CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

 

JACK

 

HE SWORE, AS HE APPROACHED his driveway, he could feel her eyes tracking him. The Jeep rocked and bumped along. Casey sat as patiently as ever. A sentinel to his master’s activities.

The back of his neck prickled as if he were in the woods being watched by a wild animal.

Meg was a wild animal and he’d do best to remember that. This was not one of those scenarios where he was going to taunt and play with an unsuspecting innocent woman.

He was going to be dining, among other things, with a woman who had burst into his house in her bare feet with her hair wild and her eyes wide, assessed him and Callie’s corpse, and then shot her former captive in the head with casual ease.

Not unsuspecting.

Not innocent.

A feeling he couldn’t describe as anything other than excitement unfurled deep inside him as he ripped open the plastic covering the ribeyes to let them rest on the counter and come to room temperature.

“Plus, it gives me an excuse to make an actual proper dinner,” he informed Casey.

Casey, who could smell those steaks, thumped his tail against the floor and drooled ever so slightly.

“I’ll make sure you get a piece,” Jack said. He wasn’t a monster.

He took his time scrubbing the potatoes. It was a zen activity for him. Then did the same with the corn, slowly and efficiently shucking each ear and clearing every bit of silk. He hated getting that stuff stuck in his teeth, but loved the sweetness of fresh local corn in season.

This would beat his normal frozen meal or pizza. He really should cook more often. After all, he wasn’t getting any younger. Had to stay fast and on his toes.

Time slipped away as he prepped and when someone knocked at the door, he looked up to see it was going on three-thirty in the afternoon. He’d planned dinner for four.

Before he could go in and answer it, he heard the front door swing wide. He grabbed a paring knife off the counter and walked to the doorway.

She stood there. Lean and ready in faded jeans and a tank. Her crazy cockatoo hair stood up in peaks and horns. He was fascinated by it. Along with her big brown eyes and the mole just below the left one. Her face bare of makeup, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more stunning woman.

“Just wanted to pop in and ask what time,” she said. She leaned her hip against the armoire in the foyer. She stared pointedly at the place Callie had rested and the spot where Cupcake had gone down.

She smiled. “Nice.”

He nodded. Then cleared his throat. Few people could stun him into silence. She could.

“I was thinking four, but I got lost in the preparation. Four-thirty?”

She nodded, smirked at him. Her lips, naturally, were the color of faded prom roses.

“One more question, Jack.”

He slid the paring knife into his back pocket then shoved his hands in his front pockets. Relaxed his stance.

“What’s your question?”

He stared into those deep brown eyes and waited.

“I don’t have to worry about you poisoning me, do I?”

It caught him so off guard he laughed out loud. “No.”

She cocked an eyebrow. A talent he appreciated.

“Why the laughter?”

“There’s no sportsmanship in poison. It’s sneaky and underhanded.”

“You’ve never doped a girl to get her to your lair?”

“Have you ever doped a guy?”

“You betcha. Cupcake, for example.”

“Did you do anything to him when he was out?”

“Nope.” She shook her head.

“Same here. Drugging might be necessary at first, but is never in the actual encounter. They’re awake. Lucid. Able to think and react. Plus, you’re coming to my lair willingly,” he said with a smirk.

“And utterly aware of what you are,” she reminded him.

“Back at you,” he said.

She grinned. “Touché.” She turned on her sneakers. “Back in an hour. Wear something pretty for me.” Then she was out the door in a blink.

Jack shook his head. Returned to his potatoes. Sooner or later, he’d have to figure out what to do.

He put the potatoes in a pot of water and set it on the burner. The corn he’d grill with the steaks. He went onto the back porch and loaded the charcoal grill. Jack didn’t believe in gas. It has no flavor. No style.

He got the grill going without lighter fluid. He didn’t believe in that either. No one wanted to taste accelerant on their meat.

He let the coals do their thing as he went in and got his tongs and other tools. As he worked, his brain slowly, methodically uncoiled the knot of his want. Of his desires.

It was going to be a fun evening, either way.