Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (30 page)

He ignored the sarcasm. “You just want me occupied with Elle so that I won’t be on your case twenty-four-seven,” he stated, trying to change the subject.

Ronnie laughed. “You’ve been on my case since the day I was born. I would actually miss it if you weren’t. You look utterly miserable. And for a guy with fewer facial expressions than an over-Botoxed Hollywood star, that’s saying a lot.”

Yes, his poker face was suffering big-time.

“I’ve had enough of party girls for a lifetime,” he grumbled.

“Jack, our mother wasn’t a party girl. She was an egocentric, self-absorbed, entitled, piece-of-shit addict who couldn’t stand herself if she wasn’t high and who made everyone else’s existence miserable because of it. She went missing for months at a time, but she was home too and then she was just as bad, or have you forgotten? The complete opposite of Mom wouldn’t be a Pilgrim wife,” Ronnie said with a smile. “It would be a supportive, caring one who would love her family, spend time with them, and be there for them no matter what. Being outgoing and outspoken doesn’t diminish any of those characteristics. You need a strong woman, sure of herself and her self-worth to get that.”

Jack stared at his little sister, dumbfounded. “Where did that come from?”

She laughed. “All those shrink sessions you forced me to attend are finally paying off.”

He heard the rumble of the motors before he saw the pickup making its way up the steep hill. It was James. Fuck.

Ronnie blinked at him innocently.

“Can you explain to me how they found this place?” James had been there once but not even he could have remembered the way back.

“I might have given him the GPS coordinates accidentally.”

Right. Accidentally.

The motor stopped and Max, Cole, and James stepped out. A full house. Fucking fantastic.

Jack turned to Ronnie, then to the newcomers. “Does anyone understand the concept of a secret hideout, or privacy for that matter?”

Nobody bothered to answer.

“We drove around in circles for ages so you’re safe. No one followed us.”

“Anybody else coming?” Jack asked, looking at the group in front of him. “Your women? The whole of Alden? The Boston Philharmonic?”

“Christy is working. Tate and Annie wanted to come, but they didn’t want to leave Lizzie and Jonah and we were afraid crying kids would send you over the edge,” James said with a smirk. “Aunt Maggie might come later with some extra food although she’s a disaster with GPS coordinates and is bound to end up in Alaska. The Boston Philharmonic couldn’t make it; they have a rehearsal.”

“We brought some basics,” Cole said, holding a twelve-pack in one hand and some food in the other. “We all heard about your chewy protein bars and MREs. We had enough of that in the military. You got company?” he asked glancing at Ronnie and frowning.

Jack could read the guy perfectly. Cole thought Elle had been replaced and was ready to kick his ass for it.

“This is my sister, Veronica. James you know,” he told her while she nodded to him. “The one that looks like he is going to bite my head off is Cole, James’s oldest brother, and the one with the Mohawk is Max, the youngest.” Then, after the introductions, Jack added, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’ve given you enough time to come around. You haven’t,” James stated.

“And that didn’t clue you in?”

“Oh yeah it did. That you needed an intervention.”

“And a bash on the head,” Cole added.

He could use a good, old-fashioned bare-knuckle fight. “Who wants the first shot at me?”

James waved him off. “Later, man. First let’s find out how big the fish in that river of yours are.”

“We brought rods,” Max explained, reaching into the back of the pickup. “We figured you get your catches by paralyzing them with your asinine stare, but we aren’t that advanced.”

Ronnie’s laughter crackled in the air. “I would love to stay to watch this, but now that you all are here, I’m out. I have a bar to run.”

Jesus Christ, what was he, on suicide watch?

“Don’t make me come get you from here again,” she whispered to him after kissing him.

They watched Ronnie drive away, and as Jack was going to shoo the other men away, one of the bastards handed him an ice-cold beer and started setting camp on his front yard, by the river.

“Don’t bother. We’re not going anywhere,” James warned.

“You do know I have plenty of guns up here, right?”

“Come on, man,” Max said. “You wouldn’t shoot at us.”

Really? Because Jack wasn’t that sure.

“Fishing is therapeutic.”

“And hunting was out,” Cole added. “We didn’t want to give you a reason to shoot us and then claim it was an accident.”

Clever men.

They drank beer and fished. They didn’t catch squat but with the way Max talked nonstop and Cole growled at him and James laughed at both of them, the fish heard them miles away.

“You are not going to read me the riot act?” Jack asked James while Max and Cole were busy bantering.

His longtime friend took a slug of his beer. “Nope.”

“How very evolved of you.”

James snorted. “Tomorrow that band that Elle follows around is jamming at their usual bar. She will be at the club.”

He knew. He had the calendar of hers engraved in his brain. Fucking photographic memory.

“Get your stubborn ass there.”

“What for?” Jack asked.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? You’re gone for her. Hook, line, and sinker. Be a man and go to her. Fix whatever the hell you fucked up.”

“You couldn’t text me that instead of coming?”

James gave him a
duh
look. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been answering his phone, but there was a damn good reason for that. He hadn’t wanted to talk to any of them. Not that the assholes had taken the hint.

“How’s she doing?” he found himself asking.

“She’s her old self, smiling and making jokes.”

“I see.” Why the fuck would he have to go talk to her then? She’d gotten over him fast enough.

“She’s faking it, you dumbass,” James said, reading his silence pretty well.

“How you figure?”

“Please. She hasn’t mentioned you, not once. Not even to make fun of you. In what fucking universe is this normal Elle behavior?”

Elle wasn’t the touchy-feely type, so yeah, avoiding the subject if it bothered her would be more her style. She didn’t like to talk about her feelings or open up, yet she’d done that for him. And he’d slammed that door in her face. But what was he supposed to do?

“She misses you,” James continued. “You might as well come back and face the music. You can’t hide here forever.”

“Of course I can’t, you bastard, because you’ve given the GPS coordinates to everyone but the pope.” Jack would have to abandon camp and find himself another stronghold. “Besides, Maldonado is dead; she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“If the witness had been anyone else but Elle you would have let the Feds stash her in some shitty safe house and forgotten about her. Or went along with Mullen’s plan and forced her into being a snitch for you, never caring what would happen to her after that. This thing with Elle might have started because of Maldonado, but it goes beyond that. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better.”

“You’ve been talking with Ronnie? You sound like her.”

“Baby sisters are smart,” James said with a nod.

“And speaking of baby sisters… Did you make any headway in finding yours?”

James shook his head. “Everything is sealed.”

“Pass me the info you have. Let’s see what I can do.”

At that moment they heard Max say to Cole, “You know what they do in Shanghai? There’s these swimming pools open twenty-four seven full of shrimp where you can fish anytime. I hear gangsters go there at four o’clock in the morning to relax and chat after work. Do you think we can find one of those in Boston? Or maybe we could make our own. Jack, do you have a hot tub?”

Man. He was so going for the guns.

* * * *

He was not going to the bar, Jack repeated to himself while driving back to Boston. He was not. He was heading straight to his place, grabbing some essentials, and disappearing. Figure out how blown his cover was. Maybe create a new one. Something. Anything. He knew what he was doing among thugs and drug dealers. Feelings? Women? Total gibberish to him.

Lack of sleep wasn’t helping either. The Bowens had stayed until late. He would have thought the absence of TV and comfy chairs—oh, and a hot tub to stash shrimp—would have discouraged them, but no dice. They’d fished and grilled their measly catch. Thank God they’d brought some steaks because those men were shitty fishermen. Aunt Maggie and the extra food never arrived, so he wasn’t clear on the status of the sweet old lady.

As he was musing, he realized he was fiddling with the radio of his car. Bloody hell. What the hell was he doing? Losing his mind, apparently.

He’d always been very careful not to get emotionally involved with any of his hookups, and this whole Elle thing had blindsided him. He’d really expected once he’d fucked her that the fire in his gut would have disappeared, but it hadn’t. It was burning hotter. He popped an antacid. Not that it would help squat, considering the burning was more along the lines of his chest. Whatever. He could live with that. He was used to pain and discomfort. Sadly, it wasn’t only that; he’d been positive that being with her would prove to him how much he would hate her life. It hadn’t. Elle did a thousand things a day, but she always had time for the important stuff. She partied, true, yet despite how tired she was, she got up to babysit Jonah or visit with Tate. She ran herself ragged for others’ benefit. To help them and make them happy.

He turned onto his street, though he couldn’t bring himself to park. His apartment had nothing that he wanted, so he decided to drive around to clear his head.

Jack wouldn’t be caught dead saying this, but he loved her life. It was full of color and fun and people. Yes, she drove him crazy. At the same time he’d never felt more alive than with her. Making love or fighting or just sitting in silence.

Was Ronnie right? Was he taking the easy way out? Was he scared? He stilled at the thought. Scared? Fuck, no. He was terrified. Of giving in to this and making the biggest mistake of his life and of not giving in to this and making the biggest mistake of his life.

Not sure how it happened, he found himself in front of the bar where Elle’s favorite band was jamming. He had no clue what he was doing there. Well, he did; he wanted to see her. Just for a second. See her smile. Get his fix. That was all. No talking. Because he didn’t have anything to say to her, did he?

Fuck, shit, he did.

Furious with himself, Jack stepped out of the truck and stalked to the bar. He must have looked scary, because the crowd at the entrance parted for him and the bouncer let him in right away. Good; standing in line with all those groupies would have been the last fucking blow to his male dignity. The place was packed, again. He lifted his glance to the stage; no Elle. There was that at least. Making a scene and throwing her over his shoulder wouldn’t have made that upcoming talk easier. The music and the pulsing lights were going to give him the mother of all headaches, but whatever. He pushed his way through the crowd. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find her; how many women could be there with glow-in-the-dark tattoos, right?

* * * *

Elle straightened the black dress in the bathroom of the bar, took her lipstick from her purse, and reapplied it. She should have picked another outfit, one that wouldn’t remind her of Jack, or smell like him, really. But what would have been the use? He’d been gone almost two weeks, and she could still smell him in the house. On her. Ronnie visiting Rosita’s had just been the icing on the cake.

The need to ask about Jack had been overwhelming, but she hadn’t caved. It hadn’t stopped Ronnie from sharing, though. It seemed like the ass was playing Unabomber up at that cabin of his. Scared, probably, that if he remained in his apartment, Elle would go harass him. Ha! Like she hadn’t crawled enough already. The sky would fall before she’d lower herself for him to stomp all over her feelings again.

Lost in her reveries, she opened the bathroom door and all but stumbled into a man’s chest.

Strong arms steadied her while a whiff of very expensive cologne filled her nostrils.

“Sorry,” she said absentmindedly, lifting her gaze to his face.

It was dim and her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness but she would recognize Mr. Asshole anywhere in the world. Apparently, he recognized her too.

“You following me now?” he asked.

A snort escaped her. “Not likely. You can let me go now.”

Aston Biggs didn’t release her. “You know, I had a flight from hell last time.”

“How unfortunate. I won’t say it twice. Let go.”

He did, but he was still blocking her way. He took a step forward, his drunk eyes narrowed on her. “I see now what’s happening here. If you’re into me, you don’t have to resort to those nasty tricks to catch my attention. All you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

Oh God. “Which powerful hallucinogen are you on?”

“You are not hard to look at,” the asshole continued, ignoring her words. “I could be convinced to grant you some of my time.”

“Move,” she demanded, running out of patience.

He grabbed her again. “Playing hard to get?”

That was it. She was going to smash his balls and deal with the fallout and the lawsuits and whatnot later.

She was wrenching away when suddenly someone punched Mr. Asshole’s face and a voice she didn’t recognize said, “Disappear. Ms. Cooper and I have things to discuss.”

* * * *

Jack was losing his goddamned patience. Although he towered over 95 percent of the people around him, this joint had two levels and numerous private sitting areas. It was going to take a century to find Elle. He had a tail on her, didn’t he? Time to use it.

While reaching for his cell to call Simon, he spotted him in a far corner, scrambling to his feet and rubbing the back of his head.

“What happened?” Jack asked after making it to him.