Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (40 page)

Beth is risky. She has a rich father, a powerful lawyer. We could use Beth as bait and then let her go? Or simply kill her. Her father would be less likely to pull a Liam Neeson stunt if his little girl is delivered to his doorstep. We could always make it look like an accident. Or a murder. Huh. There’s an idea. We could make it look like Stephanie killed Beth and then ran away.

I pull myself out of the pool and push my dripping boxer briefs to my ankles. Yes, I love living here, the tall privacy fence keeps all the neighbors at bay. I lay down in a plush lounge chair and begin stroking myself.

The fireman is killed. Stephanie, in an attack of grief, kills Beth and runs away. It could happen. I simply need to put the plan into place.

Step 1 — hire the hit on the fireman.

Step 2 — snatch Beth

Step 3 — convince Stephanie to try and rescue the bitch

Step 4 — kill Beth

Step 5 — put Stephanie on a boat to her new homeland

As warm cum squirts onto my stomach, I realize I’ve thought of everything. Anna will be proud.

Chapter 9 - Ken

It was damn hard to leave Stephanie this morning, her warm body still snug in the covers while I got ready to go back to work. I thought a week off would be brutal, but it went by at the speed of sound. I was kinda dreading going back. Until I got there.

The guys—damn how I’d missed them. They still gave me hell, but only in a little brother way. They must’ve been given direct orders to tone it down.

The day goes by swiftly, two car accidents and a small house fire keep us busy. We are also called as first responders to a heat stroke victim on the strip. When will people realize we’re in the desert and they need to plan appropriately? Drink water, you idiots, I want to scream at them. And no, watered down rum doesn’t count.

I realize the guys must have really missed me when I step into the kitchen and poke through the pantry. Nada. What the hell? Am I the only one on staff who knows how to shop?

About then, Gage walks in. “What’s for dinner?”

I point to the pantry and say, “Take-out pizza from the looks of it. What are you doing here anyway? I thought you weren’t back on until tomorrow.”

“Truck’s still screwing up. It’s on the rack again. Walked down to hang out while they try to fix the freakin’ thing this time.”

“Want to ride with me to the store? We’re going to need at least four buggies worth.”

Gage lifts a shoulder. “Sure.”

The moment we walk into the store, Diane, the manager, hurls herself at me.

“Oh Ken, how are you? How’s Stephanie? I tried to call her numerous times, but I keep getting her voice mail. Please tell me she’s alright.”

I look at the woman, still a little miffed at how she practically fired Stephanie not long ago. Then I soften a little when I remember how kind she’s been to my girl, giving her food and the promise to give her the job back the moment everything was sorted through.

“Steph’s okay,” I tell her and her shoulders nearly sag in relief. “We’ve both had to get new phones, that’s why you couldn’t reach her. The locals think they have the whole prostitution-arrest thing sorted out, but…” I lift a shoulder “things are still pretty complicated, so I’m not sure when she’d be able to come back to work.”

“I heard there was a shooting at her apartment. I went by her place and there was police tape over the door. I knocked anyway and no one answered. I had food for her. I…”

I smile at her, touched at her generosity. For a moment I feel bad—I always considered Diane to be a cougar, with her big blonde hair and too much make-up. But she’s much more than that; I guess everyone is beneath the surface. I’m learning that lesson pretty well.

“Thanks, that’s kind of you. She’s staying with me right now. There was a shooting at her apartment. She’s under protection. That’s part of the ‘complicated’ thing I was talking about.”

“Will you give me your address or take the food to Stephanie yourself?” As she asks, her eyes fill with tears she tries to blink away. “I can’t do much, but I can make sure that part is taken care of.”

A surge of warmth goes through me. Kindness in action is in front of me. “Absolutely. I don’t get off shift until the morning. If there’s anything perishable, I’ll need to pick it up then.”

“I’ll have everything ready for you then.” She smacks her hands together, going from personal to business in an instant. “What can we help you with today? Will you be needing help?” She looks from me to Gage and back again.

“We might,” I say, smiling at her. “The guys have fallen down on the grocery job while I’ve been away.”

She looks around the store which is pretty quiet and calls out to a couple clerks. “Grab some buggies and help these gentleman load up.” Then she’s off, the smell of her cheap perfume drifting in her wake. I will never… ever… ever… judge her badly again.

An hour later, bag after bag of groceries are being loaded into the back of my truck. The captain’s going to kill me. Over five hundred dollars of the stuff. But he’ll forgive me when I convince Jeff to make his favorite beef stew.

Back on the street, I’m close to the station when I notice an Impala practically sitting on my ass.

“What the fuck? Why are these guys following so close?”

Gage looks up and around, spying the dudes in the mirror. “Whoa, I can barely see them. They must be only an inch from your bumper.”

I’ve always hated being tailgated, hated stupid people who don’t pay attention when they drive. But this feels more than that. This feels threatening. I tap my brakes to see if it will back them off. It doesn’t.

“I have a bad feeling about this, man. Do you still have your gun on you?”

I see Gage stare at me from the corner of my eye. “Yeah, but you don’t need to be thinking guns yet. What are they doing?”

“Hold on.” I stomp my foot on the brake and rubber screeches as the back of my truck slides a little to the left before we stop.

The seat belt locks or Gage would have flown into the dash. “What the hell?”

The Impala slides to the right to avoid hitting us, almost into the path of an oncoming car. Shit. I’ve got to use my head better than this. I almost got someone hurt or killed.

“Ken, what the fuck?”

“The Impala, can you see a plate?”

Gage turns around in his seat and tries to see over the bed of my truck. “I can’t see anything. Why are they still sitting there like that? Go, man, go.”

I hit the gas and the truck roars to life. Eyeing the mirror, I see the passenger stick his hand out the window and flip us off.

“See any tags?” I ask Gage, who’s still looking behind us.

“No, man. No front license plate and the windows are fully tinted out. With the sun, I couldn’t see who or how many are in there either.”

A block from the station, I start to relax. I probably overreacted. Just some kids playing hotrod and acting tough. An idea hits me and instead of going straight, I take the back way through Pebble.

“What are you doing?”

“Just seeing if they follow.” When it becomes clear they aren’t following, I glance over at Gage and say, “Shit, I’m sorry. I guess I’m still on edge and fucked up after the shit that’s been going on.”

“Ken, you know I love you like a brother, but your temper is going to get you killed.”

I blow out a breath and grip the steering wheel tighter. “I know, my mother always made me count to ten.”

“Did it help?”

“Hell no.” I grin. “It only caused a ten second delay of whatever shit I planned to stir up.”

Looking out the back glass again, Gage says, “I don’t see them. But you know what? I wouldn’t blame them if they did chase us. You were a lunatic back there.”

“You’re right, I need to chill. I couldn’t help it, I had such a bad feeling back there.” I look straight ahead, afraid Gage would be staring at me with an open mouth.

“Well, we’re trained to trust our gut, but your gut’s been messed with pretty hard lately. You might want to listen to your brain a little bit too. What if that were the bad guys? How would shoving them under the back of your truck solve anything? You’re smarter than that.”

I snort. I don’t feel so smart right now. But Gage is right. I’ve got to listen to my gut, but also my head. Intentional reaction is the name of the game.

“Do I need to punch you in the arm every time I see your anger getting a hold of you? What do they call that? Operant conditioning or some shit.”

I smile. “Like rubber band therapy?”

He slaps the dash. “Yeah, exactly that. Flick yourself every time you have a bad thought. Voila. Bad thoughts over. Psych 101.”

“Wish it was that easy,” I say as I slow down to give the Impala time to make its appearance if it’s going to.

“I’m happy to punch you man, if you need something a little harder.

I laugh this time. “You better watch out; you’ll end up like Jeff with a broken nose plastered across your face.”

Gage scoffs. “Jeff’s a kid. You got lucky; he didn’t try to hit back.”

I turn back toward the station. “Seriously, man. Sorry about all that back there. The anger stuff. I promise I’ll work on it.”

Turning into the station, I wait for a bay to open when I notice the Impala driving slowly by us.

“Shit. There it is again.”

Gage whips around. “Yep. Same car.”

Enough is enough. I grab for the door handle to jump out of the truck. I shake off Gage’s hand as he tries to hold me back. I’ll work on anger management later.

I run down the driveway. “What the fuck do you want?” The acrid odor of burnt rubber greets my nose as the car slams into reverse and the front window rolls down.

Shit.

A nose of a rifle appears. It’s hoisted through the window and explodes as I drop and roll. Is this really happening? Here? In front of the station? The cement chips about three inches from my forehead, a piece driving deep into my cheek. I keep rolling. Another blast; another spray of cement. This time, the bullet almost takes off my hand.

I hear shouts behind me, men running from the station. Gage is out, his gun pulled and he fires at the car. Another blast is aimed in his direction.

The Impala’s engine roars and tires scream, black smoke pouring from behind it. I try to see a plate—there isn’t one. This isn’t a random act.

“You’re dead,” I roar and run back to the truck. No way in fuck are they getting away this time.

“What are you doing?” Gage yells through the window of the truck.

“Following. They aren’t getting away. You don’t have to come, man. I got this. Just a little recon.”

“You’re crazy,” Gage mutters, but he’s beside me a second later. I throw the truck in reverse and back onto the busy street. Horns blast at me, but I don’t care.

From the corner of my eye, I see Captain Frank running out of the door. I pretend I don’t see him. “Don’t look toward the station,” I warn Gage.

“Damn, I looked. Cap saw me look. We’re in for a world of hurt when the captain gets a hold of us later.”

“Recon, remember. Stay on their ass until the police can take over. Surely the cap will understand.”

About then, my disposable rings. I toss it to Gage and he flips it open. From across the cab and with the windows down, I hear the captain screaming at him.

“Nothing stupid, Cap. That’s why I’m with him. He’s just following until police can pick up the tail.”

More yelling, Gage holds the phone away from his ear.

“Copy that, Captain.”

More yelling.

“Oh shit. Forgot about those.”

Less yelling, but I can still hear the whisper of the captain’s voice come through the phone.

“Copy that, Captain,” Gage says again. “We will, sir.”

A light is turning yellow and I swerve into a turning lane to blow through it. I keep my eye on the red Impala. He’s far ahead, nearly out of line of sight.

“Scale of one to ten?” I ask Gage when we’re safely on the other side of the intersection and the blasts of pissed off driver horns are behind us.

“Seventy-two,” Gage answers and I wince. That bad, huh. “But he gets why we’re tailing. Locals have been called and Cap’s calling the feds after he finished cussing me out.”

I smirk. “Good.”

“He also said we needed to get our asses back before the ice cream melts.”