Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Page 26

  We’re both still dressed, and I’m uncomfortable. I’ve still got my gun holster strapped to my ankle, and I really need to put my gun away before I shoot myself with it. I extricate myself carefully from Jonah’s arms and strip out of my clothes and stow my gun and holster. Then, after a quick trip to the bathroom, including a much needed teeth brushing, I crawl back into bed and coax Jonah into a more comfortable position.

  “What time is it?” he says, squinting as he looks at my alarm clock.

  “It’s late. Or early. Depends on how you look at it.”

  He puts his hands on me, finding nothing but bare skin. “Good idea.” He raises his hips and shoves his jeans and boxers off and tosses them to the floor. Then he sits up and pulls off his T-shirt and discards it. When he lies back down, I’m treated to the sight of his bare chest and those beautifully muscled and inked arms. His body is a work of art, and just looking at it makes me want him.

  I keep rehashing what Jonah said earlier, about me not being a victim. That last thing I want to be is a victim, but that’s exactly what I’ve been for the past six years. I did let that asshole Wintermeyer get the best of me, and that really pisses me off.

  Making a monumental decision, I throw one leg over Jonah’s hips and rise up to straddle him. I’m sure he can feel how badly I’m shaking.

  At first he looks surprised, but then realization dawns. “Lia. You don’t have to do this. You have nothing to prove.”

  I shake my head in disagreement. “You were right. I have to put it behind me. I’m done hiding.” I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp, which bathes us both in soft, muted light. Then I grab a condom packet from the top drawer of my nightstand and toss it onto the bed beside Jonah.

  His hands come up to cup my waist as he gazes with hot eyes at my breasts. “Are you trying to kill me?” he groans, reaching up to brush my nipples with his thumbs.

  I laugh, my voice as tremulous as my limbs. “Maybe just a little.”

  I lean down and kiss his throat just below the edge of his soft beard. I can feel his pulse thundering beneath his skin. My lips drift down his throat and along his collar bone to his shoulder. “You were magnificent tonight, by the way,” I tell him.

  “Mmmhm,” he mumbles, as my lips follow the curve of his bicep.

  I can feel his erection lengthening between my legs. “No, really, you were.” I bend down and flick his left nipple with the tip of my tongue, and he shudders. “I loved watching you sing.” My tongue swirls around his nipple, and he bucks his hips up into me. “I loved watching you play the guitar.” I move to his other nipple and show it some love too. “Watching your muscles flex as you play the guitar makes me hot.”

  When I suck his flat little nipple into my mouth, he cries out, “Lia!”

  Chapter 41

  It’s daylight outside my bedroom window when I awake with an ice cold lump of dread in my chest. I turn to Jonah, but the other side of my bed is empty. The sheets are cold, as is his pillow. For a moment, my heart stops beating. He’s gone.

  I sit up despite my pounding headache. “Jonah?” But there’s no reply. I try again, my voice little more than a dry croak. “Jonah!”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I frown. He’s never up this early. My stomach turns over, and I know something’s wrong.

  Despite the dizziness dogging me, I crawl out of bed and double-check the bathroom. “Jonah?”

  It’s empty.

  I head down the hallway to the living room and kitchen. Again, nothing.

  “Jonah!”

  It’s not a big apartment. He would have heard me if he were here, and that means he’s not.

  There’s a sick knot in my stomach, and it has nothing to do with my stupid hangover. He’s gone. I shake my head in disbelief, because I can’t imagine why he’d leave without telling me. That’s just not like him.

  Back in the bedroom, I grab my cargo pants off the floor and fish my phone out of the pocket. My hands are shaking as I bring up a GPS tracking app. As soon as I was assigned to guard him, I tagged all of Jonah’s shoes with tiny GPS chips, just in case he ever disappeared on me and I needed to find him. The app begins a trace on his location, and a map of a downtown Chicago city block appears on the screen. I know that block well. I recognize the address where the little icon is pointing.

  “Oh, fuck no!” I growl, frantically dragging on my clothes. “Oh, no no no!”

  Grabbing my holster and gun, I race down to the parking garage and head to the law offices of Wintermeyer, Dawson, and Holmes, Attorneys at Law, where Logan works as an intern. “Shit!”

  * * *

  On my way to Logan’s office, I speed dial Shane. “What’s that idiot up to?”

  Shane chuckles. “Good morning, sleepy head. Nice of you to join the land of the living. How’s your head?”

  “Never mind that. What the fuck is Jonah doing?” I remember Jonah telling me last night that Shane said he’d find out where Makayla got the video. Well, apparently he did find out, and he must have shared the information with Jonah.

  “At the moment, he’s on his way to the Cook County Jail. He’s been arrested for assault and battery for beating the ever-living shit out of Logan Wintermeyer.”

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Shane says. “Relax. I’ve already called Troy. We’ll have him out on bail in no time.”

  “How did you know Jonah was there in the first place? I just woke up and found him gone without a clue.”

  “He called me early this morning to find out who gave Makayla the video.”

  “Let me guess – she got it from Logan.”

  “Yes. Logan sold her a copy of the video for fifty thousand dollars.”

  “And you told Jonah?” I’m incredulous. “Why did you tell him? He went off half-cocked and got himself arrested! He could have gotten hurt.”

  Shane sighs over the phone. “He had a right to know, Lia. He cares about you. And as for getting hurt, the jury’s still out on that. He did bust his hand up pretty badly, though.”

  “And now he’s on his way to jail. Thanks, Shane.”

  * * *

  As I walk into the Cook County police headquarters, Shane intercepts me in the hallway. He’s in full CEO mode, dressed in his suit and tie.

  “Relax,” he says, laying his hand on my shoulder. He keeps pace with me as I head to the front desk. “Troy’s in with him now, arranging for bail. Since Jonah has no prior arrests, the judge approved bail. They’re letting him go on his own recognizance on the condition that he doesn’t leave the city limits before the arraignment.”

  I barge up to the front desk. “Jonah Locke! Where the hell is he?”

  The balding, paunch-bellied officer standing behind the desk smirks at me and points his fat finger at a row of metal folding chairs placed along one wall. “Cool your jets, and have a seat, sweetheart.”

  I step back, shaking my head. There’s no way I’m sitting down. I’m far too agitated. I look at Shane. “Assault and battery? What the hell happened?”

  “Apparently, he walked into the lobby of Logan’s dad’s law office building and demanded to speak to Logan. When Logan came down to the lobby, Jonah hauled off and punched him in the face, knocking out Logan’s two front teeth. Then Logan rushed him, and the two of them battled it out on the lobby floor.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “He’s a little worse for wear, but he’ll survive. His hand might be broken.”

  I pace the hallway for what seems like an eternity, alternately wanting to strangle Shane for telling Jonah who gave Makayla the video, and Jonah for going after Logan in the first place. He’s not really the vigilante type.

  “Lia, sit down,” Shane says, watching me. “Before you fall down. You look like shit.”

  I wipe my hand across my face. I barely had time to throw on some wrinkled clothes and brush my teeth. I know I look a mess, but I really don’t care. I jus
t want to see Jonah with my own eyes and make sure he’s okay before I rip him a new one. “I take my eyes off Jonah for one minute, and he gets himself arrested!”

  We must have been waiting at least an hour before Shane says, “Here they come.”

  I glance down the hallway and see Jonah walking toward us, escorted by Shane’s attorney, Troy Spencer, who looks like he just rolled out of bed. Usually dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, Troy looks out of character in faded sweats, a hoodie, and a ratty old pair of sneakers.

  “You couldn’t dress for the part?” Shane says to his friend and lawyer, eyeing Troy’s attire critically.

  Troy scowls at him. “You got me out of bed early on a Saturday morning. You’re lucky you got anything.”

  On my way here, I couldn’t decide whether to kiss Jonah for his misguided heroics or kick his ass for being stupid. But now that I’ve gotten my first good look at him, all thoughts of ass kicking go by the wayside. He looks terrible! His hair is a tangled mess, and his bottom lip is split wide open. There’s dried blood on his lip and chin, but the worst of it is, he’s cradling his right hand which is covered in dried blood. Based on how carefully he’s holding it, I figure it must be broken. The idiot doesn’t even know how to throw a proper punch.

  Jonah walks right up to me and wraps his good arm around me, pulling me close. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then lays his forehead against mine. He’s shaking, and his bloodied hand is cradled protectively between us. He’s definitely an artist, not a fighter.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” I whisper.

  He grunts with pain and steps back a bit, adjusting his hold on his hand. “Wintermeyer sold the video to Makayla.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” I gently examine his injured hand, and he flinches. Two fingers are bent at an odd angle, clearly broken, and his knuckles are split open. “Your poor hand. We need to get you to the ER.”

  He nods. “I can’t move these two fingers, and my hand hurts like a bitch.”

  I have to shake my head. “What were you thinking, Jonah? Logan could have really hurt you, and you’re facing pretty serious charges.”

  “So what’s the word?” Shane asks Troy.

  “Believe it or not, Wintermeyer dropped all charges,” Troy says, sounding surprised. “He said it was just a misunderstanding. Jonah’s free to go.”

  Surprised by this news, I glance sharply at Shane.

  Shane gives me an enigmatic smile. “How fortunate.”

  “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with him dropping the charges,” I say. I know my big brother. He takes care of his own, and I guess that includes Jonah now.

  “It was easy,” Shane says. “Logan’s in contempt of a court order by selling a copy of the video to Makayla. He’ll face some pretty serious charges of his own if he pursues charges against Jonah. I had no trouble persuading his father that they don’t want to go down that path.”

  I just happen to glance down the hallway just as Logan and his dad step out of a room, accompanied by a uniformed officer, and turn in our direction. I didn’t know Logan was brought in too.

  I shoot an inquiring look at Shane, and he smiles. “Logan was arrested for disorderly conduct and assault as well.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest as I look at Logan. He and his dad are both tall men, and Logan bears a strong resemblance to his father. They both have thick brown hair and brown eyes, tall imposing builds. I think his father played football in high school too. Still, it’s easy to tell them apart, even from a distance, and not just because of his father’s graying hair. Logan is the one with an eye swollen shut, bruises and lacerations on his face, and a split lip. It looks like Jonah held his own.

  “Way to go, Jonah,” I murmur.

  Jonah turns to look behind him, snorting with derision as he sees Logan.

  I realize this is the first time in years that I’ve seen Logan up close – the first time I’ve gotten a really good look at him since the trial back in high school. He’s twenty-four now, an adult, but he doesn’t look much different than he did in high school. He’s filled out some, and he’s a little heavier, and maybe not quite as muscular as he was when he was the football team’s darling quarterback.

  I stare Logan down as he approaches, and Jonah stiffens. When Logan’s just an arm’s length away, Jonah steps in front of him, blocking his path. The two men are eye-to-eye, of the same height. Jonah glares at Logan, his expression tense, his jaws clenched tightly. Jonah looks ready to throw down again, right here in the police station.

  I grab Jonah’s sleeve and pull him back. “Back off, dude. You’re in a police station. Not the right time or place.”

  “Hello, Lia,” Logan says, looking at me. He looks surprised to see me, curious even. “It’s... good to see you. You look great.”

  It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in nearly six years, and I find it rather anti-climatic. He’s a little bloodied and battered, his white shirt soiled with blood and torn at the collar. This is the guy who ruined my life – or at least I thought he did. Now I’m not so sure. Seeing him in the flesh right now... I feel nothing. No anger, no sorrow, nothing.

  “Excuse us,” his father says gruffly, grabbing Logan’s arm and marching him past us as they head to the lobby exit.

  I can’t help laughing. Logan reminds me of a child who’s gotten in trouble for fighting at school. He’s just a guy, just like any other – except this one happens to be an asshole. I shake my head.

  Jonah looks at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” And it’s true. I thought if I ever saw him again, I’d be devastated, but I’m not. I take hold of Jonah’s good hand. “Come on, tiger. Let’s get you to the emergency room.”

  “Can we stop somewhere for breakfast first?” he says. “I’m starving.”

  Chapter 42

  It’s mid-afternoon when we get back to my apartment after a trip to the ER. His ring and middle fingers, both broken, were set, and he’s got a lovely blue fiberglass cast half-way up his forearm. He’s feeling pretty good now courtesy of some strong pain medication. I lead him to the sofa and tuck him in beneath a fleece blanket. It’s been a long day, and he’s exhausted.

  “Do you need anything?” I ask him. “Something to drink? A potty break?”

  He shakes his head, chuckling. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me down on the sofa beside him. “Just you and a nap. Lie down with me.”

  We rearrange ourselves comfortably on the sofa. He’s lying behind me, spooning, with his good arm around my waist. He kisses the back of my head, and I shiver.

  He yawns. “I’m so tired, I could sleep for days.”

  But our brief respite is interrupted by the buzz of my apartment intercom.

  “Are you expecting someone?” he says.

  “Nope.” All my friends and family already have access to this building. I have to extricate myself from his grasp to go answer the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “Ms. McIntyre, there’s a Dwight Peterson here in the lobby, asking to come up.”

  I don’t know whom I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t him. “Well, fuck.” I look at Jonah, and he sits up and shrugs.

  “I guess you’d better send him up,” I say.

  When the knock comes, I’m tempted to ignore it. But this is something Jonah needs to deal with, so I reluctantly open the door.

  Dwight pushes his way in, glaring at me. “Where the hell is he?”

  Rolling my eyes, I point toward the sofa. I’m about at the end of my rope with this guy. I’ve tried to restrain myself around Dwight – as Shane asked me to – but it’s getting difficult, especially since Jonah wants to make a clean break from him.

  Dwight stalks over to Jonah, sees the cast and frowns. “What the hell did you do to your hand?”

  “I broke two fingers,” Jonah says, lifting the cast.

  “Yeah, I can see that, wise-guy.” Dwight crosses his arms. “How?”

  I can’t help the
grin on my face. “He broke it on Logan Wintermeyer’s face.”

  “Who the hell is that?” Dwight’s eyes narrow as he puts two and two together. “Is that the guy from the sex tape?”

  Jonah’s jaw tightens. “It’s not a sex tape, Dwight.”

  Dwight’s face turns beet red as he points a finger at Jonah. “It’s none of your damn business what Lia does. She can make a thousand sex tapes for all I care. You stay out of it.”

  Before I can even respond, Jonah’s on his feet and in Dwight’s face. He grabs hold of Dwight’s pin-striped dress shirt and pulls him up close. “I swear to God, Dwight, if you say sex tape one more time, I’ll gladly break my other hand on your face.”

  Dwight blanches as Jonah releases him with a small shove, sending him off balance. “Jonah, you have no idea the damage you’re doing to your brand – ”

  “Fuck my brand!” Jonah yells. “If Wintermeyer does anything else to hurt Lia, he’ll have to deal with me all over again.”

  Dwight’s eyes widen. I don’t think he’s ever seen this aggressive side of Jonah. Frankly, I find it pretty hot. I should try to get him riled up more often.

  “All right, look,” Dwight says, raising his hands in an attempt to mollify Jonah. “I’ll talk to the label execs. I’ll tell them – ”

  “Dwight, I already told you – I don’t care what the label thinks. I’m not renewing my contract.”

  Dwight pales. “Jonah, you can’t be serious.”

  “I am dead serious. I told you, I’m done! I’m done with the record label, with LA, with all of it. I’m going indie.”

  “You realize you’re throwing away millions of dollars, right? You’re just going to walk away from it? Walk away from the dream?”

  Jonah nods. “That’s the plan.”

  Dwight sneers at him. “You’re just as insane as she is.”

  Of course, he’s pointing at me. Asswipe.

  “Leave Lia out of this, Dwight. This is between you and me.”

  “Of course she’s behind this!” Dwight says. “From the very beginning, she put these thoughts into your head.”