Savor the Danger
Page 53

The complete, utter lack of sound was more deafening than a gunshot. Automatically Jackson listened, knowing something was wrong. He heard nothing beyond the silence.
Sliding his arm out from under Alani, he said in a breath of sound, “Babe, wake up.”
“Mmm?” She cuddled closer. “What—”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her mouth. “Someone is here. Probably still outside, because I’d have heard him come in. I have to go check it out.” And maybe kill someone.
She had the sense, the wherewithal, to speak in near silence. “Wait.” She grabbed him while levering up in the bed, struggling to orient herself. “The electricity is out?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s just—”
“It’s not.” The threat was real; he sensed the intrusion. Prying her hands loose, he said, “Stay put,” and with every fiber of his being, he believed she would do as she was told.
She said nothing else, and he appreciated that. Grabbing up his gun and his knife, Jackson left the room without making a sound.
In the hallway he stopped to listen again. Letting his senses take over, he absorbed every shadow, the creak of the house and the breeze outside. He peeked into the other rooms, but his gut told him they were empty and secure, so he went down the hall to the living area. On the way, he glanced everywhere, through each window, each nook and cranny, into the kitchen—he stepped back again for a second, more cautious, looked into that room.
Through the kitchen window he saw a shadow that didn’t belong. How he knew it didn’t belong was one of the mysteries of instincts. He always trusted his instincts.
His chest swelled. His muscles relaxed.
In seconds, at his stealthiest best, he removed the barriers to the sliding doors, slipped out of the house and across the back porch. Jackson had the sense to stick to the shadows, but thanks to the bright moon, he saw the intruder moving up close to the house, near Alani’s bedroom window.
Though it had to be in the mid-eighties still, the guy wore a knit mask and dark clothes.
Jackson, on the other hand, was buck-ass naked.
He grinned.
On the prowl, more than ready to engage physically, he slunk closer. As he passed the meter box, he saw that it was disconnected—thus the lack of electricity. Some of Alani’s landscaping had been trampled so that the bastard could cut the seal and remove the retention ring to pull out the electric meter.
Not real smooth. Holding back, he studied the form again—and recognized Tobin by the way he moved, his body type.
Son of a bitch. Ballsy move, ass**le.
Jackson flipped the knife around in his hand so that he held it hilt first—perfect for gutting someone. He could handle Tobin with one hand tied behind his back—or, as the case may be, while naked as a baby.
No reason to blast a gun and alert the neighborhood.
He moved so close to Tobin that he could touch him—and the obtuse moron didn’t even know it.
When Tobin went on tiptoe to look in Alani’s bedroom window, Jackson tapped him on the shoulder.
Tobin screamed. Loudly.
Sleeping birds took flight in screeching excitement, adding to the impact of the moment.
When Tobin continued to scream, Jackson silenced him in the most expedient way by thumping his face into the bricks. Tobin slumped, but Jackson kept him upright with an arm locked ruthlessly tight around his neck and his chest shoved into the shorter man’s shoulders. The knife pressed tight beneath his chin.
“Disturb her further,” Jackson snarled, “and I’ll kill you right now.” Far as Jackson was concerned, Alani had been through enough. She didn’t need Tobin harassing her now, too.
“Jackson?” Tobin slumped further in what seemed to be relief. “Get off of me!”
“Shut the hell up.” Using his gun hand, Jackson jerked off the ski mask, then smashed Tobin’s bare face into the bricks again. He leaned into him more, making it hard for Tobin to breathe. “What the f**k are you up to?”
“Nothing!”
For the love of… “Bullshit.” As incentive to talk, Jackson thumped his face into the bricks again. “Let’s hear it.”
Tobin’s struggles caused a thin slice to the skin of his throat.
“Keep jerking around,” Jackson said. “You’ll cut your own damn throat and save me the trouble.”
Realizing he couldn’t get away, Tobin froze again. “I was just…”
“Just what?” Without pockets, Jackson had no place to put the gun. He tucked it under his arm and patted down Tobin, checking for weapons.
Oddly enough, unless stupidity could be a weapon, he didn’t have any. Not even a pocketknife.
Jackson spun him around and, with a hand on Tobin’s shoulder, slammed him up against the wall again. He held the knife to his ribs. “Talk.”
After darting wildly around the yard, Tobin’s gaze zeroed in on Jackson—and widened. “Good God. You’re naked!”
“You expected me to sleep in a suit?”
His mouth flapped open, then smashed shut. “So you are sleeping with her? I was right about that?”
“Given I’m armed and pissed, that should concern you a whole lot more than where I slept.”
Breathing hard, again searching the yard, Tobin shook his head. “You’re insane.”
“Says the guy slinking around in the dark in a ski mask mid-July.” Jackson took a step back and hefted the knife. “I have better things to do, Tobin, so stop straining my patience.”