Jackson (3 page)

And then, at last, came the memory of that final morning, when she’d rolled over in the predawn light and found his side of the bed empty. Normally they’d wake up at the same time—often still tangled up in each other—but that morning her gently grasping hand had brushed against nothing but a scrap of paper.

She’d read that note so many times in the following days that the words were still burned in her mind:

Charlie—

This wasn’t how I wanted to do this. There are a hundred things I know I should say, and a hundred more I want to say but know I shouldn’t. But the truth is I know none of them will make this right. I knew the moment I met you that this would be a mistake, that I’d only end up hurting you, but I couldn’t help myself. I was selfish. I still am. Which is my only consoling thought—that you’re absolutely better off without me. I wish I could give you a better explanation than that, but I can’t, and for that I’ll be forever sorry. I can only say that I hope you find happiness. I hope you live all of your dreams, big and small. And I hope you find that man who can love and support you the way you deserve to be loved and supported. I’m sorry I ever let you believe that man might be me.

Her eyes burned even now, remembering those words and the sharp confusion that followed. Remembering the pain that had swept through her when she’d tried calling his number and found it disconnected. Jackson hadn’t just left her—he’d completely disappeared. Removed every trace of himself from her house and her life.

All except one
, she thought, looking down at the atlas. But it looked like he was here to finish the job.

But before she could take another step into the room, she realized he was looking at her—
staring
, more accurately. As she was staring at him. Her cheeks went hot and she quickly glanced away.

Jackson cleared his throat. “Rough night?”

She risked a glance up, confused, then realized he was gesturing toward the papers scattered on her coffee table.

And end tables.

And floor.

In fact, the whole room was a disaster. She had files stacked on every flat surface, and among them sat the half-empty cartons of the Chinese food she’d forced herself to order when she’d realized she hadn’t eaten all day. She also counted at least four coffee mugs on various end tables.

And that was just the room—that didn’t even take into account how
she
looked. She’d pulled on her sweats the moment she’d gotten home from the office, knowing she’d be up all night at this. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head—though she was just realizing that a number of tendrils had come lose and hung like wavy octopus legs down her ears and neck. The only makeup she wore was the mascara she’d thrown on on her way out the door this morning, and considering how many times she’d rubbed her eyes in the last hour, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was all over her face by now. No wonder Jackson had been staring at her.

It doesn’t matter how you look
, she told herself, crossing to the coffee table and clearing off her things.
Why do you even care what he thinks anymore?
The weak part of her mind answered immediately:
Because when the guy who dumped you shows up at your door, you want him to know exactly what he’s missing.
The only thing Jackson would be thinking right now was,
Thank God I escaped this when I did.

The atlas was still tucked beneath her arm, but now that it was time to give it to him, she was having trouble handing it over.

“Charlie…” he said softly, in a tone that was almost apologetic. It made her heart ache unbearably.

She had to be strong. Just hand it over and push him out the door before she dissolved into a pathetic mess of tears at his feet.

“Here,” she said, thrusting out the atlas without looking at him. “Just take it.”

But he didn’t. And when she glanced up to see why, she found he wasn’t even looking at her anymore, but rather toward the back door. His shoulders were rigid and his jaw was tight.

She followed his gaze but saw nothing. “What are—”

Before she even realized what was happening, he’d grabbed her and clamped a hand across her mouth.

“Shh
.
” The sound in her ear was little more than a breath. Her back was pressed against Jackson’s chest, her body trapped within the tight circle of his arm. Her heart was beating in her ears, and she was afraid to even breathe. What was he doing? What the hell was going on?

The last time she’d been this close to Jackson was the last night they’d spent together. He’d smelled the same, and her body reacted the same way to his nearness—in a terrifying explosion of familiarity and desire. But he
felt
different now, felt stronger. She could feel the raw power in his arms around her, and she wasn’t sure whether that frightened or excited her.

But before she could analyze that reaction too closely, she heard it—the small
click click
of someone fiddling with a lock.

He held her so that they both faced the back door. Currently, the blinds were closed, so they couldn’t see out into the darkness of the backyard. But she could see the lock moving slightly, trying to come undone. Cold washed down her spine. Someone was trying to break into her house.

Jackson’s mouth was still at her ear.

“I want you to take the atlas and go out the front door,” he said. “Get as far away from here as you can. Don’t stop for anyone.” Just as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, his arms dropped.

She stood there, stunned, then whispered, “What about you?”

“I’ll find you.
Go
!” He practically pushed her toward the door.

She still had no idea what was going on—
What the hell had Jackson gotten her involved in?
—but she saw the look in his eyes. Behind the fierce determination in his expression was something that almost looked like fear. She wasn’t going to question what he’d told her to do.

She raced toward the door, pausing only to reach down and grab her purse from the floor. As soon as she got out of here, she’d be calling the police.

The moment her fingers touched the handle, she heard the back door fly open.

“Run!” shouted Jackson when she started to look back.

She did.

She threw open the door and bolted out into the night. Almost immediately, she heard a shout from around the side of the house—and then a crash from her living room, but she didn’t dare look behind her. Her car was parked right next to the mailbox, but even as she fumbled for her keys in her purse, a dark figure came running at her across the lawn. She didn’t have time to find them.

She turned and raced down the street, gripping the atlas for dear life. Footsteps pounded behind her—one pair? Two?—and she couldn’t think of anything but
get away, get away, get away.
When she reached the end of her street, she turned down another. And then another. She knew she should scream for help, but every ounce of her air was going toward running faster, harder. When she opened her mouth, all that came out was a strangled croak, and even that made her chest hurt. Soon she was gasping for breath, and even still the footsteps were gaining.

She never stopped. Never slowed. She ducked around cars and behind hedges until she was lost in her own neighborhood. Finally, just when she thought her lungs were going to explode, she found herself at the neighborhood’s clubhouse. Everything was locked at this hour, but she threw herself behind the building’s air conditioning unit and dropped down to the ground, hiding as best she could.

For several long, terrifying seconds, she heard nothing but her own pounding pulse. Then footsteps approached—two pairs, for sure—and she held her breath as they neared and then passed her, circling around the side of the clubhouse.

Those moments after they faded away were the longest of her life. She was too afraid to move, even though the strap of her purse was twisted around her arm and the atlas was pressed uncomfortably into her hip. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from gasping for breath, even though her lungs were still begging for air. Her mind whirled.

She’d known Jackson was trouble, but she’d always thought it was more in the guaranteed-to-break-your-heart sort of way—and her experience had certainly proved her right in that respect. But this? This was beyond any of her imaginings. She had people breaking into her house and chasing her through the streets and she didn’t even know
why.

A twig snapped behind her. She jumped—but it was too late. A figure appeared above her, and before she could scramble away, he grabbed her and pulled her back. And a hand clamped across her lips before she ever had the chance to scream.

CHAPTER TWO

“It’s me,” Jackson breathed in Charlie’s ear. “Don’t worry, it’s me.”

Almost immediately, he felt her body relax in his arms. But though she seemed to realize she wasn’t in any immediate danger, her chest still heaved against his arm and her pulse still fluttered like mad where he gripped her at one wrist. She was terrified, and no wonder.

Still, tangled as they were and with his face partially buried in her hair, his body was half convinced they were in a very different sort of situation. Her lips were soft as butter beneath his calloused fingers, and her hair smelled just as he remembered—like strawberries and cream. He was hard as a rock before he even realized he’d nestled closer to those silky strands. The last time he’d had his face in her hair, he’d been buried deep inside of her. This was always his favorite position—being curled around her from behind with her neck within easy reach of his mouth and her breasts within reach of his hand. There was nothing to muffle the sweet little cries that would come from her lips, and nothing to stop him from teasing that tender nub between her legs when he could tell she was about to come.

This isn’t the time for this, you idiot
, he thought.
What the fuck are you thinking?
He released her abruptly. Nash’s men were still out there looking for them. He needed to get her somewhere safe. And fast.

“Do you still have the atlas?” he asked her under his breath as she rolled over to face him.

She nodded, her gray eyes wide with confusion and fear beneath the light of the moon. As he lifted his head to glance around them, she let out a little gasp—and he found her staring at the side of his face. He raised a hand to his cheek, and his fingers came away sticky with blood.
Shit.
He must have hit something during his scuffle back at the house. Fortunately, further investigation suggested that it was only a mild cut, though he’d need to make sure the blood didn’t get in his eyes. He’d knocked out the guy who’d come bursting through the back door, but there appeared to be at least two others still out there looking for them. He glanced back down at Charlie.

Don’t worry, Goose
, he thought, tucking a honey-colored tendril of hair behind her ear.
I’ll keep you safe, I promise.
He hoped she could read the message in his eyes—it was too dangerous to speak more than absolutely necessary.

He couldn’t believe Nash’s guys had caught up with him so fast. That could only mean one thing: what Roth had feared was true. They’d been betrayed—most likely by one of their own. He’d need to update his leader as soon as possible.

It was several moments before he dared to reach out and touch Charlie’s arm again, and the contact still sent a jolt of need through him.

Control yourself, you horndog.
This wasn’t the time to think about how much he wanted her, but
fuck
, was it hard to focus on anything else. He’d had nine months to forget her. Instead, he’d somehow built up nine months of fantasies that his body was aching to reenact.

But he had no idea when Nash’s men might circle back around. Right now, they needed to get out of here.

“Come on,” he whispered, helping her to her feet. “Follow me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her around the side of the building. Her fingers gripped his, strong and sure, even though he knew she must be terrified. He wanted those fingers around his cock. Or digging into his back as she screamed out his name. But first he needed to get her somewhere safe.

He’d parked his rental car around the corner from her house, at the end of a cul-de-sac. When they reached it—via a path around various hedges and across at least one backyard—the street was otherwise empty. Nash’s guys had parked in front of Charlie’s house, and most likely they were back there now, waiting for one or both of them to return.

He pulled Charlie behind a large hydrangea bush while he scoped out the street. When he had convinced himself that the coast was clear, he glanced over at her. Her tender mouth was set in a hard line, and she had the atlas clutched to her chest. He saw her purse dangling from her other arm, and he let out a breath of relief. That would save him a trip back to her house, at least.

“That’s my car,” he whispered, pointing. “When I give the signal, make a run for it, okay?”

She gave a single nod.

He gave the street one more good look before squeezing her fingers and tugging her out into the open.