Born Wild Page 2

  But even as humiliating as the YouTube video was, the fact remained that it wasn’t nearly as awful as the picture that’d run in the paper last month after she barely managed to escape the fire that engulfed her apartment. In that particular shot, she’d sported a crazy, wide-eyed look, made even more delightful by the smudge of soot under her nose in the exact shape of Hitler’s mustache. The caption had read: Heil Heiress and Her Amazing Death Defying Fire Act!

  Geez Louise. Maybe whoever was out to do her in wasn’t actually trying to kill her with bullets, fire, or cut brake lines but was, in fact, attempting to embarrass her to death.

  “You want to explain to us exactly what’s been going on?” Mac pressed, and she looked up to find his expression gently encouraging. But when she glanced over at Billy?

  Nada. No encouragement there. Just a squint-eyed look of contemplation and was that…? Yep. That looked infuriatingly close to disbelief.

  Oh, no he di-int! She did a mental headshake, frowning fiercely as she vehemently declared, “I’m not making any of this up, Billy.”

  One of his dark brows quirked, and it was like a lit match touching the fuel of her temper. She was instantly on the defensive—which really wasn’t anything new. He tended to have that effect on her most days because he blamed her for…well, everything. But that didn’t change the fact that she’d been nervous enough about coming here without having to deal with his enmity and snarky, high-handed attitude. “I’m not, dangit!” She slammed a palm down on the table, fighting not to wince at the resounding crack that echoed around the large space. “Where’s Becky? She’ll believe me!”

  Or at least Eve thought Becky would believe her. Because, truth be told, there was a teensy, tiny, ever-so-miniscule seed of doubt planted back in the far reaches of her brain. The explanations the police gave seemed logical…

  But, no. No. She wasn’t crazy, and she wasn’t paranoid. Someone wanted her dead. Period. End of story. Alert the gosh-darned presses!

  “You haven’t said anything for me to believe or not believe, Eve,” Billy explained evenly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulged, stretching the thin fabric of his gray T-shirt with its Black Knights Inc. Custom Motorcycles logo, emphasizing the hard planes of his pectoral muscles.

  “Oh.” She shook her head, quickly looking away from the masculine temptation that was Billy Reichert lest her cheeks turn the color of vintage Cabernet. “Yep. I guess that’s true, huh?”

  Curses. Billy had always managed to muddle her thinking. And it’d only gotten worse since they’d been reunited fourteen months ago after more than a decade apart. He’d blasted back into her life when he’d, you know, done her the itsy-bitsy favor of saving her from a band of bloodthirsty Somali pirates. She’d been doing research for her doctoral thesis out on the Indian Ocean when she and Becky found themselves the captives of a band of gun-toting, sea-faring desperados. It was then she’d been allowed in on the little secret of Black Knights Inc. Then when she’d been made to understand that Billy, and all the men who worked with him, were a whole heck of a lot more than simple motorcycle mechanics.

  And since that day, she and Billy had done their best to avoid each other.

  Ha! Understatement of the century! Because people avoided dog poop on the sidewalk. They avoided standing under a tree during a thunderstorm. They avoided mayonnaise-based salads that’d been left sitting out in the sun for more than an hour. What she and Billy had been doing? Well, that fell more into the turn-tail-and-run-for-your-life category.

  Unfortunately, her current predicament precluded that particular status quo, so it was time to wrangle her wayward thoughts and lay it all on the line. Then again, this would all be so much easier with Becky in her corner.

  Where is the woman, anyway?

  She voiced the question again, and added, “And where is everyone else? This place is like a tomb.” Usually, Black Knights Inc. was filled with the sounds of blaring music, whining tools, a gurgling coffee pot, and heavy boots clomping up and down metal stairs—not to mention, Becky’s husband, Frank “Boss” Knight, could generally be relied upon to be bellowing at someone to pull their head out of their ass.

  “Becky and Boss are taking a long weekend,” Bill informed her abruptly, clearly ready to get back to the question of why she thought someone would want to hurt her. And, yes, now that he mentioned it, she did remember receiving a text from Becky saying that very thing.

  Shoot. If she’d recalled that this morning after the police report came in, she might’ve thought twice about making this trek out to Goose Island. Then again…there was nowhere else for her to turn. The Black Knights…er, Billy and Mac it seemed, were her last hope.

  “Everyone else is out on a mission or dealing with personal business,” Billy continued when he mistook her distracted silence as her waiting for him to answer the rest of her question. “Except for Ace, who’ll be here soon. So now that we’ve covered the niceties, you want to tell us just what the hell has been going on with you? Why you’ve suddenly been thrown into the role of Violet Jessop?”

  “Who?” she asked, her nose wrinkling, her brain reeling with too many thoughts to catch.

  “You know,” he made a face, “the unluckiest woman in the history of the world? The one who was onboard the Olympic, Titanic, and Brittanic during all three disastrous voyages?”

  She glanced over at Mac, distracted yet again by the turn of the conversation. And okay, maybe she was allowing it to happen on purpose. Because even though she knew she needed to answer Billy’s question, the fact remained that she was scared to death he wasn’t going to believe her when she did. Come on, he didn’t think too highly of her to begin with—second understatement of the century—so why would he give her paranoid ramblings credence when the Chicago police hadn’t? “Have you ever heard of this woman?” she asked Mac.

  “Nope,” the big Texan shrugged. “But I don’t question this guy on much,” he hooked a thumb at Billy, “considering he usually has his nose buried in a book.”

  She swung her gaze back across the conference table, reading the calm certainty in Billy’s eyes.

  “Wow,” she shook her head. “And here I thought I had it bad. Sounds like this poor Violet Whats-Her-Name was the reason Murphy wrote his law. Somehow that makes me feel marginally better about everything I’ve been going through.” Then Mac’s words sunk in and, in the spirit of continuing to avoid having to discuss her suspicions and fears—her personal defense instructor, who’d been telling her for months she needed to “grow a set of balls and stop avoiding tense situations,” would’ve been so disappointed—she cocked her head and said, “I don’t remember you reading a lot before. In fact, you used to tease me incessantly about having my nose pressed into a book all the time, and—”

  She stumbled to a stop because Billy’s eyes sharpened, like those of a hawk spotting its prey. She swallowed, her level of discomfort—because, hey, after their sordid history and Billy’s obvious disdain for her, there wasn’t a moment she wasn’t uncomfortable when he was in the room—shot through the three-story roof. And when he opened his mouth? Boy, oh boy, you better believe she had every right to feel that way. Because his words were saber strikes, slicing into her already sadly lacking confidence, and making her regret not only her cowardice at not addressing the main issue head-on, but also in coming out to BKI at all. “And I don’t remember you being a scooter-riding divorcee with a taste for skimpy dresses, fancy parties, and rich men,” he snarled. “I guess things change, huh?”

  ***

  Holy shit fire.

  Mac glanced back and forth between Bill and Eve, and the tension vibrating in the air caused the hairs on his arms and neck to lift. He ran a hand over the back of his head and opened his mouth to try to defuse the situation just as the rear door to the shop banged open and Ace yelled, “Hey, Lucy! I’m home!”

 
“Up here!” Mac called down, unaccountably glad for the distraction because, damn, these two were twitchier around each other than a couple of rattlesnakes. And all the not-so-subtle animosity flowing back and forth between them was making him feel twitchy.

  He hated feeling twitchy.

  Ace’s boots clomped up the metal stairs. “And like Big Gay Al,” he continued, oblivious to the electric atmosphere sizzling around the place that was threatening to singe everyone’s eyebrows off, “I’ve brought along some chocolate salty balls from that new chocolate shop across the street and, I must say, they are fantast…Oh, Eve,” Ace smiled when he topped the stairs, “what brings you out to our fine establishment this sunny Saturday afternoon?”

  “It’s Chef,” Eve said, her voice a little shaky, no doubt from having withstood the poison-tipped barbs Wild Bill had just thrown her way.

  Mac didn’t know what the history was with these two, but it was obviously ugly and painful, and it made him intensely thankful to have learned early on the lesson about that crazy little thing called love when it was combined with a beautiful woman. And Eve was certainly beautiful. Prettier than a speckled pup, as Mac’s dearly departed, born-and-bred-Texan father would say. But given her raven hair, clear blue eyes, and milky skin, Mac was more inclined to agree with Bill’s assessment that she looked more like one of those expensive china dolls than any pup, speckled or not.

  “What did you say, love?” Ace asked, setting the box of chocolate truffles on the conference table and glancing around the group. He picked up on the strained emotions and frowned.

  “It’s Chef on South Park who makes the chocolate salty balls, not Big Gay Al,” Eve said, her voice only marginally stronger.

  “I knew there was a reason I loved you besides your smashing fashion sense and front-row tickets to all the best shows,” Ace chuckled, bending to smack a kiss on her cheek before pulling out the chair beside hers. Lowering his lanky frame into it, he hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Anyone who can appreciate the vulgarity and offensiveness of South Park is A-okay in my book.” The guy gave her a hard squeeze and, from the corner of Mac’s eye, he thought he saw Bill shift uncomfortably. Turning to lift a brow, he discovered that, sure as shit, the muscle in Bill’s jaw was ticking fast enough to beat the band.

  Dude, what the hell do you think? That Ace is suddenly gonna stop likin’ long and hard and start likin’ soft and wet?

  Jesus. And once again Mac congratulated himself on having the good sense to avoid these types of sticky situations. Quickly, he filled Ace in on Eve’s belief that someone was out to harm her. This also gave Bill a moment to get his sorry self under control—and the fact that he needed to get his sorry self under control was just too weird because usually, even in the middle of an all-out shit-storm, Wild Bill Reichert was cool as a cucumber.

  “But who in the world would want to hurt you, love?” Ace asked, giving her another squeeze. This time Bill actually growled.

  Mac rolled in his lips, glancing pointedly at the man, the look he gave was all about the pull your shit together. When Bill ignored him, Mac kicked him under the table and was rewarded with a look that promised retribution. Ace, unaware of the little scuffle, continued, “Do you have any suspicions?”

  “That’s the thing,” Eve said, voice steadier now. Obviously she was unaware that Bill was a ticking time bomb, and with every one of Ace’s squeezes, kisses, and endearments, he was getting closer and closer to blowing sky high. “There’s only one person who comes to mind. But I don’t think he’s capable of violence.”

  “What do you mean?” Bill demanded, sitting up straighter, his expression just this side of a death-squad. Oh, my God. You’ve got it bad, my friend. Mac mentally shook his head. “Who the hell comes to mind?”

  “Dale Pennyworth,” Eve muttered, a sharp V forming between her sleek, black eyebrows. “He was my stalker.”

  Chapter Two

  Stalker.

  The room did a fast tilt, and Bill grabbed onto the edge of the conference table to steady himself. “You have a stalker? Why in God’s name didn’t you mention that in the beginning?”

  “Had a stalker,” Eve emphasized, eyes flashing, chin raised. “Had. I haven’t seen Dale nor had any contact with him in over a year. And, like I said, I don’t think he’s a violent man. Crazy and a little bit obsessive, but not violent.”

  Was she nuts or just naïve? Because stalking very rarely ended with a bouquet of flowers and a touching good-bye letter.

  “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he said, and then felt like biting his lip when her nostrils flared delicately. He’d used that endearment with her years ago, and to pull it out now caused memories to burn as harsh and fresh as the bile climbing up the back of his throat. In an instant, a kaleidoscope of images skittered across his brain. The way she used to look at him, with such faith and conviction and…adoration glowing in her wide, blue eyes. The way she used to touch him, tentatively and curiously and so freakin’ sexily that he’d been hard-pressed not to throw her down on a horizontal surface every chance he got. The way she used to…Damnit. With a hard shove, he stuffed everything back into a mental closet and slammed the door shut before continuing, “But stalkers aren’t known to just give up and go about their business. Once you’re someone’s obsession, you remain someone’s obsession.”

  Lord knew he could personally vouch for that. Because for over a decade, a day hadn’t gone by when he didn’t think of Eve, a night hadn’t gone by when he didn’t dream about her…

  “Can we back up a minute here?” Mac cut in, his lazy Texas twang belying his tack-sharp mind. “Before we start discussin’ suspects, we need to figure out why Eve disagrees with the police reports claiming these events are nothin’ more than a string of bad luck.”

  Eve made a face, one of self-doubt, and it took everything Bill had not to reach across the table and squeeze her hand. Then Ace did the deed for him, and an angry shade of red edged into his vision. He started grinding his molars hard enough to crack his tooth enamel and figured chances were pretty good that any second now he’d be spitting out his fillings. And, yeah, it was ridiculous to be jealous of a man who made no secret about being gay. Ace was about as far out of the closet as you could get. We’re talking shock-your-grandma, jazz-hands, out-as-in-way-out.

  But that was definitely jealousy Bill was feeling. Because Ace got to touch Eve, kiss Eve, comfort Eve…

  And though Bill didn’t want to do those things…he didn’t!…he still remembered how good it felt when he’d been twenty-one, stupid, and horny—the most common and most dangerous trifecta amongst human males—and he had wanted to do them. And, it was a goddamned Charlie Foxtrot—otherwise known as a clusterfuck—but he missed that. There! He admitted it!

  He should’ve felt better afterward.

  He didn’t.

  Shit.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Eve,” Mac was quick to add. “But I want to make sure I have my facts straight.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll all think I’m just being paranoid or something,” Eve mumbled, studying the nails on one hand like they might hold the answer to the origins of man. Bill wasn’t going to think about the fact that her other hand was still held tightly in Ace’s. No, he wasn’t. Sonofabitch! Now he was staring at their entwined fingers. Hers were so pale and delicate compared to BKI’s resident helicopter pilot’s. “That’s what the police thought when I told them someone’s out to kill me.”

  And that was enough to snap his attention away from Eve and Ace’s interlaced hands. Because those last two words had all the blood in his body rushing to his head until it was hard to hear past the pulsing roar in his ears.

  Kill her? That was a damn sight more specific than her earlier declaration that someone was out to hurt her. Sonofa—Stars skipped behind his lids when he blinked, and he realized he was holding his breath. Sucking in a sl
ow, steady gulp of oxygen, he tried to convince himself that maybe she was just being paranoid.

  Yeah, perhaps it’s just a figment of her overly sheltered imagination.

  Unfortunately, the part of him that’d been honed to a razor’s edge in too many high-stakes operations to count argued that, when it came to three life-threatening “accidents” in close succession, there was no such thing as paranoia.

  “According to the fire marshal,” Eve explained softly, “the blaze in my apartment started when a strong breeze through my open living room window blew my curtains onto a lit candle. But, I always make sure to blow out my candles before going to bed. And I distinctly remember doing it that night. Then again, perhaps it’s possible the wick relit itself somehow, but…” She shook her head and lifted her hand to chew a hangnail.

  Bill knew it for the sign of agitation it was. Sometimes, he thought he knew her too well even though they’d only spent three measly months together. Then again, there were other times he regretted the fact that he didn’t know her well enough…

  Of their own accord, his eyes drifted down her slender throat, past her little pearl pendant necklace—Yes, the woman actually wore pearls. And it drove him crazy, because the jewelry was so delicate, so feminine and classy, and it reminded him of everything about her that he’d initially been attracted to, was still attracted to as a matter of fact, goddamnit—to the gentle slope of her breasts beneath her demure, pastel blouse.

  Yeah, there were a lot of things about her he still didn’t know. Like the way she’d arch beneath him when he drove into her, or sigh with completion after he’d pushed her to the pinnacle of physical release, or taste when she—

  Christ, man! Get a hold of yourself.

  He shifted in his chair, trying to rearrange the hard-on that seemed to be part of his SOP—standard operating procedure—whenever Eve was in the same room with him. Well that, along with a heaping helping of wariness and, okay, let’s stop beating around the bush and admit he also suffered from a pretty decent amount of hurt. Yes, he was still hurt by what had happened with her. By the way it’d all happened.