Mystery Man

  “I would have kept you safe,” he repeated.

  “And I would have appreciated a choice in whether you had to expend that effort,” I replied.

  “Gwen, the work I do saves lives but don’t think you watched this play out and can mistake me for a man who doesn’t understand that those lives I’m savin’ are worth the exchange of a good woman,” Skull returned.

  “Thanks for that but if that’s true, how do you explain Brett?” I shot back and Hawk’s arm got even tighter around my shoulders.

  “Because,” Skull said gently, his face had changed, he still looked rough, rock ‘n’ roll, ultra-cool hot guy but the way his face changed and his voice gentled, his hotness quotient, I, unfortunately and automatically due to vast amounts of study on the subject, noted entered the stratosphere, “he works for your man so I know he’s a man who puts on his boots every day understanding what happened to him today is always an eventuality and, knowin’ that, he’ll have planned for it. And I also know, he works for your man, he had that choice you’re pissed I didn’t give you, he wouldn’t have even taken the time to blink before he decided he was willin’ to take his chances to play my play.”

  Shit. I was guessing he had a point there.

  I decided to stop talking. Skull waited for me to say more and there was something about that, him giving me the time to speak my piece, say what I had to say that I didn’t want to admit, because he was not my favorite person, was nice.

  And it was then I realized that the entire time he had me in that filthy apartment, he actually was standing guard protecting me, but in a good way. And the reason he looked so unhappy wasn’t because I scratched his arms. It was because he was a good guy who, for the greater good, was enduring a life pretending to be a bad guy. He’d been involved in an operation where one on his side went down and, for that greater good, he found himself in a circumstance which was much like I suspected many circumstances he’d come up against the last year and a half in order to maintain his cover. He had to make a decision, let it happen and was powerless to do anything about it.

  And I had to give it to him. That would make me unhappy too.

  When I didn’t speak, he tore his gaze from me, his eyes caught Hawk’s for a brief moment, he turned and disappeared.

  Lawson filled his space and I looked up at him.

  “Sweetheart, I hate to say it, but I gotta take your statement.”

  I sighed.

  Then I remarked, “We have to quit meeting like this.”

  Hawk curled me closer into his side.

  Lawson smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  You Promised

  I opened my eyes.

  There was mostly darkness in Hawk’s loft but a soft light was coming from somewhere close.

  I was in his bed and he wasn’t. There was no weight, no warmth, no presence. Hawk had a presence. Even if he wasn’t touching you, you knew he was there.

  This meant he wasn’t there.

  Earlier we all waited at the hospital until Betsy wandered out of Brett’s room. She looked shell-shocked, I knew this and I didn’t even know her but it wasn’t hard to read. Hawk, Dad, Meredith, Elvira and me, along with Betsy and Brett’s parents, all waited until the doctors did their rounds and told Betsy there was no change, he was stable but critical and she should go home and come back in the morning.

  Even though her parents were there, Hawk told Dad to take me and he took Betsy home. Her family may have wanted to quibble but Hawk, being Hawk, they didn’t. Elvira followed them because she was spending the night with Betsy.

  Dad and Meredith took me to Dad’s friend, Rick’s house because Meredith and Dad were staying with them until their house was livable again.

  Rick’s wife Joanie and Meredith tried to get me to eat but I said I’d wait for Hawk. He finally showed, Joanie whipped up some grilled cheese sandwiches under Hawk’s edgy, impatient stare, she wrapped them in foil, put them in a bag, hugs and kisses were exchanged and Hawk whisked me off to his lair.

  On the way he didn’t talk, not even a word. I figured this was because his man was down, lying in a hospital bed, condition critical and his unconscious body was going about its duty of fighting for his life. I figured Hawk was hoping Brett’s body would win that battle because I hoped the same. Because this stuff filled his head the same way it was filling mine, and I knew Brett a lot less than Hawk did, I figured he needed to brood so I let him.

  When we entered the lair, suddenly finding myself starving, I went direct to the kitchen while Hawk turned on lights. I unwrapped the sandwiches and put them on plates, cutting them on the diagonal. Hawk went to the fridge and got a bottle of water.

  When he closed the fridge, I offered him his sandwich with a quiet, “Baby.”

  He looked at me, looked at the plate, took the plate, went direct to the garbage bin, opened the pedal with the toe of his boot and dumped the sandwich straight in. Then he dropped the plate to the counter. Then I watched him prowl to his desk, turn on the laptop, turn on the desk lamp, sit down, snap open the top to the water and down a huge gulp.

  As I watched this I realized I did not know him at all. I’d known him for a year and a half but I’d only been getting to know him for a week.

  It appeared, when one of his boys got hurt, he got moody.

  Understandable and good to know.

  I ate my sandwich and gave him his space. Then I did the minimal clean up.

  Then I stood in the kitchen and called, “Hawk, baby?”

  His head came up from his study of the laptop screen but he didn’t speak.

  “Do you mind if I watch TV?”

  He shook his head once and looked back down at the screen.

  Okey dokey.

  I watched TV until I was about to fall asleep. Then I turned it off, turned off the lamps in the seating area and wandered to Hawk’s desk.

  His eyes didn’t leave the screen.

  I stood at the opposite side of his desk from him and waited to get his attention. After several long seconds, his head tipped back and his eyes came to me.

  “I’m going to bed,” I informed him.

  He nodded his head once and looked back at the screen. I bit my lip and tried to decide what to do.

  Then I decided to do what I’d want someone to do if I was in Hawk’s position. I rounded the desk, got close, leaned into him and wrapped my hand around the opposite side of his neck. That neck twisted, his head dipped back and his eyes locked on mine.

  “He’ll be okay,” I whispered with a squeeze of my hand and more hope than certainty.

  Hawk didn’t respond and when I say this, he didn’t respond in any way. No hardening of the jaw. No muscle moving in his cheek. No flash in his eyes. Nothing. Zip.

  So I pulled in breath, dropped my head and touched my lips to his then I moved them to his ear. “Come to bed soon, yeah?”

  Then I gave him another squeeze and let him go, turned and moved away. I got ready for bed, climbed in and it took me awhile to find sleep but it came. Then it escaped me when Hawk’s weight hit the bed, his warmth curled into me, his arm slid around me, his knee hitched mine up and I felt him settle.

  Tension I felt even in sleep eased from me, I relaxed into him knowing, with him curled into me, his heat seeping in, his power enveloping me, everything was going to be all right.

  And now I was alone in bed, it was still the pitch of night and Hawk was gone.

  I threw the covers back and slid out of his big bed, heading directly to the stairs. I knew that the light by the battered chair was on as I headed down them even though I couldn’t see it. I turned at the foot of the stairs, took two steps toward the chair and stopped dead.

  Hawk was sitting under the light in that chair. He was wearing nothing but cargo pants and he was bent nearly double. He had one elbow in his knee, hand dangling between his thighs. The other elbow was also to his knee but his forearm was lifted so he could curl his hand around his neck. His head was dropped and it s
tayed that way.

  “Baby,” I called softly and his neck bent back, his eyes coming to me but his hand didn’t drop.

  Something was wrong with his eyes. Very wrong.

  “Baby,” I whispered and started to walk to him.

  “I was wrong,” he said quietly as I approached.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Us,” he answered and I stopped.

  “What?” I was still whispering.

  “I was wrong about us,” he replied.

  I felt my heart squeeze and, God, did it hurt.

  “You were wrong about us?”

  He dropped his hand from his neck, lifted his torso partially up but kept his elbows to his knees.

  “Can’t do this, Gwen,” he stated.

  “Do…” That word came out strangled so I cleared my throat and finished, “What?”

  “This shit, can’t do it.”

  “This…” I paused this time because it was difficult to bring myself to say it, then I said it, “Shit?”

  “Yeah, this shit,” he replied, not having trouble saying it at all.

  I moved to the side where luckily a big, iron column stood and I wrapped my hand around it, leaning my body into it to hold myself up.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, finding it difficult to breathe mainly because my heart was lodged in my throat.

  “You and me, I was wrong. I thought I could do it but I can’t do this shit.”

  “Are you…” That sounded strangled again so I swallowed and continued, “Ending things?”

  “Yeah.” His answer was instant and unwavering.

  “You’re ending things,” I repeated just to confirm.

  “Yeah,” he repeated, again instant and unwavering.

  I felt the tears hit my sinuses.

  Boy, Troy was right. It hurt a lot more when a man walked all over you wearing combat boots.

  “You promised,” I whispered and he did. He promised. Not even twenty-four hours ago, he fucking swore he’d handle me with care.

  He stood and I released the column and stepped back.

  “This is me keepin’ that promise, Gwen.”

  “You are so full of shit.” I continued whispering.

  “Better now than when you’re tied tighter to me, babe.”

  “You… are…” I leaned forward, lost it in the middle of a sentence and shrieked, “So full of shit!”

  “Sweet Pea –” he started but I cut him off, still shrieking.

  “Don’t call me that you fucking asshole!”

  Then I whirled on my foot and raced to and up the stairs.

  Hawk followed and he didn’t do it slowly but by the time he made it to the bed platform, I was pulling up my jeans.

  “Gwen, listen to me,” he demanded.

  “Fuck you,” I spat, zipping my jeans.

  His fingers wrapped around my upper arm and he gently turned me to him but I twisted my arm out of grip, put both hands to his chest and pushed.

  He caught my forearms and shook them between us.

  “Gwen, look at me.”

  I looked at him and hissed, “You orchestrated this. You worked for it. Then I gave you me and you didn’t have it a day before you threw it away.”

  “Listen to me, babe, and you’ll –”

  I yanked at my forearms and snapped, “Go to hell, Hawk.”

  “Babe, listen,” he growled, shaking my arms again, I yanked again, one of his hands slid down to the bruises and cuts on my wrist, a small, sharp, involuntary cry of pain escaped me and he released me instantly.

  I took advantage and dashed around him toward my suitcases. I bent over them but was pulled up and in with an arm around my waist, my back hitting Hawk’s front, his other arm wrapped around me and his mouth came to my ear.

  “Baby, listen to me,” he whispered.

  Something about that shredded me, everything inside me, all that was me instantly in tatters. I tore violently from his arms, whirled and advanced into his space, finger out, up and pointed in his face.

  “Don’t call me baby. In the five minutes we have left together, Cabe Delgado, don’t even fucking think about calling me baby.”

  And I knew what it was. I knew why that destroyed me. I knew I loved that. I knew the first time he called me baby in my kitchen the hope I wasn’t allowing myself to feel for a year and a half was not only real but what I hoped for was possible.

  And just like with Scott, exactly like with Scott, I was wrong, way, way, way, way wrong.

  He opened his mouth to say something then he stopped, his tense body went statue-still then he muttered an enraged, “Fuck.”

  That was when I heard it. Pipes. The roar of Harley pipes. And it wasn’t one bike. It wasn’t two. It was a lot of them.

  Hawk turned, bent and tagged his tee off the floor. He’d yanked it over his head and was pulling it down his abs when he lifted one finger toward me and ordered, “Stay here.”

  I didn’t respond but there was no way I was staying there. As far as I was concerned, the cavalry had arrived and I was getting the fuck out of Dodge.

  I bent to my suitcase pulled on socks, my boots then grabbed panties, a bra, a tee and then raced to the bathroom, snatching up shit I needed then I raced down the stairs, shoved it all in my purse, I hitched it over my shoulder and I raced out.

  When I got outside I saw that Hawk, being Hawk, was standing in cargoes and a tee and bare feet in what appeared to be a standoff with Tack in front of a shitload of Harleys, their headlamps illuminating the scene. Some boys were standing by their bikes, some were astride them. Only Tack was facing off against Hawk.

  I located Dog and ran straight to him not even looking at Hawk and Tack as I raced by.

  Dog looked down at me. “Babe, maybe you should go inside.”

  “Take me with you,” I begged, his body jolted and he asked, “What?”

  “Take me with you,” I repeated, reaching up to grab his arm in an effort to convey my seriousness.

  He stared at me half a beat before his head lifted and he whistled sharply. I didn’t look behind me. I was trembling and holding onto his arm for dear life. I was also holding back tears by the skin of my teeth.

  I watched him jerk his chin up then he moved, swinging his leg over the bike. I guessed this meant he was taking me with him and I didn’t waste time or squander the opportunity. I jumped on behind him, wrapped my arms around him tight, put my cheek to his shoulder and closed my eyes hard.

  I felt the Harley roar and then I felt us move, he did a wide arc in the massive, cracked cement area beside Hawk’s warehouse, an area that once housed semis and employee parking and now housed nothing. He straightened out of the curve and we roared away.

  I didn’t open my eyes once and with the wind whipping around me and a body that had gone totally numb in an effort to keep the pain at bay, it took awhile for me to realize I was crying.

  Suddenly he pulled over and Dog’s hands gently pried mine from his belly.

  His torso twisted, my head came up and my eyes finally opened.

  “Babe, switch bikes,” he ordered.

  “What?”

  He jerked his chin, I turned my head and I saw Tack beside us, his head turned our way and even in the dark I knew his eyes were on me.

  Shit.

  I wanted to stay on Dog’s bike but I didn’t want the drama. No, I couldn’t handle the drama. I’d had enough drama for one day, thank you so very much. In fact, I’d had enough drama in the last week to last me a freaking lifetime.

  So I swung off, moved between bikes, hitched my purse more firmly on my shoulder and swung on Tack’s.

  The minute my arms closed around his middle and my cheek hit his shoulder blade, we shot off.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Not Worth the Risk

  I felt weight hit the bed, my eyes opened and slid up.

  Tack was sitting there, wearing a skintight tee and faded jeans. His hair was wet from a shower. His blue eyes were on me.
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  I was lying in his bed, not at the Chaos Compound, in a rather nice house in the foothills outside Denver. It was built just up the mountain. It was one story, long and had a deck that ran the front of the house. I knew it would have great views in the daylight but I didn’t take much in when we got there mainly because I was numb, exhausted and desperately fighting back hysterical tears, a tantrum and the desire to commit murder.

  Tack led me to his bedroom, dumped my purse on his nightstand and ordered, “Sleep, darlin’.”

  Then he left.

  I took off my boots, socks, jeans and since I conveniently was wearing my nightshirt, I climbed into his unmade bed and did exactly as I was told.

  Now it was now and I was curled into a protective ball, my hands in prayer position under my cheek.

  Tack spoke. “Mornin’, peaches, you want breakfast?”

  “Do you cook or do you have a biker babe that makes breakfast to order?” I replied and there it was. Automatic. The smartass.

  Would I ever learn?

  Tack grinned. “I cook. Best pancakes you’ll ever have, you get your ass outta bed,” he answered.

  For the first time in my life, I wasn’t hungry.

  No, that wasn’t true. After I found my husband in bed with my sister and kicked his ass out, I didn’t eat for three days. I didn’t realize it, Troy did and he made me eat. But that was the last time I lost my appetite.

  “Sounds good,” I lied but didn’t move.

  When I didn’t Tack reached out, curled his fingers around my forearm and gently pulled my hand from under my face. Then he lifted my arm and his eyes dropped to my wrist. His hand slid up carefully so he could wrap his fingers around my palm and I watched as he lifted my arm further up… up… until he bent his neck and his lips touched the bruised and torn skin at my wrist.

  My breath seized.

  Hawk should have done that but Hawk was so busy brooding about Brett, or more likely trying to figure out how to end things with me since he conquered the challenge and was ready to move on, that last night he completely forgot I was kidnapped, bound, gagged and targeted as bait.