Unleashed

Wasn’t she?

A slow swell of bile rose up her throat. She’d signed those papers the day before Granna Hawley died. Sure, she’d been devastated by the loss. Gran was the only person Jessie could ever count on. And then there’d been the funeral arrangements and the impending feud between her father’s side of the family and her mother’s—the former insisting the latter had no business anywhere near the cemetery. It had been a mess, with Jessica slammed right in the center.

But in the middle of it, she knew Wade had signed those divorce papers. The lawyers told her so. The package came in the mail.

She was sure that it had…

The bile hit the back of her mouth and she nearly choked. All these doubts, this was Wade and his games. He’d gotten out of jail and come here just to screw with her. He was only feeding his own sick sense of humor, hoping to get her back for dumping him the moment she’d learned the truth about him.

“We’re divorced,” she said again, this time with more velocity than the last.

“My lawyer says you got almost a hundred thousand dollars from the old woman after taxes. Plus half of that ten thousand you just borrowed.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Yeah, as your husband I know all about your finances.”

“Then you know I don’t have any of that money anymore.”

“No. And you don’t have the five hundred dollars you’d stashed in that black velvet box, either.” He patted his back pocket. “Consider it your first installment.”

He’d been in her apartment?

And if he’d rummaged through the place, how much had he found? She had Granna’s jewelry and Grandpa Hawley’s watch.

Georgia had a diamond ring that belonged to her mother. She cherished that thing. Had Wade found that, too?

She nearly doubled over. If her friend lost anything thanks to that snake, she’d never forgive herself.

“I’m disappointed, Sugar Beane. I came all this way looking for my wife and my money only to find you broke and in bed with another man. Now, what do you think a husband should do about that?”

Clutching the phone so hard she thought it might snap, she repeated through clenched teeth. “You’re not my husband.”

“Oh, yes, I am. And as your husband, you owe me somewheres in the neighborhood of fifty thousand dollars.” He pushed off the fender of the Honda and stood straight, the smile drained from his face and his eyes black as sin. “Get me the money, Sugar Beane, and you can have your divorce.”

“I already have my divorce, and even if I don’t, I don’t have that kind of money. It’s gone. Sunk into my business.”

“Yeah, your momma told me all about that movie star who’s gonna make you famous. I’m looking forward to sharing half your wealth.” Then flashing a grin she could see all the way from the street, he added, “Now, why don’t you come down and share a little of that sweet ass, too? Or am I not as worthy as your fuck buddy?”

She snapped the phone shut then turned it off, not willing to hear anymore.

Wade was wrong. They were divorced. And the moment she got home, she’d find those papers and prove that she had nothing to worry about.

Scattering about the dark space, she went in search of her things. Rick was still sprawled like a stone tablet across his bed, the slow rise of his back the only indication he was still breathing.

Moments ago, she’d been on top of the world, this sexy, chiseled cop sending her to all kinds of heavenly places and leaving her feeling like a queen. And with one phone call, her past had come crashing back, storming through the gates of her new life like an angry mob intent on raping and pillaging everything she’d created.

Clenched fists at her sides, she vowed not to let it happen. She wasn’t sweet, little Sugar Beane anymore, dumb and ignorant and ready to roll over for every con artist who crossed her path. Her tryst with Rick underscored that. Here in California she was an independent, grown woman capable of taking on the world, and no car-stealing felon of an ex-husband was going to topple her now.

For a second, she considered waking up Rick and sending him downstairs to throw Wade back behind bars where he belonged, but she quickly extinguished the thought. It was time she stopped believing anyone would come to her rescue. In her twenty-seven years, Granna Hawley was the only person she’d ever been able to lean on, who’d stood up for her and defended her when she needed someone in her corner. That made one person among a half-dozen family members who should have helped but only disappointed—Wade Griggs being the last in a long line of them.

How she could think a practical stranger would come to her aid only proved she hadn’t yet wised up, so instead of waking him, she quickly threw on her clothes, grabbed her purse and took off out the back alley. She ran up the street, only stopping to call a cab after she was blocks away from Wade and his threats.

She needed to take care of this herself. And as soon as she got home and found the papers she knew were there, she’d succeed in sending Wade Griggs right back to the swill he came from. Doing so would be a message to everyone that Jessica Beane couldn’t be screwed with ever again.

Chapter Three

A SHARP BLADE of sunlight slipped between the drapes in Rick’s bedroom and stretched across his face, drawing him from deep sleep into a groggy morning haze.

He blinked his eyes open and winced. He wasn’t accustomed to being woken by sunlight, his unsteady dreams usually pulling him from bed long before dawn. But last night there were no dreams, just an intoxicating blend of soft woman and hard sleep.

Angling his head away from the deadly light ray, he tried opening his eyes again, curious to know exactly how late he’d slept. The red digital numbers on his clock said seven forty-five. A record. At least, one he hadn’t broken in…he tried to recall…

Exactly two years, eight months and two weeks, give or take a couple days.

He clamped his eyes shut, not interested in letting his thoughts take over and ruin the restful climax to one hell of an evening. Especially when there were better ways to start the day.

Rolling over, he reached for the sexy cowgirl responsible for his divine night of slumber, trying to decide which parting gift he’d like to leave her with. Several came to mind. All of them involving her legs around his neck. But when he slid a hand over the mattress, he came up with nothing but sheet. He felt the pillows, flat and cold, before opening his eyes and propping up on an elbow. The bed was definitely empty, and glancing around the dim room, he noted the rest of the master suite was empty, too.

Was she down the hall making coffee? That would be too blissful to imagine. A smile quirked his mouth as he envisioned the petite, sexy redhead slipping back into bed with two mugs of black coffee and steam in her eyes. But when he rolled on his back and allowed his mind and body to slowly wake, the house felt awfully quiet.

Frowning, he tossed his legs over the side of the bed and scratched his chest, still trying to capture his bearings. His clothes were scattered across the tan carpet, as were a number of foil condom wrappers—little remnants of a night well spent. A pillow had found its way to the foot of his stuffy sofa chair, and he wondered how it got there until the memory made him smile.

Oh, Ms. Beane, you know how to have a good time.

He shoved off the bed and began collecting the wrappers, counting them as he went until it occurred to him everything that belonged to Jessie was gone. The denim skirt she’d wiggled out of as he was still recovering from the first orgasm, the black strappy high heels she’d kicked off with her toes, the lacy green bra, the tight black T-shirt, the funky orange “Beane Bag,” all stripped from the room as if last night had been nothing more than a dream.

He grabbed his pants and pulled them on, then crossed the room and opened the door. Stepping through his front room, down the hall to the kitchen past the bathroom and back, he came to terms with the fact that his spicy Texas lover was gone.

And for a long moment, he stood, trying to understand why that irked him.

Last night she’d been the answer to everything he’d needed just then, a lover that rivaled his every fantasy, fulfilling every horny desire and tossing out two or three more for good measure. Now this morning she’d gone the extra mile by adding one more favor. She’d taken off. No awkward goodbyes, no empty promises to call. She’d simply grabbed her things and left. And for a man already complicated by a hard past and a harder present, it was the sweetest move she could have made.

So why was he so pissed?

Padding back to the kitchen, he lifted the carafe of day-old coffee from the machine. He sniffed the contents and grimaced, but still opted to nuke a cup rather than brew a fresh pot. He was too disturbed by his own annoyance to fret over the quality of his morning’s caffeine, and as he choked down the first bitter sip, he leaned against the counter and tried to talk some sense into himself.

What had he planned to do, ask for her number? Send her flowers and start taking her out for regular Friday-night dates? He’d made it clear before they’d left the bar that if she was looking for more than one fun evening, she’d need to keep trolling. She hadn’t balked, and this morning, she’d proven that her indifference hadn’t been an act. She’d truly meant what she’d said about wanting to keep things casual. There’d been no day-after confessions leading to guilty apologies and the ever-awkward, “Gee, I thought you’d understood…”

She’d wanted exactly what he’d wanted. They’d been a goddamn one-night match made in heaven. So standing here burned, since she’d one-upped him on her race for the door, seemed immature at best.

The rational thought helped only slightly. However, instead of spending the morning in his kitchen trying to analyze his feelings, he decided it was time to forget about it and head for the station.

Until a sharp knock at the entry had him thinking again. Stepping down the hall, he grabbed the knob and whipped open the door, but rather than finding his wily sex-starved bedmate, he found a short Chinese man with a bad haircut and a frown on his face.

“You forget you had a job?” his partner, Kevin Fong, grumbled as he pushed through the door and entered the flat, a cup of Starbucks in one hand. Kevin’s angry look had Rick guessing he hadn’t brought an extra cup for him.

Rick closed the door behind them. “It’s barely eight.”