Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (27 page)

“How are you feeling?”

“Lonely.” She winced as though she hadn’t meant to admit it aloud. Her arms slid from beneath the comforter, raised and opened, to invite him to join her. He shuffled from bare foot to bare foot instead.

Did she know what she asked for? What he wanted to give?

“I’ve never been so out of my league before, Izzy.”

“What in the world…?”

“When I look at you, I imagine everything you deserve. Everything I could never hope to give you.”

“You’re all that I’m asking for. A friend.” Doubt crept into her eyes, forcing her to shrink into his pillows. “Lie with me? Please?”

Razor couldn’t bear to make her think he’d rejected her so he sank to the edge of the mattress. He enveloped her hand in his. “What’s between us is more than friendship. I won’t pretend it’s that basic. But this isn’t the time to make important decisions, Izzy. So much has happened. I’m afraid if we rush into a relationship right now, you’ll regret it later. Regret hooking up with me when you could have had so much more.”

“You really don’t understand, do you?” She tugged until his shoulders settled on the headboard then rested her cheek on his abs. “You have purpose. You do something that matters. I’m twenty-two years old, and I have no idea what the rest of my life is for. My existence was isolated and sterile. Years of worthless galas and figure heading stretched before me at home. Raising money for charity events was about the best I could hope to accomplish. You have solid friendships. You know how to share, how to have fun, how to live and how to love. In my book, you’re far ahead of me.”

She snuggled closer while he weighed her opinion. Her wince reminded him of the medicine he’d brought. He shook out two pills, handing them to her along with the water. As she washed them down, he opened her snack.

“What would you like to do? You know, after all this,” he asked as he swapped the empty bottle for the bar. She nibbled the corner then devoured it, considering.

He petted her hair while she chewed, content to sit in silence as she debated. When she angled her face toward him, he traced the elegant arch of her eyebrow with the tip of one finger before sliding her earrings off and setting them on the table along with the crumpled wrapper she handed him.

“I don’t have a lot of skills. I enjoy dancing. I’d like to teach. Not people who want to impress their friends or appear more important. I’m talking about people who love the music, love to dance.” She yawned around the end of her sentence. Once the medicine kicked in, she’d be out like a light again. “If we win…maybe I’ll set up a subsidized studio for special needs children, as physical therapy.”

After tonight, were they eligible for the competition? God knew the contest had been the last thing on his mind. He’d call the network as soon as they opened in the morning to check, for Izzy’s sake. No sense in upsetting her over nothing.

“Do you think that’s a dumb idea?” She worried her lip to fill the gap in their conversation.

“I think it’s a lofty goal. You’d do great at it, princess. If you can teach me, you can teach anybody.” He imagined her gentle empathy enriching the lives of her students. “You’d be fantastic with kids.”

“Do you want a family, James?” She sounded drowsy as she mumbled into his belly. The wash of her breath heated his groin.

“Someday, sure.” Why did discussing the prospect with this woman send desire coursing through him? “I told you about my brothers and sisters. I’d love to have my own family.”

“Me too.” She nuzzled closer. “Someday…”

The quiet pattern of her respiration led him to believe she slept. He lifted her enough to slide out of the too tempting bed.

“Please, don’t leave,” she protested. “Sleep with me.”

He groaned, too weak to resist them both when every cell of his being begged him to burrow as near to her as he could.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she whispered when he’d snuggled close, careful to avoid bumping her arm.

“Me either, princess.” More than ever he acknowledged he wasn’t worthy of her.

The praise she’d lauded him with ran through his mind on constant repeat as he held her, listening to her slumber, for hours. Every time he allowed himself to imagine things might work out, he remembered his deception.

How would her opinion change if she knew he’d manufactured their meeting? Their entire relationship rested on a foundation of lies. She’d never believe everything after that had been real.

What if, as he suspected, more than just her husband had betrayed her? If she discovered he’d known yet hadn’t mentioned the possibility to preserve the department’s investigation? She’d refuse to accept even one word out of his mouth had been sincere.

Razor wouldn’t blame her either.

Chapter Eighteen

The jarring ring of the phone finally cut through the drug-induced haze Isabella had rested in. She reached in the direction of the ruckus before she recalled whose bed she occupied. By the time she pieced things together, she’d lifted the receiver off the cradle. She could either drop it, hanging up on whoever called or be rude enough to answer Razor’s private line.

What if it was a woman? Maybe a casual girlfriend who’d seen him on TV the night before?
Crap!

“Hello?” The shrill question cut across the space between her hand and her ear.

She cleared her throat to avoid making a bad impression with her smoky, just-woke-up rasp then answered, “Hello?”

“Oh! Do I have the wrong number?” The voice belonged to a woman, though one too elderly to be any sort of plaything for Razor.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. Who are you looking for?”

“Jimmy.”

“James is in the shower at the moment.” The splash of water and curls of steam from the partially closed door clued her in once she batted some of the cobwebs lurking in the corners of her lethargic mind. “May I take a message?”

“Who are you?” The woman sounded excited now. “The girl from the paper? Isabella Buchanan, yes?”

Should she deny it?

“How are you, darling? Don’t be afraid. I’m Eleanor. Jimmy’s grandmother on his father’s side.” Before Isabella could respond—or offer to put Razor on the line—the woman continued. “I called to give him hell for not informing his family about the incident last night. You made the front page two states over. His mother nearly had a heart attack when we saw the headline. Considering that business with the deranged woman a couple months back, Jimmy’s mom is jumpy. But she’s too stubborn to ring him up. Doesn’t want to intrude, you see? I’m too old to worry about nonsense like that. But maybe I should have waited. Were you sleeping?”

Isabella laughed, loving Eleanor already. “Probably much later than I should have. I’m sorry I didn’t think to have him contact you.”

Her own father hadn’t bothered to find out if she was okay. Not after the incident at her apartment or last night’s shooting, and he lived in the same damn city. He didn’t intend to forgive her for leaving Malcolm, or for the scene she’d caused in doing so, apparently.

“With such a sweet lady to tend to, I’m not surprised he forgot. One of my granddaughters showed me your dancing on that Internet thingy this morning. My cataracts make it hard to see, but I could tell enough. Perhaps we’ll meet you sometime soon?”

“I would love the opportunity to chat with you more, Mrs. Reoser.” Isabella dodged the woman’s implications. “Though I’m sure James doesn’t make a point of bringing his work home with him.”

“Who are you talking to, Izzy?”

She choked on her tongue when he stepped from the bathroom, wearing only a low-slung towel around his hips. Water dripped from his dark hair to bead on his slick chest before continuing to roll over the contours of his defined abs.

Isabella croaked, “Here he is now, Mrs. Reoser. So nice to speak with you this morning.”

“Same here, darling. It’s been a long while since I met a youngster with such impeccable manners. Take care of that arm. And my boy. He could use a good woman to look after him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Chuckles fell from the receiver as she handed it to James. She chewed her nails. Had she given his family the wrong impression?

“Sorry,” she whispered.

A huge grin lit up his face when he realized who had called. “Yes. Yes, she is. Beautiful, generous and sweet, too, Gran E. Don’t worry. I’m trying my best to impress her.”

Isabella giggled when he waggled his eyebrows at her.

Razor turned serious, apologizing for frightening his family—something she owned at least some of the blame for. She headed to the bathroom to take her shower, granting him privacy to speak freely.

Keeping her arm out of the spray occupied most of her attention while she lathered her body. Pleased by the low-level ache in her biceps, much less painful than she had expected, she relaxed beneath the soothing water until the temperature began to drop. When she finished, she smiled as she drew on the lounge pants, cropped tee and fuzzy hoodie Lacey had hooked her up with.

Though danger and problems galore lurked outside this haven, her newfound friends made the fear less debilitating. She had someone to help. Someone to lean on. With their assistance, the hope she’d lost sight of while secluded reasserted itself in her heart. She wished she’d be able to repay them in kind one day.

Isabella padded into the living room, prepared to brainstorm solutions and facilitate the investigation into her bastard husband’s involvement in torturing the women she’d glimpsed. She had to help them, grant them a modicum of the salvation she’d found if she could.

The collection of grim men who turned to face her stopped her in her tracks.

“Izzy…” Razor slammed his eyes closed to avoid her unspoken questions.

“What is it?” She scanned the crowd, her gaze landing on Jeremy. His somber mood screamed something awful. “It’s Gerard. Something’s happened to him?”

Her knees trembled. She forced them to move, to carry her toward Razor. What retaliation had the butler suffered for her escape?

“No, baby. We haven’t found him yet.”

“Thank God.” She sighed, accepting the hand Razor held out to her. He led her to the couch then sat her between JRad and Clint. He kneeled by her feet.

“It’s—” He gulped. “I’m sorry.”

Her curious glance flicked to Mason and Tyler. “Somebody spit it out. You’re scaring me.”

Tyler nodded then said, “Two bodies were discovered this morning in a warehouse owned by Carrington Industries. One victim is a known assassin who’s evaded us for years, likely the man who shot you last night. The crime scene investigators believe the other is your hus—”

He broke off, shaking his head. Surely, he couldn’t mean what it had sounded like.

“They believe it’s Malcolm Carrington.”

“Oh God.” One hand covered her open mouth while the other returned Razor’s squeeze. “They’re not sure? Maybe it’s not him? Could there have been some mistake?”

“His identification was found at the scene. But…”

“I can take it. Tell me.”

“The body had been mutilated beyond definite recognition. They’re conducting lab tests now to confirm. We don’t expect a different result. I’m sorry, Isabella.”

Shock, horror and regret washed over her in waves. The blinding grief she expected never materialized. Somehow that hurt worse.

“We understand if you need some time to digest this.” JRad tucked her hair behind her ear.

“No. No, it’s horrible. But I’m o-okay.” She sagged against his heat while holding Razor’s gaze. “I’m actually…”

Should she admit it?

“What, Izzy? You can tell us,” Tyler prompted.

“Relieved.” A tear leaked from her eyes at the admission. Did it make her a horrible person?

“That’s understandable, sweetheart.”

“And those women. Someone can rescue them if we don’t have to worry about Malcolm reestablishing his business elsewhere. Lily too. They’ll be safe now, right?” She blinked away the moisture blinding her when dead air met her questions. She might have heard the chirp of crickets.

“Ah, shit, Izzy.” Razor gathered her to his torso as he crouched between her knees.

She laid her head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his soap and skin from the crook of his neck. Her freezing fingers clung to his shoulders.

“The world doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” She hated her sheltered existence, which had left her naïve and ill-equipped to deal with reality.

“There’s too much money on the table. This either means someone else has assumed control of the ring or…” His audible sneer made her believe this alternative had actually been his theory all along, “…your piece of shit ex-husband was never the kingpin of this organization.”

“I don’t understand. Why else would someone k-kill Malcolm?” She stumbled over the question. It seemed impossible. He’d ruled her life for years. How could he be gone? Vanished. Just like that.

“The media is speculating it could have been retaliation.”

“For what? They don’t know about the women I saw, do they?”

No one answered. Their silence started to tick her off. She looked from one man to the next until the tingling dread in her mind coalesced. “They think
I
did it? Holy crap. Do
you
think I did it?”

Isabella shoved Razor. She popped to her feet, pacing through what little space the men in blue’s muscled frames left unoccupied in the living room.

“Honey, none of us believe you were responsible. Even if more than one of us hadn’t surrounded you at all times last night, and even if we didn’t know about your cash flow issues, we wouldn’t consider it of you.” Matt spoke for them all. “We need to play this by the book so no one else has reason to doubt either. The public hasn’t come to know you as we have.”

“We uphold the law. The system.” Mason agreed. “You need to head downtown for formal questioning. Let’s record everything. Do this right so we can take out whatever scum is behind this once and for all.”

“But…” She scrunched her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Can we flash back a second? If I didn’t do this. And Malcolm didn’t do this. Who did? Who’s in charge? Who’s responsible?”

This time, no matter how long she waited, none of them responded.