Out of Eden. Beth Ciotta
As had been expected of him, he’d married a nice Italian girl. Instead of going into interior design, he’d become a lawyer, the mouthpiece for the family business. Able to finesse his way around the stickiest legal issues, those in his circle had dubbed him the Artful Dodger. He’d been respected, revered even. But then he’d broken with convention. That one indiscretion had instigated a bloodbath.
The memory of those final days still sickened him. Their reaction. His retaliation. Vengeance went both ways. He had a lot of regrets, but there was no way to mend that bridge. He couldn’t go back. But, dammit, he was sick of Travis Martin.
He reached across the seat and snatched the brown paper bag filled with his late-night booty. Red wine, provolone cheese and pepperoni. Three of the Artful Dodger’s culinary favorites.
CHAPTER TEN
JACK AWOKE AT 3:15 A.M. with a hard-on. He’d been dreaming about Kylie. Kissing Kylie. Stroking Kylie. Rolling in the sheets with Kylie. He’d never had a woman get under his skin so fast. She wasn’t even his type. Not that he hadn’t sampled a variety of women, but he had a definite weakness for fair-haired women in distress. Something he’d discovered when he’d gone to a marriage counselor with Amanda. A fascination rooted in childhood. When he was twelve, he saw Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo and fell in love with Kim Novak, or rather the character she portrayed in the film. He not only lusted after her, he wanted to rescue her. Since then, he’d always gravitated toward curvy, classic beauties. Most of them blond. All of them needy.
Kylie had a petite, athletic build. She had dark, quirky features and a modest sense of style—usually. She ran a business and looked after her mom and grandma. She didn’t need a man, although he was surprised no man had snatched her up. Unless the men of Eden were scared off by her competence and stubborn streak. She’d proved herself a handful today. He couldn’t say what fired him up most—her contrary spirit, her shapely legs, the striped boxer shorts or that sassy mouth. Horny and pissed, he’d backed her against the wall.
He’d wanted to shake her.
He’d wanted to kiss her.
Neither action seemed prudent.
So he’d lectured. Home security. Motorcycle safety. He’d pissed her off. He didn’t feel bad about that. She’d pissed him off when she’d climbed that ladder. Something told him they’d knock heads again. Fine. If they kept pissing each other off, maybe the attraction would fizzle. The “kid” barrier was history. The face that intrigued him, the body that tempted him, belonged to a thirty-two-year-old woman.
Except she’s still Spenser’s sister. She’s a nice girl and you’re a cynical bastard.
Getting physical with Kylie would be disastrous. He could list a dozen reasons.
Maybe he should list the reasons. Right now. Mentally. Like counting sheep.
It was that or a cold shower.
Christ.
He rolled over and got a face full of fur. Thanks to the vet, at least Shy didn’t smell bad. “What are you doing up here?”
The dog groaned and curled into a tighter ball. At least someone was getting a good night’s sleep.
Jack thought about nudging Shy off his bed, but he didn’t have the heart. She’d probably spent the last month sleeping in the woods or in a random barn or shed. He’d walked her around town today. No one recognized her. He dropped her at the vet for an examination. Aside from being malnourished and flea-bitten, she was healthy. For her gas, Dr. Price had suggested a high-quality pet food. No dairy products or table scraps. Jack had purchased a small bag of the recommended dry food. Enough to last until he found her a home. To Shy’s dismay, she’d been shampooed, deloused and groomed. A flyer featuring her picture now hung on the animal hospital’s bulletin board: Free to a good home.
Jack thought about his niece. He wondered if she liked dogs. Yeah, that would go over well with his prissy, snobby sister.
Shy barked a split second before he heard the sharp knock on the front door. He glanced at his clock as he swung out of bed—3:25 a.m.
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. He braced for something bad. People don’t drop by in the middle of the night with good news. He should know. He’d paid many a nocturnal visit while working Homicide.
After motioning Shy to stay, he tucked his Glock in the back of his waistband and navigated the stairs in the dark. He peeked through the living room curtains. What the hell? His sister—the woman who’d been avoiding him for days—stood on the front stoop, balancing a little girl, his niece, on one hip and a bulging backpack on her shoulder.
Alarmed, he switched on a light and opened the door.
“Sorry to wake you,” Jessie snapped before he could ask what’s wrong?
“No problem.” He quickly surmised she hadn’t been in a car accident or house fire. No blood, no bruises, no burns. Maddie looked okay, too. Oddly wide awake for the middle of the night, but fine. He focused back on his sister. She looked frazzled. Pale and fidgety. No makeup. Lopsided ponytail and ill-fitting clothes. This woman didn’t look anything like his confident, pageant queen, fashion-conscious sister. This woman had fled home in the middle of the night in a panic. Had the Cheating Bastard shown up? Called? Harassed her? Scared her? He didn’t want to ask in front of the kid.
“We couldn’t sleep,” Jessie said.
“Our house is sad,” Maddie said in a small voice.
Chest tight, Jack relieved his sister of the weighty backpack. “Come in.”
“Are you my uncle Jack?” Maddie asked as they moved into the sparsely furnished living room.
“Sure am, sweet pea.” He hated that she had to ask. Hated that he’d allowed work and pride to interfere with family.
“Where’s your badge?”
“Upstairs.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Can I see it?”
“Not now, Madeline.” Jessie set her daughter on the couch.
Jack set the backpack on his recliner. He noted the little girl’s pink pajamas, her bunny slippers and the colorful bear clutched to her chest. He recognized that bear. He’d sent her that stuffed animal as a Christmas gift two years earlier. Jessie and Frank had made it clear he was unwelcome in their home, their lives. Naturally, he thought they’d deprived Maddie of the gifts he’d sent over the years. Jessie had intimated as such. It warmed him to learn otherwise.
Throat thick, he smiled even though he knew something was wrong. “Can I get you ladies, anything? Milk and cookies?”
Maddie glanced at her mom, at Jack. “We don’t eat cookies.”
“Why not?”
“Too fattening.”
That was his sister talking. A woman—thanks to years on the pageant circuit—obsessed with body image. No five-year-old should be worrying about her weight unless she was obese, which Maddie wasn’t. She was a skinny little thing with long black hair and big brown eyes.
“Well, I eat cookies,” Jack said, cursing himself for not being a better uncle, or for that matter, a better brother. “And I could use a late-night snack.”
He wondered if Jessie ever snacked. Hell, he wondered if she ate, period. He’d have to refrain from force-feeding her an entire bag of Fig Newtons. She looked rail thin in her baggy jeans and shapeless shirt. She’d always been thin, but this was troubling.
He smoothed a hand over Maddie’s silky hair. “I need your mom’s help in the kitchen. We won’t be long. Do you want to lie down?”
“Can’t sleep.” Maddie hugged the bear tighter—a chubby teddy he’d stuffed himself at one of those Build-A-Bear stores. Patches looked worn and loved, and suddenly he didn’t feel like the worst uncle in the world,