CHAPTER TWENTY
JACK
HE WASN’T SURE WHAT TO do. Which was unusual. Very little flustered Jack. But he had to admit, he had not been expecting a bloody man to fly through his front door, followed by the woman who appeared to be his mysterious new neighbor, and then for her to murder said bloody man.
She laughed for a moment longer, holding her stomach. Then she bent, hands on thighs, trying to catch her breath.
She looked up at him, eyes wild. Jack felt the tightening in his pants. When it came unexpectedly it usually irritated him. This time, not so much.
“Hi,” she said. “Have any whiskey?”
“I don’t drink,” he said.
For some reason, that made her laugh harder.
Jack studied her. Her hair was dark like crow feathers. Her eyes were dark too—shiny with laughter. The whites were impossibly white. They almost seemed to glow.
She shoved the tiny gun in her front pocket. She had her phone in the other pocket and it was actually larger than the pistol.
“Got any more of those bags?”
He looked where her gaze had gone. The contractor bag half covered Callie like a giant plastic snake eating its prey.
“Yeah.”
“Can I have one?” She cocked her head. “Two. Maybe even three. Got a saw or should I get my own?”
He was already moving. Going toward the kitchen where the bags were.
“Why cut him up? You can just dump him way back on that property of yours. The animals will find him.”
She ran a hand through her hair, making it stand on end. It reminded him of a mohawk. She had a very warrior feel about her. Tribal. Dangerous.
His stomach tumbled like he was falling.
He pressed his palm low on his gut but that only made it worse so he stopped.
She’d followed him into the kitchen. She hovered there in the doorway like a dark wraith, watching him move.
“I have a saw if you really want one. But—”
“I can’t drag him back there alone,” she said. “I guess I could get my truck.”
He found it interesting she had yet to mention Callie. It wasn’t every day a man had a woman in a bag inside his front door. Then again, it wasn’t every day a woman chased a man inside a stranger’s house and then shot him at point blank range.
“I can drive you back. I have a Jeep. We can drive him up into the hills and dump him.”
She seemed to consider the offer. “What about Miss Trash Bag USA over here? What are you going to do about her?”
“I had intended to bag her up and dump her later. But I guess we could get them both up in the hills and leave them.”
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she said.
He opened the fridge and handed her a Coke. “Closest I have to booze.”
“It’s not even in the same county,” she said. “But I’ll take it.”
She cracked it and guzzled half the can in about three swallows. Then she belched.
She stuck her bloody hand out. “Meg,” she said.
He realized how much he was attracted to her. Lustful, even. And alternately, how badly he still wanted to kill her.
He took her hand and shook. “Jack.” Then he smirked and said, “That’s Callie in there. She surprised me tonight.”
Meg cocked an eyebrow. “Guess I got off lucky then.”
“You really surprised me.” Jack surprised himself by giving a genuine laugh.
“Well, I assure you that wasn’t planned. That was all him.”
“And he is?”
“Oh, him? That’s Cupcake,” she said, then snorted. “My date for tonight.”
“Much more than just a run of the mill black widow,” Jack joked.
“Honey, you have no idea.” She finished the Coke and crushed the can. She tossed it his way.
He barely managed to snag it out of the air. Then he dropped it in the recycling and went to get the keys to the Jeep.
He wasn’t sure why Michelle had suddenly popped into his mind as he dragged Cupcake, or whatever his real name was, to the Jeep. They’d swapped. Meg was behind him, grunting as she dragged the bag full of Callie toward the vehicle.
She was strong, he noted. Biceps stood out in sharp relief in the cold white moonlight. She stood, rubbed her palms on the ass of her jeans, then bent back to the task.
His dick was hard. He was thinking of Michelle. Only, he didn’t think it was Michelle, actually. Jack was fairly certain he was recalling the long-ago act. One, it was dawning on him, he thought he might want to perform with Meg.
Watching her calmly shoot this man in the head and then ask for a drink had done something to him. Woken up something inside him no other woman had managed to stir to life.
It was weird.
It was distracting.
He wasn’t sure he liked it.
But one part of him was certainly on board.
He dumped the guy in the open back of the Jeep. He’d removed the rear seat ages ago. It stood out, rusting, in the old barn.
He moved to grab Callie from her and she snapped, “I’ve got it. I’ve got it!”
He shook his head and stepped back. Watching her muscle Callie up into the Jeep and the way she ran both hands through her hair again, clearly not worried if she messed it up, only punctuated his attraction.
“Why my side of the road?” she asked.
He couldn’t see her. Just her outline as she was backlit by the glow from his house and the moon. But he could imagine those dark eyes of hers boring into his core. Seeing inside him. Knowing him.
He cleared his throat and brought his brain back on track.
“More hills on that property. More critters who will venture down. Bigger ones. If you follow my property back far enough it hits the highway. So . . .”
She gave a succinct nod. “Right. Okay.” She raised one foot and stared at the bare sole. Then did the other. “Asshole,” she muttered. “Tore my feet up.”
He smiled in the dark. She felt the same way about the guy she’d shot as he did about Callie. It was their fault. And they’d caused inconvenience.
They climbed into the Jeep. The doors were off. The top was off. It was just the frame.
“So, you like watching me from across the road, eh?” She put her bare feet on the dashboard. He didn’t say anything.
“I was curious,” he said finally. “The house has been empty a long time.”
She nodded.
It was lighter now that he was traveling down toward the road. It lit her up. Pretty face, hair like some crazy bird, perfect sized tits—as if he believed in such a thing—leggings leaving no mystery to her curves.
Dirty feet.
The feet should bother him. They didn’t. She’d earned them chasing Cupcake. And she’d won.
“What are we going to do now, Jack? I know your secret. You know mine.”
He stopped at the foot of his driveway. The light from the moon and the streetlights lit her up now.
“I don’t know.”
She stared at him. “She wasn’t your first, was she?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No.” He watched her for a beat. “He wasn’t yours, was he?”
“Fuck no,” she said.
He nodded and hit the gas. Interesting.