Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(21)
An hour later, Jeremy closed the door after the last officer left. The intruder was on his way to the Marietta City lockup and bail wouldn’t be set before tomorrow morning.
Jeremy walked to the kitchen where CeCe sat at the table, silent as a trapped mouse.
He didn’t think the company she contracted from would just willingly hand over her address to anyone, but he couldn’t find out more until tomorrow when Double Take was open. Right now, CeCe needed comfort more than questions.
Jeremy asked, “Do you want to call your brother?”
“No.” She glanced up, eyes widening with fear, then must have realized how that sounded—like she was afraid of her brother. “He would pack me up and have me moved before daylight.”
Jeremy couldn’t fault her brother for that since the idea of bundling her off somewhere safe had crossed his mind more than once tonight.
“I-I don’t want to stay here tonight,” she whispered.
As if he’d let her stay alone tonight. “You can stay with me.”
“What about dinner?” She gave him a shaky smile that teetered close to tears. “I’m never going to pay all my debts to you at the rate I’m going.”
“You don’t owe me a thing.” He walked over to pull her up out of the chair. “But I won’t turn down dinner together.” He kissed her gently. “We’ll order in at my house.”
She wrapped her arms around his back, hugging fiercely. He hated that she was still so shaken by the encounter.
When she pulled away to look up at him, he saw hope warming her eyes. Hope that he’d go along with the idea of an affair behind locked doors?
If she asked him right now, he would deny her nothing. Seeing her in danger had vanished any thoughts of his earlier decision to break things off now before it was too late.
In fact, when he’d heard her life being threatened Jeremy realized it was too late to walk away clean. He’d have died a thousand deaths tonight if anything had happened to her.
Letting her go would be the final death of his soul.
She chewed on her lip, indecision warring again in her gaze. “I’m really glad you were here tonight and I don’t want you to take this wrong, but I have to ask you something.” Her voice shook nervously.
“Ask.” He had an idea what she was going to say. She hadn’t liked it one bit when he’d told her they’d have dinner as friends. He considered jumping in first to let her know she meant much more than anyone he’d ever considered a friend, but she didn’t give him a chance.
“Is there a legal reason you can’t get a gun permit, Jeremy?”
“WHAT DO YOU mean you couldn’t get Dorvan sprung?” Starface adjusted the listening volume on his Bluetooth headset, not believing his ears. “It’s nine in the f*cking morning! They’ve had him twelve hours.” He stomped around his apartment in midtown Atlanta. He’d been up all night trying to find out what had happened to Dorvan.
Now he wanted to know why one of the best defense attorneys in the Southeast couldn’t get bail set.
“Marietta hasn’t set bail”—his asthmatic legal counsel spoke in short phrases and a voice too soft to belong to the barracuda this man could be in a courtroom—“because the FBI showed up… early this morning.” He wheezed softly. “They took Dorvan before the courts opened.”
“When are they going to let him see his attorney?” Starface growled.
“Soon as he’s processed. No telling how long… that will take.” The attorney took a long pause then asked, “Why does the FBI want him?”
Starface wasn’t sharing that information with anyone. “I don’t know. Just get him out of there.”
Dorvan was of no use and Starface needed that photo card now before Ziggy sent someone for his ass. He hung up and dialed another resource. When the connection was made, he picked up the notes he’d given Dorvan yesterday and told his new tracker, “Easy contract to locate a woman. She works for a group called Double Take. Find her today and I’ll double your standard fee.”
And pay him a bonus to take care of another loose end if Dorvan spilled his guts.
JEREMY WALKED FROM the bathroom into his bedroom wearing his jeans and toweling his hair dry. Early morning daylight bled through cracks in the blinds, adding to the soft glow from a lamp on the nightstand.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
CeCe lay sprawled across his bed on her stomach facing away from him, propped up on her elbows and engrossed in a magazine. That sweet bottom of hers peeked out from under the tail of one of his shirts. No underwear.
Have mercy.
Once he’d gotten her relaxed at his house last night, he’d joked with her about having dessert in bed only to take her mind off what had happened at her house. The last thing he’d wanted to do was make an overt move toward making love that might scare her worse after a man had threatened her at gunpoint.
But she’d wanted to make love with an almost desperate need he understood. To know she wasn’t vulnerable. He’d let her take the lead, giving her what she needed to feel in control.
None of that would have happened if he hadn’t figured his way out of her question about the gun permit. He told her he’d gone to jail as a teenager for boosting cars, had done his time and paid the price for his crimes, which he had.