Wild Dirty Secret(63)

“Get your bitch and get out,” he said. “I never want to see you back here.”

I seemed to have been rooted to the spot, but Luke grabbed my arm and pulled me from the club. Cold night air slashed at my sweated skin and seeped into my bones. The streetlamps blurred before my eyes, as if I watched them through a car window on the freeway instead of stumbling down the street away from the club. My limbs felt like lead. I remembered this feeling from once before. My brain was filled with white dewy mist. Ah, shock. That was it. Knowing its name didn’t lift the fog.

If anything, I sank deeper. Nothing could touch me here. No one could.





Chapter Twelve





At least Luke seemed to have all his faculties, buckling me into the car. His hands were smooth as they tucked my hair behind my ear. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Close your eyes. We’ll be home soon.”

Only when I felt the car move did I realize I had followed his instructions. I kept them closed, luxuriating in the cottony comfort. We were safe; that much I knew. And really, wasn’t that all I’d ever wanted for us? Safe and together.

Whether minutes or hours passed, I didn’t know, but I felt the car slow to a halt. I opened my eyes, and first things I saw were trees. I squinted. Where were we, a park? Luke circled the car and let me out. Then I saw the cottage. In the twilight, dark crisscross beams could be seen shadow-framing the cottage, and a dark leafy carpet blanketed the side. I hadn’t been sure what he’d meant by home, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. “What is this place?”

“A safe house.”

I grew alarmed. “The CPD?”

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s mine.”

“She’s mine,” he had said to Todd. All part of the game that had almost blown up in our faces.

It was too dark to see inside properly, even with the small table-side lamp Luke switched on. I registered vague, ranch-style furniture crowding the small living space. It all looked very ordinary, as if a sleepy-headed child might wander out for a glass of water. But maybe that was what made it a safe house. Not just its location as a hideout, but its ability to bring ease to the people who stayed here.

Luke prepared a cup of tea for me and coffee for himself. I warmed my hands on the bowled mug and took a sip.

At length, I asked the question that had sat on the tip of my tongue all this time. “Do you regret it?”

He leaned back in the wood-and-wicker armchair he’d chosen and closed his eyes. A lock of golden-brown hair fell across his forehead, softening the hard, chiseled lines of his face.

“I should. I can’t. He deserved every fucking bruise.”

I dipped my pinkie finger into the scalding tea, then brought the wobbly drop to my lips. “Still. He might have had information. You might have found her.”

“He didn’t know anything. Not anything current, anyway.”

I shrugged. “I would have done it. In case you were wondering.”

“Done what?”

“I would have fucked him if you’d asked me to. So he would tell what he knew. So that you could find her.”

His eyes snapped open, glowing green in the dim light, like a cheetah ready to hunt. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know she’s important to you.”

“Did you know about her? You don’t seem surprised.”

“I had an idea.” More like Jade spelling it out for me. There had been other clues, but a girl would go to great mental lengths for love—even the doomed kind.

He reached forward and set his coffee mug on the side table, then rested his elbows on his knees, his head down. “Daisy is my sister. Was my sister. Three years younger. Though she probably isn’t alive anymore, I’ve never been able to make myself accept that.”

“Your sister?” Of course it shouldn’t bring me any happiness, knowing that his sister had been a prostitute, that she was likely dead, and yet pure inappropriate relief flooded me. This was exactly the sort of selfish response that made me unsuitable for him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What for? You were my informant, at great risk to yourself. Then before you had even fully recovered from the gunshot, you were on the run. I owed you my help, not the other way around.”

He glanced up, his gaze hooded—and tired. He needed sleep. And possibly medical attention.

I stood and found an ice pack in the freezer and placed it against his temple. He winced, then pushed it more firmly against the swelling there, taking it from me. I sat again, trying to order my thoughts. He had been searching for his sister all this time. Contrary to my impassioned imaginings, the discovery didn’t diminish his integrity—it strengthened it. Any prostitute who denied ever having a white-knight fantasy was lying. And here he was, loyal to her cause. Considering she was his sister, he wouldn’t even expect sex in gratitude. The savior scenario didn’t get better than that.