Finding The Texas Wolf. Karen WhiddonЧитать онлайн книгу.
to ditch the redhead. Though he wasn’t sure why exactly, he knew the reason would reveal itself soon enough. He’d learned to always trust his gut instincts. Always.
She’d been kind. Interested, even. And beautiful, the kind of beauty that once would have sent men off to war. While her beauty lured him, he didn’t trust her. She knew things he didn’t. Since she’d done everything in her power to hustle him away from the dead-end alley, she had no intention of sharing any of her knowledge with him.
He’d seen her go in the door. That damn door. What had started out as idle curiosity had become a full-blown obsession. So much so that he’d put his own life in danger.
The salt-scented, humid breeze made the cuts on his face sting. He thought he could make it back to his car, but he’d begun to second guess the instinct that had made him flee the hospital. While the woman—Maddie Kinslow—had put on an outward show of compassion, she was part of whatever secret lay behind that door. Call him overly paranoid, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been sent to finish the job the two thugs had started. He wasn’t prepared to risk finding out.
Still, she’d been right about one thing. He needed medical attention. He suspected he had, at the very least, a couple of broken ribs. If not broken, then bruised.
An older black Lincoln pulled up alongside him. “Hey, man,” a familiar voice said. “You need a ride?”
Wayne. One of the guys he played basketball with every Saturday. Jake had never been so glad to see someone in his life. “I do,” he said, lifting his hand in greeting.
“Climb on in.”
Jake did. When Wayne got a good look at his face, he whistled, low and furious. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I got jumped over by Harborside.”
“By the cruise ship parking lots?” Wayne wanted to know.
“Yeah, sort of.”
“What were you doing over there?”
Since his friend knew exactly what Jake did for a living, he told the truth. “Following a lead. I got a little too close for someone’s comfort.”
“Let’s go to the hospital,” Wayne suggested.
Since Jake felt dizzy, like he might pass out again, he agreed.
This time, he made it inside the ER under his own power. Though Wayne had offered to stay, Jake told him no.
Three and a half hours later, Jake learned his ribs were bruised, not broken. By some miracle, his most serious—and painful—injury was a dislocated shoulder. They gave him some muscle relaxers and a shot of something, and the doctor manually worked it back into place. When he did, it hurt like hell. Perspiring, trying not to swear, Jake managed to stay conscious.
When they were finally done and the doctor came to discharge him with a prescription for more pain pills and some antibiotics, he asked Jake if he had someone to drive him home.
“No. But my car is only a couple blocks away,” Jake said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.
“You can’t drive,” the doc said firmly. “You need to call someone to come and pick you up. We gave you some strong narcotics. No driving for at least twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll find someone.” He dug out his phone. Maybe he could talk Wayne into coming back and picking him up.
“No need,” a cool, feminine voice said from the doorway. “I’ll take you home.”
The redhead. Maddie Kinslow.
“Perfect,” the doctor said, smiling. “Take him straight home, make sure and fill these prescriptions, and force him to get plenty of rest.”
“I sure will.” Now she sounded positively cheerful. He turned to stare at her, wondering how she’d known to come back here looking for him.
“I’ll send a nurse to wheel you out to the car,” the doc continued. “Hospital regulations,” he added when Jake began to protest.
Jack nodded. He waited until the doctor had left the room before confronting Maddie. “Are you stalking me?”
“No.” She frowned, looking both hurt and angry. “I will say I was concerned, especially when you took off like you were afraid to go into the ER. Why was that? I wondered. Do you have a warrant out for your arrest?”
“No. And no. As you can see, I haven’t been arrested. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I’m a PI,” she retorted. “It’s part of my line of work.”
“A private investigator?” At first surprised, the more he considered, the better he felt. Ms. Maddie Kinslow might not realize it, but she’d just given him an idea.
She started to respond, and then closed her mouth. Lips a tight line, she looked away. Whatever she wasn’t telling him, she clearly had no intention of saying anything else about her work. Which was okay with him. She’d said enough.
Luckily for her, a cheerful nurse arrived with a wheelchair. She ordered Maddie to get her car and pull up right outside the entrance. Once Maddie had left to do that, the nurse wheeled him out front to wait for her.
When Maddie had parked, the nurse helped Jack out of the wheelchair and into the passenger side. He was able to buckle the seat belt, wincing.
“Are you all good?” she asked, her candid gaze searching his face.
“Yep. Better than good,” he replied. “I’m actually really glad to learn you’re a private investigator. As it turns out, I want to hire you.”
Judging by her sudden intake in breath, he’d shocked her. “Um, my agency is specialized. We wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“Yes, we would,” he insisted. “Plus, you’re the only PI I know. I’ll pay whatever your going rate is. And I promise, you’ll find my job to be a simple one, easily completed.”
She shifted into Drive and pulled away from the hospital.
“Well?” he pressed once she’d exited the parking lot. “What do you say?”
“I’m thinking. Give me a minute.”
He gave her more than a minute. She followed his directions, pulling in to the driveway of his small home on San Jacinto. Once she’d put the car in Park, she turned in her seat to face him.
“What’s the job?” she asked, her expression professional. “I really can’t commit my resources until I know what is involved.”
And here came the part she wouldn’t like. He told her anyway. “I want to hire you to find out what’s behind that door on the dead-end alleyway. The one where you found me all beat-up.”
Inside Broken Chains, Carmen Vargas sat back in her chair, took a sip of her drink and surveyed the smoky room. As always, every table had been taken, and those without a seat stood shoulder to shoulder. Carmen had arrived early and claimed her usual prime spot near the back, close enough to have a view of the dance floor, but not so close that the loudness of the band would make any attempt at conversation impossible.
Her friends Maddie Kinslow and Shayla Dover-Cantrell usually met her here, but Shayla had recently gotten married and was just getting back from her honeymoon. The three of them had formed a supernatural private investigative agency and had recently successfully closed their first case. Carmen imagined Maddie had already gotten busy hustling for a second. Still, she was very late. Not like her. Carmen figured she’d give her a little bit longer before calling her friend’s cell phone.
“Have you got a minute?” The low growl of a masculine voice to her left had her betting