Wicked and Dangerous Page 3

  Straddling his Ducati, he settled back onto the leather seat. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Rachel rushed out of the nightclub, keys in hand, and headed to her car, her blond friend swaying drunkenly behind her. She unlocked a sturdy little white Toyota with her key fob. Halfway across the parking lot, she fished in her purse for her phone, completely ignoring her surroundings. Absently, she dialed someone and spoke to the trailing blonde, still not paying any attention to potential danger. Decker made a mental note to teach her to stay alert before he squashed this murder-for-hire plot and moved on. And once she admitted that she wasn’t any sort of Domme, he might even blister her ass a little for this episode, just for fun.

  The thought made him smile.

  Rachel piled her inebriated friend into the passenger’s seat, then hustled around the car before climbing in. Decker took that as his cue to start his bike and follow. He kept a respectable distance—not that she was paying a lick of attention—and followed her to the other woman’s place, watching Rachel help her up the stairs and into her little cookie-cutter apartment. Then she raced back to her car, on the fucking phone again, and drove off. God, if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done it twenty times by now before she ever realized she was dead.

  Next stop was the hospital. The parking lot was lit decently, and the emergency room was hopping. But this many strangers this close to her made him nervous. He parked his bike and followed discreetly until she was safely inside, hating that he couldn’t trail her any closer without being seen.

  With a sigh, he waited in the shadows. Just in case the prick who’d hired him was impatient, he wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity to off her in a parking lot and make it look random.

  About ninety minutes later, she emerged under the little portico outside the ER’s automatic door. She and her wildly dressed friend exchanged a few words under the glaring LED lights overhead and hugged. The black woman’s face was dotted with tears and smudged mascara, but she managed a relieved smile. Then Rachel darted out to her car as the other woman headed back into the hospital. Decker followed his little bundle of curves in the sinful black skirt. She never noticed.

  Predictably, Rachel drove straight toward home. When she finally looked in her rearview mirror at a stoplight, he turned right onto another street, taking a gamble that she didn’t have an alternate destination in mind. He raced to her darkened cottage on the quiet residential street he’d scoped out during recon earlier in the evening. Ditching his bike on the next cul-de-sac, he dashed around the block to beat Rachel. He wanted to check inside, make sure she didn’t come home to any nasty surprises.

  It took him all of two minutes to jimmy his way through a back window. She had zero security—another conversation they’d be having before he hit the road again. He crawled through to a guest room, figuring he had three minutes at most to scope out the place before she pulled into her little attached garage.

  In less than sixty seconds, he’d crept through every room in the house, pried open closets, checked any other obvious hiding spots. The place was spotless and devoid of any life except a purring cat who curled around his ankles. He’d always been a dog person.

  “Hairball . . .” he groused.

  “Meow,” the little orange tabby wailed at him, rubbing against his pant leg again.

  Decker smiled, despite himself, and scratched the cat between the ears. “I’ll bet she spoils you rotten and rubs you all the time, lucky thing.”

  The cat only purred louder.

  He caught sight of her computer on a little desk in the corner of her living room. He’d check her phone as soon as she nodded off. Framed photos rested all around her place, on shelves, countertops, and the mantle. He didn’t dare turn on lights now to investigate, but soon.

  Finally, he heard the electronic hum of the garage door opening. He beat feet to a hiding place he’d found during his search, wedging into the guest room closet behind her winter clothes and the leaf for her dining room table. She came in and he heard her drop her keys in the little copper dish on the console table in her foyer. Her heels clicked across the hardwood, then stopped abruptly. He tensed.

  “Did you have a good evening, Val? Been a good boy? Miss me?”

  “Meow.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I fed you before I left. I didn’t leave you for that long.” When the cat meowed again, she sighed. “Give me a minute, and we’ll go to bed. Why you can’t find the bed without me is a mystery.”

  As Decker grinned, she started across the floor again, and the click of her shoes progressed past the guest room and down the hall. In the master bedroom, he heard the smart tap of her heels stop before she dropped them on the floor and moaned in relief.

  A minute later, he heard her set something on a hard surface with a gentle plop, then a door closed. The shower began to run.

  Rachel was going to get naked. Fuck if that didn’t turn him on all over again.

  Decker yanked his brains out of his jeans and waited about sixty seconds before he crept from the closet. No sign of her. He heard the water splashing inside the stall and the sound of her singing a peppy, upbeat pop tune about someone calling her maybe. He couldn’t fight the grin on his face as he made his way into her bedroom.

  Here was a good place to start his search for clues. The cat lounged on the bed and raised his head with a yawn. Damn hairball got to sleep with Rachel tonight. Hell yeah, he was jealous.

  Hustling across the room, he found her phone on her nightstand. No password protection. He shook his head and accessed her texts. It didn’t take long to scroll through them. A message from Shonda earlier in the day detailing her party at the nightclub. Her mother asking whether she’d be coming home for Thanksgiving. Her neighbor begging her to cat-sit. Decker yawned until he came to Owen. It didn’t take him long to surmise that this was the name of her ex-barfbag, and didn’t he sound like a real fun guy.

  Did you take my box of books in the closet of my study when you left? I am missing several crucial texts relating to relativistic quantum fields, two-level atoms, and condensed matter.

  He was a physicist? Wow, if Rachel went for the studious type, Decker figured he wouldn’t last long with her. Of course she’d claimed she was thrilled he wasn’t into such things . . . But from about the tenth grade on, he’d devoted himself to T&A.

  After a brief stint as a juvenile delinquent, he’d graduated from high school and joined the military. His dad wasn’t around to care, and his mom had been too exhausted working three jobs to say much. Since he had aptitude for fighting and sneaking around, he’d gotten into Special Ops, which eventually led to a stint with the CIA. All that had made him get his shit together, but he was never going to be a bookworm.

  He glanced through Rachel’s exchange with her ex. It was a lot of blah, blah, blah. Owen was on the short list for the Wolf Prize in Physics, whatever that was, and he had notes in those texts he needed. Everything was pretty civil until, after looking for the books again, Owen insisted that she must be lying. He asked sharply if she was trying to sabotage his career, hinting that she’d always resented his work.

  Rachel had stopped responding at that point. Decker wished she’d told the asshole to get fucked.

  Less than an hour later, Owen had texted her some stiff, stupid-ass apology, saying that he’d found his textbooks—and he didn’t appreciate her impolite lack of response, but he wasn’t surprised in the least.

  As evidence went, it was thin. A DA would find it circumstantial at best, but the divorce, coupled with this kind of stuff, might add up to motive.

  With a frown, Decker placed the phone back where he’d found it, then peeked inside her nightstand. Well, well, well . . . Under a wrist brace and an old copy of Vogue, he found a battery-operated clit stimulator, a slender vibe that would be too weak to really get her off, and an electronic reader chock-full of BDSM romances. So beautiful Miss Button-down had a naughty side. Damn if that didn’t do his heart good.

 
; With blood giving fresh life to his unflagging erection, he dashed out to the family room and scanned her e-mails in less than two minutes. Most were from family members sending jokes or the parents of her students asking questions. A quick scan of the documents saved on her hard drive only proved that she kept her checkbook in Excel and she was a good little saver. Her Facebook was squeaky clean. He uncovered nothing suspicious.

  On her way through the house, Rachel had flipped on lights. Decker finally got a good look at the comfortable place, ducking into each room to scan her pictures. He didn’t see anyone who resembled the guy who’d hired him to kill Rachel.

  Then again, if her ex was the guilty party, she wasn’t likely to keep heart-shaped photos of him lying around after the divorce.

  From down the hall, he heard her cut off the shower and he ducked back into the guest room closet to wait for her to fall asleep. He wasn’t keen to spend the night against a wall, shoved behind a bunch of coats, but he’d slept in worse places. Afghanistan came to mind. He’d been through a few South American jungles in his time, too. At least here he didn’t have to worry about terrorists or snakes.

  A moment later, the disposable phone in his pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out.

  Are you still awake?—Rachel

  Oh, now, this was interesting. It was just after midnight. Did she want to reach out and touch him?

  Yes, beautiful. Thinking of you. What are you wearing?

  Since she’d just stepped out of the shower, he’d bet it was nothing or damn close to it. He looked forward to seeing how she’d answer that.

  Rachel waited a long time to reply, and he was just about to tap out a little something designed to calm her nerves when she finally sent a message back.

  Feel like coming over to see?

  Did he ever . . . His cock completely approved of the idea, twitching at the thought of getting deep inside her and spending most of the night. He’d been on one case after another lately, and it had been way too long since he’d had a willing female in a warm bed. The fact that he’d get to end his drought with Rachel was even sweeter. Now he’d see that lush ass under the tight skirt—and fondle it, and bite it, and . . . anything else she’d let him do. The fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this into a woman he’d just met was a bonus.

  Yes! Can you guess what has 142 teeth and holds back a hungry beast?

  No idea, she sent back.

  My zipper, beautiful. Text me your address and I’ll show you.

  Decker heard her giggle from the next room. Then her address flashed on his screen. Oh, it was on now.

  I’ll be there in 15.

  After a little squeal, she tossed her phone down and tore into the bedroom. Music started blaring a moment later, and he heard her opening and closing the drawers and doors in the bathroom cabinet. The hair dryer flipped on. That was his cue to leave.

  Slowly, Decker opened the closet door, ducking out from under the coats and setting the table leaf back in place. He eased the window open and crawled through, landing on his feet on her little back patio. Her yard was small, but she’d made it her own lush little garden with ivy and delicate flowers in white, gold, and purple. He was clueless about their species, but he’d bet that Rachel loved it out here. She’d made this her little oasis, complete with a padded wrought iron chaise in one corner where she likely got the most shade. She’d left behind an empty teacup and a magazine on the little wooden table beside it. He kind of wished that he’d get to spend time with her in this space. As she lifted her face to the sun, she would smile and glow.

  And he needed to get his head out of his ass. He wouldn’t have long to right this wrong. S.I. Industries always had dirty work. Defense contracting was populated with a bunch of good ol’ boys whose middle names all seemed to be Greed. He didn’t have an assignment at the moment, but Decker knew it wouldn’t be long. Since Xander and Javier had started sharing that lush blonde they now called wife, they seemed far more intent on enjoying the honeymoon part of their marriage. Or were they on a babymoon now? After all, they would be daddies by next May. The trio seemed disgustingly happy.

  Decker tried not to, but he wondered why he’d never found someone he wanted to spend more than a few hours with. Rachel had eventually moved on from Owen, but at least she’d believed herself in love enough once to roll the dice. He’d never felt much beyond his dick twitch.

  Shoving aside the thought, he climbed the fence and hopped onto the little walkway outside her kitchen window. Not two minutes later, he pulled up in front of her house again. In normal circumstances, he’d bring her a bottle of wine or at least flavored condoms, but he didn’t dare leave her alone long enough to retrieve them, just in case.

  After a little warning roar, he parked his bike out front and stowed his helmet. He grabbed a few necessities from his saddlebags and headed to her front door, then rang the bell. A long minute passed before she flipped on the porch light and opened the door.

  Light from the foyer table off to her right spilled around her dark hair. Her skin looked smooth and ivory, untouched by the sun and devoid of makeup. Her brown eyes were wide and a bit wary, framed by thick black lashes. She’d slicked a little gloss over her plump lips, and he couldn’t wait to get them under his again.

  Rachel stepped back to admit him. “Hi. You were quick.”

  “I was motivated.” He stepped in, then shut and locked the door behind him with a smile.

  She wore a short, silky robe in white with tiny pink flowers on it. Decker didn’t know much about women’s clothes, but he was pretty sure she couldn’t have on much under that. Her pert nipples beaded the front. If he did this right, he could have her naked and flat on her back in five minutes.

  With a nervous smile, she backed across the foyer. “Coffee?”

  “I didn’t come here for anything you could whip up in the kitchen, beautiful. But if you need a minute to take a deep breath and get your head together, I’ll be patient.”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I’ve never done this, invited a man I barely know over to . . .”

  “Do naughty things designed to make your heart race and your throat raw from screaming?”

  The sweetest little blush crept up her cheeks. “That’s one way of putting it. But it’s . . . um, never been like that for me.”

  Decker frowned. The last thing he really wanted to do now was talk about her bedroom gymnastics with the ex, especially when he felt sure there was a whole naked wonderland under that robe waiting just for him. Sadly, she’d given him an opening, and this might be the only time to gracefully dig information out of her about Owen. He had to nail down a better motive . . . or see if he could take the douche off his suspect list. It was possible that someone else had it in for her, though he couldn’t fathom why given how sweet she was. And she wasn’t going to relax until she felt more comfortable with him. Her lack of experience, while weirdly endearing, was a hindrance.

  He grabbed her hand and led her from the foyer, through the kitchen, then down a couple of steps into a sunken living room area that he could finally take the time to observe since he wasn’t focused on finding clues. Easing back into the beige velvet sofa, he glanced over the patterned rugs and mirrored accents that gave the room with the yellow-cream walls a light feel. Built-in shelves overflowed with books of all kinds, along with more pictures and tchotchkes. Shimmery drapes, the same tone as the walls, covered big windows that overlooked the oasis he’d seen out back earlier. Overall, the place was light, happy, homey—somewhat like her.

  The few places he’d called “home” over the years had been mostly shitholes, barracks, or transient motels. He’d usually gone wherever duty called, without any thought to putting down roots or building a future, but now . . . Xander and Javier had obviously planted themselves in Lafayette to play house with London, so he suspected he was here for the duration. Other than the humidity in the summer, here actually wasn’t bad. He’d grown used to the freeways and skysc
rapers of Los Angeles over the last few years, but Decker was thinking that he could kind of get used to a place like this, even having a home for once. The faint scent of vanilla lingered, like Rachel had baked or burned candles or something equally feminine. He liked it.

  He liked her.

  With a tug on her hand, Decker prevented her from sitting beside him. Instead, he pulled her onto his lap. She wriggled, as if trying to find a comfortable spot. Her lush ass rooting around on his cock nearly had him groaning and tearing into her clothes like a beast, but he managed to refrain.

  “I can’t wait to get this robe off of you and do things to your delectable body that are probably only legal in foreign countries.” Decker winked, then stroked his knuckles along her exposed skin beside the lapel of her robe, over the swell of her breast. “But when you tell me it’s never been really good for you, I want to know what disappointed you in the past. Tell me about the last time you had sex.”

  THREE

  RACHEL’S BIG, DARK EYES WIDENED WITH SHOCK, AND SHE shook her head. “I’d rather not. You’re going to let me ‘steer,’ so it won’t be an issue.”

  As she moved in to kiss him, Decker turned his head just enough to graze the soft skin of her neck with his lips, then he rested them on her lobe. “Even so, you need to give me a little information so I understand what you don’t like.”

  She eased back and met his stare, then tried to wriggle off his lap. He tightened his arms around her, and finally, she sighed.

  “It was with my ex-husband,” she murmured, looking away. “Owen was always just so . . . serious. I don’t know how to put it. It seemed like something he tolerated more than loved.”

  “Which made you feel somehow responsible, so you didn’t enjoy it either?”

  Her gaze bounced back up to his, as if he’d surprised her with his perception. It didn’t take a rocket scientist . . . but that deduction was apparently beyond a physicist. Go figure.

  “Yes.” She nodded, and he saw a sweet little flush spread across her cheeks. “He didn’t ever want to talk about it.”