trying to dry her soaked hair and clothes.