Nailed (Marked For Love #1) (10 page)

"Fuck...fuck...fuck me, Wynn."

He quickly sheathed his cock with a condom and threw her legs over his shoulder again, driving into her. She was like a starving woman underneath him, bucking and heaving, clawing at the sheets as he slammed into her. He couldn't catch his breath, he struggled to get more air in his lungs, to reign himself in before he hurt her, but she wouldn't let him slow down. She wouldn't let him stop until she came again, her fingers furiously strumming her clit. He shifted her legs, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his shouts as he came, the furious pounding reduced to sharp thrusts. Then finally, his heart slowed and he could breathe again.

They both lay there, still connected, slick with sweat.

Wynn pressed a kiss to her damp temple, pushing her hair out of his way. "Damn."

"Baby," she drawled, "that's the understatement of the year."

Chapter Fifteen

It'd been three years since I'd woken up next to a man. Even the other night I'd left after Wynn had fallen asleep. To say I found it disconcerting was an understatement. Part of the reason we normally stayed at Wynn's was just so I could leave. Not that
he
knew that.

And last night things had definitely taken a turn for the more complicated.

I ignored the urge to dive under the covers and wake Wynn up with a blowjob. Instead I slipped out of bed and grabbed my panties. From the bedroom floor came the sound of his cell phone ringing.

If I was smart, if I had any sense of self-preservation at all, I'd ignore it. I glanced at the bed. Wynn, apparently slept like the dead, because the muffled chirping hadn't disturbed him in the least. I tiptoed back across the carpet and grabbed his shorts, then left, shutting the door behind me. The readout on the phone's caller ID told me nothing except that it was a 405 exchange. It meant nothing to me.

I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. But I did it anyway, hoping, if nothing else, to get a better idea of what I was up against. No matter what Wynn said, I was still afraid someone would come and finish his job for him and I wasn't ready to die yet.

"Hello." I dropped his shorts and headed for the bathroom, closing the door all but a crack.

"Who is this?" It was a woman, an older woman, and judging from her voice not a happy one. Had to be Wynn's mother.

"Bonnie James." I wasn't about to give her my real name even if she
did
know who I was.

"Is Wynnie there?"

Wynnie? Oh he was so not
ever
living this one down!

"He's asleep."

A sigh of possible frustration or motherly angst filled my ear. "You're playing a very dangerous game, dear."

"Did you find out what we're supposed to be looking for?"

"
We
is it? I did, and I'm not happy. You tell Wynn that when he wakes up."

"Sure."
Or not
. I grinned at my reflection in the mirror. "Is there any other message, or are you going to call back?"

"I shouldn't tell you this. I shouldn't even tell Wynn this. It's his job to do his job, but I am his mother so I'll give him a few points for...being so motivated. I hope you're worth it, honey. Sunset Pharmaceuticals was trying to pull a fast one on the FDA. They lied about clinical trials on a new cholesterol drug, and not just a little bit either. They want what your brother-in-law took before the drug hits the market."

"But Kevin was in accounting." My reflection frowned back at me, and I shivered in the chill of the air conditioned bathroom. How the hell had a number cruncher gotten himself in so deep that someone had tried to kill him?

"I don't have all the facts, but there's reason to believe a friend of his gave it to him."

Duane Huffsteder.
No wonder Kevin and Karen had been so upset over his "suicide." "Anything else?"

"I think that's enough, don't you, dear?"

Sometimes I was glad I didn't have a mom. "Later."

I snapped the phone closed, slipped it back in Wynn's shorts and kicked them just inside the bedroom door. He hadn't moved, despite the fact that Clyde had joined him on the bed while I'd been on the phone.

I spent most of my shower trying to figure out how the hell Karen had slipped me the proverbial Mickey and then run like the fucking wind. Dammed if she hadn't left me holding quite a bag. Soon as this was all over, I was heading for Miami, and then Karen, so I could kick her ass and give her that damned cat.

By the time I climbed out of the shower, Clyde sat at his food bowl munching down on a can of something gross and Wynn was standing at the counter, sipping coffee and watching him.

"How do you like your eggs?" He had a skillet on the stove and a carton of eggs next to it. "There's no bacon but…"

"I don't eat bacon," I said, circling around him for my own coffee. "It's full of nitrates."

"Duly noted."

I sipped at my coffee to buy myself some time. I shouldn't have snapped at him. "A fried egg sandwich?" I asked, smiling up at him.

He smiled back, leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. The whole scene was scary in its domesticity. I had to go to work and he had to do whatever he was going to do all day, then cook me dinner. I wanted to laugh but didn't. "Your mom called."

"You answered my cell phone?" His voice rose with each word; he turned around, my cheap blue spatula clutched in his hand, his face a dark red.

"Yeah."

"What if it had been my dad, Bonnie?"

I winced, unprepared to be shouted at so early this morning. "He wouldn't have known who I was."

"He's not dumb, honey. He'd have known all right, and we'd both be up shit creek!"

"Okay! I'm sorry, alright. Shit!" He did have a point. But then I'd known all that when I answered the phone. "She found out what we're looking for. Sort of."

I quickly relayed our conversation while he fried up my eggs and made my sandwiches, adding cheese and extra butter. Real butter, none of that fake stuff. If I kept eating like this I'd be back up to a size eighteen in no time.

"Did she mention what format it was in or any other clues to help us find it?"

"No." I bit into the first sandwich, almost scalding my tongue and finger with runny egg yolk in the process. "But I think she might want you to call her."

"I bet."

While Wynn fried up his own breakfast, I got dressed and braided my hair. The second thing I was going to do when this was all over was cut this damned hair off!

"So?" I licked a bit of butter off my fingers and picked up half a sandwich.

Wynn paused, his own breakfast halfway to his mouth and quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Wynnie." I gave him the cheekiest grin I owned and let it hang between us like a dirty diaper for as long as I dared. "Does she call your brother Willie?"

"And Johnny, and if you ever tell a living soul..." He stared at me, his expression deadpan, and let
his
reply hang between us like a dirty diaper.

Yes, I know I already said that.

"It'll be our little secret. I do have to wonder though...what does she call your dad?"

"Poppa," he said, his face breaking into a huge grin.

***

I called it a day at four that afternoon and headed back up to the apartment. I needed, and wanted, time to go through the things Karen had left me, alone, hoping that I'd see something Wynn didn't.

After a shower I started with the photo frames, taking them apart and setting them on the coffee table. Armed with a lamp, sans shade, and a magnifying glass I went over every inch of the frame, the back of the photo, even the glass and the cardboard insert that kept the photo from slipping around. Nothing struck me as unusual or out of place. The cardboard was corrugated though so I carefully pried it apart in case Karen had slipped something in one of the little grooves. No luck.

But she
had
made a big deal out of it when she'd dropped it off. At the time I'd thought it was strange. I mean, I had dozens of pictures of the three of us, taken at various times since their marriage, including one of me at her wedding in the maid of honors dress that I'd left behind—the photo not the dress. After the explosion, I'd chalked it up to her saying good bye.

Next I went through every photograph with the magnifying glass, searching for something stuck to one of them, or even something
in
a photo. The only thing that stood out was the presence of Duane Huffsteder, the friend who'd committed suicide. He didn't appear any different from any other time I'd seen him. And I couldn't recall anything about him and Kevin at the barbecue that stood out. Duane had died not even a week later. Shortly after that Karen and Kevin had disappeared.

Two knocks at the door and it slid open with a hiss as it grazed across the carpet. Wynn had apparently gotten curious about where I was. No one else would dare just walk in my apartment. "You coming for dinner?"

Clyde stood up from his spot in the window sill and hopped down, forcing Wynn to step inside and close the door. I watched, fascinated as the little shit jumped up in Wynn's arms and set to purring like, well, like a normal cat. Just then, my stomach rumbled.

"Guess so." I stacked everything back up in neat piles and slid my flip flops on.

We stepped outside and left Clyde behind, much to his dismay.

"Remind me and I'll send some chicken home with you."

So I wouldn't be staying the night tonight. I couldn't help but feel disappointed. "What's on the menu, boss?"

"Besides you?"

"Ha, ha." I rolled my eyes for effect and started walking without him. Hoping he enjoyed the view.

He quickly caught up, following me along the walkway to his apartment. "What do you know about the woman living next door to me?"

"Mrs. Bezzel? Not much. She likes old TV shows and that's about it. Why?"

"She keeps watching me," he hissed.

"You're probably the hottest thing she's seen since The Fonz." I laughed softly to myself at his disgusted grunt, and stepped inside Wynn's apartment, pulling up short at the sight of roses on the coffee table.

They were in a vase decorated with a light green gingham bow, and they were pink.

Maybe he just bought them to brighten the place up? And what was that smell?

"Pork roast?" I whispered hopefully. My stomach was apparently pretty hopeful too because it rumbled,
loudly
.

"Yes, and those are for you," he added pointing to the flowers.

Man, talk about a sucker punch. I didn't even
like
roses...but they
were
pretty and it'd been a long time since anyone had...you know. "They're very pretty...thank you." I turned and smiled up at him, feeling bashful and awkward, which made absolutely no sense since we'd already had sex. More than once.

"There's a card, too."

"Are you always so nice to the people you work with?" Yes, I picked up the card, gently peeling the envelope open. I was no fool. Or maybe I was.

He'd
Hallmarked
me.

At least he'd been smart enough to stick to Maxine and go for the funny instead of the mush.

"I'm never this nice to people I work with. Of course, I'm not usually sleeping with people I want information from. I just thought you could use a little cheering up."

"I didn't know I seemed down." I was going to have to do better. Card in hand, I headed for the kitchen, slowly so as not to look like a pig.

"I just thought it must have been tough talking to Lisa and knowing Karen was out there. You've had a tough week."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." His lips twitched and so did mine.

I sank down at the kitchen table and watched him finish up dinner. "If you weren't a
you know
, what would you be?"

He turned and leaned against the counter, an expression that could only be called slightly wary on his face. "I'm not going to make excuses for what I do or tell you I'm some sort of noble thug who robs from the rich and gives to the poor. It doesn't work that way. I am what I am. And I get paid to do what I do."

"But you don't kill people."

"I don't have to, but I hurt people, Julie. And I'm good at it."

Chapter Sixteen

He should have seen this coming.

Being with Julie was almost like getting into a new relationship. Well it
was
a new relationship but normally...
normally
, he dated women who understood the kind of family he came from, the kind of life he lived, or he dated women who didn't care. Rarely did he venture outside of those circles because it was difficult, no, almost impossible to explain.

And he'd forgotten all of that when he'd allowed himself to get tangled up with Julie Burt. She would definitely care, and in her position, she wouldn't be able to separate the man from the job.

Because she
was
the job. Something he'd almost lost sight of.

"You okay?" Her soft question pulled him back to the kitchen.

He hoped like hell she couldn't see how much he regretted getting so close to her. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. "Don't think because I'm domesticated that I'm some sort of misunderstood thug or that there's some deep, altruistic meaning to what I do. There isn't. It's just a job. Now, do you still want to stay for dinner?"

She visibly paled. It hurt too much to look at her anymore, so he turned his back, grabbed a plate from the cabinet and shifted the roast onto it.

"I do love a good pork roast."

His lips twitched; he sucked in a deep breath to stop himself from laughing. Leave it to Julie to cut to the chase. She was nothing if not resilient. And smart. If she could play the game a little longer, then so could he. "Then you'll love mine."

Pot holder in hand he pulled a sheet of oven-fried potatoes, a perfect golden brown that made his mouth water, from the oven and set them on a trivet. "What were you doing when I stopped by?"

He set the roast on the table, then filled a bowl with the potatoes, and joined her.