Out of Eden (14 page)

“What are you driving at, Faye?”

“He’s trying to get in your pants.”

Kylie gaped. “He just lost his wife!”

“Three months ago. He’s miserable and lonely. You’re pretty and lonely.”

“You know what?” Kylie snapped. “You need to leave.”

“You know what? You’re right.” Faye stalked out of the room and returned two seconds later with her purse and tote slung over her shoulder. She handed Kylie her glasses and a folded paper. “Just follow the directions.”

Kylie perched her glasses on the end of her nose, trying not to smear the ear temples with dye goo. She stared down at the printed paper as Faye slammed out the door.
Apply color and check after twenty-five minutes.

Oooh-kay. And Faye had applied the color
when?

Great. Just great. Although Kylie didn’t much care what shade of brown her hair ended up, so long as it wasn’t orange.

She stormed back to the bathroom, Faye’s words ringing in her ears.
“You’re a caretaker, not a risk-taker.”
Faye had said a lot of hurtful things, but that particular observation cut to the core. Along with her grandma’s comment that she was a sensible girl, and J.J.’s remark that she was usually
so nice.
And what had Jack called her?
Sweet!
He’d also told her not to do anything stupid, which griped her fanny as much as the HPS ordering her to conform.

Every fiber in her body burned to rebel. To make a statement. To shake up Eden.

She stared into the vanity mirror. “What would Spenser do?”

A memory popped into her head and she smiled. “I’ll show them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

“F
UCK
!

That had to hurt.
Carmine watched his nephew spring off the sofa, after sitting on a four-inch stiletto. He tried not to smile. “Hey.
Babbo.
Keep your voice down. It’s almost midnight.”

But it wasn’t just the late hour. Wiped out from a forty-eight-hour creative binge, a session of wild sex and two celebratory bottles of merlot, his mistress was dead to the world. Carmine welcomed the quiet. Dixie Darling was a fucking ball of energy. She never stopped, never shut up—except when she was smoking Carmine’s sausage.

Mario glanced up the stairway of the rented brownstone, waited. Satisfied he hadn’t woken Sleeping Beauty, he glared at the glittering offender. “One of Dixie’s creations?” he asked at a muted volume.

Carmine nodded. “She’s obsessed.”

“It’s whacked.”

“It’s one of her classier results. You should’ve seen the sneakers she’s been decorating for the past two days.”

“Who would buy this shit?”

“Someone with whacked taste.”

Mario set the high-heeled shoe on the gleaming cocktail table and rubbed the seat of his tailored trousers. He eyed the sofa again before sitting down. “Why was a shoe wedged in between the cushions?”

Dressed only in boxers and a tee, Carmine shook off the remnants of satiation and opened a bottle of sambuca. “Dixie was modeling them for me earlier tonight and…”
we got naked and kinky
“—one thing led to another.”
How’s that for exercise, Dr. Aversi?

Mario took the proffered glass of liquor and winked. “You’re a lucky man, Chickie.”

Luck had nothing to do with it. He was used to getting what he wanted. He wanted Dixie. She was a breath of fresh air in his stale life. She took his mind off his worries. Made him forget about his impending death. That’s why he’d been risking his wife’s fury by spending more time with his mistress. He loved Marisa, but she was part of his fucking reality. A reality plagued with health issues and prophetic nightmares.

Dixie was a blessed distraction, a remedy of sorts. Like Dr. Bennett. Bennett tended his demons, while Dixie showed him the stars. Carmine’s pole twitched just thinking about the way she’d sashayed into the living room wearing a sheer pink nightie and those four-inch fuck-me pumps. He’d had to tear his gaze away from her luscious ta-tas when she’d asked for his opinion on her latest custom-decorated shoes. Since he’d wanted her to ride him sore, he’d noted the blinding combination of sequins, rhinestones and metallic paint with a proud smile.
“Beautiful, baby,”
he’d lied. “
Like you
,” he’d added honestly. Then he ridded her of that flimsy nightie, telling her to strut her stuff—wearing nothing but those
beautiful
FMPs.

“No offense,” Mario said, “but Dixie’s a little
oobatz
. Though I guess you don’t mind what with her being—”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, so easy on the eye.”

He meant a walking sex toy. But Mario knew better than to disrespect Carmine’s mistress. As for being a little crazy, sure, Dixie was all foam, no beer, but she’d been blessed with a stunning face, killer body and a voracious sexual appetite. She used to hawk drinks at the Candy Stripper. Now she was his
goomah
. So what if she had a loose screw? She had a heart of gold and a mouth that worked magic. “She’s got a Web site now.”

“For what?”

“Bada-Bling!”

Mario blinked.

“That’s the name of her business.”

“She’s got a business? Since when?”

Since she softened me up with a hummer that melted my brain cells.
“Since two weeks ago.” Carmine raised his glass in a toast.
“Salute.”
He sipped the strong licorice liquor, weighed his words. He didn’t want to give the wrong impression. He wasn’t pussy-whipped like his brother-in-law. What he was, was head-over-sparkly-heels in lust.

“Dixie’s…motivated. She’s got a lot of energy,” he said. “A lot of ideas. She approached me about selling her custom-decorated shoes over the Internet and I thought, why the fuck not? Something to keep her occupied,
capiche?”

He’d also enrolled her in a culinary class. Yeah, yeah. So she wasn’t Italian. She hadn’t been weaned on homemade pasta and gravy. But freaking ragú?

Mario frowned. “What if
Bada-Bling!
takes off? What if she can’t keep up and has to hire help? You want strangers traipsing in and out of here? You want to attract attention? The don who rebuilt this organization on a low-profile mentality?”

Carmine sipped his drink and watched his nephew’s ears turn red. Mario had earned the nickname “Turk” because of his aggressive tendencies. In time, and with maturity, he’d make a strong leader, if not a great one. It’s not that the kid was short-tempered, just that the oddest things set him off. Once the fuse was lit, watch the fuck out. “Mario.”

“Yeah?”

“Dixie can barely balance her checkbook. Chances are good she’ll run
Bada-Bling!
into the ground before it ever takes off. Or she’ll get discouraged. Do you know how many handmade, special-made, custom-designed, uniquely yours Web sites there are on the Net?
Bada-Bling!
has been up and running for two weeks and she’s had one sale. Granted, it was a mass order. I think she decorated somewhere around forty pairs of shoes. But she gave the woman a deep discount. Between minimal sales and little profit…” He snorted. “I’m not worried. Now, give me the nut before Dixie wakes up and spoils this little party. What couldn’t wait until morning?”

Focused once more, Mario hitched back his leather jacket and leaned forward. “It’s about
He-who-shall-not-be-named.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

J
ACK WAS WRESTLING
with insomnia when he heard a loud knock. He glanced at the bedside clock—12:31 a.m. Shy groaned when he rolled out of bed. He pulled on jeans and a shirt, tucked his Glock in his waistband and moved quietly into the hall.

Jessie peeked out of the spare bedroom. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” Jack noted his sister’s worried expression. Did she think it was Frank? Although she wouldn’t discuss the man, he sensed there was more to the breakup than the Cheating Bastard’s infidelities. Whatever it was, it had driven Jessie out of her own home and shaken her to her core. He hoped it was Frank knocking. He had a few choice words for that fucker.

“Whoever it is,” Jack said to his sister, “I’ll handle it. Go back to bed.”

He descended the stairs before she could comment. Shy trotted along. He swung open the front door ready to coldcock Frank Cortez. But it wasn’t the shifty lawyer. It was an anxious uniformed cop. “What’s wrong, Hooper?”

“We have a jumper, Chief.”

The words registered, but the emergency didn’t. “There isn’t a building in Eden that exceeds three stories.”

“She’s on the water tower, sir.”

“She?”

“Kylie McGraw.”

K
YLIE RACKED HER BRAIN
for a positive affirmation, but one thought raged.
I’m going to die
.

Toes precariously close to the edge of the narrow circular walkway, she gritted her teeth and squeezed the steel railing. She was locked in a half squat. She couldn’t straighten. She couldn’t sit. She couldn’t
move
.

She heard a siren. The second siren in the last few minutes. Fire truck? Squad car? Ambulance? She didn’t know who or what was down there. Only that someone had blinded her with a powerful searchlight and that someone—not Jack—kept barking at her through a bullhorn.
“Climb down!”

She sincerely wished she could.

Her arms, though toned from yoga, felt noodly after the strenuous climb. Her leg, bruised from her cycle mishap, throbbed. Her backpack, weighted down with two cans of yellow spray paint and a super-bright lantern, cut into her shoulders. She’d take it off, but that would mean letting go of the railing. If she let go, she’d fall. It was a two-hundred-foot drop.

Splat.

“Don’t puke. Don’t puke.”

“Kylie, it’s Jack. I need you to climb down, honey.”

Unlike the previous person on the bullhorn, Jack didn’t snap nervous orders. He delivered a calm plea. The endearment made her insides squishy, even though she knew it was probably a professional tactic. It also made her nervous. It intimated concern. Were he merely irritated, he would’ve said, “
Climb down. Now
.”

“You’ve got a lot of people worried, Tiger. At least wave so we know you’re okay.”

She couldn’t wave and she wasn’t okay. But she did glance toward his voice, a kneejerk reaction that backfired. The earth slammed up and back. Her vision blurred. She screamed. “Jack!”

“I’m coming up. Don’t move.”

If only she could!

Kylie registered a wash of white headlights and red sirens before she jerked her gaze back to the horizon. How many
people
were down there?

The searchlight shifted to light the police chief’s way.

Were she capable of romanticizing the moment, she’d think of herself as a damsel in distress and Jack as her knight in shining armor.
“I’ll rescue you, m’lady.”

Unfortunately, her thoughts were grim. “I’m going to die.” If not from the fall, from fear.

How did Spenser scale mountains and shimmy into cramped dark caves? How did he face spear-wielding tribes and jungle beasts without freezing up? She’d have to ask him. That’s if she didn’t croak before night’s end.

Heart pounding, Kylie gripped the railing tighter. Her headlamp, an adventure gadget Spenser had sent her for nighttime mushroom hunting, cut a brilliant streak into the black night. But since she was in the flipping stratosphere and since there were no birds flying in her direct line of vision, she saw nothing. She pretended she was in her Zen Garden staring into Hawkins Woods in the dead of night—grounded in more ways than one. Still her pulse raced and her body trembled. Though the air was chilly, she was soaked with sweat. Looking down made her nauseous and dizzy. Similar to how she’d felt on Travis’s ladder, only a billion times worse. Logic told her she’d developed a fear of heights. Sometimes that just happened, right? Like people who loved carnival rides as a kid, then lost their lunches as adults?

She was definitely scared out of her newly dyed gourd. Why she’d been able to scale the water tower without hesitation, she couldn’t say. Then again, she hadn’t been looking down. She’d been focused on each rung of the metal ladder. Then on the green tank as she sprayed one of the red apples yellow. She’d been so pumped, so determined to make a statement, it wasn’t until she’d packed up and turned to descend that she froze.

“Mind if I join you?”

Jack’s voice, so near, so gentle, warmed Kylie to her chilled bones. “Please do,” she gritted out.

“I know you had a bad day, hon—”

“Try awful. But I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Never crossed my mind, Tiger.”

“No, you’re probably thinking this is another one of my ploys to shake things up.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. Well, yes. But it sort of went wrong.”

“We’ll talk about that later.”

“You mean you’ll lecture me later.” She was too nervous to turn her head, but she could feel him creeping closer. “I can hear it now,” she babbled, then affected a deep voice. “I told you not to do anything stupid, Tiger.”

“Actually,” Jack said, “I think climbing the water tower is more crazy than stupid.”

“Great. So you don’t think I’m suicidal but you do think I’m certifiable. I bet you didn’t call Spenser crazy when he climbed up here and spray painted
Spense loves Nancy
for the world to see.”

“Nope. Called him…well, let’s just say it wasn’t complimentary. He only did that because Nancy promised him a certain sexual favor.”

“Ick.” She didn’t want to know that kind of stuff about her brother. Thank you very much.

“What am I dealing with here, Kylie?”

“An unexpected and paralyzing fear of heights.”

“Okay.”

“No. It’s not okay. It’s mortifying. It’s terrifying.”

“It’s acrophobia.”

“Every time I look down, I get dizzy and my vision goes wonky.”

“Vertigo. Ever see that movie?”

What the…? She had one foot on a banana peel, the other over a grave, and he was talking movies?

“Alfred Hitchcock flick. James Stewart. Kim Novak.”

“Yes, yes. Of course I’ve seen it. Who hasn’t? It’s a classic. Oh, I get it. You’re trying to distract me. I’ve seen this on TV. The cop negotiator talking down the jumper. Only, trust me, I have no intention of taking a dive. Hence my death grip.”

“I had it bad for Kim Novak.”

He was close now. Maybe a foot away. She didn’t dare look. “Of course you did. She was blond and stacked. Hollywood gorgeous.”

“It was more about her persona. That fragile air. The need to be saved.”

Kylie snorted. “In that case, I must be looking pretty good right now.”

Jack chuckled. “You’re not fragile or needy, Tiger.”

“Not usually.” She nearly wilted when she felt his body flush against hers. The backpack proved a wedge, but he maneuvered his arms around her, wrapped his warm hands over her clammy ones. He offered his protection, just like on the ladder, only this time she didn’t relax. She couldn’t.

“Some really awful thoughts are going through my head, Jack.”

“Like what?”

“Like what if this platform isn’t built to withstand our combined weight? What if we fall through? Or what if this railing gives and we fall over?”

“We’re not going to fall. We’re going to back away from the ledge.”

“That would entail
letting go
of the railing.”

“Hold on to me instead.”

He’s only doing his job,
she told herself, yet his tone was so intimate. Seduced, she relaxed her fingers and the next moment she was in his arms. She didn’t remember turning. She didn’t remember him pulling her against the tank’s wall. But the feel of his ripped body, of his strong embrace, of his hand swiping off her headlamp to grab a fistful of her ponytail, was imprinted on her brain for life.

“I just wanted to make a statement,” she whispered against his chest. “I wanted to prove something to the HPS. To Faye. To myself. I didn’t know about the acrophobia. It’s awful.”

“I know, hon.”

“I’ll never make it down. I keep thinking about slipping like I did on Travis’s ladder. What if I fall? What if I take you with me? What if…?” She faltered, her brain misfiring as he cradled her face and angled her head. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you something else to think about.” He smothered her with a kiss that fried common sense. Think? Who could think?

But she could feel. Tonight, her senses weren’t numbed by alcohol. Tonight, Jack was the aggressor and she was…overwhelmed. By his heat. His urgency. His passion. She felt his mouth on hers, his tongue sweeping in and over. Tasting. Devouring. She felt his right hand anchoring her head. His left, palming the small of her back. She felt herself give over to the lust she’d been harboring for eons. Her heat. Her urgency. Her passion.

Bobby had been a good kisser. But Jack…Jack was better than good. The not-so-great kiss on her birthday had been a fluke. She’d been drunk. He’d been a gentleman. This moment the man seduced. This kiss ignited a fire in the pit of her stomach. It scorched her brain and sizzled through her blood. Moments ago she’d been chilled. Now she burned. Grim thoughts went up in smoke as she imagined them in bed. Making love.

Magic
.

“Not that we don’t enjoy a good show,” someone groused over the bullhorn. “But some of us would like to go home.”

Max
.

But of course the busybody was on the scene. Even though he was retired he still knew every move the fire department made. This was probably the most excitement he’d had in a month. It was certainly the highlight of her year.

Jack eased back and, begrudgingly, Kylie opened her eyes.

They were in the spotlight.

Literally.

Once in Jack’s arms, she’d forgotten about that annoying searchlight. She should have been embarrassed, but she was too spellbound. Mesmerized by Jack’s earnest, dark gaze and tender touch, she blew out a shaky breath. “Wow,” she whispered. “If that was a negotiating tactic—”

“That was a don’t-scare-me-like-that-again response.”

“Wow.”

He adjusted her crooked frames, kissed her forehead. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“You keep saying that. Why don’t we skip the talk and move straight to the other thing.”

He relieved her of her backpack, slipping it over his own shoulders. “And that would be?”

Heart pounding, she flicked a nervous tongue over her kiss-swollen lips. “You’re going to make love to me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Even though you think it’s a bad idea.”
It’s meant to be.

“What if I have something else in mind?”

“Like?”

“Fucking you senseless.”

Holy crow. His crude language only stoked her desire. He made it sound so…primal. “Are you trying to scare me off?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not working.”

His mouth grazed her ear. “I’m not husband material.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Consider yourself warned.”

She felt the earth move. No,
she
moved. While she’d been trying to think of a sexy retort, Jack had maneuvered her closer to the ladder.
Closer to the edge
. “Oh, God.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll go first. Slip in under me, then we’ll descend together. Slowly. Don’t look down. Focus on the rungs.”

Kylie didn’t argue. She wanted to climb down. She wanted him to boink her senseless. She was determined for something to go right in this disastrous week. Making love with her first love was better than right. It was mind-blowingly perfect.

Kylie attacked the ladder one rung at a time. She did as Jack suggested, she didn’t look down. She stared straight ahead, at the trunk of the tower.

One rung at a time.

Soon she heard voices. No bullhorn.
We’re close!

She slipped and bobbled. Jack was there, but she panicked. Suddenly, she was dangling. His grip on her wrist hurt, but she endured. No way was she going to die when she was this close to getting down and dirty with Jack Reynolds. With her free hand, she groped for him, for the ladder.

“Stop struggling, Kylie. I’m going to let go.”

What?
She gawked up at his calm, handsome face. Wasn’t he supposed to say, I’ll
never
let go?

“There are firefighters directly under you. They’ll catch you.”

Oh, God.

Spenser’s voice whispered in her mind.
“You can do this, Kitten.”

“Don’t look down. Close your eyes. Trust me, Kylie.”

She flashed on his daredevil days with her brother. Reflected on stories she’d heard regarding his stint with the NYPD.

She closed her eyes.

She let go.