Throw Dylan from the Train Read online

  Her eyes widened. “Uh...about that. I was meaning to tell you—”

  “Don’t tell me you went to Greg’s office! Without me? What the hell were you doing?”

  “Something a hell of a lot safer than going on a fake date with a hornball,” she said.

  I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Ohmigod, you’ve been shot. Twice! Yet you still act all invincible. This is not okay! I’m calling my brother.”

  I heard the creak of her door as she pried it open and came rushing after me. “What the hell, Addison? No. You can’t tattle on me. Who does that?”

  I blinked back tears and faced her. “Fine, but you have to stop trying to go solo.”

  “Hello Pot, meet Kettle. Weren’t you just arguing with me about why you should go to Greg’s alone?”

  “But at least I told you what I was doing and where I was going! I’d never do it without telling you!” I countered. “What if he drugged you and dragged you to his car, killing you and dumping your body somewhere we’d never find you?”

  Dylan blinked. “Wow, that got dark.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I’m trying to drive home a point!”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I wanted to go save the day and catch Greg in the act so you wouldn’t have to do this tonight. I knew if I told you, you’d try to talk me out of it.”

  “I get it and I appreciate it. Honestly. But if this is going to work, we have to communicate. We need to have each other’s backs. No more doing stuff without me. Capisce?”

  Dylan snickered.

  I scowled. “Ohmigod, those mafia books you keep quoting must be rubbing off on me.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a grin.

  “Whatever. But if you pull another stunt like that without talking to me, I’m sending you to sleep with the fishes.”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay, snarky pants, wipe that smirk off your face and come on. Let’s get this over with.” I slid back into my car and waited for her to do the same, then we headed up to the sketchy St. John’s neighborhood to get evidence on a slime-ball.

  I pulled up to Greg’s house and watched Dylan drive past. She flipped a u-turn and parked on the opposite side of the street, facing Greg’s front door. I gave her a bolstering smile, hit the record button on my phone, tucked it in the clear front pocket of my purse (camera facing out), and headed toward the door.

  The door opened, and Greg stood before me, bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of blue joggers. It took everything in me not to shudder at the slimy smile stretched across his lips, but I had to admit he did have a nice six-pack. “You’re early. Sorry for my appearance. I just got out of the shower.”

  His dark hair was wet, but I’d bet Greg was dressed exactly how he planned to be. This man knew what he was doing. The realization made me more than a little nervous about crossing the threshold into his lair. “I can come back later,” I offered.

  “No, no, don’t be silly. Come on in.” I hesitated, and he looked me over. “You look great, by the way.” Then he seemed to catch himself giving me an actual compliment, so he added, “Those jeans really minimize your hips.”

  Oh, hell no. I had to go through with this, because Greg needed to get his comeuppances for the benefit of women everywhere. Resolve strengthened, I offered him a shy smile and thanked him for blessing me with his kind words.

  He nodded and stepped back, and I walked through the cloud of cheap cologne into a total bachelor pad. An oversized leather sofa took up much of the small space, facing a fifty-two-inch flat-screen television which was currently showing a Yule log. The dingy grey walls were in desperate need of a paint job, and the worn carpet had probably never been cleaned. If the stench of Greg’s cologne hadn’t made me nauseous, the cheesy romantic music he had playing would have.

  “Nice place,” I lied.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Some buddies and I are fixing it up. Here, I took the liberty of pouring you a glass of wine.” He handed me a beer glass. Seriously, who the hell puts wine in beer glasses?

  You’re quite the wine connoisseur, aren’t you now, Greg?

  “Thanks,” I said. As I assured Dylan, I had no intention of drinking or eating anything he offered me.

  “Make yourself at home, dear. Dinner’s all prepped and won’t take long.”

  I climbed up on a barstool and set my purse on the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, making sure my camera had a great view of me and the space. This was plan B, in case something went wrong with the hidden camera. There was no way in hell I was suffering through another date with Greg, so if neither camera caught the footage we needed, I was going to have to shoot him. That was plan C. I’d been kidding when I added plan C, but if he made one more crack about my hips, I had faith I could pull the trigger.

  He headed into the kitchen, smiling at me over the bar as he set celery and carrot sticks on the counter. “A start to our training, hmm?”

  “I do love a good stick of celery,” I said.

  “Excellent.” He smiled. “Drink your wine, dear.”

  If he called me “dear” one more time, I might have to chuck the wine in his face. So patronizing and demeaning.

  I set my glass down on the bar to remove the temptation. “I thought we were going to be exercising.” I said. “Shouldn’t we wait to drink until afterward?”

  Greg grabbed raw chicken and veggies from the refrigerator and turned on a burner. “You know, studies show that drinking a glass of wine before a workout helps your muscles relax and reduces your risk of injury.”

  Right. Chicken, veggies, and a side of bullshit. I nodded and pretended to believe him. “I hadn’t heard that. Fascinating. Will we be working out while the meal’s cooking?” I honestly just wanted him to hurry and make a move on me so I could get the hell out of there.

  “Relax.” He smiled. “I’ve got it all under control.”

  Once he had the food cooking, he came back into the living room and pushed the sofa closer to the television, clearing a spot. He unrolled an exercise mat over the area and then stood on it with his feet apart. “The first move I’m going to show you is the balancing squat.”

  My stomach sank. He really was going to teach me exercise moves. Dammit. I didn’t have time for this crap. Annoyed, but feigning interest, I watched as he explained then demonstrated the move before calling me over and positioning me to do the same. I balanced on one foot then went down into a squat just like he had done. I’m pretty sure I nailed the move, but he told me I had it all wrong and directed me to do it again...with his help. This time he kept his hands on my waist as I moved.

  When I went down into the squat, he was right behind me, his thighs enveloping mine as his bare chest pressed against my back. “There,” he said. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

  No, it definitely did not feel better. It felt downright icky. I was about to tell him as much when he snaked a hand up and copped a feel of my breast. I bolted upright, knocking him over. “What are you doing?”

  He gave me a sly grin and stood. “Oh come on, Lydia.”

  Lydia? The asshat couldn’t even get my fake name right. “Lynda. My name is Lynda,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me.

  He approached slowly with his hands out.

  “Right, that’s what I said. Lynda. We both know why you’re really here.” His expression was wild. Angry? I couldn’t tell.

  I sucked in a breath and took a step back...toward my purse. My heart was racing at the feral look in his eyes. Did Greg know I was working for his wife’s divorce attorney? Was he pissed? Was he going to murder me, put me in a weighted barrel and toss me into the Willamette? I couldn’t reach my purse because he was suddenly in my personal space, his hand pressed against the small of my back as he whispered in my ear, “I know you want me. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I...I...oh yes, I do,” I lied. Realizing I was finally getting the footage I needed, I shi
fted to make sure the phone had a good view of what he was doing, since I wasn’t sure how much the hidden camera could get with him practically on top of me.

  His other hand was on my stomach, creeping toward the hem of my sweater. “It’s okay. I want you, too. I have every intention of helping you work off those big hips...the old-fashioned way.”

  Yep, I was gonna have to shoot him. His hand slipped under my shirt and reached for my breast again. My entire body recoiled, and I practically flung him across the room. I reached for my purse, grabbing the gun from within. Turning around, I aimed it at him and said, “I think that’s enough exercise for one night, don’t you?”

  The front door flew open and Dylan moved in, her gun at the ready, her face pale.

  Addison

  GREG SWORE, LOOKING from Dylan to me. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “What are you doing?” I asked Dylan. “I have this under control.”

  “Of course you do,” she said, holstering her gun. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t shoot him.”

  “Thank God,” Greg sighed. “This crazy bitch came into my house pretending like we were on a date and drew a gun on me. Hey, wait...I know you. You’re the broad from the grocery store.”

  Dylan gave him a maniacal grin. “Yep, and if you call my best friend a bitch again, I’ll show you crazy.”

  That silenced the sleaze-ball.

  I smiled. “Mr. Greggy here did not make good choices today.”

  Greg swore and came at me, but I pulled the trigger, shooting the floor right in front of him. He squealed like a pig and froze, his eyes wide with fear.

  “You...you...you shot my...” He pointed at the bullet hole in the carpet.

  I raised my gun in response. “Yep, that’s right, dear, I not only know how to use this gun, I’m not afraid to.” Wetness streaked down the front of his joggers and I could smell urine.

  “Did you just pee your pants?” Dylan asked Greg, then looked at me. “Did he pee his pants?”

  “Looks like it,” I acknowledged. “Hey, can you grab a baggie from the kitchen and snag that wine? I want to find out if this douchebag tried to roofie me.”

  “On it,” Dylan said, heading in. “And can I just say what a badass you are right now, Addie? You made the chicken shit meathead wet himself. I’m impressed.”

  “My bladder was full.” Greg’s face reddened with indignant rage. “You stupid—”

  I aimed the gun at his family jewels. “You might want to rethink your words there, buddy.”

  Dylan sidled around us to gather the evidence, then we handcuffed Greg to one of the legs holding up the kitchen peninsula. The leg wasn’t bolted down, so he could get out of it with a little work, but it would give us time to escape.

  “What about your cuffs?” Dylan asked.

  “They’re cheap. I can replace them.” I smiled. “Ready?”

  She nodded and we made a run for the door, reaching the street just as a black sedan screeched to a halt outside of the house. Red and blue lights flashed from the back and we froze.

  “Crap! Did he call the cops?” Dylan asked.

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  The door opened and Jake slid out, his face contorted with anger, but quickly smoothing into a neutral expression. This didn’t really make me feel better. “Addison. Dylan. What are you doing in this part of town?”

  “Visiting a friend,” Dylan lied.

  “Why do you have a glass in a plastic bag?” Jake asked.

  Before Dylan could answer, I jumped in, asking, “What are you doing here?”

  “Drug bust four doors down.” He studied me. “We got a call about a...a gunshot. Please tell me you don’t know anything about that.”

  Jake’s partner, Detective Mike Pike, stepped out and handed Jake a piece of paper. “Hey, Addison. Ms. James.”

  “Hi Mike.”

  “Wait,” Jake said, interrupting our reunion. He looked from the house we’d come out of to me and shook his head. “So who fired off a gun?”

  “Umm...”

  Before I could come up with a creative explanation that wouldn’t involve lying, Greg’s door slammed open and he ran out of the house, one wrist still cuffed. “Stop them! They’re thieves!” he bellowed, making a beeline for me.

  Jake drew his gun, stepping to intercept him. “Police. Don’t come any closer.”

  Greg almost fell he came to a halt so quickly.

  “Addison,” Jake growled, keeping his focus on Greg. “Why is there a half-naked man coming out of the house you just left?”

  Dylan and I looked at each other.

  “One of you wanna fill me in?” Jake asked.

  “Not really,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t look at me,” Dylan said, throwing her hands in the air.

  “At least tell me why he’s in handcuffs,” Jake said.

  “These two crazy bitches accosted me in my home and cuffed me to the kitchen island!” Greg blurted out, pointing his finger at us. “That was after Lydia there shot a hole in my floor!”

  “Lynda!” Dylan and I both shouted.

  “Is that true...?” Jake asked. “Lynda?”

  “It’s not really an island...more like a peninsula,” I provided.

  Jake’s body stiffened further (if that was even possible). “Why did they shoot a hole in your floor and cuff you to the...ah...peninsula?”

  “He attacked Addie,” Dylan said.

  “Hush, Dylan,” I snapped.

  Jake glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  “I didn’t attack no one,” Greg argued. “That thirsty broad was coming on to me! I’m a married man. I don’t do that sort of thing.”

  “Thirsty?” Dylan’s jaw dropped.

  “Addison?” Jake asked. Even in the dim street light I could see the vein in his neck pulsing.

  “We’re on a job,” I whispered.

  That didn’t help one bit. Jake sucked in a deep breath and his face turned a little purple.

  “Did he accost you, Addison?”

  “Technically, yes. But I had it under control. I aimed my gun at him and he kind of wet himself, so—”

  “Stay put,” he demanded, before I could tell him what a badass I was.

  Jake had Mike take Greg to the car to “ask him some questions,” before pulling me out of earshot of Dylan and crossing his arms. “Spill.”

  “No.”

  “I swear—”

  I raised a finger. “No swearing.”

  “Addison, I’m holding it together by a thread right now, so you need to start speaking.”

  I caved and filled him in on the job for Ethan Sinclair, our inability to get real proof the first time, and what happened just a few minutes before. I censored a bit, knowing Jake was ready to explode, but I don’t think it did any good.

  He dragged his hands through his hair and swore.

  “Don’t freak out, honey,” I said.

  He scowled, leaning down close. “Exactly how am I supposed to not freak out, Addison? You went in there without any kind of backup.”

  “I had Dylan and I had my gun. I really think I should name my gun...she seriously saved the day tonight.” Oops, wrong thing to say. “I mean—”

  He raised his hand. “Don’t.”

  I bit my lip as I watched his jaw twitch. “Honey, you really need to learn to trust me. This is my job.”

  “Well, I hate your job,” he snapped.

  I squared my shoulders, but decided not to add fuel to the fire. Jake was worried and upset. I had to honor those emotions and let him work them out. I glanced at Dylan as she watched me, obviously giving me space, but ready if I needed her. Best friend indeed.

  “I thought...” he started, then trailed off.

  “What, Jake?”

  He gave a mirthless chuckle. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

  I frowned. “When?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I grabbed the lapels
of his jacket and tugged him closer. “It does matter, honey. Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay with all of this.”

  “I’m not okay with any of it,” he snapped.

  “Well, it’s not going to change, so you need to figure out a way to live with it.” I searched his face and sighed. “But why would you think I wouldn’t be speaking to you?”

  “Because of our conversation last night. I thought you’d scraped me off.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Dylan said. “I have to head back to the condo.”

  I nodded. “Oh, right. Dinner with Asher.”

  “Which I forgot about,” she admitted.

  “Oops. I’ll see you later.”

  “’Bye.”

  Dylan jogged toward her car and I grabbed Jake before he could walk away. “Not so fast, mister. Which part of any of our conversation last night made you think I’d scraped you off?”

  We’d had a rather heated argument (again) about my job and its penchant to potentially get me hurt or killed.

  “It was more the not answering my texts today,” he admitted.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling in glee. Apparently, I didn’t do a very good job hiding my emotion, because he dropped his head back and swore at the sky.

  A giggle burst out. “I’m sorry, Jake. I really am, but you’re an idiot.”

  “Excuse me?” he ground out.

  “I’m not going to ‘scrape you off’ after a fight. I love you, you big oaf. I told you that last night when we hashed things out. I haven’t changed my mind since then but if I had, I sure as hell wouldn’t ignore your texts in order for you to get the hint.” I slid my arms under his jacket and up his back. “I’d tell you...to your gorgeous, perfect face.”

  “Babe, I’m working.”

  “So am I,” I countered. “Or I was.” I grinned. “My workday is done. Dylan and I got the guy, so I get to go home and celebrate. Now kiss me.”

  “I’m workin’, Addie. I’m not gonna kiss you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, babe, really.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” I said, keeping my arms around him even though his were at his sides. “Of course, I’d rather be running my tongue—”