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  He gave me a penetrating look. "Let's cut to the chase. Your sister's out of town. You knew this, right?"

  I nodded.

  "So why are you here?"

  I drew back. Talk about blunt. I'd read all of his books, multiple times. Maybe some of his characters were blunt, but I'd always imagined that in real life – assuming that I ever got lucky enough to meet the guy – he'd be a lot more eloquent. And definitely nicer.

  My fangirl enthusiasm was fading fast. "I don't know," I said. "Why are you here?"

  Okay, maybe it was a snotty thing to say, but his eyes weren't just amazingly blue. They were so sharp, they made me feel like he could see straight into my brain.

  I should've looked away, but my own eyes refused to cooperate. Under my breath, I mumbled, "I'm just saying, it's not your house either."

  Next to him, Imogen gave a little huff. "Speaking of houses, are you going to be leaving this one any time soon?"

  Well, that was nice.

  But whatever. I wasn't here to see her goodies, or even Jack Ward's amazing abs. I was here to see Flynn Archer, my future brother-in-law.

  I was in a tiny bit of trouble, and he was the closest thing I had to family, at least nearby.

  Pathetic, I know.

  Ignoring her question, I looked to Jack and said, "So where's Flynn?"

  "Out."

  I glanced toward the rear of the house. "You mean he's hiking out back?"

  "No."

  I hesitated. "So…is he running an errand or something?"

  "No," he repeated.

  I made a sound of frustration. "So, where is he? I know he's in town."

  Jack's eyebrows lifted. "You sure about that?"

  "Definitely," I said. "My sister told me so."

  "When?"

  I recalled our recent phone call. "Maybe an hour ago."

  "Yeah, well, maybe your information's outdated."

  I gave a confused shake of my head. "What does that mean?"

  Jack studied my face. "So, are you gonna answer my question or not?"

  "What question?"

  "Why are you here?"

  Next to him, Imogen chimed in, "And when are you leaving?"

  Slowly, he turned to face her. In a surprisingly calm voice, he said, "Zip it."

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Zip it," he repeated. "Or leave. Your choice."

  She glanced down. "But I’m not even dressed."

  He gave her clothes – or lack thereof – a dismissive look. "That's your problem. Not mine."

  His words were so cold, I stifled a shiver. With growing unease, I said, "All right, just tell me one thing. When will Flynn be back?"

  "My guess?" Jack said. "Next month."

  My jaw almost hit the floor. Next month?

  I shook my head. No, that couldn’t be right. I'd literally just talked to Anna. She'd said nothing about Flynn being gone, much less for a whole month. And she'd surely know, right?

  I'd need to call her again.

  But in the meantime, I had to face facts. Whatever the situation, Flynn definitely wasn't here at the moment.

  This posed a disturbing new question.

  Now what?

  Chapter 4

  Jack

  In the end, Anna's little sister wouldn't tell me dick. Instead, she'd turned and stomped out of the house, leaving the door wide open behind her, like she was looking to make a point.

  What the point was, I could only guess.

  I watched through the open front doorway as she stalked to a small beat-up car parked haphazardly in the driveway. She got inside and fired up the engine. The car lurched forward, circled the turnaround, and then sped out through the open front gate before disappearing in a cloud of dust and disappointment.

  Not her disappointment.

  Mine.

  This trip had been a giant cluster, and it wasn't getting any better. I'd been planning to stay at Flynn's for two solitary days until starting the upcoming book tour – and the secret side missions I'd been planning for longer than I cared to consider.

  But Imogen had surprised me an hour ago, showing up outside Flynn's gate as if I'd be happy to see her.

  I wasn't. Hell, if I'd known she was coming, I'd have gone somewhere else to finalize my plans.

  Six weeks earlier, Imogen and I had ended our relationship. We'd been together for several months, but it seemed like longer, and not in a good way. To me, the split was permanent. But Imogen wasn't seeing it the same.

  She'd spent the last hour trying to get me into bed. No surprise there. It was her answer to everything – distract me with sex and gloss over the rest of it.

  As for myself, I'd spent the last hour wondering how the hell she'd learned where I was.

  There was a reason I'd come out to Flynn's place, and it wasn't to be hounded by a girl who refused to take no for an answer.

  But I wasn't thinking of Imogen now. I was thinking of Anna's little sister. She was in some kind of trouble, even if she'd refused to admit it.

  When the dust in the road finally cleared, I shut the door and turned away. As I did, Imogen sidled closer to say, "I thought she'd never leave."

  With a flirtatious smile, she reached up and laced her icy fingers around the back of my neck. She leaned into me, and her voice grew husky. "So, what shall we do now?"

  Shall?

  Oh, for fuck's sake.

  Imogen had more than her share of secrets. And guess what? I knew them all. Her accent was faker than her eyelashes, not to mention any of those other attributes that had made her famous.

  During our time together, I'd never called her on any of it – including the fake accent or the fake history. And why? It was because she didn't know that I knew. And I was fine with keeping it that way.

  If I ever wanted to swap secrets, it wouldn’t be with Imogen St. James – aka Rachel Krepke from Cincinnati.

  I pulled out of her embrace and said, "You need to go."

  She frowned. "But why?"

  "Because it's not my house."

  "So?"

  "So I'm going out, which means you can't stay."

  "So I'll come with you."

  "Trust me, you're heading out," I said. "But not with me."

  She tried for a flirtatious laugh. "But I can't just leave, silly. I'm all dressed up."

  Silly?

  Silliness was inviting yourself on an errand while insisting that you can't leave the house. Then again, Imogen wasn't known for her consistency.

  I gave her outfit – what little there was – a quick glance. "Dressed for what?"

  She cocked a hip. "For you, of course."

  Yeah. Me and a few million other people. I knew damn well what she'd been doing in the open doorway, and it had nothing to do with me. It had to do with her millions of fans on Instagram and wherever else.

  If I knew Imogen, she'd been setting up a selfie – some pseudo-candid shot of her nearly naked body, framed in the open doorway of Flynn Archer's secluded mansion. Flynn was a big movie star, which meant that in Imogen's world, his was a name worth dropping.

  Not to me.

  To me, Flynn was the closest thing I had to a brother. I'd known him before either of us guys had become famous – me with the books and Flynn in the related movies that had made him a star.

  But to Imogen? He was just a name – a good one to drop on her slobbering fans. That's how she worked.

  I should know. She'd been dropping my name non-stop since early this year, when we'd somehow become an item.

  I said, "Where's your coat?"

  She shook her head. "What coat?"

  "The one you arrived in."

  She'd shown up in a limo, wearing exactly what she was wearing now, plus a long trench coat – some tan retro thing that had probably cost more than the vehicle that had carried her here.

  Her lips curved into a slow smile. "I don't know." She made a show of eyeing my bare chest. "Where's your shirt?"

  She knew damn where it was. I'
d yanked it off after she'd "accidentally" spilled a bottle of soda water down the front of me.

  Wet T-shirts – she had a thing for them. Or maybe she'd just wanted to get the ball rolling as far as getting me out of my clothes.

  That was Imogen – subtle to the core.

  Ignoring her question, I pulled out my cell phone and started scrolling across the screen.

  She asked, "What are you doing?"

  "Calling the limo."

  "Why?"

  "So they can come and get you."

  She frowned. "But where would I go?"

  "Back."

  "Back where?"

  I didn't know, and I didn't care. "Wherever you came from."

  She made a sound of protest. "But I don't have a flight."

  "Sorry, not my problem."

  "Can I at least borrow your jet?"

  "No."

  "But why not?" she said. "It's just sitting there, waiting at the airport, right?"

  Yeah. It was. But letting her use it would only encourage further visits – visits that I didn't want or need. "Whether it is or not," I said, "the answer's still no."

  She gave a dramatic sigh. "Forget the jet. I can't leave yet anyway."

  She was wrong. She could. And she would.

  When my only reply was a cold look, she added, "I mean, we haven't had the chance to talk."

  I didn't bother to hide my impatience. "About what?"

  "Us."

  "There is no us," I reminded her. "We're done. Remember?"

  She should remember. It was her doing. She'd wanted to take our relationship to the next level, and when I'd balked, she'd responded by trashing her own kitchen and storming off to Tuscany or wherever, expecting me to follow.

  I hadn't.

  She tried for a laugh. "Oh come on. It was just a disagreement. That's all."

  A stack of broken dishes said otherwise. But that wasn't the issue. The issue was, our problems weren't the kind that improved over time. They were the kind that festered in private before ending in a public display that would embarrass me and my future kids, assuming I ever had any.

  She moved closer and practically purred, "And come on. You know you want it."

  I'd returned my attention to the phone. "What?"

  "You know." Her voice dripped with honey. "Makeup sex."

  Yup. Subtle, all right.

  I stopped scrolling and gave her a good, long look.

  Now that she had my attention, she said, "Admit it. You still want me."

  She was only half right. My dick said yes, but my brain said no. Sure, she was undeniably sexy, but I was done letting my lower brain make any decisions where Imogen was concerned.

  We were done. Period.

  Plus, there was something I needed to do, and it didn’t involve dragging Imogen along for the ride.

  One way or another, she had to go.

  Chapter 5

  Becka

  I was hunkered down in my car, watching the condo though my driver's side window. I'd been watching it for a half-hour now, but saw nothing to be concerned about.

  I tried to smile. Maybe Nicky was gone. Hey, anything was possible, right?

  A low scoff escaped my lips. As if I'd get so lucky.

  Lately luck had been thin on the ground, but I had only myself to blame. I mean, we make our own luck, right? And, assuming this was true, I'd been doing a sorry job of it.

  Seriously, what on Earth had I been thinking?

  I was still mulling that over when a tap on the passenger's side window made me jump in my seat. I whirled to look and stifled a gasp. It wasn't him, the guy I'd been watching for. It was the other him – Jack Ward.

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. What was he doing here?

  As I stared in open confusion, he pointed to the passenger's side door and said, "Open up."

  I frowned. Even muffled through the glass, his words had sounded way too bossy for my liking. Unless I was mistaken, he'd just given me an order – and not a request.

  I glanced around, taking in the quiet city street. Where had he come from, anyway? I had no idea. Beyond confused, I called through the glass. "Why?"

  He eyed me through the car window. "Because if you don't, I'll have to get it myself."

  I was still frowning. He couldn’t get it. The car was locked – and for a good reason, too. He was out there, somewhere. And I didn't mean Jack Ward.

  I took another glance around before returning my attention to the passenger's side door. Just as I did, it swung open, and Jack slid into the car, claiming the passenger's seat and shutting the door behind him.

  I gave a confused shake of my head. "Wait. Wasn't it locked?"

  "Not good enough," he said.

  Okay, that made zero sense, but hey, what else was new? At least now he was wearing a shirt – a plain black T-shirt, as generic as you could get. And yet, on him, it didn't look generic at all.

  The shirt looked…well, distracting, that's what.

  I heard myself say, "What are you doing here?"

  "The same as you."

  I seriously doubted that. After all, I was watching for the psycho that was my new roommate – a roommate I'd met for the very first time only five days ago. I gave Jack a thin smile. "Which is…?"

  He flicked his head toward the opposite side of the street. "Watching that condo."

  I sat back in surprise. So he did know? But he couldn’t know everything. As a test, I asked, "Watching for what?"

  He gave me a hard look. "You tell me."

  I didn't want to tell him. Cripes, I didn't want to tell anyone. Mostly, I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

  I'd been so freaking stupid.

  Stalling, I turned and looked once again toward the condo. The place was obnoxiously nice – one of six attached units located across from the waterfront city park. Probably it was too nice.

  By this, I meant that it was well beyond my normal budget even for a rental. Even so, I'd gotten a heck of a deal – half-priced rent and free utilities.

  Probably this should've been my first clue, huh?

  I turned back to Jack and sighed. "Fine. You want the truth? I'm watching for my roommate."

  "All right. So what's his name?"

  Now that made me pause. "Wait. How do you know it's a guy?"

  He gave a tight shrug. "Easy guess."

  "How?" I asked.

  He eyed me with apparent disdain. "Is that a serious question?"

  "Definitely," I said. "For all you know, I could have a psycho female roommate. And she'd be worth avoiding too, right?"

  His mouth tightened, and his gaze shifted past me toward the condo. He gave it a long, serious look.

  As he did, I belatedly realized that by calling Nicky a psycho, I'd just revealed far more than I'd intended. Going for a distraction, I added, "I'm just saying, don't you think it's a bit sexist to assume it's a guy?"

  With his gaze still on the condo, Jack replied, "Sexist to who? Seems to me I'm paying you a compliment."

  If so, it had to be the most subtle compliment I'd ever received. "How so?"

  "By assuming the psycho isn't you."

  My jaw dropped. "What?"

  "Or one of your female friends."

  "Hey!" I said. "Girls can be psychos, too, you know." As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. After all, he'd just said basically the same thing. And more to the point, why was I arguing against my own gender? But I knew exactly why.

  It was because of Jack. I found him nearly as unnerving as the guy I'd been avoiding for two days straight. And that guy was totally off his rocker.

  Ignoring my protest, Jack asked, "When's the last time you saw him?"

  "Who, my roommate?"

  "Yeah. Him."

  "Friday."

  "Day or night?"

  I almost shuddered at the memory. "Night."

  "So it's been what? Forty-eight hours?"

  "More or less."

  I recalled the last time I'd se
en Nicky. It had been just past midnight when I'd left my bedroom in search of something to drink, only to find Nicky naked in the kitchen – or rather, nearly naked if I wanted to count his open bathrobe, which just for the record, hid next to nothing.

  Then again, Nicky had been – how to put this? – rather engorged at the time.

  The worst part was, he'd acted like this wasn't a big deal. And when I'd informed him that it most certainly was a big deal and then told him flat-out that he needed to make sure he was decent before ever leaving his bedroom, he'd had the nerve to look offended.

  On top of that, he'd refused to shut his robe.

  Adding insult to injury, he'd called me, in his words, "a total downer" before offering up one of those sorry-not-sorry apologies and then leaving the kitchen with a jar of grape jelly.

  For what?

  I had no idea.

  It's not like I'd asked.

  Instead, I'd called Tara – the gal who'd rented me the place – and lodged an official complaint, not that it did a lick of good. Like Nicky, she'd acted like I was some kind of prude and suggested that I simply "chill out."

  Of course, "chilling" would be a lot easier if I weren't missing two hundred dollars – money I'd tucked inside a book on my nightstand, until it mysteriously disappeared, that is.

  The money. Not the book. Or the night stand.

  Those were still there.

  Fast forward to now. Even though I hadn't actually seen my roommate for nearly two days, I'd been hearing him plenty, making weird noises outside my bedroom door or talking way too loud on his cell phone.

  The stupid thing was, Nicky was a decent-looking guy. If I'd passed him on the street, I might've found him appealing. But now, all I felt was revulsion – and yes, a tiny bit of fear.

  It wasn't only that he was a creep – and probably a thief. He was apparently a dangerous thieving creep. I knew this because earlier today I'd overheard him on his cell phone, talking about his time in prison.

  Maximum security – or at least that's what he'd said.

  I didn't know for what, but I did know that I was done living with him. There were just a few tiny problems. For one thing, I had nowhere else to go. And for another, I'd already paid my rent in advance – three whole months for the entire summer break.

  To my infinite shame, it hadn't even been my own money. It had come from my sister, which meant that it had come from her fiancé, Flynn Archer.