Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jax
When I was twenty-two, I spent three nights in holding—refusing to give my name and refusing to call James. Part of me would’ve rather ripped my molars out with pliers than hear his voice. But the real reason is that I knew I’d screwed up. Bad. And I wasn’t ready to own it.
It was a simple job, a nice starter for a twenty-two-year-old still in college—make a murder look like a suicide. Since I was already in the city, James tossed it to me instead of Arnold. And when I say “tossed,” I mean shoved down my throat while I should have been cramming for finals.
But I made an amateur mistake. When I went to torch what I had used, the inventory wasn’t adding up. I went in with two gloves and came out with one. Just a cheap nitrile glove. But mine. My DNA. My fuck-up.
I had to go back to the scene and get it.
It had only been a few hours, and I slipped in the way I had before. But I hadn’t realized that the fancy high-rise building had housekeeping and that a woman had already witnessed the body and gone down to get help.
And I was in the goddamn suite when security brought her back.
They detained me until NYPD showed up, and I had no choice but to eat the fucking glove.
It was either that or give James more ammo against me.
I chose to swallow the thing whole—an obstruction in my intestines preferable.
Luckily, I was able to throw it up and flush it at the station a few hours later.
Eventually, I called Arnold. He looped in James. They got me out.
But I learned a valuable fucking lesson.
Never go back to the scene of a crime.
So tell me why I’m parked at the bottom of Horizon Bluff, engine idling, watching Kira Noland step out of some stranger’s car.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I come to terms with the fact that this girl is going to be the death of me.
Because while I should let her hike up there and get herself caught and leave behind trace pieces of evidence, I know I’m not going to.
I’m going to follow after her. I’m going to carry her right back to my car.
I’m going to break my own goddamn rule and probably get myself caught because I’m a weak man who can’t resist Kira Noland.
If it were anyone else, I would relish their stupidity and let them incriminate themselves to cover my own ass.
But why is she being stupid? I told her I would handle everything.
And who is this guy that she led right to the scene?
Not her father. I know that much. The grapevine says their father has been out of the picture for years. So who the fuck is this guy?
I commit his plate number to memory as he pulls away, leaving a disheveled-looking Kira in the gravel.
At least she had the good sense to wear sneakers, but the threadbare hoodie she’s wearing only has one sleeve pushed up while the other falls past her fingertips.
Her hair is up but sagging in the holder, little pieces sticking to her neck, and—my jaw clenches as she turns her back on my view to make her way up the bluff.
Is she in her fucking underwear? Jesus Christ. The hem barely brushes the top of her thighs, outlining the curve of her ass in a way that makes my blood heat and my temper snap.
She has to be in her underwear. They don’t make shorts that short, do they?
And she got into that guy’s car like that?!
With a growl, I rip the keys from the ignition and slam the door before darting across the highway.
The slope is steep and all loose rock, and I’m surprised when I have to pick up the pace to keep her in view.
Isn’t she supposed to be recovering from a heart attack?
Jesus, why is she moving so fast? I start into a light jog to catch up, not worried about her hearing me over her own huffing, but I keep my distance.
I’m curious as to what the fuck would make her come back out here.
Yeah, it’s a nice fall day and perfect for a hike, the soft breeze throwing evergreen needles at my feet with the scent of damp soil and dry bark, but Kira’s not here to enjoy the scenery.
And neither am I.
Locking my jaw, I swat at a gnat and continue to follow her.
I pay close attention to the way her shoulders tense as she climbs, the way her legs shake under that too-short hoodie, and it yanks my brain right back to her kitchen.
The way she gripped my shoulders, the way her thighs trembled around my waist. Fuck.
I wanted her. I want her right now, even if she is risking us getting caught.
I shouldn’t be this turned on when I’m fuming, but I am.
Fucking Kira Noland.
She reaches the car park and then veers off into the foliage where we hauled Marshal up.
But not even ten feet up the route, she sways.
Her balance shifts and her foot slips, but she catches herself on a tree trunk.
I half expect her to stop now and realize this is stupid of her, but that wouldn’t be very Kira Noland of her, and of course, she doesn’t. Stubborn.
And I suddenly realize it doesn’t matter why she came here. This is reckless. What matters is that she shouldn’t be out here with a heart condition.
I push off my heels and catch up with her before she hits the real incline.
“Kira.” I stop just a few feet below her when I realize she still can’t hear me trailing her. “Kira!”
Finally, she startles, spinning around wildly and almost slipping again.
Her eyes are wide like a child who’s been caught. “What—” she pants, steadying herself and swallowing, “what are you doing here?!” She finds her anger.
But I can’t even enjoy it—and I do enjoy the way her brown eyes narrow at me—because we need to put some distance between us and the scene. And she needs to lie down. She’s absolutely drenched in sweat, and there isn’t a hint of color in her lips.
“We’re not doing this.” I put out a hand and motion for her. “Let’s go.”
“No.” She turns her back on me and starts up again, clearly no longer surprised by the fact that I’ve followed her.
“No?” I raise a brow and plant a foot on a rock, heaving myself up to her in one haul.
“I’m not leaving until I find the teeth,” she says between pants without looking at me.
I stop. Teeth? What teeth? Marshal’s? Is she delusional? “You can’t be serious,” I say.
She glances at me over her shoulder, face pale but determined. “If they find his teeth, then that’s as good as a body. But if I find the teeth first—”
I grab her arm. Not hard, but enough to make her stumble to a stop—even though I’m mildly offended that she would think I would miss something like that.
“Do I look like a fucking idiot?” I hiss as she gapes down at my fingers around her skin. “I grabbed the teeth, Kira. First thing I did once the fire was out. I’m not new at this.”
She jerks away from me. “Oh? You grabbed them? While they were nice and hot, you sifted through the ashes and grabbed them? Because I don’t remember that.”
She’s spun up, more frantic than I’ve ever seen her.
Something must have happened. But she’s chewing out the wrong person.
I would never leave behind evidence that could get her in trouble.
Even that first night, when she was supposed to be nothing more than a loose end to clean up, something in me wanted to protect her.
“Well, you wouldn’t remember that, would you?” I snap. “Seeing as how you were passed out, like you’re about to be if you don’t calm down.”
“I’m fine,” she grinds out.
“Like fuck,” I mirror her.
She really thinks she can do this. Like the laws of biology don’t apply to her. It’s insane. It’s reckless. And it’s so goddamn her that I want to kiss her. That tenacity gets me hard. But this is not the place to fuck her. Woods? Fine. Crime scene? No.
Her mouth opens—probably to throw something venomous—but it doesn’t come out. Instead, her face goes blank, and her eyes stop focusing on me. The line between her brows melts, and like a switch, something has flipped… off.
“Kira?”
Her legs buckle, and I swoop to catch her before she can hit the ground. She’s limp in my arms, and her head lolls against my chest.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Kira. Kira, open your eyes!” I bark, giving her a little shake. “Now, buttercup.”
Nothing.
I press my knuckles to her cheek, frowning. She’s cold but damp. How can she be cold and sweating at the same damn time? I don’t know if it’s her heart or dehydration or stress or all of it combined, but I don’t fucking like it.
“Come on,” I say, pushing back some of the hair that’s stuck to her forehead. “You’re fine. Tell me again how fine you are.” I search her face for movement, for some annoyance at my request. But there is none.
Fuck. She’s not fine.
I shift fast, one arm under her legs, one around her back, and then I’m hauling her down the bluff. My feet slide on gravel. My shoulder hits a tree. My ankle rolls. But I don’t stop.
“Stay with me, baby. Come on,” I mutter, breath heaving. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” I spare a glance at her face. Her eyes are still closed, and my chest tightens like I’m about to have my own heart attack.
I didn’t actually think she’d pass out. She’s stubborn as hell. I’ve watched her fight it off twice before and almost win. But this time wasn’t like drifting off—it was like she wasn’t in control. Like she’s not actually invincible. A fact that I hate.
I keep my eyes on the terrain as I speed up.
I make it back to the car, rip the door open, and lower her into the passenger seat like she’s made of glass—which is a feat considering my muscles are shaking and my breath is ragged. Her head slips down, and her chin rests against her collarbone without resistance as I buckle her in.
“Goddamn it,” I growl as I slam the door.
I don’t bother with my own seat belt as I get in the driver’s side and instead floor the gas so hard the tires squeal.
Not even ten minutes later, she’s still out, and I feel like I’m going to explode as I pull up to Memorial Hospital’s emergency room. I don’t even take the keys out of the ignition before circling around to open her door.
“We’re here,” I whisper as I unbuckle her seat belt. “We’re here, Kira. You’re gonna be fine now.” And then louder, “I need a doctor!”
But people in blue are already surrounding me.
One of them calls for a gurney, but they’re too slow, and I scoop Kira into my arms. “She passed out,” I say to no one and everyone.
“And she won’t wake up. She had a heart attack—” I correct myself, “a tear. She had a tear in her heart less than a week ago.”
I carry her straight through the automatic doors, my feet sure and fast, even though I don’t know where the fuck I’m going.
I don’t pause at a scared-looking girl with a clipboard who probably wants me to fill something out and instead scan the busy ER for anyone in a white coat.
But everyone is a blur and busy, and I freeze in the middle, desperation clawing at me.
“Sir, you—” A nurse slips in front of me, and I hone in on her.
“I want the best you’ve got,” I demand, cutting her off, hating that I sound like James.
But if any time calls for throwing weight around, it’s now.
“I want the fucking best. She needs a cardiologist and a… a… fuck.” I scan again, not knowing what she needs and suddenly wishing I had a degree in medicine instead of law. “Just get someone. Now.”
“They’re coming,” the nurse tries to assure me. “But you have to let her go.” She pries at my arm with a gloved hand.
My brows come together as I look down at her hand, despair making my heart race.
But not because the nurse would ever be able to break my hold on her—it would take a crowbar to get me to let go—but because I don’t want to let go, and I know that I have to.
What if I let her go and she dies? I fucking hate that I can’t fix this myself.
“Sir, please.”
“Damn it.” I nod, accepting that cradling her against me isn’t going to do anything for her.
“Okay.” I loosen my hold, and they quickly take her, but it feels like cutting off my own arm to let her go.
She’s still limp and sweaty as they set her on a gurney and start to wheel her into a room.
I scrub a hand down my face as I follow, my chest feeling cold in her absence.
“What—what’s her name?” The girl with the clipboard appears.
“Kira Nol—” I stop, my eyes trailing to the poised pen. I’ll be damned if they try to half-ass her because she’s on state aid. She’s going to get Landon treatment. Because if she doesn’t, and she dies, I’m going to burn this whole hospital to the ground.
“Landon,” I say. “Kira Landon.” I give her my last name.