Jermy, Marie - Together Forever [The Andersons 1] (Siren Publishing Classic)

The Andersons 1

MARIE JERMY

Copyright © 2011

Chapter 1

The three men seated at the polished mahogany dining table couldn’t have been more differently dressed, even if they’d tried. And they hadn’t.

The first, at the head, wearing purple silk pajamas under a red-and-gold paisley robe, was a balding, pompous-looking man with a tulip nose and ruddy cheeks. The second, to the left, with graying, dark-blond hair and gold-flecked, piercing blue eyes, appeared to have just stepped away from the beach, his turquoise Hawaiian shirt clashing violently with a pair of loud orange shorts. The third, to the right, with his black, soulless eyes, and charcoal-gray tailored suit, was possibly related to
Carcharodon carcharias
—the great white shark, a cousin perhaps.

“Gentlemen,” the man seated at the head of the table announced, “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I have called this meeting because we have a problem. Two problems to be precise. It has come to my attention that Blade, my senior and most trusted aide, has developed a keen interest in narcotic trafficking.”

He turned to the man to his right. “I don’t think I need to remind you that he has full knowledge of the Federation and its purpose. I take full responsibility for introducing him and paving the way for his membership. Blade’s been in my employment for over two years now, and I thought we shared the same ideals. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“We all make mistakes, sir,” the third man said, his disparaging tone hidden behind a yawn. “What can he do? I mean, if he talks, nobody’s going to believe him.”

“Even so, I’d like to arrange for him to have a little mishap.”

“Not a good idea. You know full well what could happen if he has unfinished business.”

“Then arrange for his arrest and subsequent life behind bars.”

“That I can do.”

“Yo, I hate to piss on a party.” This came from the blond-haired man. “But why call me? New York’s not my jurisdiction.”

“I did say we have two problems. Blade has attracted the attention of a private investigator.”

“So?”

“The investigator’s name is Jessica Ferris.”

The blond-haired man muttered a pithy curse, rose to his feet, and began pacing the terra-cotta-tiled flooring. After a minute, he stopped and swung back around, addressing the man with a name he knew he detested. “Charlie, you’re so full of piss and wind. I warned you about that dipshit of an aide. Did you listen? No. Thought you knew best.” He paused and the gold flecks within his eyes ignited. “Jessica’s not gonna be a problem, but I’m warning you—”

“You’re warning me?”

“Yes.
You
. If she gets hurt in the cross fire, I’ll personally blow your dick through your ass.” Then, with a killer smile, he left, closely followed by the third man. Once outside, they shook hands. “Still not taking any meds?”

“You know me. So, Jessica?”

“Like I said, not a problem. You just concentrate on Harknett.” He flashed another killer smile. “I’m now off to get laid. I hear the women in Manila are real friendly.”

“Manila?” The deep frown was followed by a loud sigh. “You just can’t leave it alone, can you?” the third man began. “One of these days—” He broke off when he found he was alone and talking to himself.

This time, a succinct curse followed the sigh. Taking his keys out of his pants pocket, he strolled over to a silver Aston Martin, his thoughts on Blade Harknett and, more specifically, Jessica Ferris. Gut instinct told him the proverbial
was
going to hit the fan, particularly if Detective Ross “Ace” Anderson became involved.

The bleeping of his cell phone intruded on his thoughts. He grinned when he read the text message. He then glanced up at the house, in particular at the lone figure standing in the only lit upstairs window.

Well, at least he didn’t need to go to the Philippines.

* * * *

Two weeks later…

“Jess? What say you and I “Kiss” like it’s “
1999”
?”

Jessica Ferris studied the man who’d spoken. His dry wit always made her laugh. On this occasion, however, because her day before hooking up with him had been crap with a capital C, she couldn’t even raise a smile. She’d never been a fan of Prince, either.

Cool, sky-blue eyes stared into hers, then his lids drifted closed and their lips connected. His lips were warm and a complete contrast to the coolness of his gaze. They were also experienced lips, and she couldn’t help slipping her tongue inside his mouth for a taste. She felt him jump slightly, as if surprised, before his tongue rolled around hers in a wild, erotic dance.

It may have been a crap day, but Detective Ross Anderson, six-feet-four of prime Montanan male and her closest friend, certainly knew how to make it better.

Held by strong, sure arms, her soft body pressed against his hardness. Jessica had become lost in a kiss that made her nipples pebble into tight peaks and a coil of hot, wet desire ignite between her thighs before she realized one thing and remembered another. Realized this kiss from Ross, this shaken-to-the-core, tap-dancing heart- and bone-melting kiss, was for show purposes only. Remembered they had a job to do.

She reluctantly opened her eyes and instantly crashed to earth. Yep, right on both counts. Ross’s tongue still danced with hers, yet his eyes were open and focused on the mirrored wall behind them, no doubt watching the target of their investigation. She gave herself a mental kick and, breaking contact with his mouth, rose up on tiptoes and peered over his left shoulder.

Across the fairly crowded Manhattan bar, a calm and relaxed Blade Harknett shook his head as he stared at a nearby couple kissing each other’s faces off, then glanced in their direction, whereupon his expression darkened. A second later, he had taken a semiautomatic firearm from his waistband and fired at them, albeit awkwardly, and his bullets went wild.

Ross’s arms instantly dropped, enabling Jessica to step away and withdraw her own gun from her jacket. She took aim, and at the same time she pulled the trigger, Ross whirled around and fired his gun. Jessica’s shots kneecapped Harknett, but Ross’s struck him in the forehead.

The bar erupted into chaos, and screaming patrons stampeded toward the fire exits.

And with the realization that her day, and indeed her whole life, had just catapulted from Crap to CRAP, Jessica saw red and shoved Ross in the back with so much force he careened into a nearby table, which snapped easily beneath his weight.

“You moron! I wanted him alive!” she yelled, stomping over to Harknett’s bloodied and lifeless body. Quickly searching through his pockets, she removed a silver-colored BlackBerry and stuffed it into her own pocket.

“That’s stealing.”

She spun around to face Ross. “So slap the cuffs on me, Junior!”

“Don’t call me Junior. I dropped that name years ago. As you well know.”

“I wasn’t referring to your name. I was referring to your intelligence. Your brain is about as dead as Harknett!”

“Oh, pardon me for saving that mighty fine ass of yours.”

She shrugged off the veiled compliment with a scowl. “I’m more than capable of looking after myself!”

“Good. ’Cause the next time somebody takes a potshot at you, don’t expect me to get involved!”

She flipped Ross the middle finger as he left the bar to deal with the approaching police units she could hear. She looked down at Harknett’s body. Two weeks of undercover work flushed down the john. And all because Ross was a crack of a shot. Damn the man!

Jessica was still cursing Ross when she arrived at her parents’ house later that evening for dinner. After kissing her mother, Scarlett, on the cheek, she entered her father’s study and sat at his desk, staring at the BlackBerry. It was password protected, so she could only wonder what information it contained.

“I could hear you upstairs,” a voice from the doorway said. “What’s got you so pumped up?”

Jessica hastily pocketed the BlackBerry and looked at her father, Ray. With traces of blond still weaved through his gray hair, he often reminded her of Robert Redford, but with less acting skills. Not that her father couldn’t act, because he could, but whereas Redford used his talent to entertain movie lovers everywhere, her father had used his to stay alive. “More like who, Dad. Ross friggin’ Junior.” Her father’s trademark killer smile lit up his lined face.

“What’s he done?”

“Reckons he saved my ass! As if!” She jumped to her feet and followed him into the kitchen where her mother was preparing paella. “I swear his ego’s bigger than his cock!” Not that she’d seen Ross’s penis before. Didn’t want to either. Well, okay, yes, she did. What woman wouldn’t? Ross Anderson was red-hot sex on legs. And didn’t he just know it!

“Jessica, language!”

“Sorry, Mom,” she mumbled, pouring herself a glass of OJ from the refrigerator and resting her hip against the granite counter.

“Has this got anything to do with that smartphone that’s in your pocket?”

Boy, her father didn’t miss a trick. Come to think of it, neither did Ross. Though they’d been working on and off together for the last two weeks, combining his ace detective skills and her poke-the-nose-in-every-nook-and-cranny-until-somebody-coughs skill, she’d never let on about the real reason why she’d been poking her nose into Harknett’s life.

Yet, Ross had lied to the officer first to arrive at the bar, a Detective Scott Rafferty, when he’d demanded answers to two questions. One, what the hell had happened. Two, why did Harknett, the senior aide to Senator Charles Williamson, have a head full of holes. The fact that Rafferty hadn’t even asked why Harknett had been in possession of a gun made her wonder if his pockets were lined. His silver, top-of-the-range Aston Martin with its personalized license plates added further weight to that suspicion.

“No comment,” Jessica quipped. “Client confidentiality and all that.” She wagged a warning finger at her father. “And don’t even think about going through the files at the office.”

He held his hands up, innocent as a virgin. “Would I do that?”

“Yes, you would. And if I didn’t know that you’re an expert lock picker, I’d change them again, too.” She smiled at his over-the-top, peeved expression, a smile that did little to dispel the anxious knots in her stomach.

When a lull in her career as a freelance reporter stretched her already woefully short finances to breaking point, and not being one to ask her father for money—she could, and would, emerge from the hole she’d dug herself into on her own—Jessica had put her investigative abilities to further use by becoming a private investigator. And on her last birthday, her father had handed over complete ownership of his private detective agency, Magnum Investigations.

As soon as the ink had dried on the title papers, she’d changed the door locks and the code to the security system. She failed to mention these, not only because he possessed the same nose-poking talent that she had, but she had wanted to show him she was more than capable of following in his footsteps. And the tirade of four-letter swear words he’d come out with as the alarm nearly perforated his eardrums had gone some way in showing him that.

“How is the agency doing, honey?” her mother asked as she placed the paella into the oven to cook.

“Um, yeah, good. I’m thinking of employing another PI. It’s either that or start turning work away. You would not believe the amount of men who want their wives followed, or vice versa. Why can’t more couples be like you two? In love and one hundred percent committed to each other.”

Her father turned to her mother, his best poker face in place as he popped the tab on a tin of cola. “Who says I haven’t followed you?”