Rev It Up (33 page)

And noticed his fingers were shaking…

Damnit.
They always did this after he’d been required to pry open somebody’s mind.

“Ya know how they say you should never judge a book by its cover?” he mumbled, fisting his hands before shaking them in order to try to stop their quaking.

It didn’t help. It never did…

“Yeah?”

“Well, they were talking about Joe Bob Bartlett.”

She raised a brow, and he blew out a hard breath, swallowing convulsively. “
Dieu
, the guy was so skinny he’d hafta stand up twice to cast a shadow, but he was tough as nails. It took me nearly an hour of interrogatin’ to get any information outta him at all.”

An hour of begging, cajoling, yelling, and threatening before he’d finally been forced to apply a little pressure, inflict a smidgen of pain, and suddenly Joe Bob couldn’t tell his story fast enough…

“Sorry,” she whispered, and he glanced over at her.

Now that’s a mistake, you big
couyon
.

Because that brief look was enough of an invitation to have her rising from the chair by the window and padding over to him.

Her feet were bare, and her toenails were painted a sweet pink that looked like cotton candy. When she stopped in front of him, he was left with no choice but to look up into her concerned face. There was understanding in the fathomless depths of her dark eyes. Understanding and something he didn’t dare name.

Because they were alone.

In a hotel room.

With a bed…

Merde.

She reached for his hand, chaffing the stupid, shaking thing between her soft palms. “I can’t imagine what it does to you,” she murmured. “Using someone’s fear and weakness against them.”

She didn’t know the half of it. Because it was more than that. A true interrogator could get inside a person’s psyche. And sometimes once you got into a person’s head, it wasn’t always easy to get out. “You get used to it after a while,” he managed.

She smelled so good. Like peppermint and sugar, slightly sweet, slightly spicy…

“Bullshit,” she said, then smiled at the look of surprise on his face. “Yes, I call bullshit on occasion.”

Okay, their conversation had veered off course. And with her standing so close, touching him, his brain was going all fuzzy. Like he’d had one swig too many of the moonshine his Uncle Beauford used to brew. It was time he got them back on track.

Now.

Before he did something they’d both regret.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, softly sliding his hand from between her soft palms, disgusted when his fingers continued to tingle with sensation. “It needed to be done. And now we have two more assassins off our tails.”

“Two?”

“
Oui
. That’s why Joe Bob was so hard to break. He was protectin’ his brother, Jimmy Don, who was holed up back at their hotel.”

“Joe Bob and Jimmy Don? Let me guess, they hail from Kentucky.”

“Nope. Oklahoma. Indian Territory. The Sooner State.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved off any other titles he might have thrown out there in an attempt to keep their discussion on steady ground. “I get it,” she said, then hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Or maybe I don’t. Why
is
it called the Sooner State?”

Dieu,
she was funny. And pretty. And oh, oh,
oh
so sexy.

He needed to get away from her. Now. Five minutes ago…

“I’m not sure,” he grumbled, pushing up from the mattress. “I think it has somethin’ to do with the land run. But that’s not important right now. What
is
important is two more of our would-be assassins are off the street.”

There. All done. Debrief complete.

Now if only she’d take a step back, he could make a break for the sanctity of the bathroom where, undoubtedly, he’d have to spend the next five minutes taking care of the problem in his pants.

Unfortunately, she remained rooted to the spot, blocking his escape.

“Rock?”

His heart stopped dead.

“Yeah,
cheri?
” Was that rough-sounding voice really his?

“Why do you do it if it bothers you so much?” Her eyes were so big, looking up at him so innocently.

He couldn’t pretend to misunderstand her question. “Because it’s what I’ve been trained to do. And I’m good at it. Really, really good at it.”

She nodded, and he could see the storm of questions swirling around in her head. But she must’ve known by the look on his face that he wasn’t going to give her any more answers.

He’d already revealed more than he should have. “
Tete
de
pissette!
” he growled, pushing past her to stalk toward the bathroom.

“I speak French, you know,” she huffed. “And I don’t think I said or did anything to warrant being called a dickhead.”

“I was talkin’ to myself,” he said, turning back to her.

She rolled in her lips, fighting a grin, and the look went all through him.

Merde. What a goatscrew.

***

Johnny reached into Michelle’s refrigerator for another beer but stopped with his hand on the bottle when he heard the sound of a car door slam.

He quickly glanced around the cozy kitchen looking for a place to hide when he spied the large, walk-in pantry. He was there in two strides, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. With his back pressed against a shelf of canned goods, he held his breath, his hand sliding down to his waistband and the grip of his Ruger.

Ten seconds later, the front door opened with a squeak and heavy footsteps sounded in the living room, followed by the television falling silent.

“Yeah, I’m here now,” a man’s deep voice resonated through the louvered slats of the pantry door. “I’m gonna do a quick recon of her place then lock up. I’ll meet you back at the shop in thirty.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and then stomped around overhead. Johnny glanced around the pantry anxiously, looking for some way to conceal himself more thoroughly.

He couldn’t let this jackass, whoever he was, muck up his plans yet again.

There. In the back corner.

A large packing box stood open, an odd assortment of baskets tossed inside.

Slowly, quietly, he pulled the baskets out and stacked them beside a shelf. Then, just as stealthily, he climbed into the box. It was a squeeze, but he managed to fold himself into a ball, carefully keeping his Ruger at the ready should he need it, and pulled the flaps closed over his head.

Then he waited.

His breath caught in his lungs when the footfalls sounded on the stairs again. And then he heard the man enter the kitchen a few seconds before the refrigerator door slammed shut. He swallowed, and it sounded like a gun blast inside the stuffy silence of the box. Sweat trickled down his temple when the pantry door opened, and he blew out a silent breath when it closed again.

The man’s cell phone came to life with a blast of rock music, and Johnny listened as the guy answered gruffly, giving instructions to somebody on the other end. When the sound of his voice faded, Johnny soundlessly emerged from the box and tiptoed toward the pantry door.

He tipped his chin until he could see through one of the thin, horizontal openings, blinking at the huge man with a bright blue cast standing in the middle of the living room.

His heart began to pound with giddy anticipation when he recognized the giant.

Frank Knight. Owner of Black Knights Incorporated.

What were the odds?

Pretty
good
actually, since you’re hiding in his sister’s pantry.

He suppressed a wry chuckle and thumbed off the safely on his pistol.

He knew this wasn’t the plan. The plan was to kill Frank’s family. An eye for an eye. But Johnny couldn’t bring himself to pass up an opportunity like this.

He started to lift the Ruger, to point it at Frank Knight’s back, when suddenly the big man swung around, seeming to stare straight at him. It was like being caught in the crosshairs of a rifle, and Johnny’s neck prickled like it was crawling with ants; a bead of sweat slid coldly down his spine.

He held his breath, ready to raise his gun those final few inches and fire the instant Frank made a move in his direction. But the big man turned abruptly and stalked across living room. Johnny’s heart tripped over itself as he released his pent-up breath.

Holy
fuck, that dude is scary looking.
Far more intimidating in the flesh than in his photos. Of course, Johnny wasn’t scared. Hell no. He was far from scared. He was downright ecstatic. This was the head honcho right here!

His finger curled around the trigger as his palms began to itch. The air inside the pantry grew heavy and damp with his rapid breathing, with the sweat that broke out all over his body.

“No,” he heard Frank laugh. “We are not going down in the river tunnel for a quickie. It’s wet and creepy down there. Remember what happened this morning when you thought you felt a spider in your hair, and you started running around screaming? It completely ruined my happy ending. I’m coming out now. Warm up the engine for me, will ya? No,” the big guy laughed again. “Not
that
engine. The one on the Hummer.”

Carefully, Johnny pushed open the pantry door, wincing when it squeaked. But, fortunately, the sound was masked by a series of beeps coming from the security panel on the wall by the front door. Hurriedly, he tiptoed across the kitchen, silently raising his weapon as he went. When he stepped into the living room, a smile on his face, the Ruger hot in his hand, his finger already squeezing the trigger, he was met by the front door swinging closed.

“Fuck me!” he cursed beneath his breath, racing across the living room, feeling his opportunity to kill Frank Knight slip through his fingers.

His hand was on the knob, preparing to wrench open the front door and take aim, when the sound of a big engine firing up stopped him cold.

He peeked through the leaded glass at the top of the door in time to see a monster black Hummer pull from the curb.

“Goddamnit!”

For a split second, he contemplated taking aim and filling the SUV full of holes. But he managed to restrain himself.

So okay
, he forced himself to uncurl his finger from the trigger,
you
missed
your
chance
to
kill
Frank
Knight. Maybe it’s better this way.

After all, dying was easy compared to the suffering the dude would face once Johnny was finished with his sister.

Quickly glancing at the alarm system, he noted the motion detectors were programmed to arm in fifteen seconds, which gave him just enough time to hoof it up to the second floor and get himself into position.

With anticipation burning bright in his heart, he turned and raced up the stairs.

***

Stupid
cell
phones! They’re always out of batteries when you need them!

Michelle tossed her useless phone into her purse and tentatively glanced across the hospital bed at Jake’s rigidly controlled face. He’d stayed in Franklin’s room with her all night and all day, and he’d yet to ask the one question she knew must be burning a hole in his brain.

Why?

She saw it in his eyes every time he looked at her, caught it on his expression whenever he gazed at Franklin.

But he hadn’t asked it.

And why hadn’t he asked it? Why hadn’t he given her a chance to explain like her brother had begged him to?

Dear Lord, she’d never meant to hurt him. She’d only meant to protect her child, to do the right thing for her child. And she could explain all of that to him; she
wanted
to explain all of that to him…if only he’d ask.

Because she couldn’t be the first to broach the subject. If she did, it might appear as if she was offering excuses and she wasn’t. She had no excuses, because he’d never given her any cause for excuses. He’d only ever given her reasons!