used a drawing of you made by a friend you had back then, Skeeter Bang.”
He seemed to think that over for a moment or two, before speaking. “Skeeter?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“No.” He gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t remember anybody named Skeeter. I remember you.” He bent his head and kissed her, running his tongue across her lips and, when she opened for him, plundering her mouth.
And she melted again. No woman in her right mind would try to resist him. He tasted like heaven, was built like a god, and had the heart of a warrior. Memories, whatever he had or didn’t have, would have to wait—but her chance to turn him over to Steele Street wouldn’t wait. A few more seconds, she promised herself, just a few more of sinking into his magic, then she’d break off the kiss, grab her dress, and race for the door.
Oh, right, she thought, doubting herself when second after second passed and she did nothing to implement her plan. He felt too good, and then he felt even better. He pressed against her, and desire rose between them like a flood tide.
Oh, hell. She was going down in flames, without putting up even the smallest fight.
But the fight wasn’t hers to lose.
Between one breath and the next, he stiffened in her arms.
“Get dressed,” he said suddenly, and was moving away from her, out of the bed.
He stepped into the hall and brought back her clothes.
“What’s your address?” he asked, tossing the clothes and her boots on the bed and reaching for his jeans.
“My …?” Things were moving too fast. He quickly buttoned his jeans and grabbed his T-shirt, slipping it over his head while he headed back toward the hall.
Cripes. She’d never seen anyone move so fluidly, with so much speed and surety.
“Address,” he repeated, stopping at the bedroom door to listen.
She heard it then, too, men talking outside. It was definitely Creed. She would recognize the Jungle Boy’s voice anywhere.
Con looked back at her and held her gaze. “I want to see you later, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yes,” she said, clutching her dress to her chest. “Yes.” Absolutely. “Twenty-one eleven Blake Street, number five-oh-eight. I have the loft condo on the top floor.”
“I’ll find it,” he said, the words rock-solid, like a promise, like the man.
“Where are you going? Why … what, I …” She didn’t know what to think. He had knelt down and was putting on his boots.
Trying to catch up, she started scrambling into her dress, dragging it over her head, reaching for her panties, getting off the bed.
“I have a job to do,” he said, quickly tying his laces. “A guy named Randolph Lancaster. You can tell that to your friends, if they don’t already know he’s been jerking their chains. When I’m done meeting with Lancaster, I’ll come to you.”
“But I—”
He came back around the bed and cupped her face in his palms—and he kissed her, his mouth hard, the kiss hot and wet and deep. Even when he pulled back, he continued to cup her face in his hands.
“Those are your friends out there, the guys from Steele Street. I need you to go with them. You’ll be safe, and—”
“No,” she said, grabbing on to his arms. “No, you’re not going anywhere without me.”
“Jane—”
“No.” Her pulse was suddenly racing with the realization that he was leaving her. “Whatever you need to do … meet with this … this guy Lancaster, I can help you. I can—”
“You can help me by going with your friends,” he interrupted her. “I’m leaving. Do not stay in this house alone once I’m gone. You know what’s out there, and it knows you’re here. You won’t be safe.”
Oh, God.
“Jane.” He kissed her again, his breath soft against her lips, his hands gentle on her face. “You’re important to me, very important. I’ll come to you tonight.”
And then he was gone. With more speed than she could comprehend, he was out of the bedroom, out of the kitchen, and out of the house—damn near silently—and she was left holding her shoes in one hand, her underwear in the other, and wondering what in the hell to do next.
“Oh, whoa,” Creed said. “Oh, fuck.”
“Okay, let’s not dwell on this.”
“I’m not fucking dwelling, but geezus.”
Geezus was right. Hawkins switched off his flashlight. They’d seen enough.
“I think we should bag it,” Creed said, still looking down at what could only be somebody’s upchucked dinner, which just happened to be a chunk of King