Too Hot to Handle (13 page)

Honey almost made it to the door before Jack’s fingers closed around her arm like a steel vise. “Don’t you even think about walking out like that.” His voice was harsh, brutal, but underneath the cruel exterior there was a hint of pain that cut bone deep. Her words had hurt him.

Who even knew that was possible?

“Let me go.” She tried to pull away, jerking against him. “Please let me go.”

For the past twenty-four hours, she’d been running scared, afraid for her life. This was the first time she’d been hurt.

If she stayed, he’d want to talk about things. The truth she’d been trying to hide for all these years would come out, and he’d finally hate her.

His hatred would make things so much simpler.

At least that was what she’d thought in high school.

If he hated her there’d be no risk, no way she could possibly change her mind and take him back. His hatred would make him untouchable, invincible, like the shining armor worn by a virtuous knight to protect him from the world’s barbs.

But the last day had changed things. In the last twenty-four hours, she’d felt more passion and more love than she’d known existed, and if he started hating her now, her heart would shatter into a million pieces.

The most she could hope for was the chance to run away and let her love die a slow, natural death.

“Go to hell,” she said.

“Not without you.” His sexy mouth tipped into a boyish grin, white teeth gleaming against tanned skin. Despite everything that had happened, Jack’s sense of humor was still intact. He pulled her tight against him. “Mother, Dad, I’d like you to leave.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Amelia laughed. “We’re still in the middle of dinner. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Amelia,” Eric said. “Get up.” The older man raised himself from his chair carefully. “I don’t even like salmon. We’ll go to the country club and get a nice steak.”

Their marriage had to be better than Honey had given it credit for, because a moment later, both of Jack’s parents were leaving in a cloud of expensive perfume and anger that was almost palpable. Jack’s grip only relaxed when their footsteps could no longer be heard ringing off the hardwood floors.

“Honey Moore.” His use of her full name made her stand up, shoulders back. “What the hell is going on?”

Sixteen years earlier, it had been her grandfather asking that exact same question.
Honey Moore, what the hell is going on?

She’d been sprawled across a chair in the backyard, working on her tan in a time before people worried about getting skin cancer while walking to their cars. It had been a perfect day, and she’d been basking in the afterglow from the best date of her young life. Sneaking into the drive-in with Jack had made her feel like a princess. Caviar and champagne couldn’t have tasted better to her than the cherry cola and fresh-cut fries they’d shared while watching the movie on the big screen. Then again they hadn’t been watching the movie, they’d been kissing—and that had been even better.

“You’ve got company,” her grandfather had said. “Waiting for you in the living room.”

Company
. A single word that sent a shiver down her spine.

An angry teenager, she’d alienated most of her friends after her father’s death, and her grandfather wouldn’t have bothered to introduce a family member.

That left only one person it could be—Jack. The king of Black Palm Park, a place as foreign to her as another planet. The boy who was going to take all of her troubles away and make her feel whole again.

Hustling into the living room, she’d taken the time to let her hair down from its high ponytail and bite her lips in an effort to color them without raspberry gloss.

She hadn’t changed her clothes.

The idea of talking to Jack while wearing her little black bikini—showing off skin that glowed a deep caramel from the sun and stretched over adult curves she’d only just gotten used to—scared and excited her in a way she didn’t quite understand.

Her heart had beat fast inside her chest. She could still remember the force of it leaving her breathless. Taking that final step into the living room, she’d thanked any higher force that was listening. Jack’s presence in her life was a sign: her luck had finally changed for the better.

Only, it hadn’t been Jack waiting in the living room. It had been a tall woman in an elegant sapphire sundress and an absurd picture hat with feathers and flowers trailing down the back. The hat was stylish—Honey had seen one exactly like it on the cover of
Vogue
at a local newsstand—but it was also absurd. All that stuff on top. It had to weigh a ton.

“You must be Honey Moore.” The woman’s quiet sniff left no doubt that her impression was less than favorable. “I’m Amelia Ogden. Jack’s mother.”

“Jack’s mother,” Honey choked.

After that, she hadn’t been able to say anything. She’d sat there quietly and listened while Amelia did all the talking.

The conversation couldn’t have lasted more than twenty minutes, but it felt like an eternity passed while Amelia explained in careful detail that Jack was going to be a politician, a senator. While other people went along with their ordinary lives, Jack was going to change the world for the better. Surely, Honey could understand why her presence would not be appreciated.

At the end of Amelia’s tirade, Honey had steeled her spine and said, “If Jack doesn’t want me around, he’ll tell me.”

“Jack doesn’t know what he wants,” Amelia said. “I want you to think about this carefully. If you insist on seeing my son, I will have to take steps to separate the two of you. You may have tricked your way into the Black Palm Park Academy, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be staying.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“A girl with a criminal record? The board will have a thing or two to say about that. Logan Burrows got you in, but he can’t keep you there, especially if you’re in foster care.” There had been a gleam in her eyes as she explained. “I’ve done my research, young lady. Your grandfather can’t be your guardian if he’s in jail, and believe me, if that’s what it takes to keep you away from my son, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Standing in the mausoleum that was the Ogden dining room, Honey’s voice broke, and she rushed through the story of that afternoon so many years earlier. Shame washed over her as she explained to Jack how she’d let a single vague threat get in the way of their happiness. That this was why she’d done the things she’d done—all those pranks. Because she hadn’t trusted herself to keep away from him otherwise. It was easier to cultivate an air of anger and mistrust than it was to admit the truth.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Tremors ran through her body. “I was a kid. An idiot. I didn’t know what I was doing. I should have fought for you when I had the chance.” She grabbed at Jack, fingers twisting in the collar of his crisp cotton-linen shirt. “Please forgive me. Please don’t hate me.”

“Hell, Honey.” Jack’s arms wrapped around her, warming her. “I don’t hate you.” He bent down slightly, pressing his lips against her neck. Kissing her softly, tenderly. “I could never hate you. I—”

A sharp ring interrupted his words.

Slowly, Jack dropped one hand from her waist and pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Ogden.”

Whoever was on the other end of the line had Jack straightening up. His jaw clenched.

“You gave me the day off, remember?” Jack’s free hand balled into a fist. “I’m recovering from a bar fight.”

His step backward should have left Honey feeling cold, unwanted. But his gaze never left her face. “I plan on spending the entire night flat on my back.”

Honey took two ragged breaths, drawing air into her lungs. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “If it’s important—”

“Clay Parsons is Burrows’s cousin. He’s a state senator and the old man’s heir.” Jack’s words came fast. His expression was all business. “The house is a museum. Great art, fantastic security. You go in there looking for a reason that someone might target Logan Burrows, and you’ll be running down every cat burglar in the northern hemisphere. It’ll take months.”

There was a long pause while he listened to the man on the other end of the line. “Can you keep Burrows on ice for a couple of minutes? I’m just around the corner. I want to be in on the interview.”

Jack didn’t wait for the answer, ending the conversation abruptly. His eyes closed.

“That was my boss.” His eyelashes fluttered upward to reveal soulful blue eyes. “He wants my opinion on the Burrows case. Parsons is starting to throw his weight around, and the captain thought I might have special insight on why someone would want to burn the man’s house down.”

“And?”

“I don’t think that the fires were about the car. The Volvo Sport. The fire originated in his study, not the garage.”

That made sense. The Sport was valuable, but the last will and testament of Logan Burrows would be priceless. Honey took a deep breath, trying to calm her shaking nerves.

“What do you think it’s about?”

Jack stepped away, pacing. In his black suit and crisp blue shirt, his gun nearly hidden by his jacket and his badge glittering at his waist, he was everything a detective should be. If he couldn’t figure out what was going on, no one could.

“I have to ask you a question.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression suddenly grave. “An important question. You have to tell me the truth.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What is your relationship with Logan Burrows? How does he know you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Yeah, well, strap me to a lie detector, because it’s the truth,” she said. “I’ve met Logan Burrows exactly two times. He spoke at my high school graduation—Black Palm Park’s first citizen—and he shook my hand when I crossed the stage. Then last week he showed up at the garage where I work to ask for my help. That’s it.”

“Can you describe what happened? Exactly?”

Honey ran her fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. “Logan was driving a black car. A new Ford Mustang.”

“He drove himself?”

“Yeah.” Honey’s eyes flickered open. There was a frown on Jack’s face. Apparently Logan didn’t drive himself very often. Just one more thing she didn’t know about the man who was going to leave her millions of dollars in property.

“He drove all the way into the shop, which got me all excited. I thought I’d have a chance to work on that car. Mustangs aren’t usually so high-end, but this one had been given a good once-over by someone who knew what they were doing. A lot of custom work.” The engine had sounded like a jet thundering down an airfield.

“He was wearing tailored khakis, a gray sweater. It’s hotter in the Valley than it is on the coast. He had to be boiling.”

“Did he ask you to retrieve the car right away?”

“No, he was mumbling, nervous. Not ready to get down to business. He asked for something to drink. I was done for the night anyway, so we shared a couple of beers on my couch. He smoked a cigar. He said that he missed the days when men could smoke at the country club without being harassed like criminals. He reminded me of my grandfather.”

They’d talked for an hour at the most, about silly things that had no relationship to reality. At the end of their talk, he’d asked her to find the car almost like it was an afterthought, but it must have been why he’d come to the Valley in the first place. Men like Logan Burrows didn’t pay twenty thousand dollars to find an afterthought.

Only she was beginning to realize there were no “men like Logan Burrows.” The old guy was definitely one of a kind. Had he decided to leave her the house because she’d been nice to him, taking the time to sit down and talk in a world where people moved too fast? Or was there another reason he’d shown up at her garage under cover of darkness?

“Did Logan have any ideas about who stole his car?”

“He said it had gone missing.” That had been strange. Things didn’t go missing in Black Palm Park. There was always a culprit. Back when she’d gone to school in the area, she’d been the usual suspect. Just because she’d left was no reason to think things had changed.

Honey shoved her hands in her pockets, wishing she had something else to wear. Something nice, put-together. Anything more than a pair of short shorts and an obscene T-shirt.

“Let me grab my backpack, and we can go.”

“
We
can go?” Jack asked, his face registering shock and confusion. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“No—” Her voice cracked. “No, please! You can’t leave me. I can’t stay here. Your mother could be back any minute. I need to be safe, and the arsonist is still out there. This address is listed in the phone book. Right under yours.”

“How do you know that?”