The McCullagh Inn in Maine (6 page)

I'd nearly driven
into a tree when I got Paul's text.
CNN's covering it.
I still remembered what a comfort my brother had been to me as I'd spilled all my dirty secrets. It was bad enough that Paul had put two and two together with the little bit I'd told him, but what if Jeremy did, too? I guess I had let myself fall into a false sense of security as the days ticked by with no repercussions. Now I had a brother in the hospital and the media shining a spotlight on things.

I pulled over to check out the link Paul had texted. I scanned the article quickly and breathed a sigh of relief, dropping my phone back onto my lap. They didn't seem to have too many details. It said that Richard was shot in his home and that his death was further proof we were losing the War on Drugs. No duh.

The situation clearly called for junk food, so I swung by Ollie's Diner to pick some up for me and Paul. In his hospital room, we talked about the new development, but that only led to circular arguments. There was nowhere to go with this mess.

A day later, I sat in my car again, trying to muster the courage to head into the inn. Jeremy was painting in the living room and I had a bag of supplies on the passenger seat. I had to admit, once Jeremy had started pitching in, a lot more progress had been made on the renovations. I flitted from project to project, doing whatever caught my attention at that moment, but Jeremy always liked to finish what he started.

I couldn't help but compare him to Richard. Richard never let me “flit around.” He was a massive control freak and needed to oversee everything from start to finish. That included people. We had met at the holiday party, back when I first started at the DA's office. He was already a rising star. I thought we'd been swept away—that our relationship was like something out of a romance novel—whereas he saw a puppet he could manipulate.

Little did he know that there ain't no strings on me.

My reverie was interrupted by a woodpecker doing its thing in the trees. I should run again. I knew I should, but…I didn't really want to. Maybe I needed to be more like that woodpecker and just keep banging away until I got what I wanted. Maybe it was time to stand my ground and fight. Turning my head, I looked at my inn, the place I wanted to make my sanctuary. Over the past few days, Jeremy and I had bonded over our plans to renovate, and for once, things felt
normal
. I was dreaming of a future like any other average person.

And then it got blown apart by CNN.

All the blinds were pulled up in the living room, and I could see Jeremy standing on a ladder, painting the walls that I'd taped the other night. He'd sanded them yesterday, and now the plaster was getting new life under his roller with the paint I'd carefully picked out. My dreams were coming to life, but at any moment, they'd die in front of me.

God, could I be any more melodramatic?

Shaking my head, I cut the moping, straightening my spine. I wouldn't be
that
girl. I would be the girl who fought. Look at what I'd done to get here. If the cartels wanted a fight? Well, then, I'd give them a fight on
my
turf. If they wanted to come at me, they'd have to do it in the broad light of day. No more shadows for me. That part of my life was over. It
had
to be. I was Chelsea…Adams.

And I wasn't going
anywhere
.

Besides, if they knew where I was, I'd be dead already. They were obviously using the cops to try to flush me out, so I had time to come up with a game plan. My aim was to win. I grabbed the supplies out of the backseat and trudged up to the front door. Rock music blared out the open windows, and Jeremy sang along loudly and out of tune. Smiling, I glanced up at the old inn and saw home.

And Jeremy was undeniably a part of that picture, whether I liked it or not. I wasn't sure if I did yet. But that was okay. For once, I was okay with being unsure. Waiting to see how things worked out between the two of us should have scared me, but with danger lurking…yeah, it didn't. It was freeing to not give a damn anymore. Opening the door, I set the bags down. Jeremy's biceps flexed and hardened as he stroked the roller up the wall, set on making my dreams a reality. I took a second to admire the view, then called out, “I'm home.”

“Did you get everything?”

“Yup.” I came into the room, studying his workmanship. It was flawless. Excitement built inside me and I smiled. “That light peach is even prettier on the walls than it was on the card.”

“It really brightens up the place,” he agreed, grinning. “Did you decide whether you want the fireplace painted?”

“Yep.” I pointed to the cans of paint at my feet. “Antique white won.”

He nodded. “Good choice.”

“Yeah. Paul suggested it.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “He'll be coming to live here, with us, once he's out next week, by the way. Once he's healed, he can help us out with renovations.”

“Do you think that's—?” He gave the wall one more stroke before turning around mid-sentence. As he did, his sleeve brushed the wet wall. “Well, shit.”

I laughed, but cut it off quickly when he shot me a narrow-eyed look. Forcing a straight face, I asked, “Do I think it's what?”

“Funny?” he asked, ripping his shirt over his head and hopping off the ladder effortlessly. He landed on both feet, dropping the shirt as his feet touched. I gulped down air, because, God, those
abs
. He stalked toward me, his eyes narrow.

I forced myself to stand my ground, even though I wanted to flee for my life. The cartel didn't send me running, but give me a shirtless Jeremy and I was a goner. “Yes?”

That brow shot up, and he took another step toward me. “Is that a question?”

“No.” I lifted my chin. “I think it's funny you got paint on you, without a doubt.”

Reaching out, he rested a tender hand on my shoulder, skimming his hand over the bare skin of my shoulder by my tank top straps. “Good. I'd hate to make you uncertain about anything when it comes to me. I know what I want from you, and I want you to feel the same certainty I do.”

He lowered his face to mine, his eyes seductive.

I closed my eyes, breath held, ready to be kissed, and then he…

Ran the paint roller down my face.

Fricking Jeremy Holland.

I gasped, stumbling
back with wide eyes, my mouth parted in surprise, and trying my best to act as if he'd taken me off guard by painting me instead of kissing me. Well, I mean, he
had
. But I wasn't so off balance that I couldn't start plotting my revenge. Dad had taught me a few tricks, and Jeremy wouldn't see me coming till it was too late. “I can't believe you just did that,” I shrieked, lurching backward until I bumped into something.

He started laughing hysterically, bending over, taking his attention off me.
Jackpot
. “You…should…see…your…
face
.”

“I can't,” I answered, creeping closer and closing my fist around my target. His laughter washed over me like a million lights in a gloomy basement. “But I can see yours.”

He glanced up just in time for me to swipe the paintbrush I'd grabbed from the can across his entire face—and into some of his hair. He jumped back, but not quickly enough. He blinked at me, his eyes standing out comically against the light-peach paint, and his lips bright pink in contrast. I burst into laughter, pointing at him. “Oh my God. If I look anything like that, then—
agh!
”

I hit the floor, his arms cradling me so I didn't get hurt. The second we settled, he caught my arms over my head, trapping my weapon, leaving me defenseless with Jeremy Holland between my thighs. As he struggled to hold both my wrists with one hand, he lifted the roller threateningly. “Oh, so you want to play dirty?”

“You started it,” I accused, arching my back, trying to throw him off. It did nothing besides let him settle in between my legs more firmly. I gasped when he rolled his hips, teasing me with his hardness. “
Now
who's playing dirty?” I said.

“Baby, you have no idea how dirty I can get,” he murmured, dropping the roller and cupping my cheek. Tilting my chin up, he stared down into my eyes, his grip tightening on me. “But I'm willing to show you, if you'd like.”

“Yes,” I breathed, anticipation making my nerves tingle. “God, yes.”

The breath I'd been holding burst out at the exact moment his lips touched mine, making everything seem right in the world again. He was hesitant at first, probably giving me a chance to change my mind, but when I strained to get closer, he claimed me fully. It was as if I'd been walking a labyrinth for the last eight years, and the second he was holding me,
kissing
me, the maze went straight, and suddenly I knew exactly where I was going and why.

He didn't let go of my wrists, but ran his thumb over my pulse gently as his tongue swept inside my mouth. He tasted like beer and Jeremy, a combination I missed more than I cared to admit. I slid my hand over his lower back, pressing closer to him as I curled a leg around him, locking him in place. There was no doubt. No fear. Okay, that was a lie. The way he made me feel scared the hell out of me. But even so?

It just felt
right
.

Skimming his hand down my sides, he deepened the kiss, stealing the last bit of coherent thought from my mind until all I could focus on was getting him naked and buried inside me. I needed Jeremy with a passion that burned me, that changed me, and there was no stopping now that we'd begun again.

I tugged at his shirt, moaning and writhing beneath him impatiently. Tearing my mouth free of his, I sucked in a breath, the room spinning around us. “I need you.
Now.
”

He slid his hand under my butt, nodding, pressing his forehead to mine. “You have me. You always have.” He caught my mouth again and rocked his erection against me, sending pleasure through my veins. I pushed closer, desperate for the release only he could give me, and dug my nails into my palms, tugging for him to free my wrists.

He let go immediately, like he'd just been reminded he had been holding them, and stopped kissing me. Instead of keeping his lips on mine, he brought them down my body, one torturous inch at a time. My jaw. My throat. Directly over my pulse. My collarbone. The top of my breast. The lower he went, the faster my heart raced, and it got so loud, I swore he heard it, too.

So loud, I could feel the glass of the window above shattering over us, slicing my skin with its jagged edges—wait, what?

Jeremy threw himself over my body, completely shielding me, and it was then—oh God, it was
then
—that I realized the pounding I'd heard wasn't my heartbeat. It had been bullets, breaking windows, and implanting themselves in the freshly painted plaster. And those bullets were still coming, showing no sign of stopping anytime soon. Jeremy cursed, covering my body even more, pressing me down into the floor so hard that I couldn't breathe.

We were going to die.

Jeremy gritted his
teeth, growling as the bullets whizzed over his head, somehow miraculously avoiding them. One second, he'd been in heaven in Chelsea's arms, and the next, the threat of danger became all too real. He'd let his guard down, forgotten for a split second that he was supposed to be keeping her
safe,
and look what had happened. She'd almost been killed.

The second the bullets stopped, he was on his feet. They might just be pausing to reload, but he didn't give a damn. With Chelsea in danger, he wouldn't stand here waiting to find out and not fight back. “Stay down. Got it?”

She nodded, eyes wide, opening her mouth. She had small cuts on her cheeks and arms from the glass but otherwise looked fine. He didn't wait for her to speak. Instead, he took off out the front, taking the gun that she'd stowed in the table by the door. He didn't bother to look back when she gasped. There wasn't time. He had to catch those assholes who dared to shoot at his girl, damaging what she was trying to fix. Hell, he had to save her life, so she could be
his
girl, and so this place could become an inn again.

He bolted onto the porch, leaping off and raising the gun at eye level.

A dented black Cadillac screeched around the corner, out of shooting range. His finger tightened on the trigger. He ached to put a few holes in those sons of bitches, but he didn't have the shot.
“Shit.”
Lowering the gun, he pulled his phone out, sent off a quick text, and headed back inside the inn.

Chelsea stood shakily, pressing a hand to her stomach. Her face was pale and she looked seconds from falling over, so he shoved the gun back in the drawer and rushed to her side, running his hands over her in case he'd somehow missed an injury besides her superficial wounds. “What's wrong?”

Shaking her head, she pressed her lips into a thin line and gripped his bicep, holding on to it tightly. She choked on a laugh. “
Everything's
wrong. Someone just shot up my home and tried to kill us.”

“Yeah. They did. But they failed.” Jeremy took a deep breath and pulled her into his arms, curling his hand behind her head and cradling it protectively. She was so brave and so strong that sometimes he forgot she wasn't in this line of work. Or at least she wasn't supposed to be. “I've got you, Chels. I won't let anything happen to you.”

“That's sweet.” She buried her face in his chest, breathing deeply, and for the first time since she came back, she leaned on him. “But it's a foolish thing to say. You have no idea what's going on.”

He held her close, preparing for the worst. “So tell me.”

“There's nothing to tell.” She pushed off his chest, but her hands lingered. “The decisions I made, the messes I created, they're mine. I don't need anyone trying to fix them for me. If you know what's good for you, you'll stop trying. You've seen what happens when people try to help me. From here on out, I go it alone.”

He caught her hand, refusing to let her go. “Tell me what you're planning to do.”

“What makes you think I'm planning anything at all?” Chelsea crossed her arms defensively.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth, but he didn't say a damn word. Sirens sounded outside. “I—”

“Shit.” She pushed her hair out of her face, going even paler than before. “Someone called the cops?”

“There was a bunch of gunfire. Of course someone called the cops. Do you have a reason to hide this from them?” he asked slowly, locking eyes with her. “Is there something you want to tell me before they get here?”

“I…” She opened her mouth, closed it, and then shook her head. Disappointment hit him in the chest like a lingering bullet. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Okay.” Clenching his jaw, he headed for the door. “Stay in here. I'll take care of this and send them on their way.” As he walked out the door, he shut it behind him, heading for the closest car. The red-and-blue lights blinded him as Larry stepped out of the driver's seat. “What happened here, Jeremy?”

He sighed, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. Larry's gaze dipped down, then shot back up immediately. “I'll tell you everything you need to know, but then you need to get the hell out of here.”