In Jack's Arms (Fighting Connollys) (3 page)

Jack slipped back inside his office and tidied up his desk. As they inevitably did, his thoughts circled back to Abby. Like him, she was a workaholic, but he had his two brothers to keep him in line. Who did Abby

have to watch her back and keep her from burning out with exhaustion?

From the moment Mr. Kirkwood had gotten sick and started the long, slow slide toward hospice, Jack

had been constantly worried about Abby. His stomach just churned when he thought of the burdens she

silently bore. Supporting her granddad as he started the final journey of his life, stepping into the old man's shoes to run the pawn shop, taking over as Mattie's guardian—it was a whole hell of a lot of stress for one woman to endure.

Not for the first time, he questioned his decision to give her some space and approach her slowly. He

would be a damned liar if he said he hadn't been head over heels for Abby since the moment he spied her

in the pawn shop that morning he had come in to beg for a short-term loan from her grandfather. That

mega-watt smile of hers had nearly knocked him on his ass. Falling for a college student had been the very last thing he had ever expected that morning.

Her age and his respect for her grandfather had been the two main reasons he hadn't pursued his interest

in her at the time. Newly discharged from the Corps he had loved so much, he hadn't been in the best place emotionally or mentally back then. She had deserved better than a short-tempered, rough bastard who

couldn't sleep through the night.

But watching her date other men hadn't been easy. Every time he worked up the courage to finally make

a move, the timing was wrong. When she had been free for the asking, he had been committed to saving

their family's legacy, building a loyal clientele and helping Finn get off the booze and into a treatment

program. She had been dating some hotshot law school guy when he finally had some room in his schedule

and his life to do right by wooing her. Just when he thought the universe had aligned, her granddad got sick and passed away and then his own father was mired in some messy shit with the Albanians and John

Hagen.

What if there wasn't a perfect time? What if he had fucked it all up by not going after the woman he

wanted? Jack swiped his keys and wallet from his drawer and gruffly swore, "Shit!"

"We're not supposed to use that word, Jack." Freshly showered and holding his gym bag, Mattie stood in the doorway of the office with a censorious expression. "You owe a dollar to the swear jar."

"A dollar!" Jack reacted with mock outrage. "Jesus, when I was a kid, it was a quarter."

"Well, you're old and that's the cost of inflation."

"I'm not
that
old, Mattie."

"You're thirty."

"Thirty-three," he corrected. "And that's still not old."

"It's older than me."

"Fair enough." Jack reached for his own gym bag and handed over Mattie's phone. "Your sister called earlier. Did you forget to tell her that you were coming here?"

"Uh-oh." Mattie made a face. "Was she mad?"

"No. She sounded concerned."

"You're sure she wasn't mad?"

"Why would she be mad at you?"

"I broke a rule."

"What rule?"

"A shop rule." Mattie hesitated and then unzipped a side pouch on his bag. He produced a watch that was only too familiar to Jack. "I took this from the shop."

Jack fought the urge to snatch the watch his mother had worked so hard to buy for their father all those

Christmases ago. Instead he held out his hand and let Mattie gently place it on his palm. He turned it over and ran his finger across the inscription there. The memories of his gentle, sweet mother created a

throbbing ball of pain that choked off his throat. The guilt of missing her funeral while he was away a war still ate at him.

"Did Pop pawn this?"

Mattie nodded. "He forgot to pay."

"So you took it?"

"Nick is my friend. He always brings me those sour candies I like."

Jack made a mental note to remind his father to stop doing that. Mattie went through life thinking the

very best of everyone when reality was so much meaner. He hated the idea of Nick conditioning Mattie to

accept gifts in exchange for favors. It could lead to some dangerous places.

"Abby put four extensions on the loan," Mattie continued, "but it was in the pull stack for this week."

"The pull stack?"

"It's what we call the stuff we take out of the back and put up for sale in the store."

Irritation raced through him as he realized how close their family had come to losing this watch because

of their father's reckless selfishness. "We'll swing by the shop and I'll make this right."

Seeing the uncertainty on Mattie's face, he reached out and squeezed the younger's man's shoulder. "I appreciate what you did, but next time, talk to Abby first. There are laws and rules that the business has to follow."

"I understand."

"Good." He smacked Mattie's back and drew the kid in for a hug. "Let's get out here. We'll visit the shop first and then grab dinner somewhere."

"Tacos?" Mattie hopefully asked.

Jack laughed. "You want me to chase down Thai and Chuy's truck again, don't you?"

"I have an app on my phone." Mattie tapped at the screen. "It tells me where my favorite food trucks are. Kelly's Bee made it."

He smiled at the way Mattie described his brother's girlfriend. To his mind, the ownership in that

relationship was totally reversed. It was Bee who had owned Kelly—heart and soul—since she was a

teenager. Though they were taking things slowly now and rebuilding the broken trust that existed between

them after that clusterfuck stalker situation, Jack had no concerns about the couple. Given time, their

relationship would heal.

As he walked Mattie out of the gym and waved at Finn to let him know that he was heading home for

the evening, Jack decided it was time to put some time and effort into the relationship he wanted with

Abby. The gym was doing great. His brothers were both in good places. Even Pop was safe and out of

trouble for the moment. There might not ever be a more perfect time than this one—and he was grabbing it

with both hands and refusing to let go.

Mattie chatted his ear off on the ride to the pawn shop and clued him in on the filthy joke his workout

buddies had told. Knowing Abby would flip if she heard Mattie repeat it, he launched into a quick lesson

on locker room and boys-only talk. While some people tried to shield Mattie from everything, Jack took the view that Mattie was a grown man with the same interests as every other hot-blooded guy. He just needed to be told in clear-cut language what was and wasn't socially acceptable.

"Is that a boundary, Jack?"

Familiar with the boundaries talks Abby had with her brother, he nodded. "Yes, it's one of those social boundaries that we all have to learn."

"So I can laugh at dirty jokes at the gym?"

"Yes."

"But I can't tell them at the shop?"

"Exactly," he said, hoping to hell Mattie would follow through on the lesson. He found a parking spot in the lot across the street from the pawn store and killed his engine.

"You don't tell dirty stories at the gym, Jack."

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

"Because it's my business and it's unprofessional," he answered matter-of-factly. "It's also juvenile and can be disrespectful, especially toward women."

Mattie unbuckled his seatbelt and seemed to be considering what he had said. "I don't want to be

disrespectful." With a broad grin, he reached for his door handle. "And I love women."

"So do I. They deserve to be treated with respect and protected, not talked about in locker rooms, gyms and man caves, okay?"

"Okay, Jack."

They left the truck and crossed the street. For a Monday evening, the shop seemed to be rather slow. He

chalked it up to news of the robbery. By tomorrow night, the place would be teeming with customers. With

the current economy and the expenses of a typical summer, people wouldn't stay away long.

When they stepped inside, the chimes sounded nice and loud to alert the floor staff. With the practiced

eyes of a Marine, he scanned the shop and instantly detected Abby, the two security guards, her two brokers and Dan, the night manager. The two employees and Dan were helping customers in different areas of the

store. One security guard hovered just to his left, watching the door, while another was at the rear of the shop, keeping an eye on the customers and transactions. Nothing about them pinged his internal radar so he moved on to the only person who interested him.

Abby stood at the jewelry counter in her usual outfit of jeans and a bright green polo shirt embroidered

with the company logo. Gold and silver chevrons dangled from her ears and glinted every time she moved.

She had taken out the braids she had been wearing the last time he had seen her and now had curls spilling around her shoulders.

What he wouldn't give to be able to wake up every morning and nuzzle in close to those dark waves!

She would fit perfectly in his arms, her lithe ballerina-like body molded against his heat and strength.

Throbbing need uncurled in his stomach at the idea of seeing her smiling face in the early morning

sunshine. He doubted there could be anything more beautiful than that.

Tearing his gaze away from the object of his desire, Jack examined the younger guy, probably close to

Mattie's age, who had his pants hanging down below his ass and his boxers in full view. Jack zeroed in on

the colors of the basketball jersey the guy wore. The little gangster wannabe had one leg bent with his full weight resting on his toes. The easily visible sole of his white sneaker had three hand-drawn numbers

marking it.

1-8-7.
It was the police code for a homicide and the name of the upstart gang that was trying to make a name for themselves in the area. The youngest, newest members were only allowed to show their affiliation

by marking the bottoms of their shoes and wearing the gang's colors. Later, they would earn the rights to

tattoos and bolder markings.

Eyes narrowed, Jack carefully watched the interaction. The moment he had heard about the robbery, he

had suspected the 1-8-7 crew might be behind it. His second thought? The same Albanian outfit that had

caused his family such a headache in early June. Jack would never forgive that bastard Besian for forcing

Kelly to fight as his champion in the underground bare-knuckle tournament. Kelly could have been killed

by the Russian giant who fought for Russian mob boss Nikolai Kalasnikov—and for what?

Money.

The same thing the guy hassling Abby wanted.

"Look, lady, I'm telling you this is real gold."

"I didn't say it wasn't. I said that all I can do with this is scrap it."

"Scrap? Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm a businesswoman. Do you honestly think I have a line of customers coming into my shop

asking for a gold chain that says
PIMP
?" She gave the necklace a jiggle. "If I buy this, it goes into the scrap heap to be melted."

"Baby, you cold."

Jack's fingers curled at his sides. He didn't want anyone calling her baby but him. Holding himself back,

he waited to see how she would react. One thing Abby had always made clear was her ability to handle

even the toughest situations herself.

Abby cast an annoyed glare at the man. "I'm not your baby. Cut the crap and tell me what you want for all this." She gestured to the pile of jewelry on the counter. "And don't tell me three grand again because that number is a dream."

"Give me fifteen hundred."

She shook her head and poked through the rings and chains. "I'll give you eight."

"Eight! That's robbery."

Abby's lips pursed. "Sir, you came in here to ask me to buy your jewelry. I didn't ask you to come into my shop and cause a ruckus. All right? Now," she blew out a breath and sorted through the jewelry. "I'll give you two for this one, fifty for both of these, two for this one and three for this ring. That's it. Take it or leave it."

"Well I need more than that!"

"If you want to pawn instead of sell, I can go to twelve."

He considered her offer and then reached up to his mouth. He pried free his gold grill and held it out to

her. "What about this?"

Abby stared at the slimy jewelry thrust toward her face. "Are you for real? You want me to price your grill?"

"It's gold."

She stared at the item for a few seconds before sliding to the left and crouching down to retrieve a roll

of paper towels. After ripping a handful free, she reached out for the grill and wiped it clean. Holding it with another towel, she lifted her jeweler's loupe from the chain around her neck and examined the item.

"How much did you pay for this?"

"Two thousand."

She lifted her gaze. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Why? You gonna tell me those ain't real diamonds or gold now?"

"The diamonds are real," she said, "but they're small. We're talking ten points and low quality." She dropped the loupe and took the grill to the gold testing spot along the counter behind her. With the ease and efficiency of a skilled appraiser, she scraped the metal and dripped nitric acid onto it. "The gold is real but it is 10 carat."

"What? No. No. No. That's 14 carat."

Abby sighed and carried the grill back to the customer. "It's not. It's exactly what I said it is, and the retail value is probably five or six hundred bucks. I'd offer you, like, two hundred if you want to sell and maybe three hundred to loan."

"This is bullshit! You're a thief! Trying to rip me off and take my gold!"

"I'm a thief?" Shaking her head, Abby dropped the grill onto the pile of jewelry. "You know what?

Take your stuff and get out of my store."