Twisted Page 15

  “But by then, you knew better,” Dean said flatly. Another victim.

  “The cops wouldn’t even give Sandy’s case a second glance. I mean, why would they? So a twenty-two-year-old stripper skips town. Big fucking deal.” No emotion was in Jax’s voice. “People disappear into this town every day.”

  “Only some days,” Emma noted as she pushed back her hair, “they have help.” Her voice was soft with sadness.

  Jax held Dean’s stare. “Sandy and Wayne are dead.”

  He was afraid they were. “The cops were searching the area where they found Julia, using cadaver dogs to see if any other remains were out there.” And, according to the text that he’d gotten from Wade, they’d made a discovery. Just who they’d found, well, that wasn’t known yet. They’d need Victoria for the identification.

  “Someone has been hunting down here, in your territory,” Emma told Jax.

  “Yeah, I got that.” Now anger clipped in his words. “But I’ve been watching, looking for folks who damn well don’t belong.” His brows lifted as he pointed toward Dean. “This asshole with you is the first one to stick out.”

  “That’s because the man we’re after doesn’t stick out,” Emma explained quickly with a shake of her head. “The first time we saw him, the guy was pretending to be a homeless man.”

  Jax gave a low whistle. “And you didn’t nail him from first glance?” He took a step toward her. “What’s happening, Em? Letting your talent slip? Once upon a time, you could’ve read a mark from a hundred feet away. You always let me know when the undercover cops were watching. One of your many . . . talents.”

  “I’m rusty, okay? I’ll be more aware next time.”

  He grunted. “That’s what happens when you spend your days in the square, telling people what they want to hear.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Really, Jax?” Anger sparked, tinting her cheeks a faint red. “You’re going to stand there and judge me?”

  Another step had the tattooed jerk way too close to her. “Yeah, I fucking am. You know where you belonged, and you left. You walked out that door, and you didn’t look back. Now you come around here, thinking I’m going to help you and this bastard”—his gaze cut toward Dean, then back to Emma—“this bastard who looks at you like you’re his—”

  She is. The thought—basic, primal—surged through Dean.

  “Then think the hell again. I told you what I know. Now you can get out.” He motioned toward the door. “Don’t let it hit you on the ass.”

  The guy was such a prick.

  He was also a waste of Dean’s time. But maybe Carlos wasn’t. Because he could see the rush of conflicted emotions on the other man’s face. Dean pulled out his card. Put it on the bar near Carlos, and said, “If you think of anything else, call me. My team will look into these two disappearances, and we’ll see what we can discover.”

  Jax’s laughter was mocking. “Bull. You don’t give a damn about Wayne or Sandy. You’re just playing a part because you want in Em’s pants.”

  What he wanted was to beat the hell out of that guy. With an effort, Dean kept his gaze on Carlos. “If he’s hunted here before, he may be back. He’ll blend, just like Emma said. Hell, he could even be someone you’ve seen before—a lot of times. You just didn’t realize what he was doing.” Hunting.

  Carlos’s hand reached out, and he grabbed the card.

  “Let’s go, Dean,” Emma said, voice soft.

  But he wasn’t ready, not just yet.

  He turned toward her and gave Emma a fast smile. “Give me just a second, baby.” Yeah, that baby was deliberate. His hand brushed over her cheek. “I think there’s one more thing left to cover.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You don’t want to do this.”

  Sure, he did. Dean rolled his shoulders, preparing for what was to come. He might have to take a hit, but he’d be sure to give plenty of his own back. His head cocked as he glanced back over at a glaring Jax. “I think you need to apologize to Emma.”

  The fellow’s jaw dropped. After a moment, Jax laughed, and said, “Are you shitting me?”

  No, he wasn’t shitting him. “She came here because she’s worried that more victims are out there. The bastard tagged her wall, too, and left one of his ‘You’re next’ signs—”

  Jax lunged away from the bar. He grabbed Emma’s shoulders and yanked her up against him. “He’s coming after you?”

  The guy was holding her too tightly. Again. Dean sighed. “This is why we’re going to have a problem. You keep touching what you shouldn’t. Keep saying what you shouldn’t.”

  Jax ignored him and actually shook Emma. “He’s after you?”

  And that was it. Because Jax’s fingers were digging too roughly into Emma’s shoulders. Dean grabbed the man, yanked him back, and when Jax swung at him—mistake, mistake—Dean dodged and planted his fist in the guy’s gut. Jax’s pain-filled grunt filled the air, but the fellow didn’t double over. He came up swinging again. Dean leapt back, dodging, then he went in for his own attack.

  “No!” Emma yelled. “Stop it! Right now! Just stop!” And she was between them again. Not showing any fear, just flashing rage on her face. “We’re here because people are missing. Not so you two can pound the crap out of each other.”

  Ah, but Emma had missed a very important point. Jax was still hung up on her. It was obvious in the way the guy kept giving her those too-possessive stares. And Dean had never been one to share. Especially not when he wanted something—someone—as much as he wanted her.

  Jax swiped away the blood that dripped down his lip. “Always fun to see you, Em.”

  “Jax, listen, we want to help those people. And I don’t want to end up missing.” A harder edge entered her voice. “So put the past behind us, okay? We both made mistakes. We both—”

  “I wasn’t the one who walked away.” A low growl.

  “No.” Her chin lifted. “You were just the one who made it impossible for me to stay.”

  Dean could tell her words had hit a nerve. Jax’s stare jerked away.

  “Carlos . . . Jax . . . if you have pictures of the missing, please give them to us. If you’ve got family contacts—anything that we can use, it would help,” Emma pushed.

  “They didn’t have families. That’s why they were here.” Jax’s fingers were back to tapping on the bar. “If we find pictures, fuck, yeah, I’ll send them to your guard over there.” He nodded at Dean.

  “Thank you,” Emma whispered. Then she caught Dean’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  His fingers curled around hers. He followed her, making sure that his body stayed close to Emma’s.

  “Emma!” They were almost at the door when Jax’s voice called out after her.

  Dean saw Emma’s shoulders stiffen, as if she were bracing herself, and when she turned back around, her face reflected a bit of fear.

  “You come to me, Em, if you think that bastard is getting too close. If he’s hunting you, if you’re scared, you come to me.” Jax’s voice was low and rumbling. “No matter what happened before, I’d protect you.”

  Emma gave a quick nod, but she didn’t speak. Then they were outside. The sun was brighter, hotter, and the people who’d been on that street before had already scattered. When they reached their car, it looked as if it was still in one piece, and Dean opened the door for Emma. When she slid inside, he caught her relieved sigh.

  Then he was walking around the front of the car. He looked back at the bar. Carlos was out there, watching them.

  Dean climbed in the vehicle and slammed the door shut. As the engine growled, he demanded, “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Why? You were the one throwing punches.” Her voice sounded tired. “I figured you knew more than I did.”

  He drove them the hell away from that bar. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma lean her head against her window.

  “Why didn’t you go to him for protection?” She’d come to him, offering a deal, while Jax—

&
nbsp; “Jax’s protection comes with a price. I wasn’t willing to pay that price.”

  His fingers tightened around the wheel. “You were lovers.”

  “A girl never forgets her first”—her tone was mocking—“even though she tries.”

  He braked. Dean recognized the emotion twisting his guts into knots. He hadn’t been the jealous type before, but then he hadn’t been with Emma before, either. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what, exactly?” Her head rose and she gazed at him with glittering eyes. “That once upon a time, I was homeless, on the street, desperate? That the only thing standing between me and starvation . . . well, that was Jax? He’d just opened his bar, I’d just turned eighteen . . . I knew how dangerous he was, but I didn’t care. I let him . . . protect me . . . then, is that what you want to hear?”

  No, he really didn’t want to hear another damn thing about the guy.

  “I got tired of being hungry. Got tired of being scared. Jax offered me a roof. Money. Some time to get on my feet, but too late, I realized the strings that were attached.” She glanced down at her hands. “Jax doesn’t let go easily.”

  Neither do I.

  “And in case you were wondering, most of the activities that go on in his bar aren’t exactly legal.”

  Was he supposed to be shocked by that?

  “Jax can hurt people, too easily. I don’t . . . I don’t like that. And I wanted to be more.” She pushed back her hair. Pointed straight ahead. “The light’s green, Dean.”

  Right. Hell. He shoved his foot down on the gas.

  “I know you don’t think much of my . . . readings. But I wasn’t breaking any laws with them. I wasn’t hurting anyone.” Her shoulders rolled in a small shrug. “And I could look at myself in the mirror every day. I had my own place. My own money. Someone like you wouldn’t understand what it was like for me.”

  There was hurt in her voice. She thought he was judging her. Had he? He reached out. Grabbed her hand. Brought her knuckles to his lips and pressed a quick kiss there.

  “D-Dean?”

  “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.” Like he’d had her and wanted her again. Endlessly.

  The way I want her.

  “Jax has a reach and power in this city that we can use. I needed to talk with him. We found out about the two missing—”

  “Yeah, I know we had to see him.” Knowing didn’t mean he liked it. “But he’s an asshole, and I don’t trust him.” Especially around Emma.

  “That makes two of us.” Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. But then she cleared her throat, and said, “I do trust you.”

  His back teeth ground together.

  “I don’t trust many people, but you’re different. You’re not like Jax. Not like anyone else I’ve ever met. I think you really do want to help people and not just use them.”

  They drove in silence. Soon, more familiar parts of the city were coming into view.

  “Does it change anything?”

  He fired a quick glance her way.

  “Knowing I was on the streets, knowing my past—does it change anything for you?”

  He braked at another light. Turned to face her fully. Their gazes held. There was fear in her eyes, and he didn’t like that. Not one bit. So she’d been homeless. So she’d had to con, had to lie. “It makes me want you more.”

  Surprise had her lips parting.

  “You’re a survivor, Emma. You’re strong. You’re determined. You’re fucking sexy.”

  Her gaze fell.

  A car horn honked behind him. The light had changed, but he didn’t rush forward. Screw the honking car. He caught her chin in his hand and lifted her head back up. “Nothing about you is going to turn me off, do you understand that?” He wanted her so much that the need seemed to consume him. It wasn’t natural, it wasn’t safe, and he didn’t care.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.” Then he freed her. He drove forward, and Dean didn’t mention that his protection came with a price, too.

  I won’t let her go.

  Because when a man found something he needed as much as Dean needed Emma, he held tight.

  THEY BRAKED IN front of Emma’s apartment. She looked down and realized her hands were shaking. Yes, well, some trembling fingers were to be expected—especially after facing Jax again.

  If the devil lived and breathed and walked the streets of the Big Easy, well, that devil would be Jax Fontaine.

  Once upon a time, she’d mistakenly thought he was her hero. After living on her own for nearly three years, she’d found her way to New Orleans, only life there hadn’t been any better for her . . . Until Jax.

  She’d known him before the tattoos. Before he’d started crossing the line and breaking that line more and more.

  Yes, once, she’d actually thought he was the man who was going to save the day for her. Too late, she’d realized he was trying to bring her down into hell with him.

  So she’d left him. She’d saved herself.

  One day at a time. Moment by moment.

  Don’t look back.

  She opened the door before Dean could do it. Dean . . . so very different from Jax, no matter what her ex had been trying to imply.

  Dean had called his team on the way over. Talked to someone named Gabe and given him all the details they had about Wayne and Sandy. Dean had checked in at the hospital, too, but there had been no change in Julia’s condition.

  Not yet.

  She wasn’t better, but she wasn’t worse, either.

  Emma hurried toward her building. “I need to get things cleaned up here. Sorted.” Because she wasn’t going to keep spending her nights at Dean’s hotel, as tempting as that was. This place was her home, and she wouldn’t lose it. “Go check in with Wade.” Because she knew he wanted to see if the cops had learned anything else, and apparently, Wade was the connection to the New Orleans PD. “I’ll keep my doors locked. I’ll be totally safe until we meet up later.”

  He followed her into the building. On the stairs, she was reminded again of just how big the guy was. He seemed to surround her as they headed to her apartment. “I’m not leaving,” he said from behind her, his words a rumble that rolled right over her skin, “not without doing a sweep at your place.”

  So he was definitely in guard mode. Fine by her. A sweep sounded good.

  She inserted her key in the lock. Hesitated. Her mat was back in place. But it wasn’t in the right place. The cops must have moved it a bit when they’d been doing their evidence collection.

  “Emma? Is something wrong?”

  Maybe. Maybe not. She opened the door, slowly, nervously.

  And . . . the place was clean. New furniture. Shiny, too-expensive furniture. No wreckage on the floor. Some of her art, the pieces that hadn’t been smashed beyond recognition, were even in place once more.

  She hurried into her bedroom. The place smelled like fresh paint. And those stark, glaring words weren’t on her wall any longer.

  Emma whirled toward him. “You did this.”

  He shrugged. “LOST did it. I might have . . . borrowed your key, though.”

  The sneaky son of a gun. “When?”

  “Last night. Don’t worry. Every member of the cleaning team was thoroughly checked out, and I sent a guard to keep an eye on the place while they were here.” His voice was too bland when he said, “It’s not a big deal.”

  It was to her.

  He shrugged again. Nervously? “There are special agencies that come in after crimes like this one. They just make it easier for people to get their lives back in order.”

  She glanced around her bedroom. There were new pillows. New covers. Covers that were the same dark blue shade she’d had before. “Who paid for this?”

  When he didn’t answer, her gaze zeroed in on him again.

  He glanced toward her window. “LOST.”

  He was such a liar.

  “You’re working for LOST now, as a consu
ltant, anyway, and Gabe wanted to show his appreciation.”

  “Gabe?” That was the name that she kept hearing pop up.

  “Gabe Spencer is my boss. He’s the man who founded LOST.”

  She filed that bit away for later. “Gabe didn’t do this.”

  He took a step back. “I assure you—”

  She reached out to him. Not to kiss, him but to hug him. “Thank you.”

  His hands settled—a bit slowly—around her shoulders. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.” Now his voice was gruff. “I told you, LOST did this.”

  When he lied, his voice went a bit deeper. He probably didn’t realize he even had that tell. She wasn’t about to reveal it to him. “Well, tell LOST I’m grateful.” And if she hadn’t drained her bank account, she’d be paying LOST back.

  She eased away from him and stared up at his face. His expression was so hard to read right then. “Dean—”

  A knock sounded at her door. Emma couldn’t help it, she tensed. No one ever came to visit her there, mostly because she wasn’t exactly the social sort.

  Dean stalked toward her door.

  “Hold on!” Emma called out as she tried to settle her nerves. Of course, it wasn’t Ricker at the door. Bad guys didn’t usually knock and wait politely while you opened the door.

  Dean put his eye to her peephole and swore.

  “Who is it?” Emma whispered as she tried to push the guy out of her way and get a look herself. And when she did get a look . . . “That’s the FBI agent.” Kevin Cormack. “And Wade’s with him.”

  She fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

  Kevin’s expression was grim. “Ms. Castille? I’m afraid that I need you to come with me.”

  “What? Why?”

  Wade flashed a look ripe with guilt over at Dean.

  Kevin crossed her threshold. Kept his eyes on her. The guy managed to look—somehow—both determined and a bit apologetic. What was up with that? “We know the killer is targeting you, and for your own protection, you’re going to be taken into federal custody.”

  Dean was ominously quiet beside her. That was fine. He could be quiet. She had plenty to say. And that plenty started with . . . “The hell I am.”