All the Way Page 5

  Having considered all the angles, and lured by the notion of being miles from the town where Jack had begun to shadow her again, Layla promptly decided. “Yes. I’m going with Blake to Sturgis to look for Robby.”

  “Good.” Sound blared out of the television speakers. “Look. We’re just in time to watch Ross tell Rachel those three magic words.”

  Layla slid to the edge of the couch and paused, half-heartedly watching the poignant sentiment from man to woman. For the flash of an instant, her heart clung fiercely to those words, building a sweet ache of hopeful longing inside to hear them whispered to her in the night, as she lay in the arms of a man who truly cared for her.

  She sighed. The fantasy seemed destined for everyone else.

  Layla excused herself from Kristin’s to return home and call Blake, letting him know her decision. He sounded unexpectedly pleased, relieved even. He made tentative plans for a noon takeoff, citing business matters as a mid-morning delay. Guessing it might take that long to find people to cover her shifts at the restaurant, Layla agreed.

  Still, Blake’s estimated travel time bothered her. Four days, one-way?

  An ear-splitting crackle suddenly ripped through their conversation before Layla could debate with Blake. “Ouch.” She shoved the phone away as if it had bitten her.

  When she pressed it to her ear again, she faintly heard Blake on the other end. “…And bye to you, too,” he said stonily, leaving her with a dial tone.

  “Blake? Hello?” What happened?

  Did he think she’d hung up on him? She would sort it out tomorrow. Right now she needed to pack and get a full night’s sleep. Road trips were exhausting. So was Blake, when he designated himself as Layla’s personal exasperator.

  As she closed the living room blinds, she glanced at the sky, hoping Robby was safe, and that she would get him home before her ten days were up. The street beyond her window looked as lonely as she felt, the home empty without her brother’s presence.

  On the vacant side street, one lone car hunched under the camouflage of tree branches. An inexplicable chill chased through her when she noticed the car bore a striking resemblance to the one prowling about earlier. It’s nothing , she insisted.

  Concerns still resonated from Kristin’s warning. She snapped the blinds, checked the door locks, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that she’d wandered unsuspecting into a quicksand pit. Dangerous because it felt staged, man-made…Jack-made.

  Suddenly she wished they could leave tonight instead. She moved her phone beside the bed, memorizing the position of number two on her speed-dial. Just in case.

  Chapter 4

  In the silence that permeated the street, he imagined hearing the snap of the blinds as the dark-haired woman behind them disappeared from sight. He carefully lowered the binoculars to keep from crushing the government-issued equipment with his bare hands.

  Fury simmered his blood. Resentment burned through his veins.

  How dare she go to Blake instead of him?

  After all he’d done for her? Was still doing for her?

  Why, just last month he’d parked in this very spot on her street to watch her house, as usual, making sure all was well, when a mangy dog came pawing around. The mutt had to be a stray, disheveled and limping like it had been hit by a car. The dog rooted through the trash, overflowing from what looked like the remains of a graduation party Layla had thrown for her brother.

  Obviously Layla still kept the spoiled brat at the center of her life, he’d noted with a stab of irritation.

  So Jack had taken matters into his own hands. The dog might’ve had rabies, could’ve turned vicious at any moment. It looked shabby as hell. When he’d called to the mutt, it’d cocked its head, eyes lit with curiosity. But that light drained along with the blood from the wound Jack’s gun made in its raggedy hide.

  The dog might’ve put Layla in danger. And Jack just wasn’t willing to take that chance.

  He had to look out for her, protect her. He knew how it felt to be by yourself all the time. Layla shouldn’t have had to live in the shadow of her mother’s abandonment. Just like he shouldn’t have been left by his parents, when they’d dumped him at the trailer park where his uncle lived. Never saw his parents again. He’d hated ‘em anyway, and that guy with his mom, Chuck, wasn’t even his real dad.

  He’d found that out by checking county records. It was the same day he went to search Layla’s past, after he’d met her at Joe’s Diner the afternoon of her first shift.

  Finding out about her past was easy. All he’d had to do was look up her county records, which led him to Children and Family Services. As a police officer, he had access to all her files.

  That’s when he knew he wanted her, had to be with her, when he read her file.

  Layla’s mother, Mina Farrell, had been committed to a mental institution when Layla was seventeen. She’d broken out on a psych ward field trip and was never heard from again. Mina had a longstanding, chronic history of leaving her children for days at a time, weeks even. Layla had been forced to become an adult long before she’d gotten her driver’s license or had the right to vote.

  There was a period of five years when the charts were clear, but the dates picked back up again starting on Layla’s fifteenth birthday. The day Mina’s boyfriend died in an accident, the woman had been strapped down and hauled away, kicking and screaming in the throes of a psychotic break. Yet again, Layla was left to deal with the fallout. Alone. Scared. With her little brother looking to her for everything.

  Jack knew exactly how she felt, knew what it was like to scrape for enough money, food, energy to get by. Ever alone, teetering on the back of a chair, just high enough to push aside Uncle Stew’s bottles of bourbon to get to the last package of crackers. Only to find that the mice had gotten to it first. Jack scraped together the crumbs and called it dinner.

  Ever alone, teetering on the edge of a brittle foundation built on faded hopes and false promises from people who never came through.

  He knew her pain. Better than anyone.

  Better than her brat brother who didn’t appreciate her; not the way Jack thought he should. Better than Blake Desanto ever would.

  You can want her, Desanto. But you will never have her. She belongs with me .

  Movement in the upstairs of Layla’s house caught his eye. He stared hard at the second floor window where the shadow of a feminine form moved back and forth from the closet to the bed. She was packing. Going on a trip. And it wasn’t with him.

  The hot-sour taste of humiliation rose at the back of his throat.

  No one can take care of you like I can, Layla. I give you what you need. Not Blake. Can’t you see we need each other?

  If she couldn’t see it clearly, then he’d have to show her. So she’d never doubt again. Never leave him again.

  He would get her back. By whatever means necessary.

  It looked like she was done talking on the phone for the night, so he flipped the CB channel from the phone tap to dispatch. Then he grabbed the ringing cell phone nagging at him from the passenger seat. “Jack here.”

  “It’s Johnny. We’re halfway to Sturgis.”

  “And the shipment?”

  “On its way. We’ll arrive two days before it does. Plenty of time to stage the setup.”

  “What about the kid?” Jack asked. A dispatch crackled over the receiver in the unmarked vehicle. He flipped off the inconvenient call for backup.

  “He’s riding with the gang that’s putting up the cash for the deal. Me and the kid know how to get in touch. He’ll come through.”

  “Nice work.”

  When he’d first caught wind that Layla’s little brother had started hanging around with Jack’s inside man and dealmaker, Johnny Carlos, suspicion mounted that the kid was up to something. He might’ve been busted for underage drinking awhile back, but Rob was no druggy.

  Caution nagged at Jack, too, because before he left Layla’s that last time, Robby threatened
him. The little prick had told Jack he’d find a way to keep him out of their lives. But that’s where Rob had screwed up, thinking he could outwit a cop.

  He chuckled to himself. He knew Rob hated him with a passion. The feeling was mutual. He’d had to work in sex and alone time with Layla around that punk’s life, and had gotten damned sick of it. It was all about Robby .

  That’s when brilliance had struck.

  Using the kid’s sudden appearance in his inner circle could work to his advantage. He’d use it to turn the tables on Rob, using the kid to get to Layla. After all, the boy was everything to her. Jack planned to use him as the means to an end.

  “Does the kid suspect anything?” Rob needed to be oblivious, if the scheme were to be carried out as flawlessly as Jack had designed it. “He doesn’t know the details of the deal going down, right?”

  “No. He’s the perfect cover.”

  Jack switched his gaze from the dashboard to the female form in the second story window of his stakeout. His lip curled into a sneer. “No, he’s the perfect bait.”

  “Say what?”

  “Nothing. When the drugs arrive, do as I said and set up the deal with the gang. Make sure the kid is the one with the drugs on him—he won’t know he’s the go-between until I show up and step in.” Because of his record-number of drug busts, the DEA had given Jack clearance and jurisdiction in both Ohio and South Dakota to follow and bust Johnny Carlos, the drug lord they’d been trying to nail for years. Jack was working solo, and he’d make sure he and Johnny both got out free and clear. “I’ll handle it from there.”

  Johnny paused on the line. “I know you’ll be there for the bust, but you did you figure out if you’re driving up with us?”

  “You bet your ass.”

  “Since when?”

  “Two minutes ago. It’ll take me a little longer than I’d planned. I’ll be in Sturgis by midnight, Friday.”

  He hung up. A dangerous promise glistened in his eyes.

  “Big mistake, Layla, going to Blake instead of me. I’m about to catch your brother violating his probation—and bust him with possession of enough blow to put him away forever. Unless you cooperate with my terms. When your life falls apart in five days, where will you turn?”

  —To me. I’m your savior. And this time I’ll make sure you don’t forget it.

  *

  On her front porch the following day, waiting for Blake to pull into her driveway in his Jeep Cherokee, Layla inhaled the scent of sun-warmed grass and inspected the roses climbing the trellis, their pink scented blooms upturned to revel in the clear blue sky. Gentle currents of wind ruffled her hair.

  Layla sighed, in heaven. The front porch served as a mini-retreat, where she often escaped to think, plan, and dream.

  Then a frown worked between her eyebrows. The earthshaking rumble of a motorcycle thundered around the corner, roaring into her quiet Eden. The engine made a throaty grumble as the bike pulled up and idled in her drive.

  Have mercy. Are men allowed to look this hot?

  Blake could’ve rolled out of Motorcycle magazine, a centerfold advertisement that made being bad look so good. Even Sons of Anarchy’s gorgeous main character Jax had nothing on Blake. Sexy as sin, his dark brown hair fell to his shoulders and framed the angular planes of his jaw, made striking by the shadow that a razor hadn’t touched today. Dark-denim Levis, his leather jacket, a devastating grin, and mirrored sunglasses completed the impact— on the back of his motorcycle .

  Panic swept through her, partly a reaction to his appeal, partly a deep-seated dread of motorcycles. Layla could barely hear herself over the noise. “Please tell me we are not taking that all the way to South Dakota.”

  “Believe it, baby.” Blake patted the silver-on-blue tank.

  Layla shot to her feet. Fingers numb, she nearly dropped her suitcase. She hurled a glare at him. “Then you can forget it. I’m not going.”

  Turning, she stormed inside, leaving him and his stupid bike in the driveway. She’d refused to ride with him when they’d dated. What made him think she’d change her mind now?

  The screen door slammed behind her.

  Stomping up to her room, she scooped the clothes from her luggage onto the bed and mangled wire hangers in frustration as she shoved her wardrobe back into her closet.

  Surviving the twenty-minute motorcycle ride last night from Bedford to Cleveland Heights was one thing—she’d hated it, but she’d had little choice. Facing hundreds of miles logged cross-country on one of those deadly things?

  She’d rather relive the accident of twelve years ago in every excruciating, nightmarish detail. Riding to Sturgis on the back of a motorcycle would send it all rushing back. Her stomach lurched.

  Maybe she had never fully dealt with losing Kenny. The thought drew her gaze to the pendent hanging from her dresser mirror. Kenny had given her the heart-shaped, turquoise locket with a picture of all four of them, filled with a hundred promises tucked away on a slender silver chain. Until the dreams cracked, and the love and family she counted on shattering on the cold, harsh surface of death.

  She just couldn’t go on a motorcycle to South Dakota. Even for Robby.

  It shamed her to admit it. After all, it was Rob’s dad who had died, not hers. What right did she have to stay stuck in the past, when her little brother had moved on so completely that motorcycles had become his passion? Maybe that was his way of bonding with his father’s memory, to share Kenny’s love of motorcycles.

  Intrinsic fear prevented Layla from doing the same. She hated bikes. And she sure wasn’t going to ride on the back of one from Cleveland to Sturgis.

  Not in this lifetime .

  Through her bedroom window, she heard Blake scrape down the kickstand and kill the motor. “Don’t even try it,” she muttered.

  Blake clumped up her steps in his boots, the rhythmic chink of metal buckles echoing up the stairway. She glared into the empty hall until he filled it, determination engraved on his features.

  “Save your breath, Blake. I hate motorcycles, and I will never ride one again.”

  He gripped the doorframe above his head in a dominant pose, resting his weight on one foot. Layla’s cheeks warmed with awareness of his uncompromising, masculine presence in a room where one had been absent for so long. “We need to hit the road,” he said. “We’re already behind schedule, and I want to be in Indiana before rush hour.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  He shrugged. “I heard.”

  “Then go.” She gestured out the window at his bike.

  “Not without you.”

  Layla made a small concession—magnanimous in her view, all things considered. “Only if we take your Jeep.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Fine. Bye.” She went back to unpacking.

  Leather squeaked as his arms dropped to his sides. He strolled deeper into the room. “What will it take to convince you?”

  “Nothing.”

  When he came up behind her, she felt the heat of his hard chest against her back. Open palms coasted up her bare arms. Fingertips traced the thin straps of her tank top. “Nothing?” he whispered close to her ear…too close.

  She jerked away. “ Nothing .”

  An arrogant snort preceded his comeback. “That’s not the impression you gave me last night— twice .”

  A blush singed the tips of her ears. “I’m not going anywhere with you on a motorcycle.”

  “We have to take the Harley. How else do you expect us to wind our way through the bike-packed streets of Sturgis looking for Rob?”

  “Ever heard of walking?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “How’s it going to look trailing a biker gang on foot?”

  Pretty stupid. And pointless . “Well, then…we’ll stuff the bike into your SUV and drive it to Sturgis.”

  “There’s no way my Jeep will fit a motorcycle, even with the backseat down. And it definitely won’t fit two bikes and three passengers when Rob comes back with
us.”

  Dang . Layla had run out of alternatives. She grasped for excuses. “I can’t afford to call off work that long, to ride a motorcycle there and back.”

  “The way I see it, for your brother’s sake, you can’t afford not to.”

  “Look, Blake.” She turned, hands on her hips. “All the Cleveland Heights cops drop by the diner for coffee breaks, and I serve them. They’ll start to wonder after ten days. But they can’t find out about Robby’s disappearance. If word spreads, he’ll get busted for violating his probation. He’s this close to freedom. I can’t risk it.”

  “Layla, the cops are the least of your problems.” His voice hardened, deadly serious. “Do you know what goes on in biker gangs?” She shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Drugs, violence, murder—you name it.”

  Layla paled. “Robby wouldn’t get wrapped up in that,” she said, the quaver in her voice betraying her fear.

  “They got him to run off to a bike rally. You’re fooling yourself if you think they’ll let him go, just like that.”

  “You’re just trying to scare me.” Her lips trembled.

  “Yes. I am.”

  Angry tears filled the corners of her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I don’t think you realize how serious this is. If you did, you wouldn’t hesitate to hop on my motorcycle and head out of town as fast as possible.”

  “Remember last year when you refused to let me go with you to find Robby? What’s so different now?”

  He leveled her with his gaze. “Remember the way Dan Green cornered and accosted you at the bar last night? When I found Robby last year, he was playing with his band at the Handle Bar. I kept you out of the search to protect you.”

  That stopped her tirade. “Really?”

  “Yes. Satisfied?”

  “Hardly.” More informed maybe, but not satisfied. Why hadn’t he told her that before? The sudden revelation of his caring side—when she had pinned him as a thoughtless jerk—confused her, pushing her irritation to new heights.

  She wanted to throw him out. Instead, she reached for a pillow off her bed and let it fly. He ducked. It met the wall and fell with a soft thump. In the next blink, Blake had her pinned between his hard body and her bedroom wall, one hand flattened beside her head, his other hand firmly cupping her chin. The man could move.