Ripper (Tortured Heroes Book 5) Page 6

  Then Jergensen decided to put his hands on me. It was a dick move to be sure. I was walking and he stood in front of me and pulled me forward. “You sure you don’t want to see more. You’re gonna a want a piece of this.” And he charmingly shoved his groin forward.

  I was about to reply with a smart remark and the brush off when Jergensen went flying backward and to the ground.

  “Touch her again and your pieces will be delivered to the hospital in a sandwich bag.” Kyle was standing over Jergensen with two clenched fists and I swear there was smoke coming out of his ears.

  “Oh really?” This little MMA dude wasn’t about to be shown up in front of this gym. He stood up and showed no signs of backing down. This was going to get ugly fast. The entire gym, the place where I was trying to earn trust, was ready to join in the pending melee.

  Bas Jergensen stood up and threw a punch, which Kyle blocked, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it behind his back. Jergensen might be a bad-ass little MMA fighter, but Kyle Duvall was something more: he was FBI, he was an undercover biker, and he was on a mission. A mission that was about to fuck up my life.

  “Agent Duvall.” There was no response as Kyle continued to apply pressure to Jergensen’s arm.

  “Duvall!” He turned and gave me a look that scared the shit out of me. But dammit. I was going to take charge. This was my business.

  “Get in the car,” Kyle said as he pushed Jergensen up against a nearby wall. Fighters were gathering in close.

  Jergensen was swearing up a storm.

  “Let him go.” I pushed past Duvall and grabbed his arm. He shot me another look.

  “Bas, Duvall’s assignment is to protect me for the FBI. It’s a long story. But he misinterpreted our conversation.” I said it loudly. Duvall still had him by the arm.

  “If you quietly leave, he won’t beat the shit out of you in front of your boys. If you keep trying to fight, well, it will be ugly.” The fighter saw the wisdom of my take on the situation.

  I turned to Duvall. “Let him go.”

  Duvall slowly released Jergensen and the tension dialed down to an almost normal level. Jergensen walked back to his boys and made some noise about Duvall being lucky he was training.

  “We’re out of here,” I said to Duvall, who still looked mad enough to spit nails. I also ventured a look back to the locker room where my prospect, Diggs, stood wide-eyed.

  “Clock starts now. See you at the coffee shop in an hour. Don’t be late.” I decided to act like I had complete control of the situation and Agent Kyle Duvall. But there was no doubt I absolutely did not.

  And I was pissed as hell.

  Chapter Ten

  Kyle

  The memory of that punk’s hands on her, his sneer, and the way his eyes raked over her had me almost as pissed as when I charged in. Who the fuck did that fucker think he was? She was so far out of his class.

  I was enjoying watching her work. I was impressed as hell at how she handled that sweaty, testosterone-filled environment. She was so classy and secure, it shut them all up and made them listen. I could see why they trusted her. Having Sam Bosque on your side was a home run. It was clear she had everyone in the place drooling after her, but she handled it. She disarmed them.

  Then that little fucker grabbed her and it was go time.

  After we left the gym and I wanted her to get in the car. I politely indicated that she do so, even though I wanted to lift her over my shoulder and get her out of there.

  She blew by me and headed for the street.

  “I said get in the—” She waved her hand behind her but didn’t look back. I hustled to catch up and she was almost at the coffee shop door by the time I did.

  “Hey, Sam. I thought I made it extremely clear you don’t go anywhere without me.”

  She turned around and looked at me with a fire in her eyes that even the nastiest MC Prez would have a hard time matching.

  “I’m at work. As such you are to hang back and not cause a scene.”

  “I’m here to protect you and that douche bag put his groin up against you. What kind of man would I be if—”

  She put a hand up in front of my face.

  “Ah!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re acting like a boyfriend or a pitbull or something, not a bodyguard, which is technically, I guess, what you are in this case.”

  “A bodyguard that graduated with a law degree from Yale and top of his class in the police academy AND Quantico.”

  “Oooh. Well then, tearing that kid into bits is totally justified.” She turned on her heel away from me and walked into the coffee shop.

  I lost eye line with her for a moment. It was off mission. But she was also, frustratingly, right.

  I’d overreacted and caused a scene for no reason other than that I was crazy jealous that anyone but me could touch her.

  It was not a healthy way to think or act and I realized I needed to pull my shit together. I also needed to get in there and smooth this over. No matter how justified she was in wanting space, and in normal circumstances I’d maybe give it to her, my job was to keep eyes on her at all times.

  I took a breath and opened the door to the coffee shop. It was tiny but familiar looking. A Mom and Pop operation. I scanned the booths and for a second my heart pumped a little harder as I didn’t see her.

  And then I did. She was scanning a menu. I was surprised at my relief. There she was, after only seconds of separation, and I was having to calm my nerves over it. What was happening to me?

  I walked up to the booth. I decided getting permission from her was my best way forward.

  “May I sit down?”

  “Are you going to behave like a normal human?”

  “I can’t guarantee that, but I will guarantee I’ll buy the coffee.”

  “Hmm. Fine. You make a scene, you wear it.” I sat down in the booth and we both seemed to be calming down a notch or two from what had happened in the MMA gym.

  “I’m sorry I lost my shit.”

  “What?” She peered over the menu at me.

  “I’m sorry I lost my shit.” I wasn’t going to argue my point or justify. I legit lost my shit and she deserved the apology.

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Thanks.” The waitress came over and we both ordered black coffee. It was the first time I realized that we had that in common. No frills java.

  “So, is this temper of yours a normal thing?” She looked at me.

  “No. Well. I have one, but I’m apologizing because I’m big enough to recognize that I flew off the handle when that little shit put his hands on you.”

  “I see. You know I’ve been handling little shits like that since I was about fifteen. I got skills in that department. I represent the hottest, buffest, cockiest SOB’s in sports and not one, not one, has ever gotten the wrong signal.”

  “Do I want to know what that means?” I wondered if she meant the signal was sometimes ‘go’.

  “It means I don’t mix business and sex. It’s bad for business; I’ve watched Jerry enough to know that.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose you’re right. I should take your advice.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  I felt her knee under the table rub up against mine. Then her shoe lightly touched my calf.

  “You’re a flirt, Sam Bosque. You sure as hell do flirt with those impressionable young fighters.”

  “Yeah, that’s as far as it goes and it gets them comfortable to sign on the dotted line.”

  “Not a fan of you flirting,” I was being more honest with her than I should be. But dammit, even her knees up against mine made me want to grab her and bend her over the table.

  “I’ll stop immediately.” She was smiling and it was contagious. We’d gone from me almost beating the shit out of that fighter to me laughing over coffee with her in the space of five minutes. Life with Sam Bosque was not boring.

  “Let me be clear, yet again. I realize I may have unde
rmined my own credibility by overreacting to the situation in the gym, but when the shit really hits the fan, and it might, you have to do as I say.”

  “How will I know if it’s you being jealous or you being Special Agent Kyle Duvall?” It was a good question.

  “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Okay, only if you trust me to handle my business.”

  “I trust you to handle your business.”

  I listened as she outlined her thoughts about Zane Diggs and what she predicted would happen with him and his career. And one minute before the hour was up, Diggs walked into the coffee shop.

  He looked at me with the proper amount of that-guys-crazy, and I nodded.

  “Well Miss Bosque, I showed my cousin, who works in a law office, and he said to go for it.”

  “Your cousin makes a lot of sense.” She got out a pen and slid over in the booth. Zane Diggs looked at me to see if it was okay to sit next to her. I could see now that I had made things annoying for her work-wise. I would try to keep it much quieter moving forward.

  “Okay Diggs, sign here, and here.” She watched and then did the same.

  “What’s next?”

  “You train like crazy. You have to win this next fight in Grand Rapids so I can get in in the discussion for marquee events like Friday Night Fights.”

  “Okay, I can train.”

  “And I want you to consider training at the gym in Grand City, after this fight.”

  “Great Wolves Gym? That’s legendary. I’d be surprised if they even considered me.”

  “You signed with me. All you gotta do now is win this fight and I’ll open the door.”

  “I can’t afford to live in Grand City.”

  “I’ll handle that part.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Miss Bosque.”

  “Sam.” And she held her hand out for him to shake.

  “Sam.”

  I watched her build trust with this young man. He was the badass fighter, but in a lot of ways, he was vulnerable to people and companies that wanted to take advantage of his talent. They could easily use him for his body and shunt him aside when he was done.

  I could see Sam was there to protect men who you wouldn’t think needed it.

  It made me love her. Dammit. Love. Shit.

  This was not top of my class at Quantico type behavior. Not by a mile.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam

  I had made my point and I had signed my newest fighter. All good.

  It had been a weird few hours in my life. There was no question about it. Kyle and I drove back to Grand City with a lot less tension. I asked him questions, and for the most part, he answered.

  He asked me questions, and for the most part, I answered. We were new. This was new. And while I felt like I’d never been this close to anyone in my life, I also knew there was a dark vein that ran deep in Special Agent Kyle Duvall.

  He drove me to my office again so I could leave instructions for Debbie. It was only 3:30 p.m. and it appeared she was gone already.

  “Funny. I thought Jerry had hired her full time. See? See? I should have done the hiring.”

  Kyle wasn’t listening to my rant, but rather he was stalking around the office like a wild animal was hiding behind the copy machine, ready to pounce at any time.

  I heard some noises coming from Jerry’s office, so I made my way over. Kyle did his best to hang back, since I’d gone ballistic about my space earlier.

  Jerry’s door wasn’t shut so I pushed it open.

  I got an eyeful. Jerry and the new receptionist were not working on files, more like he was working the receptionist up against the file cabinet.

  “Oh. Uh. Sorry.” I backed out and into Kyle’s brick wall of a chest.

  “Problem?”

  “No. Yes. Let’s get out of here. I can do the rest of my work at home or your office or whatever.”

  Kyle peered around me and then followed me to my office. I grabbed a couple things, closed the door and hustled out of there.

  “So, does that happen often?” Kyle asked as we drove back to my place.

  “Well, let’s see. Debbie has been with us a day? That’s a record for sure, but I’m not going to lie. He’s why I am always all business.”

  “Oh. He hit on you I suppose?” I could see a vein pop on Kyle’s neck, though to his credit, he kept his voice even. The guy was protective as hell. I would have to work on that.

  “You suppose right. It was an awkward scene. I had gone out to the bar with my co-workers and we were the last two. He hit on me. I shot him down.”

  “No problems since then?”

  “Once in the office he got a little handsy, leaned in and all that. I handled it. I actually felt bad because his secretary at the time saw that one.”

  “Why would you feel bad?”

  “Look, he may hit on me occasionally, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. I didn’t want to embarrass him. I just wasn’t interested.”

  “I can see you’re going to keep me busy.” He shook his head, but there was a smile under the comment.

  “Listen. I can fend off most shit.”

  “I got it.”

  When we got to my place, I was tired. And also keyed up.

  “Let me order us something?” Kyle said, and I agreed. I didn’t totally suck at cooking, but if I could avoid it, I usually did. Unless I had a day off. And then it was usually baking. I loved to bake. But not tonight.

  I had paperwork and emails to catch up on.

  Kyle had work to do too.

  “I’m putting your chairs together. This is ridiculous.”

  “Whatever you say. Oh! And I have a tool box.” It was a graduation present from my Dad. He thought women needed to have a full complement of tools and rarely did. It was very cute and, surprisingly, it did come in handy.

  Kyle assembled two of my chairs and a few minutes later he was on the phone with his office.

  I’d called for food and had returned some emails.

  It was incredibly domestic.

  The food arrived fast. God love Domino’s Pizza in Michigan. It was my new favorite. I went to the hall. I looked through the peephole. It was a Domino’s driver. Not a serial killer. Check. Check. I opened the door and saw it right away. There was a strange look on the delivery driver’s face. I paid and tipped him.

  “You okay?” He was pale, shaking and something was not right.

  “You might want to call the police, lady.” He pointed to something in the hall. Shit. What was out in my hallway?

  I burst out into the hall and the air came out of my lungs in a way that made no sound but also rendered me unable to scream either. It was horrific. I heard a thud and the driver fell to the ground, a knife protruding from his back.

  The scream came.

  “KYLE!” He was only in my kitchen and made it to the hall in several quick leaps.

  “Come here.” Kyle held out a hand I took it. He pushed me back into my doorway and then he kneeled down to try to figure out what to do with the pizza guy.

  “Go get your phone, call for an ambulance.”

  For a second I was stunned into some sort of paralysis. At my feet was a man with a knife, bleeding, and on the walls of my condo hall were pictures, dozens of pictures of women, who looked like me. But they were dead. Each had an awful smile carved into their face. Like the Black Dahlia.

  I heard Kyle on his phone, calling in details to his unit.

  “Sam!”

  “Yeah, on it.” I snapped out of it and grabbed my phone. I called 911 and stayed on the line.

  “Stay with him,” Kyle ordered.

  “Okay, where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see if I see anything or anyone. Do not leave this spot.”

  I could hear sirens blaring in the distance. I was in a nightmare. I had tried to pretend I was an accidental participant. I had tried to convince myself that no one was really going to hurt me. But this was a lie. A deadly, ugly lie. I
was in the middle of a horror story. Something evil had trained its eyes on me and I couldn’t deny it any longer.

  Kyle rushed to the stairwell and I was alone with this poor guy.

  “I didn’t see. I told that big man I didn’t see,” he whispered, panicked. I guess he meant he didn’t see who stabbed him. I had some idea how to handle a blow to the head, a cut, or what to do if someone was barfing, but my first aid knowledge didn’t extend to stabbing.

  I felt helpless as this poor guy’s eyes fluttered shut. I said what I figured I’d want to be said to me in this situation.

  “You’re doing great. There’s help on the way. They’re going to fix you right up. Don’t worry.” I didn’t know if he heard me or not. The sirens got louder and soon what I said was true. Help was there. I stepped back as the EMTs took over.

  I watched as they worked fast. I wasn’t a praying type, but I prayed that whoever this guy was, who happened to be in the wrong place, my place, would be okay.

  And a fear seeped in. It started with what I was seeing, a man fighting for his life, and it oozed into every part of my body like something oily. The bravado I’d felt, the surety that I could handle anything, the cockiness even, was coated in this fear that took hold.

  I walked over to the array of photos that were plastered to my hallway wall. Each one of these women, did they die because of me? Had I pissed someone off along the way who was evil enough to do this?

  I lifted my hand up to touch one. I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to. Like if I touched it I might know more. I might understand where my path had intersected with this evil. How could I not already know? Don’t I read people every day?

  “No, don’t.” I jumped.

  “Kyle.” He was there and his hand was on my back. He was gentle, but firm. Did he sense the utter shift in the way I saw the universe?

  “It’s okay. Come on.” He treated me like my skin was made of eggshells. Eggshells that were cracking, that’s what it felt like.

  “I— this is my fault,” I said to him, to me, to no one.

  “Come on. Let’s get inside. The Bureau is working on the photos and the EMTs are working on the delivery guy.” He talked and guided me passed the scene I knew I’d never ever be able to get out of my mind. This hallway full of pictures and this innocent victim would appear in my nightmares forever.