Taking Control Page 6

  She sighed. “Okay. But you’re not to tell anyone.” She wouldn’t give the assholes the satisfaction. Let them guess. “And I mean not anyone.”

  “Not even Jake?”

  “Especially not Jake.”

  Kim’s eyes widened as Jess unfastened her pants, slipped them down, then turned her back, and pulled up the edge of her panties to reveal her left buttock.

  “Declan?” Kim said. “I can’t believe you had some guy’s name tattooed on your bottom. You hate men.”

  “He was my first boyfriend. I got it done when I was seventeen. Look a bit closer.”

  Kim got to her feet and came around the desk. She leaned in and let out a giggle. “Is a prick.”

  “I got that bit added a little while later.” She pulled up her pants. “Now that’s all cleared up, can I get to work?”

  “Hmm. Jake left you a note.”

  She took the piece of paper Kim held out and unfolded it.

  I hear the job was canceled—what happened to “playing nice?”

  And you have a tattoo?”

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  Kim gave her a sympathetic smile. “He talked to Dave when he got back yesterday.”

  Oh well, she’d known it was bound to happen. But no way was Gary getting her promotion. She’d find another way to prove she was nice. If it killed her. She peered up at her best friend as she leaned against the desk. “Am I nice?”

  Kim snorted. Then coughed and cleared her throat. “Of course you’re nice. Would I be best friends with someone who wasn’t…nice?”

  “You’re lying.” Christ, even her best friend didn’t think she was nice. Was she aiming too high? She flung herself into the chair. Actually, there was something she needed Kim’s help with, might as well make use of her while she was here. “Have you got a few minutes?”

  “As long as you need.”

  She took a deep breath. “I joined a dating agency.”

  “When? Where? How? I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s really your fault—well, yours, and Dani’s. I figured if the two of you could find someone, then so could I. But it’s a load of crap. The guys I’ve met so far are…boring.”

  “And you want…exciting?”

  “No, I’ve done exciting and I’ve no plans to repeat the experience.”

  “Declan, I presume.”

  “Yeah. Anyway what I want is nice.” Oh God, that word again. It was taking over her life. “But I need to be able to spend time with them and stay awake. Anyway, I’ll give it one more try, but I thought I’d adjust my criteria.”

  “And strike boring off the list.”

  “Something like that.”

  Kim shook her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. First the tattoo, now this.” She peered at her closely. “What other secrets are you hiding?”

  “None. And I’m telling you now. I thought you could have a quick look at my questionnaire on the dating site, see where I’m going wrong.”

  Kim rubbed her hands together. “No problem. Get me in there.”

  Jess sat in Jake’s chair and pulled up the dating agency forms on the screen in front of her, then stood up so Kim could take the seat.

  “So what I thought—”

  Kim cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Just leave it to me. I’ve got this.”

  Jess paced the room, hands shoved in her pockets as Kim’s fingers flew across the keyboard. What the hell was she writing? Maybe this was a huge mistake. After all, Kim was hardly an expert on the subject of dating. One abusive husband and then Jake—hardly a wealth of experience.

  She peered over her shoulder, but Kim waved her away again. “You are such a total fibber,” she said.

  “Am not.” Well maybe just a little. But who’d want her if she told the truth?

  “I can’t believe you’ve put cooking down as an interest,” Kim muttered.

  Jess scowled. “I can make really good coffee. And I thought I’d attract a better class of man if I came across as domesticated.”

  Kim snorted. “There, done. No don’t look. Just see what you get and if you’re still bored, then you can change it back.”

  “Or dump the whole idea.” Maybe she’d go speed dating instead. Five minutes with a guy. Even she could manage that.

  “Are you all set for Sunday?” Kim asked.

  She groaned. She’d been doing her best to forget about Sunday. “How could you let me agree to that? Why didn’t you stop me? Or at least stop me drinking before I got to the stage where I said I’d do it. You know I’m terrified of heights.”

  “It’s for a good cause, and it will be fun.”

  “Of course it will.” She pushed Sunday to the back of her mind. She’d agreed to do it, but that didn’t mean she had to think about it. “Right, work. I’ve got to find Dave the most horrible job I can for being such a tattletale.”

  Half an hour later the phone on the desk rang. It was Jake’s assistant. “There’s a call for you, a Mr. McCabe.”

  She hated the little zing of excitement that flashed through her at the name. She swallowed, breathed in, breathed out. “Put him through,” she said.

  “Jessica?” The zing fizzled to nothing as she recognized the voice. Rory McCabe.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m calling to ask you to reconsider.”

  She frowned. “There’s nothing to reconsider. Your son does not want our protection. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “There’s been another attempt on his life.”

  Shock slammed her in the stomach. She swallowed her fear. “Is he okay?”

  “Fine, a few cuts and bruises. It was a letter bomb, sent to his apartment. Something went wrong and it exploded without being opened, early this morning. Destroyed the apartment, but luckily Declan was just arriving home. He was getting out of the elevator when it happened.”

  And where was Declan coming back from so early in the morning? She took a deep breath. “I still don’t see what we can do if he refuses protection.”

  “He’s agreed to meet with you again.”

  Something unidentifiable squirmed in her belly. “Maybe another company? We can recommend someone almost as good.”

  “No. He made it clear, it has to be you.”

  Why? She’d thought they’d said everything there was to say. She’d told him she hated him—got it out of her system. He’d told her she was…nice. What more was there to add? “Give me a moment.” She sat back in her seat and gnawed on her lower lip, still tender from Declan’s kisses. As she pondered, the door opened and Jake strolled in. He quirked one brow when he saw her on the phone, then picked up his wife and sat down with her on his lap. Jess swiveled her chair so she didn’t have to watch.

  What if she didn’t do this and Declan died? And why was that anything to do with her? It would be his fault. He was the one being an asshole here. There were loads of companies who could guard him. He didn’t have to insist on hers.

  But she knew that if he was killed, she wouldn’t forgive herself. However much she hated him, she didn’t want him dead.

  “Shit.” She took a deep breath. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “At the club. One o’clock. We can discuss it over lunch.”

  How civilized. As she opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment, she caught Jake’s eye across the desk and snapped it closed again. “I’ll see you there, Mr. McCabe.”

  “I’ll tell the door to let you in.” Rory McCabe sounded amused. Wanker. She slammed the phone down before she could say anything she might regret.

  “You have a tattoo?” Jake asked.

  “Piss off.”

  He grinned. “So what’s happening?”

  “Obviously, I impressed Mr. McCabe with my superb client skills and my super-nice personality. The job is back on.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I think I might go order my new desk.”

  “I’m impressed. From what Dave said I got the idea things didn’t go well.”

&nb
sp; “Well, he was pretty determined that he didn’t need protection. Totally deluded—it was obvious he had no chance. So, I went back alone. We talked things through. Clearly I made an impression.”

  For a few seconds something flickered in Jake’s eyes. Suspicion perhaps? Was he doubting her people skills? Probably. He wasn’t blind or stupid. She kept her expression bland. Finally, he shrugged. “Good, just keep Declan McCabe happy and alive. Avoid telling him he’s an asshole, and you have the job.”

  Kim sat up straight on his lap. “Declan McCabe?” Her gaze flicked to Jess’s bottom and her eyebrows rose.

  Time to make a strategic exit. “Okay, gotta go. We’ll catch up later.”

  She had about three hours and she was going to dig up everything she could on Declan and his father. Then she’d have one more meeting and decide whether she really gave a crap if Declan McCabe lived or died.

  Chapter Six

  Declan rubbed a finger over the cut on his forehead.

  Someone had tried to blow him up.

  That pissed him off more than the bullet.

  He took a deep gulp of scotch, then slammed the glass down on his desk so the liquid sloshed over the sides. If he’d arrived home even moments earlier, he’d be dead, or at the least a little charred. The whole death-threat thing hadn’t seemed real, even after the shooting, but now it was sinking in. Someone wanted him dead.

  He tried to analyze his feelings. Not fear so much as irritation. Okay, maybe a little fear—truth was he didn’t want to die. He closed his eyes and had a flashback to the moment he’d plunged into Jess’s hot, tight body yesterday. And knew he would have her again. He just wasn’t sure how. She hated him.

  Grunt nudged at his knee from under the table, and he reached down and stroked the dog’s silky head. Grunt had saved his life—he’d been just getting back from walking the dog when the letter bomb had gone off. The concierge had delivered it the previous evening and it had sat innocently on the sideboard in his apartment hallway overnight. Grunt must have sensed something amiss—as the elevator doors opened, he’d whined, pulled back, then all hell broke loose.

  The police were examining the bomb now. Apparently, something had gone wrong and triggered it early. So someone incompetent was trying to kill him. That was maybe even worse.

  He’d been trying to work, but couldn’t settle and in the end he gave up. It was nearly time for the meeting with the security company, anyway. Jess. Heat coiled in his belly at the thought of her.

  He’d gotten lucky today, but how long would that last? He hated to admit it, but his father was right; he needed some protection. He’d given in and told him to arrange a meeting. But he was sure of one thing: any protection he accepted would not include Jessica.

  And it wasn’t because he didn’t believe she could do it. He’d gotten the background report on her and it was seriously impressive. She was UK champion in unarmed combat, whatever that involved. She’d competed in the Olympics for shooting and won a medal. No, he was sure she was competent and while she said she hated him, he was also sure that she wouldn’t let that influence her doing her job.

  That was all irrelevant, because no way was she putting herself in danger to protect him. Just the thought of Jess stepping in front of a bullet meant for him made him reach for the scotch.

  Never going to happen.

  He’d have to find another way to get her to come to him. Because he wasn’t letting her disappear from his life. Not yet.

  He’d woken that morning with a sense of anticipation he hadn’t experienced in years. He felt vital, alive, and randy as hell. Yesterday had only whetted his appetite for more.

  Obviously all those years ago, he’d walked away from her before their somewhat explosive relationship had run its course. They’d been so volatile, always arguing, fighting, making love. It had been the best sex ever, before or after, but he’d pushed that to the back of his mind. It had only taken one meeting to make him realize that he’d never forgotten her.

  She was unfinished business. And he meant to finish it. And enjoy the process. And she would, too. Though he’d have to wait until his little problem was fixed, no way was she being anywhere near him while some asshole was trying to blow him up. Afterward, when it was over, he would find a way to reel her in. Once in his presence he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to resist. The reeling in was going to be the hard part.

  He relaxed back in his chair and sipped his scotch, a smile tugging at his lips just as the door opened and his father stepped into the room, Paul behind him.

  “Why the hell are you looking so cheerful?” his dad said, throwing himself onto the leather sofa. “Didn’t someone just try to blow you up? And why are you drinking at eleven in the morning. You never drink in the office.”

  He raised his glass. “Just celebrating being alive.”

  “Hmm.” His father didn’t look convinced. “Well, I came to tell you that the problem is sorted.”

  “It is?”

  “I told you I could sort it out. You should have let me do that from the start, and then you wouldn’t have gotten in this mess.”

  “You were the one who wanted the company respectable,” Declan pointed out. “That means leave the criminals to the police. So who was it?”

  “You don’t need to know, but I pulled in a few favors and they won’t be bothering you again.”

  “And they admitted it?”

  “Well, the shooting they did, though they wouldn’t own up to the bombing—probably some overambitious underling wanting to impress his boss and taking things into his own hands. But the bottom line is they’re not coming after you. We can cancel your babysitters.”

  Declan sat back and considered the information. Yeah, it would be good to get back to normal. Or would it? “Normal” hadn’t been that great; in fact it had been bloody boring. The last couple of days, he’d actually felt alive. There was something wrong with his reasoning, but he still couldn’t deny it.

  “You don’t look too pleased,” his dad said.

  He gave himself a mental shake. “No, I am.”

  “Good. Well, I’ll call up and cancel the meeting with the security company.”

  Which meant no Jess for lunch. He couldn’t believe the stab of disappointment right to his gut at the thought.

  It occurred to him that now there was no danger, there was no reason to keep her at a safe distance. Problem with that logic was, that with no danger there was also no reason for her to come anywhere near him.

  “Don’t cancel the meeting.”

  “What?” His father had been on the point of rising. Now he sank back down.

  “I think I’ll feel safer with some protection for a little while.” Declan rubbed his arm over the bandage. “Just until we’re sure I’m in the clear. You said it yourself, they didn’t admit to the bombing. What if that overambitious underling decides to try again?”

  “Oh, I’m sure these people are capable of keeping their underlings in control.” He studied Declan through narrowed eyes. “Could this be anything to do with your ex-girlfriend? I heard she spent a rather long time in your office yesterday.”

  Declan glanced at Paul, who was standing by the window hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything. Declan had always known he was his father’s man but for the first time he didn’t like the idea he had a spy in his territory. Maybe it was time to get another assistant.

  “We were just talking about old times.”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?” His dad shrugged. “We’ve got the money. If you want to play some sort of game with your little ex, who am I to argue?” He gave Declan one last look and rose to his feet. “By the way, your mother is coming over for my birthday in a couple of weeks.”

  “She is?” That was a first.

  “Yes, and she’s bringing Penny with her.”

  “What? Why the hell would she do that?”

  “I invited her,” he said, then hesitated a moment before continuing, “I’m wor
ried about you.”

  “And how does inviting my ex-fiancé to your birthday make me any safer?” Maybe he should lay off the scotch.

  “I don’t mean the case.” His dad shifted from foot to foot as though uncomfortable. “You need a life outside the business.”

  “I’m fine,” he ground out.

  “You’re far from fine. You’re a goddamn robot, Declan.”

  His jaw clenched. He’d done everything the family wanted of him and this was what they thought of him? Something occurred to him then. “Is that why you threw Jessica at me?”

  “Maybe.”

  Declan shook his head. “The scourge of the East End of London turned matchmaker.” It seemed inconceivable.

  At the door his father turned back. “But it worked. It’s good to finally see some sign that you’re actually human, even if it has taken a bullet and a bomb. Your mother will be pleased. I’ll see you at the club.”

  “Okay. I’m going to check into the hotel first, get Grunt settled.” His apartment had been trashed. The damage from the explosion had been relatively small, but a fire had broken out and the smoke damage was extensive.

  As the door closed behind them Declan poured himself another scotch, sat back in his chair, and considered the conversation. What the bloody hell did his mother have to do with it?

  …

  Jess had a certain sense of déjà vu as the taxi deposited them outside the nightclub. This was where she’d had that final showdown with Rory McCabe all those years ago.

  The place was closed, but Dave tapped on the door, and it opened within seconds. A man stood there. He was huge, a slab of steroid-induced muscle, his black T-shirt stretched tight over bulging chest. One of Rory’s bouncers. He looked over them briefly and then stood aside to let them in.

  They followed him through into the main area with the large dance floor and podiums scattered about. She’d danced on one of those podiums the night she’d met Declan. The place hadn’t changed at all, though it appeared different in daylight, the blinds open.

  They passed the table where she’d had her last confrontation with Rory McCabe, but they didn’t pause. Instead, they followed the man through a door in the far wall and into a private area with a table set for lunch. Three places.