Jack, page 13
part #2 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
“It would react that way to any woman, especially if they’re touching me like you are.”
“Like I am?” she whispered.
God, she was so close. She was so damned close, and he was close to losing his mind. Everything had become incoherent, narrowed down to the way she smelled and how he wanted to bury his nose in her.
“Yes. Like you want to touch me and make it…harder.”
At that, she snatched her hand back as if scalded and proceeded to pale. Jack cursed and tried to reach out, sorry and not wanting the contact to end. He wanted to apologize—wanted to tell her it was okay, she could touch him, and please, touch me lower and squeeze me hard—
Goddamn it, hormones.
“I wasn’t trying anything, I swear,” she blurted out, taking another step back. Another. “I’m sorry if you think I’m taking advantage. I promise to behave.”
More curses blasted in his head.
“Kit—”
When she nearly stumbled inside her room, leaving behind an audible click of the knob, only one curse word stuck and rang over and over.
Shit.
Chapter 17
“I have the reservations ready for you, Fitzpatrick. You’ll be staying at the grand suite, and your current name is Patrick Bates. You’re a businessman attending the hotel’s weekend conference, which should provide enough coverage for your spying. There will be a folder delivered to you in your room, so read up on all the details. The boss sent it over.”
“Not email?” Oliver Fitzpatrick—or Ovie, as everyone called him—asked.
“Nope. Emails leave trails, and you’re in California: land of the big-time clans. The boss said to burn those files after you’re done reading.”
“Alright.”
There was no missing the hint of Irish lilt in Ovie’s voice, a pleasant sound that she always loved to tease him about. She just smiled now, waiting for him to end the call before she dialed another number and repeated what she said earlier.
“Are you bloody kidding me?”
Leila’s explosive reaction wasn’t a shocker, but the vehemence of it was. Safe from the temper tantrum via the phone, Kit merely raised a brow.
“The boss wanted to save money, and you both have separate tasks in the same city. He said it’s best to economize.”
There were some mutters along the lines of, “I’m gonna bloody kill my brother,” and, “This is a disaster,” followed by Leila finally sighing. “Ovie is a pain in the ass.”
“No, he’s not,” Kit automatically blurted out, unable to resist. “He’s the sweetest.”
“Sweet, my ass. He’s like a tick of an older brother who disapproves everything I do. I already have an older brother, thank you very much.”
The call ended with Kit’s ear ringing, and with wonder thumping at this odd relationship. She was used to some of the clan members being good friends, others bickering like siblings. But she’d never pegged Ovie and Leila as close, and the animosity almost felt personal.
Oh well. It was none of her business.
Leila’s particular mission was for another clan member, Malcolm Mulborough, who had lost his eye and fingers a few months ago after some grueling secret mission. That mission had been in another realm, one Kit had almost zero knowledge about, and that mission had pretty much made the man crazy—and very violent. Whatever Leila was doing, Kit hoped it would help.
When her phone rang, she answered it without thought and without looking at the caller ID, already preoccupied with the day’s tasks: getting new clothes that had more muted colors, furthering her disguise before she went to cover for Michelle again.
“Hey, there.”
Jack’s low, warm greeting stopped her in her tracks, then had her finally checking.
“Jack? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was just checking to see how you’re holding up. You left without getting breakfast.”
The casual concern made her stomach dip in delight, and she had to clear her throat to keep her tone normal.
“Hey. I was sort of in a rush, so I just ate a banana. How have you been?”
“I slept well. No nightmares.” An appreciative grunt followed. “Thanks to your special green tea. What was in that mix?”
“That’s a secret I’ll never tell,” she teased, not about to let him know what was in her special, edible plant recipe. “I’m glad you slept well. Do you have any plans for today?”
“Some errands,” he said. “There’s another silver producer in Manhattan, and Killian and I are going to visit the factory owner. Then I need to visit a client for some security upgrade.”
“Sounds busy. Great.”
“Are you going home after your work?”
“Yes,” she said. When he remained silent, Kit was compelled to explain. “All my equipment is there, and I can’t delay my work. I have some programming stuff to submit to part-time clients. I also need to check on some local work.”
“Hmm.”
“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “They were looking for a golden-streaked beauty.”
“And now we have a brunette beauty,” he rasped, making her heart skip a beat. Never mind that he said it distractedly. “Kit, I’ve always felt comfortable on your couch.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, yeah? Comfortable enough to crash the night again?”
“If it’s fine with you.”
At that, she rolled her eyes. “Sure, like you haven’t done that the past few weeks.” That surprised her, how seamlessly it had happened—how she hadn’t noticed it had been weeks until now. “But under one condition.”
“What?”
“Bring a mean dessert. Something home-cooked.”
The chuckle that vibrated from him skated down her spine, tickling at her senses. She began to grow giddy when he replied. “Oh, you’re on. What I have for you will blow your mind.”
“Bring it, then. I can’t wait.”
Oh, it was so wrong to be excited over something so trivial, and she scolded herself for being stupid. But there was no denying that something had changed between them since last night—perhaps even before that, shifting what was between them into something more intimate. She’d seen it in his eyes—knew that neither of them knew what it was, but both of them were going to go with its flow, anyway.
Or perhaps she was just delusional, and there was nothing there. But Kit wasn’t about to try to obsess over it and distract herself.
Instead, she let it simmer, getting on with her day in an incessantly good mood. The rest of her tasks went by in a blur until she was back at the radio station, goofing around with some co-workers before she sat in the booth. The person manning the phone lines, Lydia, joked about perverts and kicking their asses before the microphone was turned on, and Kit started the segment.
It went by smoothly, with most of the fielded calls females and sharing embarrassing stories about sexcapades gone horribly wrong. She played some good music in between, promised Lydia a treat for bringing her a box of doughnuts. She was halfway into tearing through her dozen of glazed goodness when she noticed Lydia stilling on a call, then turning to her with frantic eyes. Kit finished her current on-air call, played some music, and pressed the mute button.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s that Danny caller from last time. He claims he has something important to tell you.”
“Shit.”
“Should I put him on air, or…?”
“No, don’t put him on air,” Kit said firmly. “That’s what he wants: airtime. He gets off on pranking people and listeners hearing it. I’ll talk to him after the last caller.”
Lydia nodded, then proceeded to do just that. Another caller came in, and Kit forced herself to focus her attention on the conversation instead of the call on hold for her. When the on-air call was done and they ended Michelle’s segment with a few more songs, Kit finally got out of her chair and went to Lydia’s, taking the phone to her ear. She pressed the hold button twice.
“Hey, Danny. I didn’t expect you to be calling me again.”
Silence. Then, “Hello, DJ Kit. I didn’t expect you to ignore me instead of letting me on the segment.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting your airtime.”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Yes, well, we can’t get everything we want,” she said through gritted teeth. It annoyed her that he was this calm when she’d been on the verge of panic that night. “That was uncool, Danny, and I’d appreciate it if you never called us again. Come to think of it, don’t call us again.”
“I don’t know what prank you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.”
She hung up, then shot Lydia an irritated look. “Can you make sure to field his calls and hang up on him every time? Don’t say a word to him. I want it to get to his head that we’re not tolerating his bullshit.”
“Got it, Kit. Your next segment is in fifteen minutes.”
“Enough time for me to finish my doughnuts, then,” she replied, then proceeded to do so with gusto. The sugar high helped get rid of the annoyance, and she soon forgot about Danny as she covered yet another co-worker’s stint and let joy shine through in her voice. No use letting her callers know she was tense.
But there was no denying the lingering feeling of unease running down her veins, though it was faint enough to be ignored for now. She threw herself into work, thanked Lydia a bunch when the woman volunteered to stay instead of going out until her own segment. Finally done, Kit packed her stuff and readied herself, already feeling excited over the prospect of going home to someone. Sure, she’d probably be the first one home, but she’d be up until he was there, and the possibilities of a hefty dinner and a great companion…
It wasn’t until she was close to her home that she felt it: the nape of her neck acting weird before she deduced it was prickling. Realizing she wasn’t paying careful attention to her surroundings, Kit straightened up and hurried along, eyes taking in the lit paths and crowds, then the darker paths she regularly took.
Not about to be dumb about it, she went for the lit paths, her hand in her pocket securing the dagger and ready to pull it out at any second. That second didn’t come, the crowd providing a sense of security until she was finally in her neighborhood and slipping in her garage door.
What she saw inside had her heart stopping and every bit of blood draining from her body. Not the tools that weren’t touched, but the fact that the table covering her basement entrance was pushed to the side.
And the hatch was wide open.
There was no sound inside, but she saw it: a lightbulb turned on, dimly illuminating the computer parts streaking her stairway. Her feet nearly took her to that entrance before she abruptly stopped, common sense kicking in and screaming at her that this had to be a trap. She lurched backward, torn between panic and fear.
Without thinking, she slammed the hatch back down, loud enough to make a clanging sound before it clicked back to its lock. The table glided back in its place.
Kit turned around and ran.
She kept running, never once stopping to call emergency and Jack—not when she couldn’t let authorities see her private place, no matter how violated it was. The thought of that violation slammed into her like a hammer, and she bit back a sob and wondered if everything had been ransacked. Then there was no more time for thought as footsteps pounded on the pavement behind her, hidden in the dark paths the follower took.
She used the crowd to her advantage, went for twists and turns that she often used when she was in a hurry with errands. Kit basically let instinct run itself, but that instinct also told her she was still being followed, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Well, not nothing, because she could do one thing: not lead this creature to Jack’s safe haven. Instead of going there directly, she escaped towards a bar first, hurrying to the very back and planting herself inside a locked janitor’s supply closet.
The darkness of the small, square room surrounded her, safety feeling like a ticking bomb. She steadied her body, pressed her back against the shelf filled with disinfecting items as she waited the time out. Maybe ten minutes, fifteen, until this person lost her trail. If it were one of the vampires, that would be more difficult, especially if they could see better in the dark streets…
The knob rattled, a soft movement barely noticed. But she noticed it, and her eyes locked on it even as the rattling stopped. It was followed by clicking sounds: the lock being picked, carefully so.
Panic threatened to rise, but she forced it back down and carefully shimmied to the floor, then to the wall at the side of the door. She took out her dagger.
She readied herself, her brain telling her she knew how to do this even though she’d never done it before. It felt like the clicking went on forever, but it stopped at one point, and the knob turned.
The door creaked open, slowly letting light in and letting her see a pair of faded jeans molded on thighs thick enough for a male. The head was hidden, a cap covering it.
Her dagger moved, swiping hard and coming in contact with a foot. There was a hiss as the man stumbled forward, straight towards the shelf. With a surge of strength, Kit kicked the man’s back further until crashing sounds filled the room.
Then she scrambled to her feet and out of there, ignoring the shouts from the bar front asking about the sudden commotion.
Kit slipped in the alley, then kept running, knowing curious bar patrons would be wandering out soon. She hurried to a clothing store and shakily bought an ugly brown coat, letting it cover her clothes and tucking her head in the hood. Finally, she turned a corner, then stopped when a streak of bloodied trousers flashed in her line of vision, just behind her.
Her heart stopped.
She ran to the apartment building just in time to avoid the man turning the same corner and seeing, then kept running to the last elevator to the right. There, Kit frantically pressed buttons, remembering the combination to the penthouse. Frustration hit her when she realized she still wouldn’t be allowed to enter, and—
“Who is this?”
“Kit!” she screamed into the speaker. “It’s Kit!”
The elevator kept going, stopping at the last floor and opening.
At the sight of Jack striding towards her with a frown on his lips, Kit felt panic dissipate and relief replace it, weighing heavy on her.
She stumbled forward and bit back a sob.
Chapter 18
The fear that filled him at the sight of Kit’s face nearly tore him apart, but he kept his composed state as she stumbled out of the elevator and into his arms. Her brown coat was practically swallowing her whole, and her breathing was unsteady, as if she’d run a mile a minute. Her heart was palpitating against his chest, and it made him want to pull her in and ease her into calm.
Instead, Jack followed his cop instincts and gently pried her off, placing his hands on her shoulders to look her in the eye.
“Kit? What’s wrong?”
“I thought it was the vampires, but nightwalkers don’t wear faded jeans,” she blurted out, her words running all over each other. “They just don’t, and I know this. I think I do.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She looked up, her eyes filled with weariness. Dismay, too. “Danny called again, and I talked to him. I think he figured out our radio station location and tried to follow me. He figured out my home, too, and ransacked it.” Her lower lip trembled. “He followed me to a bar, and I stabbed his foot and got out of there. I’m sorry, but this was the only place I could escape to. I’m still not sure if it was him or a vampire.”
Every word was filled with vulnerability, and every word made rage pound in his system. That rage had him clutching her tighter as he eased her back and nodded his head.
“Alright. I’m going to get him.”
He strode to the elevator, already punching the floor number and ready to tear someone up. The closing door was abruptly halted when Kit pushed it open, then launched herself inside in an almost violent manner.
“No, don’t go.”
Hands took hold of his shirt.
“Kit, what—”
“You’re safe here, and it’s better that we ensure the safety of this home first,” she explained. “Please, let’s be rational here.”
“There’s no rational when he hurt you,” he growled, glaring at her. He reached out to press the button again, but she beat him to it by pressing stop and locking the elevator to the penthouse floor. “Goddamn it, Kit—”
“Please,” she pleaded. “Please listen to me.”
Hands yanked him forcefully. When he didn’t budge, she moved towards him and pressed against him, seemingly to physically stop him from going anywhere at first.
Until she stood on tiptoe.
Until she pressed her lips to his, shaking him to the core and into non-movement.
Kit was kissing him. She was doing so insistently, bordering on desperate, as if her life depended on it. The back of his mind roared that this was tactics, and this was a last resort to get him to agree with what she was saying. It was her stubbornness fighting against his, the wily female rising to meet male pride intent on bull-heading down.
Fury was blanketed by desire—a hot, thrumming lust that spurted like lava in his veins and thickened his blood. He'd thought of that ripe mouth, had imagined what she would taste like. Had dreamed it, even, waking him up with a hard-on in the mornings and aching for a taste.
None of them compared to what she tasted now: ripe, riper than he could ever imagine.
Fucking delicious.
The non-movement became movement as Jack kissed her back and very nearly swallowed her up with the lust breaking free from his system. He slid his tongue in, staggered at the willingness of those opening lips and her tongue peeking out. The taste of her became steeper, warmer, snapping in his blood like fire and burning him inside out. Hands moved, skimming across her sides and reveling in the way her body jerked forward. Blood rushed downward, his cock a weeping mass of desire and more than ready to plunge in.
