WANTED: A Bad Boy Crime Romance Page 8

  “Not wet enough yet,” he growls. He slides the tip of his cock between her folds. “Don’t you want this?”

  Amber’s eyes shoot open. “Yes, please. Fuck me, Jack.”

  Jack nibbles at her neck. “It’s Pete. Calling me Jack is what got you in trouble in the first place.”

  Amber recalls the terror of that night. The darkness twists around her desire, strengthening it. Jack slides the head of his cock inside of her.

  “Good girl,” he groans, stretching her open as he goes deeper. “That’s a good girl.”

  Jack fucks her, making her come so many times that in the end, she can barely move. When he pulls out, he shoots all over her tits. While Amber swirls her fingertips in his semen, Jack’s reminded that although he’s had plenty of women, he’s never had one quite like this before. Amber is a balance of tough and feminine. She can handle his aggression. She even seems to crave it.

  Once Amber regains strength in her legs, she dresses for bed. When she’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth, she hears Jack putting on his shoes.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  Jack grabs the car keys and puts them in his pocket. “I should be able to say what happened to me that night, I was there.”

  “Where are you going?” Amber repeats.

  “I have this urge to go to my father’s office. Maybe it’ll drudge something up.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You stay here. I won’t be long.”

  Amber feels a tingle of dread. She wants Jack here, in bed with her, where no one can see him. But he didn’t ask her, and he’s already out the door.

  *

  After waiting awhile, Detective Simon looks through his binoculars to see if they’re still fucking. He’s no boy scout, but he’s not a perv. Besides, these are probably two innocent civilians. They don’t deserve to be spied on by an aging detective.

  The couch is empty. The female is dressed in a nightgown. Detective Simon scans for the male. He can’t find him anywhere.

  He nearly shits his pants when the male exits the door of the building and jogs down the steps. Simon tries to concentrate on his face. There’s not much to see beneath that thick beard. The man unlocks a car, something much too dumpy for Jack Larsen’s taste, and gets in the driver’s seat.

  Since he’s already wasted so much time on this, Simon decides to see it through. Keeping a safe distance behind, Simon follows him. The man leads him across the Queensboro Bridge, back into Manhattan. When they head in the direction of the Financial District, Simon’s scalp pricks with a realization.

  He’s going to his father’s office. He’s returning to the scene of the crime.

  Fresh energy pumps through the detective, revitalizing him, and making him forget his empty stomach. The car ahead of him parks on the street two blocks from Larsen International. It’s the last available space that Simon can see. Even though the Financial District is dead this time of night, every parking space is occupied, so Simon has to drive right past.

  “Goddamn this city,” Simon says.

  In his rearview, he sees the man exit the car, and start hoofing it down the street. Simon drives around the blocks in an ever widening circle, cursing under his breath the entire time. He finally finds a place much farther from where he’d like to be. He quickly throws on a ball cap to cover his white hair, his most distinguishable feature, and starts walking to Larsen International.

  *

  Ever since he got off the bridge into Manhattan, Jack had the sense he was being followed. He’d checked his rearview mirror more times than was safe, and didn’t see anyone there. He dismisses it as paranoia, but still, he’s not taking any chances. He takes a winding, convoluted path towards the office building, and he doesn’t go right up to it. He hides in the shadows of an alley across the street. The wind is howling tonight. It whips up the grime of the city, stinging his eyes.

  Larsen International is a foreboding skyscraper, all cold steel and glass, much like the men who work inside. Jack’s eyes find his father’s office window, and silently begs the building to give up its secrets. He concentrates, mentally bringing himself back to that night. He remembers Club 64, he remembers Chloe, but for the life of him, he doesn’t remember walking into that building the night of his father’s murder.

  While dwelling on this, his mind is soon invaded with images of blood and brain matter spewed throughout the room. Jack’s chest tightens with panic. His breath becomes shallow. His search for the truth has given him purpose, and so has Amber, but at the end of the day, his father is dead. His father, a man Jack hated for most of his life, can’t help Jack as he always had.

  Jack presses his palm against his face, and finds his cheeks are wet. He’s crying. The tears are hot and desperate. He wipes his face with his shirt, and chokes the emotion down. Why am I here? What did I think I would find?

  Jack spots someone at the end of the block. He steps back into the alley, waiting. The figure is nothing to be afraid of. Whoever it is is small, and walks with a bullish clumsiness. Jack quickly decides he could take this person, if it comes to that. Jack hopes it doesn’t, so he waits for the person to pass.

  But he doesn’t. Jack squints through the darkness, watching as the man hides in the shadows of an awning. He holds something to his eyes. It’s binoculars. Jack’s core tightens as his body debates between fight or flight.

  Just wait. Be patient. Don’t do anything stupid, just like Joel said.

  The frigid wind picks up again. Jack steels himself against the cold. There’s a flash of movement on the other side of the street. The man chases his hat, which has blown off of his head into the road. Under the glow of the street lamps, Jack clearly sees the swath of white, wiry hair, the same head of hair that sat across from him in the interrogation room, asking him what he was doing in his father’s office the night of the murder. Jack curls his hands into tight fists.

  “Simon,” he growls.

  He watches the detective wipe off the hat and place it back on his head. Simon stands in front of Larsen International, his hands on his hips, looking around the deserted street.

  He followed me here. He knows about the apartment.

  Jack slips back through the alley, exiting at the opposite end. The gears in his head grind and turn as he tries to sort through this. The fear of losing everything keeps him from thinking clearly. What should he do? Should he race back to Queens, gather Amber and take her somewhere else? But where would they go?

  Jack sticks to small side streets and alley ways on the way back to his car. The entire way, he tells himself what he’s going to do. He’s going to get in his car, get back to Amber, and they’ll figure this out together. He comes to the block where he parked. Simon is crouched beside the car. He cups his hands over his eyes, looking in the window. Jack stops in his tracks, and peeks out from behind a dumpster. The detective circles around the car, studying it. He pauses at the license plate, and jots the number down on a notepad.

  It can’t end now, not before it’s started, Jack thinks.

  The dumpster stinks of rotting food. Even in the cold, flies buzz around it. Is this what Jack has been reduced to, hiding with stinking trash? Would Jack’s father roll over and give up, or would he take what’s his? There’s always a way to get what you want. Jack’s father had always taught him that. There’s always a way…

  Before the plan is fully formed in his head, Jack is walking forward, out of the darkness. He doesn’t make much noise, so Simon doesn’t notice him walking up. The detective is studying the vin number, when Jack grabs him from behind and slams his back against the car. Simon gasps, blowing the white hair out of his eyes. When he sees Jack, his face goes white with terror. Jack tightens his grip on Simon’s shirt, squeezing it tighter around his neck.

  “What’s your price?” Jack says through gritted teeth.

  Simon is shaking so hard he can barely speak. Jack slams him against the car, repeating his question. The detective takes a sh
uddering breath, and finds his voice.

  “Jack,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Jack, I can help you.”

  Jack shakes his head. “You didn’t see me here. What’s your price? The money will be in your account by morning. You’re getting old, Simon. How would you like to retire a wealthy man? Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

  Simon takes pause. He’s never been asked to make this kind of choice before. How much does his job really mean to him? Yes, he has a duty to uphold the law, but hasn’t he already done enough of that? Whether he takes Jack up on his offer or not, Simon knows Jack could kill him with his bare hands. He’s all alone out here, with aching joints and atrophied muscles, with this beast of man.

  Simon nods, prompting Jack to loosen his grip. Simon doubles over, gasping. “I think we can work something out.”

  Jack stares at him darkly for a few moments, then gives a quick, curt nod. He grabs Simon hard by the arm, then unlocks the car.

  “Get in,” Jack says, shoving Simon into the passenger seat.

  Chapter Nine

  Amber’s lying in bed with her notebook, scribbling notes that she hopes will one day turn into a book. She has no intention of going to sleep, not until Jack comes back. And maybe, she muses, returning to the office roused a memory in Jack, and he’ll give her another piece of the puzzle.

  She’s turns back a few pages, reading over her list of suspects, Henry, Joel, Uncle Harvey. At the bottom of the list, she scribbles Jack’s name, then quickly marks it out. She hears a car stop outside of her window, and doors slam. Her chest constricts with hope. Jack made it back.

  She hides her notebook under the mattress, and rushes to the window. Jack’s already out of view. She hears him punching in the code for the front door. There’s voices. He’s talking to someone. Who? Amber presses her ear against the glass pane, listening closely, but they’re already inside the building.

  Her palms grow clammy with sweat. Jack shouldn’t be with anyone right now. Is it Henry? Joel? When she hears two sets of footsteps walking down the hallway, she follows her instincts and hides in the bedroom.

  Jack swings open the door and pushes the detective inside. He quickly glances around, not seeing Amber. The bedroom door is closed, and he can see the light is on. Christ, baby, he thinks. Things just got a lot more fucking complicated.

  Jack throws the detective on the couch, and threatens to beat him to death if he moves. Simon sits up calmly, straightening his clothes. Jack towers over him, staring down at the top of his white head.

  “We’re here to make a deal,” Jack says.

  Simon stares at his feet. “Jack, don’t make this worse for yourself. I can help you. If you turn yourself in, you’ll get a slap on the wrist, nothing more.”

  Jack bends down, staring into his eyes. “Bullshit.” He smiles. “Are you really trying to hold onto to your meager pension? You should be more ambitious.” He swats Simon’s arm good-naturedly. The detective is playing the good cop, but Jack knows that anyone can be bought. “One million dollars. You resign. Leave the city.”

  Simon cowers back into the couch. He could never accept this fugitive’s offer, but somewhere deep inside of his psyche, he sees himself on a beach sipping a fruity drink, far from the grime of this city.

  “Listen, Jack.” Simon tries his best to steady his voice. “Get a good defense attorney. Plead your case. I understand you were in treatment for mental issues. Juries are quite sympathetic to that.”

  Simon had hoped to reason with Jack, but it doesn’t seem to have had that effect. Jack’s eyes gloss over. The veins in his neck throbs. Simon recalls the stories he’s heard about Jack, about his extreme temper, and his propensity to cause bodily harm. Jack has his dark eyes trained on the detective’s face. Simon braces himself, closing his eyes.

  “What’s going on?”

  Simon’s eyes flutter open. He sees a woman standing in the bedroom door. Jack releases Simon from his stare, and turns toward her.

  “Jack,” Amber says in a trembling voice. Jack rushes to her. “Who is that?”

  Jack plants a kiss on her lips. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I’m a homicide detective, ma’am,” Simon says. “I’m leading the investigation of Jack Larsen Senior’s murder.” He points to Jack. “Are you aware of who this man is?”

  Jack clutches at Amber’s waist. She holds her arm out, keeping him from getting to close.

  “What’s he doing here?” she spits.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Jack says.

  She hardens her eyes. “What are we going to do with him?”

  Jack smiles. “What do you suggest?”

  Simon clears his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am. You do understand you could be charged with aiding and abetting a known fugitive?”

  Amber winks at Jack. She steps towards Simon, her hand on her hip. Simon doesn’t like the brazen look in her eyes. Jack stands behind her forebodingly. Simon is starting to realize that he’ll need to take Jack’s deal, or start saying his prayers.

  “I’m aware, Detective,” she says. “Which is why we need to make sure that you don’t tell anyone we’re here. I heard your conversation through the bedroom door there. Jack’s offered you a very generous deal. You could take it, or…” She lets her voice trail off.

  “I’ve been a detective for longer than you’ve been alive,” Simon sputters. “I have a duty to uphold the law.”

  “Okay, your choice,” Amber says, flippantly.

  She looks back at Jack. He steps up, cradling his fist in his palm, making his huge biceps flex. He wears a sick smile, like he’s looking forward to what’s about to happen. Simon doesn’t want to feel those knuckles crash against his face.

  “Three million,” Simon blurts. “Three million dollars, and we have a deal.”

  Jack slowly lowers his fists, his eyes clouding with disappointment. “That can be arranged,” Jack says. “And you get the fuck out of the city as soon as possible.”

  “No,” Amber says. She looks back at the detective. “For that price tag, he can stick around and help us.” She pinches Simon’s cheek playfully. “You work for us now.”

  *

  “When will I see the money?” Simon asks. He’s been in this apartment for three hours with fucking Lady Macbeth lording over him, asking him endless questions.

  “I assume the cops are tracking my accounts,” Jack says.

  “Only the ones we know about,” Simon says, grumpily. “I know how you rich guys operate.”

  Jack smiles darkly. “Do you know about the one in Switzerland?”

  Simon knits his brows, and shamelessly admits that he doesn’t. Jack laughs, twisting a knife into the wound.

  “New York’s finest,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Then don’t worry, Simon. You’ll get the money, after we get what we want.”

  “Which is what?” Simon complains. He’s already sold his soul. He doesn’t want to wait for the deal to go through.

  “The truth,” Amber says. “Who killed Jack’s father.”

  Simon gives Jack a sideways glance. “Really? Aren’t we past this? I’ve agreed to help you. You can drop the innocent act.”

  “Maybe if you did your job,” Amber says sweetly. “You’d know that it doesn’t add up. Why would Jack leave so much evidence?”

  Simon cradles his face in his hands. He’s tired and hungry. He wishes he’d gone for that kebab instead of gotten into all this. “Because he’s bonkers, don’t you know that? He was in treatment. Can’t control his anger. He snapped. Is that so hard to comprehend?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll need to look a bit deeper than that,” Amber says. “This is a man’s life.”

  Simon exhales slowly, rubbing his temples. The only life he cares about right now is his own.

  “Half up front,” Simon demands. “And I promise to help you in any way I can.”

  Simon’s afraid to look at Jack. A silent pause weighs heavily in the roo
m. Finally, he hears Jack’s deep voice.

  “Done.”

  *

  “Are you sure we can trust him not to leave?” Amber says. She and Jack are in the bedroom. It’s three in the morning. Simon has fallen asleep on the couch.

  Jack rips off his shirt and collapses onto the bed. “We can. You saw the look in his eyes when he talked about the money. Once someone has the opportunity to make that kind of money, they never turn back.”

  Amber wrinkles her brow. “I don’t think I could ever do that, go against my morals for a payout.”

  Jack smirks. “Everyone thinks that, until they’re actually given the chance. Then, they’re all the same. Greed is a common denominator.”

  Amber joins him on the bed, and idly rubs his back. “Any problem you have, you can just throw money at it and it goes away.”

  “That’s how it works,” Jack says. He’s face down in the pillow, relaxing under Amber’s hands.

  She studies his smooth skin as she trails her fingers up and down his spine. If she had Jack’s kind of money, how would her life be different? When her Mom was sick, Amber had read about a brand new leukemia treatment being offered in eastern Europe. But no insurance would cover such a thing, and they’d have to pay out of pocket. Amber’s family couldn’t afford anything like that. It’s unlikely the treatment would have worked, but she still wonders, what if?

  “How did Detective Simon know you were here?” Amber asks.

  Jack shrugs his large shoulders. “He got an anonymous tip.” His voice is soft, on the edge of sleep.

  “An anonymous tip.” Amber bites her bottom lip. “Someone ratted you out. There’s not many people who know where you are.”

  “Just you,” Jack says, dreamily. “And Henry, and Joel.”