Zero: A protective hero romantic suspense, page 11
But it backfires.
She clamps her mouth shut, making her lips all but disappear, and vacantly stares as if I’m not even there.
I get the strong impression she doesn’t think I’m funny and refuses to even pretend I am. But her displeasure doesn’t stop me from shoving my foot in my mouth further.
“Well, you know what they say. Misery loves company. At least you aren’t alone because he doesn’t tell me anything either.”
Hazel’s cheeks redden, not impressed with me and clearly not willing to accept we could have this one teeny tiny thing in common when it comes to this enigmatic man.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nose in the air, she slants her head away from me as if it’s too much to look at me. “We’re close friends. Friends who tell each other things.”
She squeezes his arm and Zero, while still silent, only watches me, and this unsettles me. How easily he can take everything in and yet never give anything about himself away.
Hazel pulls on his chin, wanting him to look at her, but he doesn’t budge though the muscle in his jaw ticks at their contact, and he curls his hand at his side into a fist.
“Do you want to dance?” Everything about her is immediately hopeful.
Gaze on me, with an intensity that would make flowers shrivel, he removes Hazel’s hand and steps away from her. “No. Go back to the table. I’ve paid the bill and once I’ve had a word with Morgan, we’ll go.”
She dithers, clearly not liking anything he’s said. A kaleidoscope of emotions play across her face, and I fear she might explode or morph from Doctor Jekyll into Mister Hyde right in front of us. But something just as bizarre happens. Hazel plasters on a smile, nods, and leaves as if she wasn’t ready to blow a second ago.
I want to ask more about her but it would look like I care. It would look like I want to know why he’s out with another woman only hours after spending the afternoon with me. Is she like me, someone he thinks he can help? Or is she his girlfriend? Wife?
Fuck, I care.
Why do I care?
Because Hazel’s giving off weird vibes and some part of me—the fucked-up part—recognizes something in her, like she might be too and then some.
Still, it’s more than that and before I overthink it or altogether, let it go, I get into his face. “Who is Hazel to you?”
He strokes his beard. “She doesn’t matter.”
“I doubt she’d agree with you on that.” I glance in her direction. “She didn’t particularly care for me, or for you bossing her around.”
“But she left, didn’t she?”
“Who is she?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just someone I know.”
“Are you helping her too?”
He slants his head to the side and his forever-assessing eyes remain fixed on me. “At one time, I did.”
What the hell does that mean?
I inch closer and harden my glare. “Why did you bring her here? Is this some kind of game?”
Dark and heavy eyes bore into me. “Forget about Hazel. She’s only here tonight because she’s staying with me for a short time.”
“Staying with you?” The question’s out and I want to snatch it back and shove it down my throat.
Choke on it.
It sounds like I care.
I rub at my temple, dipping my head so I don’t have to look at him. I need a reprieve from his incessant scrutiny. But when I look up again, he’s still there. Eyes unwavering and on me.
“Morgan…” He steps closer and lowers his voice. “Are you jealous?”
My retort is immediate and childish. “You wish.”
His steely gaze intensifies, roving over me like he’s touching me. His stare caresses my cheek, along my jawline, down my neck and lingers on my collarbone before it flicks back to my eyes. He shifts closer still, so close that with each breath our chests brush ever so slightly.
The contact, like an electric jolt, causes me to snap out of this strange and dangerous trance. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to kiss me.”
“I don’t.” His response is swift and cold, and I should be relieved.
I have no intention of kissing him. Ever.
And yet I’m…disappointed. No…wounded? Closer but not quite right…
I’m gutted.
Teeth gritted, I fist my hands, no longer wanting to be here or to continue this standoff with him, but before I can leave, strong fingers roost on my wrist, and my composure falters.
Another piercing jolt of electricity zaps all my nerve endings.
My fingers slowly unfurl and loosen.
Wordlessly, he raises my arm, bringing my hand closer to him, to his face. What is he doing?
My breath shallows and my eyes remain glued to him. Warm, soft lips press against the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. The short whiskers of his beard tickle my flesh, causing goose pimples to burst.
Such a sweet, simple act, but I feel it in every part of my body.
Hot, wired, and alive.
13
ZERO
Music blasts from the Lounge, intensifying the closer I am to the building. My truck’s parked in the back this time with the employee cars. Today Elvis kept an eye on Morgan for me and used my truck so he could easily get around.
Normally, I’d watch her, but I flew into the city for the day for business with the Feds and Miami police. I had intel that JungleCat is planning a transaction to take place in Miami soon.
After, exhausted and frayed, I went out on Andiamo for a few hours, needing the alone time. Time to unwind and get centered. I’m glad I did. The pulsing music and nattering crowd inside the Lounge will quickly deplete any inner peace I replenished out on the sea.
Elvis had nothing eventful to report other than Morgan being driven to work by a guy. Based on his description, it sounds like Todd, so she’ll be without wheels to get home, and even if she’s made plans, I hope to drive her home at the end of her shift.
When Morgan and I talked on the yacht, I never got around to telling her that I’m watching her, though I need to. I’m waiting for the right time without confirming her stalker fears about me.
She may think it’s wrong, but what if this one time, when I wasn’t around, Randy Poole showed up? Even if I don’t think he’ll make a move, I’m not willing to risk her safety on a gut feeling.
Angry voices, loud enough to distinguish over the music, carry from the alley beside the building. I can make out three people talking, or more like arguing, but from this distance, their features are shadowed.
Something about the situation causes me to wander toward them, stopping when I’m close enough to make out their words.
A man says, “Mickey, get the hell out of here before I tell Shug what you do in there.” His finger points at the building, and I recognize the voice. Todd.
The other guy is older and thinner. Mickey, the drug dealer and the one Todd was talking to, laughs so hard his shoulders shake. He bends at the waist, clearly having a jolly good time with whatever this is.
Closer now, I take a second look at the third person. A woman. Still somewhat shadowed, it’s her movements I recognize. Morgan.
In black jean shorts and a white form-fitting, off-the-shoulder top that nicely displays her midriff, she looks great but distressed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes fixed on the men talking.
Mickey straightens. “And you don’t think Shug knows? You’re dumber than I thought.” He wipes at his eye and gets in Todd’s face. “You get the hell out of here. Morgan and I were doing business.”
That’s all the reason I need to interrupt and make my presence known. “The fuck you are.”
All three turn to face me, and Mickey glowers. “Get lost, asshole.”
Todd stares, surprised. “Who are you?”
And Morgan steps toward me, brows pinched. “What are you doing here?”
I breathe in her musky floral fragrance that I readily anticipate whenever she’s near. “Came to see you.” Then I glower at Mickey. “You’ve got one minute to get out of here before I call the cops.”
The scumbag scoffs, clearly not believing me. So for good measure, so he knows I’m not bluffing, I pull out my phone.
“Fifty seconds. And believe me, you don’t want me calling the cops.”
“You’ve got nothing on me. This is a public place, and I did nothing wrong.” He looks to Morgan, then Todd as if suddenly they’re all on the same side. “It’s a free fucking country, asshole.”
“I’m not talking about what you’ve done now. I’ve got shit on you that could put you away for the rest of your life. Forty seconds.”
He bumps his bony chest with mine, unafraid though I’m several inches taller and easily fifteen pounds of muscle heavier. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself.” I pause and hold his gaze for a tick before delivering a blow. “Pensacola.”
My eyes drop to my phone then back to him, and as expected, he’s suddenly ashen and backing away from me. There’s no need to say anymore. Some real dark and twisted shit went down in Pensacola and if it ever got out, he’d never see the light of day.
“Thirty—” I don’t bother to finish when Mickey whips open the back door to the Lounge and disappears inside. He may be gone, but this isn’t over. Mickey will get what’s coming to him. Just not today.
Morgan tugs on my sleeve, trying to get me to face her. “Are you following me?”
Tiny worry lines gather in the small space between her brows, and mouth twisted, she taps her foot, waiting for my response.
“Yes and no.”
“Jesus Christ, not this again.”
“Morgan, who is this guy?” Todd eyes me like he might have to give my description to a police sketch artist.
I flash a toothy grin, wanting to unnerve him, and step closer. Morgan pulls at my arm to stop me from getting into Todd’s space and leaves her hand on my arm. Electric.
“Relax, Todd. I know him. He’s okay.”
“Okay? You just asked him if he’s following you. Sounds anything but okay.” The guy’s a whiny bitch, but I don’t say so even though I really want to.
Something tells me if I were to say as much, Morgan would rip me a new one—which I’d like to see—and worse yet, side with Todd.
“Todd, can you just leave us?” Morgan tightens her jaw anticipating his rebuttal.
“Holy shit, this is him, isn’t it?”
“Who?” Morgan’s beyond irritated and reminding me of other times when I’d seen her on edge.
Is this why she was out here with Mickey? She finally ran out of the Xanax and was looking for more.
“This is the guy. The one Lorna talked about.” Todd runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck, Morgan. Just look at him. If I had any doubt…” He shakes his head. “You can’t help yourself, can you?” He glares at her.
“What?” She glares right back, fearless.
“You’re so determined to blow your life up, aren’t you?” I don’t like his tone or his selfish motives, but he isn’t wrong. “If you don’t go with me now, I won’t be there to pick up the pieces like I did the last time.”
Beyond exasperated, she snorts and narrows her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t pick up the pieces.” I pull away from Morgan’s hold, now in Todd’s face, ensuring I’m all he can see.
“What do you know?” He puffs out his chest, challenging, but not close enough to touch. “You weren’t there.”
“No, but I know Morgan.” I glance over my shoulder to grab her watchful eye and she’s a mixture of bewildered and irritated. “She isn’t broken. Not then, and not now.”
All her agitation vanishes with a gasp. Her eyes shine and widen, whether in shock or awe I’m uncertain, and I shift to the side, so both of them are in my sights, but what I have to say only matters to Morgan. Todd isn’t important.
“No matter what Morgan has been through, she isn’t broken.”
“Zero. I—” She struggles to continue, at a loss.
“What?” I ask, wanting to help her along.
Before she can say anything, Todd, the selfish prick, growls, “Fuck it. I’m done.”
I half expect her to go after him. Morgan can’t help herself and wants to not hurt his feelings even if he refuses to get the message. In the short time I’ve been in Destin, I’ve witnessed the same cycle between these two, time and time again.
This time she doesn’t.
Finally, we’re alone, and I break the silence. “Isn’t your shift over?”
“Um, yeah.” She grimaces like she’s eaten something foul. “And Todd was my ride.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day because I’m here to pick you up.”
“What? How’d you—” She straightens her purse strap on her shoulder. “Forget it. You’re a nosy bastard and know way too much about me.”
“I wouldn’t say it like that but yeah.”
“And don’t think I didn’t notice how you didn’t answer the question about following me. You totally are, aren’t you?”
My silence says it all, and surprisingly, she doesn’t get mad, stomp off, or grill me about it on the drive to her apartment.
Once there, she invites me up and I wait until we’re inside to bring up what I’ve wanted to say since seeing her in the alley. Or more accurately since I came into her apartment that night when Todd brought her home and saw the pills. The second time that day. First at the gun range.
“Are you out of them?”
She spins to face me, purse on the ground and shoes kicked off to the side. “Out of what?”
“Xanax.”
She stiffens and darts her gaze away from me. “That’s none of your business. You’re helping to find Randy, that’s it.”
Scanning the room, I spot the pill bottle on the coffee table and grab it before she realizes what I’m doing. There’s no need to open the bottle to check if she’s out. Just a shake and pills rattle against the plastic.
“You still have some.” I hold the bottle up to the light and spy about a dozen or so left. “So why were you talking to Mickey?”
“Zero, get out.” She holds out her hand, silently commanding me to give her the pills.
“Do you need help?”
“I’m not an addict.”
“Generally when someone offers that up without provocation…”—I pause for a beat, then two, looking into her fiery gaze—”it indicates they are.”
“I’m not.” For emphasis, she crosses her arms over her middle and straightens.
“It’s okay if you are. If you need help. There’s no shame in that.”
“Fuck you.” She stomps to the door and flings it wide open. “I want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave like this. And if I do leave, you’re going to take one of these, aren’t you?” I shake the bottle and she flinches.
She shuts the door and grabs the bottle from my grasp. “We’re not talking about this.”
Like a dying flower, my hope that she wouldn’t go for the pills falls like the last petal to the ground.
Morgan slams the prescription bottle onto the hall table and walks back into the living room. “I want to know more about Randy and how I can help.”
She sits on one corner of the sofa, never taking her eyes off me, and I sigh, resigned. I’d anticipated she’d want to be involved, and since we’ve already butted heads over the pills, I don’t want to go another round.
“Kyla is the ex-fiancée and Randy’s piece.” I sit on the other end of the sofa.
She grimaces at my choice of words and leans forward, intrigued. Until now, I’ve left out names and was purposely vague because I didn’t want her jumping online and playing vigilante.
“Kyla’s been sending money to a bank account in the Keys.”
She springs to her feet and claps her hands together, unable to contain her excitement. “Shit. Do you think that’s Randy?”
“Don’t know yet.” I’m using a measured tone in efforts to bring her down to earth.
“What do you mean? That’s all you have?”
“I’ll continue to dig now that I have this lead.”
I’ve been focused on the case with the Feds but will give this equal attention. The FBI meeting today was about the increasing chatter around a potential transaction going down in Miami soon. We need to be prepared to move at a moment’s notice.
“I don’t get it. You said you were the best.” Her bitterness stings but I let her get it out. She’s on edge.
“I am.”
“I’m not so sure. I need you to let me know what’s going on every step of the way.” She launches herself at me. Her knees smack the sofa cushion next to my thigh, her face inches from mine. “Don’t shut me out.”
The vulnerability in her eyes, her voice…there’s no way I could. A prickling heat builds within my chest and weighs me down. I don’t know what to do, how to show her what I feel, what she’s coming to mean to me.
I’m not one for touching. Kissing. None of it. But Morgan makes me want more, things I’m not able to handle, things that are way out of my depth. Intimacy, touching, passion. Things I’ve never had and I’m not sure I could manage.
My pulse races and my gaze drops to her lips. Pink, lush, and lickable.
No, I can’t kiss her.
I don’t want to kiss her.
I don’t like kissing.
Never.
Her chest heaves and the amber hue of her big, beautiful eyes does something to me. Unable to leave things like this, I take her hand and she watches intently as I press my mouth to the heart of her palm.
Her breath hitches and she shivers at the scratch of my stubble against her tender flesh. My mouth stays like that for a long time, breathing in her feminine scent, tasting her sweet, salty skin.
I don’t stop there even when I should and trail my lips up to the tip of her pointer finger. I’m an explorer trekking through uncharted territory, examining and memorizing every inch of her digit.
My lips pucker and taste the tip of her finger, and I do the same with another one, then the next until I pull her pinky into my mouth. Our gazes collide, sparks fly like fireworks, and she gasps.
