Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JAKE

Elaine gets to her feet—her bare feet, which were pressed about four inches away from my dick a few minutes ago—and I know I'm sunk. Why the fuck would she believe me? And, if she does, why would she care? Ryan's problems are his and mine, not hers. Besides, I've just admitted I was hoping to steal a multimillion-dollar necklace from her boss.

Even if she doesn't much like her boss, she seems like a woman who believes in doing a job thoroughly.

Hell, I know she is. She adopted a damn cat to get into my apartment. A voice in my head suggests that she took pity on an abandoned cat, and I could use that to my advantage. Maybe that's true, but I'd rather spend the rest of my life in jail than play the pity card. If she's decided to turn me in, there's nothing I can do about it. I'll lie, obviously, but the truth will come out in the end. Ryan will get hurt, my nightmare of being contained will come true, and that will be that. Maybe it's how it was always going to end for us—Ryan hurt and me in jail. He'll feel guilty, and I'll have to carry that too. And…

"Will you please get out of the way?" Elaine says tightly, and I realize I'm still standing directly in front of her, our legs touching, my head tipped down to her, the same way we were outside this house a couple of miserable hours ago.

Back when I thought I had a chance at ending this thing tonight.

"Sorry, by all means," I say, "let me clear your path so you can ruin my life."

"You ruined your own life." She gives me an annoyed look and shoves my arm, her hand leaving a soul imprint on my flesh, and I step aside, watching as she walks away from me.

My mind's barely functional, and even though I know I should be thinking of a way to talk her around, the only thought that's surfacing is that she has a truly spectacular ass—the kind of ass some dead British guy would have written a sonnet about, only he'd have pretended he was talking about a grapefruit. And what the fuck is the matter with me?

I need to convince her to help. I—

I take a step toward her. "You remember the Suicide Squad from the DC comics?"

She glances over her shoulder at me, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. You think now is a good time to discuss comic books, Jake?" Her brow furrows. "What's your real name, anyway?"

"Jake."

Her expression shutters. "Sure."

"It is," I blurt, needing her to believe me. "Just like you're really Elaine. It's easier to react naturally if people are calling you by your real name, or something close."

"Okay, Jake ," she says, turning a little toward me. "Do you have a point?"

"The reason the government formed the Suicide Squad is because they needed people who have superpowers to fight people who have superpowers."

"And for some reason Superman wasn't enough," she scoffs.

A solid point, but I don't actually want to get into a discussion of comic books. Not when the seconds are ticking out on my chance to turn this thing around.

"My point is that you need a thief to find a thief," I say with emphasis. "Someone stole the necklace, and it wasn't me, and I'm more motivated to get it back than any officer of the law would be."

She raises her eyebrows. "But you wouldn't want to give it back to Mrs. Rosings."

"Maybe not," I admit, feeling my plan sink in on itself. "But couldn't we work that part out later? Maybe there's a compromise."

There's not, not with Roark. Especially not with Roark when he's this pissed.

"We'll see," she says in a voice designed to remind me that she has all the power in this situation and I'm vapor. She keeps walking. I take another step toward her, hoping I can convince her that she needs me. That she can't do this without me, and the cops wouldn't be able to do it at all.

"What if it was Anthony or Nina?" I ask. "Do you really think Mrs. Rosings would want you to unleash the police on them?"

Even as I say it, I realize that, yes, Mrs. Rosings would absolutely fucking love to see Nina behind bars for the rest of her life. She'd probably visit her in prison just to see her handiwork. Her precious son, though? I'm guessing she cares a lot about him, in her screwed up way, if she went through this whole charade to convince him he was marrying the wrong woman.

Elaine pauses and then continues walking again, unswayed. Completely unintimidated by me.

Then it hits me that she's not heading for the door, or opening her mouth to shout Thief, thief.

No, she's approaching the now-empty display case. I watch in disbelief as she stops in front of it. Then she untucks her button- up black shirt and pulls it up, flashing her tanned, taut abdomen, instantly making my mouth dry, and opens the case. I watch in disbelief as she pulls the fake necklace out of her pants pocket and wipes it down.

"You were right," I comment through a dry mouth. "It won't fool anyone. It looks like it came out of a shitty gumball machine."

Her lips tip up slightly, but she arranges the necklace in the case, careful not to leave prints anywhere. In the process, she shows me more of that tanned torso and a glimpse of her bra—red, lacy—and—

This is not the fucking time to get hard over a woman who hates you, Jake, for fuck's sake.

"It's the one from your apartment," she says as she closes the case, then gives me a pointed look. "It's pretty good, you know. Suspiciously good."

"You had it in your pocket the whole time?" I ask, torn between being impressed and sort of pissed. Very aware that she neither cares whether I'm impressed nor believes I have any excuse to be pissed.

"You should've guessed," she says, a challenge in her eyes.

"I should have," I agree. I pause, staring at her in the dark, taking in the soft features and hard eyes of this hellcat of a woman. She's a mystery to me. An enigma wrapped in a fucking riddle. If I were another kind of man, a man who knew how to get close to people instead of just swimming at the surface, I'd want to unspool her mysteries to see what lies beneath.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, my voice quavering in a way I don't at all like.

Never show weakness, especially not to a mark.

She's not a mark, but she's something more dangerous—a woman who could destroy me with a word.

"I understand what it's like…to have just one person."

I can see in her eyes that she does understand, and I feel a pulse of connection. Real connection.

"I'm sorry," I say, barely aware of what I'm apologizing for. Trying to steal from her boss?

Pinning her to a wall earlier?

She looks me dead in the eye and says, "You should be."

There are footfalls just beyond the door. Close. I should have heard them earlier, but I've been wrapped up in our stand-off. Whoever it is will be in here within seconds…

We have every right to be in this room, but it seems like a bad idea to be caught standing directly in front of the case. If we're seen there, someone might get the idea to take a closer look at the necklace, and even if the fake is good, I'm not convinced it's that good.

There's barely time to think—definitely no time to say anything—so I just lift Elaine up by the waist and take the three big steps back toward that chair from earlier before setting her back down on her feet. Her pretty red lips open, probably to swear at me. But before any words or disgruntled sounds can escape, I lean down and capture her mouth with mine, my hand still wrapped around the sexy curve of her hip as I coax her to open for me, to put on a good show for our guest.

To give in to this strange, senseless pull…

Understanding registers in her eyes as the sound of the creaking door reaches us, but she still sinks her teeth into my lip, making me laugh into her mouth and flex my fingers on her hip.

"Oh shit," Anthony says, and I pull away, making a show of being surprised and then embarrassed.

"Sorry, man," I say, not letting go of Elaine, because that wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do. Jake Jeffries, who just got pulled off the execution block seconds before the cleaver came down, is most certainly a gentleman. "We got a little carried away."

Elaine layers her hand over mine on her waist, digging her fingernails in even as she makes a show of leaning into me.

He smiles slightly—a good job, buddy kind of smile—then says, "We're calling the evening short." He rubs a hand over his jaw. "I was hoping you'd be able to talk to my mom, but things got a little chaotic."

No shit. They started that way and stayed it.

"We'll do it another time," I say with an insincere smile.

Only…it occurs to me that maybe we really will have to do it another time. If Jake Jeffries isn't dead, then he'll have to make himself useful, and my top two suspects for snatching the necklace are Anthony and Nina. He couldn't have taken it personally unless he moves at the speed of light, but she could have been lying in wait. Clearing my throat, I add, "Maybe we could do a family therapy session."

He looks interested for half a second before his face lifts in a self-deprecating smile. "My mother would never agree to that. She'd sooner kill me."

"You're right," Elaine agrees, tugging my hand away like it's a snail that's left a trail of slime on her shirt. "So you'd have to act like it's something else. Why not invite her over for tea? She loves her high tea."

I don't know what the fuck a high tea entails, but I've befriended Joy at the apartment complex, so maybe she can tell me.

"There's an idea," he says, brightening again. His gaze shifts between the two of us. "Did you two just meet tonight?"

I smile at Elaine. "Yeah, blame it on the hide and seek and the power failure. It set a certain…atmosphere."

He laughs and runs his hand over his jaw again. Is that a nervous tic? And, if so, is it because he's worried we'll guess he cut the power, or because he has the real Heart of the Mountain tucked into his pocket?

I watch him to see if his gaze strays to the display case. It's possible he came in here to make a big show of finding it empty, because the person who sends out the alert is less likely to be accused of having committed the crime. But he doesn't seem to take notice of the display case or care about what's inside.

"At least my mother's games did something for somebody." He nods, and this time his gaze does stray to the case. I watch for any surprise or suspicion, but there's none on his face. Of course, it's dark in here, and he may have better acting skills than I've realized.

Sighing, Anthony says, "Well, I have to go find the other stragglers."

"I'll come with you," I say, stepping forward. It seems like a good plan to re-establish our rapport, especially since I failed to do the one thing he asked of me tonight, but Elaine grabs my hand.

"You offered to see me home, honey ," she says pointedly.

I give Anthony an aw shucks grin. "Sorry," I say. "I did. I'll talk to you soon, man, and we'll get that tea set up."

He smiles back at me. "Thank you. I think my mother's already taken to you. She asked you all about your—" He waves a hand as if he can't think of the word cleanse or maybe just doesn't want to say it.

His mother definitely didn't ask because she was interested, but if he's an unsuspicious person, all the better.

"I think it's gonna work out just fine," I say—and then watch his back as he leaves the room. My gaze finds Elaine. I'm jumpy to leave now. She saved my ass, and I'm grateful, but I need to regroup. Learn some radio therapy so I can pull off this group session and hopefully score a solo invite to Anthony's house, too.

"You lose your car or something?" I ask her. "Because you don't seem like the kind of woman who needs help getting home. I feel sorry for the person who tries to carjack you."

She gives me an unamused look. "Well, make sure it's not yourself you have to feel sorry for, then. No one likes someone who always feels sorry for themselves. And this should be obvious, but I'm not letting you go off by yourself to cause trouble. You're coming with me. My friends will decide what to do with you."

"What, that blonde woman?"

"No, she already told me she'll have to be here late. Mrs. Rosings asked her and the other staff to stay to clean."

"You have more than one friend?"

She gives me a withering look as she pulls out her phone and sends a couple of texts. Truth is, humor has always been my coping mechanism, and I definitely feel the need for it now. Because however much I'd like to believe she's talking about the cat, or a group of women wearing bikinis who want to tickle me with feather dusters, something tells me she's not.

With my luck, she probably lives with seven bikers.

"You'll see," she says with a small smile.

I guess I will, because I'm good and stuck.

I don't have the necklace, and she knows my game, so my choice is to either work with her or give up and run. Knocking her out wouldn't help, not that I'd try.

"If you're good enough, you'll never have to hurt anyone," Roark said to me years ago, and he was right.

Today, I wasn't good enough.

But I'd never hurt her, and I can't give up on Ryan either.

So I follow her like I'm that damn cat.

When we get to the front room, Mrs. Rosings is sitting in a high-backed chair, watching by candlelight as the guests leave. There's a platter of individually wrapped cookies on the table beside her, the candlelight just strong enough for me to read the Eat Me scrawled beneath the likeness of Anthony and Nina.

You know what? Maybe I'm lucky not to have a mother.

She mustn't have planned the electricity outage, but she doesn't seem upset about it.

Maybe she's in on it , whispers the suspicious-as-fuck voice in my head. Maybe this is about claiming insurance money.

It feels notable that there's no sign of Nina. Why? She wasn't with Anthony. Maybe she's in the bathroom or Mrs. Rosings drove her to drink straight from a bottle of champagne in the kitchen. Regardless, it's interesting that she's not here.

"Does this happen often?" I ask, hoping to figure out a polite way to ask about the whereabouts of the future daughter-in-law she hates.

"No," Mrs. Rosings says. "But every time it does, it seems to be in the middle of a dinner party. Who knows why."

The look on her face suggests she knows perfectly well, however.

"Well, I have to leave, Mrs. Rosings," Elaine says. "It's an emergency."

Mrs. Rosings's gaze flicks up to my face, pausing there, before returning to Elaine. "Oh, it may feel like an emergency, Elaine, but it never it is. Still, you can go. I find I'm rather tired."

"Have you seen Nina?" I ask. "Anthony was looking for her."

A lie, sure, but if she mentioned it to Anthony, he'd think nothing of it.

"Oh, I've seen her all right," Mrs. Rosings says with a sniff. "She made a big fuss about the power outage, not that I'm surprised."

That could be the behavior of an innocent woman, or a guilty one wanting to be considered above suspicion.

"Goodnight," Elaine says. "I'll check in tomorrow to see if you need anything."

Mrs. Rosings response is to laugh. "If you're going to make bad decisions, dear , make sure you give yourself time to enjoy them."

She's obviously making insinuations about what's going to happen tonight. Elaine must have decided it's best to play along with the pretense, given both her boss and my best buddy Anthony believe it, because she takes my hand and hustles me out of the foyer. She's still barefoot—and the gravel has to hurt, but she walks out as if she's the Queen of England. Once we're outside in the cool night air, she drops my hand like it burned her.

"What do we think, did she do it herself?" I ask in an undertone.

She doesn't respond, just leads me out of the gate and down the block, then around a corner, stopping in front of a shitty Ford Fiesta.

"I figured you'd have something sporty."

She spears me with a look as she unlocks the car with her fob. "I can't afford a sports car."

She says it with plenty of attitude, and I can't help myself. I ask, "How much did you get paid for stealing my necklace?"

"You're seriously getting on my case about stealing?" she asks, lifting her eyebrows.

"Just wondering how much I'm worth."

"I had to blow it all on getting Professor X anesthesia. Do you have a sporty car?"

"I don't have a car at all," I say, taking this in. Elaine is a woman who would assume risk for a stranger and wrack up debt for a cat someone else abandoned. That should make her an easy mark, but it would be a mistake to take her for one. I already know Elaine has a backbone of steel. "Jake Jeffries has a shitty sedan I paid cash for at one of those lots where they screw everyone over."

"Are you talking this much because you're nervous?" She tucks her inky hair behind her ear, and I remember the brush of it against my neck when she jumped onto my back. A pulse of heat shoots down to my dick at the thought of her hot weight pressed to my back, her foot near my dick. Her red-painted lips at my ear…

"Should I be?" I ask pointedly, pushing the thoughts away. "Are you just a vigilante when it comes to other people's shitty boyfriends, or do you take offense to thieves too?"

"I take offense," she says tightly. "But no, I'm not going to hurt you. My friends won't hurt you either."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for that," I say, preparing to climb into the passenger side of the vehicle.

" Stop ," she tells me.

I look at her in confusion.

"I have to pat you down before we get in the car," she says. "I need to make sure you don't have it."

Heat washes through me as she prowls around the front of the car and stops in front of me.

"Hands up," she says, her voice low and throaty.

"What if someone from the party sees us?"

"They'll assume it's some kind of kink," she says carelessly, as if she doesn't realize how much blood she's sending to my dick. But she does. She absolutely does. It's there in the glimmer of her eyes, like she enjoys tormenting me. And I'll be damned if that doesn't make her more interesting. "Jacket off."

Eyes pinned to hers, I take it off and hand it to her.

She briskly examines it before slinging it over the hood of the car, and then I slowly lift my hands. "Have your way with me, Mistress ."

She rolls her eyes, but I don't miss the way her fingers tremble slightly as they quickly sweep up and down my arms, spreading heat in their wake, and then glide over my chest. I'm not sure whether I'm imagining it, but it feels like they pause a couple of times over my pecs. Then they move around to my back, her body inches from mine, her heat seeping into me as her touch brushes across my upper back before dipping into my belt line.

I'm looking into her eyes when she finds something, her eyes widening.

She pulls out the bottom of my collared shirt and then tugs at the strap of my money belt. When the strap doesn't give, she runs her fingers around my waist, her bare fingers against my skin—a whisper of flesh against flesh that sears me—until they reach the clasp. She undoes the money belt, then pulls it out, eyes grazing over the tools inside.

"Disappointed?" I ask, lifting my brows, my heart beating faster than it was thirty seconds ago. It was the brush of her fingers—so soft but forceful. Thorough.

A huff escapes her. "Your mother should be."

"My mother's not exactly in a position to be disappointed by anyone."

I didn't mean to tell her something that could be used against me. I definitely don't want to sound like Anthony—a grown-ass man complaining about his mommy. But I'm on edge. Nothing's gone as it should have tonight, and I suspect that trend is not about to reverse itself.

She watches me, emotions dancing through her eyes—there, gone—as she opens the passenger door and throws the tool belt inside before closing it again.

"You know I can't believe anything you say, right?" she asks finally, pausing.

"You believed me about my brother," I point out.

She doesn't respond. She just glances at me one more time, her honey brown eyes hiding more than they show, and then her hand pats lightly right the fuck over my half-hard dick before sliding in between my legs and then over my ass.

A hiss escapes me, but I don't flinch from her touch—and I definitely don't push her up against the car the way I'd like. I just stand there, a man made of stone, as she lowers to her knees in front of me. She looks like she's about to take me out and suck, and even though I know she's more likely to spray my dick with pepper spray than show it some love, it pulses harder as her hands dance quickly and efficiently down my legs.

She meets my gaze again—her stare challenging. I give back as good as I'm getting, neither looking away nor blinking.

"Take off your shoes," she finally says, her voice hoarse.

"Do you know how painful it would be to carry a necklace like that in your shoe?"

"You sound like you have experience with that," she says, accurately. "Shoes off."

So I slip them off, one after another, and bear the indignity of this woman running her fingers up my arches, the sensation rippling through me.

Finally, she pronounces me clean of any contraband or stolen necklaces, and I'm allowed to slide my shoes back on, reclaim my jacket, and get into the car.

I almost immediately start drumming my fingers against the dash, needing the release for the adrenaline and lust pounding through my body. But I turn toward Elaine as she gets into the driver's seat, her eyes settling on me.

What does she see when she looks at me? A liar. A thief. A man who pretended to be someone's friend so I could steal his family's prized possession. A man who gets hard-ons for a woman who doesn't have the least bit of genuine interest in him. She doesn't like what she sees, and I don't blame her.

After a second, she asks, "Who are you?"

"Damned if I know."