Banged Up Read online

Mace looked at the gathered cotton at her waist, trying to ignore—but failing miserably—the way the hem of the shirt was now cockeyed and almost flashing those pink panties. Those panties probably smelled so sweet. He massaged his thigh harder.

  “Well, if she doesn’t, then I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

  She shot him an incredulous look. “I’ve known Maxi for over a year and she has never—not once—mentioned a brother. And she certainly didn’t tell me he’d be visiting.”

  She stood for a minute, appearing undecided what to do. With an exasperated huff, she pulled out the chair across from him. With a tug on the hem of her nightshirt, Colby settled into it. The tug was a sad attempt at covering her long length of thigh, but it certainly covered that sweet little package wrapped in pink satin. Okay, concentrate, damn it.

  “She doesn’t tell anyone she has a brother so no one asks questions.” He stood and left the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a prescription bottle and her gun. He released the full clip and unloaded the round in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine as the lone hollow-point bullet rolled across the kitchen table. She really could have shot him. He tossed the empty gun in her lap, making her jump. Leave it to a woman to be more dangerous than the Mafia. Fuck.

  “I hope you have a license for that.” He stuck the clip in his jacket pocket, and went to the cabinet for a glass.

  He was relieved the glasses were still in the same place where he left them two years ago. He had horrible visions of his sister taking over his house and redecorating it all girly-like. He was glad she had enough sense to leave things be.

  When he crossed to the sink, he realized he was wrong. Maxi had changed some things. He frowned at the little yellow ceramic duck with a blue ribbon tied around its neck which held a sponge. That would have to go.

  After filling the glass with cold tap water, he swallowed a pill and took a drink. On second thought, he popped another. He settled across from Colby again, studying her while he waited for the painkillers to kick in. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line, a shame for those luscious lips, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.

  “Why wouldn’t she want anyone to know she has a brother? Were you in jail?” Her eyes widened for a second. “Are you an escaped convict?”

  Mace couldn’t help but smile. She had to be kidding. “Yeah, I’m an escaped convict and you’re my hostage. You have to do what I say. Get naked and lie on the table.”

  Mace watched for a reaction. Nothing.

  Colby Parks looked stone-cold, not even a twitch of a smile. “I want to see some proof you are who you say you are.”

  Lady, someone must have burned you good to make you so mistrustful you have to interrogate a friend’s brother. Oh, and carry a gun. He couldn’t forget that. But, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. It was like looking at his reflection; he would be just as cautious and suspicious if he were in her shoes—he glanced down at her naked feet—or in those cute, pink painted toes.

  “What, knowing which cabinet the drinking glasses are in isn’t proof enough?”

  “Don’t toy with me. I want to see some ID.”

  Her determination fascinated him. Determined, not afraid of guns, one hell of a hottie … a redheaded, green-eyed, freckled one, to boot. Colby reminded him of an uptight school teacher. The kind who, at night, would let her hair down and get wild. She could be a sex kitten under her stubborn exterior. His type of woman. Mace grinned. His mind drifted back to their conversation and he realized she waited expectantly. “ID? Like my inmate’s ID card with my mug shot and number on it?”

  “An ID would do.”

  “Sorry, I left it behind when I scaled the walls. Had to pack light. It was a long swim from Alcatraz to land.” Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to appreciate his sense of humor.

  He sighed, the pain in his leg was slowly easing. His relief was short-lived, for some reason he now had a headache. He looked over at the reason. “Where is my dear sister, anyhow?”

  “Away.”

  “Hmm. I figured. She wouldn’t have needed a house-sitter if she was only on a date.”

  “She’s on her honeymoon.”

  Mace straightened up, his eyes narrowing. “Honeymoon?” He tried to read her expression but it was nonexistent. At the moment, she was a rock.

  “Yes, you know, the trip you go on after you get married?”

  He ignored the dig, thinking her humor was no better than his. “She got married? To who? When? Where did she go?”

  Colby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Mace wanted to protest because he could no longer see the hard pebbles of her nipples through her shirt.

  “If you’re her brother, why don’t you know about this? Why weren’t you at the wedding? Did you have a falling out or were you really in prison?”

  “Neither. We were separated by necessity.” The half-assed explanation sounded lame even to his ears.

  “Separated by necessity,” she said slowly, the words rolling around in her mouth like she could taste them. “And how long was this so-called separation?”

  “I don’t know.” Of course, he knew. But saying it out loud made it sound worse.

  “Two years,” he mumbled.

  “Two years,” she repeated with a frown. “Then you’ll just have to wait until she gets back. I don’t feel I should tell you her personal details.”

  With a weary sigh, Mace rubbed a hand over his eyes. Too tired to argue, he said, “And when will that be?”

  “In two months.”

  Mace cursed softly. Two months? Who goes on a honeymoon for two months? “I might not be here that long.”

  “You won’t be here at all. I wasn’t given any instructions about letting visitors stay while she was away. So you’ll just have to hide out somewhere else.”

  “Think again. I own this house.”

  He grinned when Colby stiffened in her chair and her hands landed back in her lap.

  Her knuckles whitened, her grip tightening on the empty gun.

  —

  Colby stood and laid the gun on the table, studying the man across from her. Mace Walker’s presence alone was enough to rattle her at first, but now she was torn by conflicting emotions. He said he was Maxi’s brother. This house was his, not hers. Why hadn’t Maxi told her? Could she trust him? He certainly didn’t look trustworthy.

  His intensely dark, almost black eyes and his unshaven face unnerved her. His dark clothes seemed suspicious since his bulky leather jacket was oversized, perhaps large enough to conceal something. Creeping into the house after dark made him even more suspect. Maybe she should call the police anyway. Possibly he was just trying to get her to let her guard down, only to rape and murder her in her sleep. Then again, maybe he was telling the truth. He did sort of look like Maxi, but in a more beefy, masculine way.

  “I still want to see some ID,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

  With a grumble he pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. A photo ID was tucked in the clear plastic front pocket, but he didn’t remove it and she couldn’t see it clearly from where she stood. He dug until he found something specific. He handed her an old, expired driver’s license, one in which he looked much younger … and his expression was worry-free. No frown lines marred the man looking at her from the photo, but it did prove he was Macen Jeffrey Walker and the address was for the house they were sitting in.

  “What, you haven’t had a driver’s license since you were…” Colby glanced at the date. “Eighteen? Been in the slammer that long?” She did some quick figuring. He was thirty-six. She now had serious doubts he had ever been imprisoned, but she wanted to pay him back for scaring her earlier. It was only fair.

  “No. Not any with my real name on them.”

  “Ah. So what do you do,” Colby read his name off the license, “Mr. Macen Jeffrey Walker, that you haven’t seen or even talked to your sister in two years, don’t have a current driver’s license with your own name
on it and have to creep into your own house after dark?” She flipped the license back to him. She couldn’t wait to hear his explanation.

  He caught the license in midair, taking his time tucking it back into his wallet before answering her. “Oh, this and that. You know, a lot of traveling.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “That’s too bad, Colby.”

  Colby wasn’t sure what he meant. But one thing she was sure about was her name on his lips bothered her, for more reasons than she wanted to admit. “Not really. Your job wouldn’t have anything to do with manufacturing license plates, would it?”

  “Sort of. I do the hiring, in a way.” Mace stiffly pushed himself up from the chair and swept long fingers through his coffee-colored hair, the kind of coffee he probably drank. Black and strong. “Well, I’m beat. I’m going up to bed.”

  “Wait…” Colby followed him into the foyer, realizing he had two bags sitting by the staircase. She hadn’t noticed them earlier in the tussle. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

  As he leaned down to pick up his duffel bags, his hand gripped the banister tightly, so tight she wouldn’t be surprised if there were indentations from his fingers in the wood.

  “I don’t care what you think. I’m tired. This is my house. I’m going to my bed. Those are the facts. Live with them.”

  Clearly, he was struggling to keep a blank face. He was in pain just walking up the steps, evident by the white brackets around his pressed lips. She wondered how old his injury was. She stood there helplessly while he carried his bags up the stairs.

  He couldn’t just walk away leaving her unsettled. Should she stay? Should she go?

  And if he wanted her to go, should she leave now or in the morning? Colby followed him up the steps. She decided to test him. “If it’s okay, I’ll gather my things in the morning.”

  Mace stopped abruptly at the top of the stairway, before turning to tower over her.

  Colby halted in her tracks, instinctively grabbing the banister for balance. “You don’t have to leave. Maxi hired you, so you can stay and finish your job. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town anyway. I’d hate to have to find another house-sitter on a moment’s notice when we have a perfectly good one already.”

  Colby tried not to show her relief. She had nowhere else to go; the house she was renovating wouldn’t be habitable for at least another two months. That’s why she was so grateful to Maxi for letting her housesit. The timing had been perfect … well, except for this little snag.

  Little wasn’t the word for him. He had to be six-foot-three with his boots on. She was sure his jacket made him look heavier than he really was. But his legs were long and lean, especially encased in those sinfully snug, worn blue jeans. Damn, but she could appreciate a man with a good ass in well-fitted jeans.

  Mace turned away suddenly to continue down the hall. Maybe he didn’t like women staring at him. It was only fair after feeling his eyes burn her bare skin earlier.

  She trailed him to the end of the hall, keeping her distance when he pulled out a ring of keys, inserting one into the first door on the left. She had wondered why the room across from hers was locked. She had attempted to open it one day when she was vacuuming. Maxi’s room was down the hall and Colby was sleeping in what she assumed was a guest room. Now it made sense—the secret room of the secret brother.

  She tried to peer around him when he swung open the door, but only saw the dust rising behind him when he flipped on the light. She was prepared to follow him in to see the locked sanctuary, but he blocked her view and her way when he turned to face her.

  “Well, good night.”

  Colby extended a hand to stop the door from slamming in her face. She showed him her empty gun. “What about my clip?”

  Mace frowned. “You’ll get it back when you show me you know how to properly handle and shoot the thing. Good night.”

  The terse parting and the shutting of the door in her face was a sure sign of her dismissal.

  Colby stood, her fists planted on her hips, staring at the closed door for a few minutes. She listened to the rustling behind the door, wondering what he was doing.

  Getting ready for bed, most likely, genius. She should be asleep herself.

  She would find out more about him tomorrow. Especially if they were planning on staying under the same roof, she thought, crossing the hall to her room.

  After climbing into bed, still rumpled from when she had jumped out of it earlier, she placed her gun on the nightstand so it would be within arm’s reach. She was tempted to put her gun under the pillow, but she’d probably blow her own head off if she ended up tossing and turning. It might be empty at the moment but…

  A wicked smile crossed her face as she opened her dresser.

  Inside it lay another clip. Along with three more boxes of ammo.

  ———

  Mace threw his bags on the bed and sank down beside them. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair while letting out a long, soothing sigh. He gazed around the master bedroom. The furniture had a layer of dust. Pictures of his late parents and his sister dotted the room. His alarm clock had never been set after the last power outage: it flashed 12:00 incessantly. He glanced at this watch. It was almost midnight.

  He was home. Really home. Not in some strange motel in some unknown town surrounded by people who shouldn’t be classified as human.

  He was sick of the city life: the noise, the rush, and the constant wariness. He had felt a lot of the tension in his body dissipate the moment he had driven into Malvern. This town was quite different, more laid back, and even though it was a large college town, its population was only a fraction of New York City’s.

  He was disappointed, though. He really had been looking forward to spending time with his sister, Maxi, the only person who really understood him. He wanted to run things by her, bend her ear a bit. Hell, more like a lot. He needed to figure out his future. But now he’d have to wait. Wait to be around someone who loved him for who he really was.

  Not loved or even hated him for whom he pretended to be.

  He didn’t know how long he was going to last, doing what he did. The job was taking a toll on him. He was tired of spending time with people he reviled and couldn’t trust. He was tired of having to agonizingly memorize details of a made-up life. An existence where one slip-up could cost your life or a colleague’s.

  He rubbed his thigh. His last assignment had been a killer, both emotionally and physically. He just needed time now. Time to forget.

  Time to heal.

  He thought about the redhead just across the hall from him. He felt a twinge of guilt about his brusqueness toward her. On the other hand, it was hard to be nice when you’re being threatened with a loaded weapon. He had to admit he was impressed with her guts and determination—whether it was real or just an act to cover her fear.

  Mace had originally thought his time home would be boring. Dull. Uneventful.

  Colby Parks just might have changed that.

  Chapter Two

  Colby stirred the eggs around the fry pan, scrambling them.

  She was tired, which was to be expected since she hardly slept last night, too busy listening to every creak in the night. Each time she thought she heard footsteps, she’d sat straight up in bed, reaching for her gun. It ended up being nothing, and this morning she felt like an idiot. A huge one.

  She glanced at her watch. Since it was Saturday, she had her normal plans to go over to the house to check on the status of the renovations.

  She was sinking her life savings into the old house and she wanted to make sure everything was going smoothly. Plus, she wanted to finish painting the kitchen. She had already done the cabinets, but the walls were only spackled and primed, ready to complete. She hoped the yellow she had picked would help cheer up the dreary kitchen.

  She wasn’t sure. The only thing she was sure of was she stunk at interior decorating. But she just couldn’t afford to hi
re—

  “Mmm. Smells good. Got enough for one more?”

  The spatula clattered into the pan, flinging bits of egg onto the stovetop. She took two deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate before retrieving the utensil and turning to face the intruder.

  The reason why she hadn’t gotten more than a few winks of sleep last night entered the small kitchen, pushing his slightly damp hair away from his face. He was wearing an old, threadbare black T-shirt and black sweatpants. Since when did ratty sweatpants ever look sexy on a man? And he was barefoot, his long toes wiggling against the cool linoleum floor. “Sure.”

  He looked at home grabbing the freshly squeezed grapefruit juice she had set on the table earlier and pouring himself a glass. Well, he should, she guessed, since it really was his home. Whether she liked it or not.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Of course,” she lied. She hid a chuckle with her hand when he made a disgusted face after the first swallow. She knew the juice was a little bitter; she preferred it that way. It was one reason why she squeezed it herself.

  Mace wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Jeez, any coffee?”

  Colby shook her head. “Don’t drink it.”

  “Yeah? You’re probably the only one in the county who doesn’t.” He moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found an old, stained coffee maker. He dragged it out, cleared some counter space, and plugged it in.

  “I try to eat healthy,” she said.

  She couldn’t help but notice he looked quite healthy himself this morning. And, in the light of day, quite edible. The cotton shirt clung to the curves of his chest, accentuating how nicely fit he was. His pecs were noticeable beneath the black tee. Quite noticeable. His arms were sculpted just right. Not too bulky, his biceps looked lean and strong. His shoulders were wide, meeting a neck not huge like a body builder, but corded all the same. She hadn’t been able to tell any of those details last night when he was wearing his bulky jacket. She turned her attention back to the pan before he caught her drooling.

  Mace dug up some filters from a drawer and then went to the refrigerator. He let out a low curse and slammed the freezer door. “No coffee! You’d at least think my sister would have left some.” Suddenly he was behind her, peering over her shoulder into the frying pan. “I thought eggs were bad for you.”