Take Me Tonight by Roxanne St. Claire

Author:Roxanne St. Claire [Claire, Roxanne St.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Chapter

Thirteen

Whatever the doctor had told Sage, it left her uncharacteristically quiet on the way to Brookline. Johnny asked her a few questions, but she kept her answers short.

Even more troubling was that she didn’t ask him a million questions about his interview. Which had been so brief, hurried, and uncomfortable, he was fairly certain that Hendrick Kane was not hiring and had been strong-armed by Garron into the meeting.

No matter. Sage was quiet, and Johnny didn’t like it.

“What did you eat?” he asked, resisting the urge to slide his hand into hers or put his arm around her.

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes leaning toward the ivy green of her sweater. “Is that all you care about?”

“Whoa. Harsh.”

“I don’t know what we ate,” she said. “Food.”

Whatever she’d eaten didn’t agree with her. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you didn’t get what you wanted out of Sean Connery in there.”

“I got what I wanted. He’s going to help me.”

“Good.” Johnny watched dry cleaners and florists and appealing little delis roll by. “Did he tell you that he’s married?”

He felt her glare. “What is it with you two? Are you doing counterresearch on each other? How do you know anything about him at all?”

“So he checked me out, huh?”

“Enough to know you lied about attending the Culinary Institute.”

And still set up the interview. Why? Just to be alone with her? “What else did you talk about?” Like why was he paying to protect her without her knowing about it?

“His new business.”

Johnny nodded knowingly. “Gynecology.” He must have left just enough skepticism in his voice to get her defensive.

“He’s specializing in infertility treatment now,” she said quickly. “Helping women have babies and realize lifelong dreams.”

“Big money in that.” Enough to pay for round-the-clock supervision, at least. “Hey, next stop is Washington Square,” he said. “Her building—”

“You know, Johnny.” It was clear she was a million miles away, thinking. “I still want to talk to those people at the website.”

“Well, I can’t help you there, sugar.”

“Why not?”

“I quit.” At her look of surprise, he added, “I thought that would make you happy.”

“Happy? I don’t care where you work or what you do. But you are—were—my only connection to that place, and I still think someone there might know something about the night Keisha was, or wasn’t, kidnapped.”

“Well, I quit.”

“Why?”

He patted her hand. “I knew you hated it.”

She choked softly. “You’re not my boyfriend, Johnny.”

“Hey, a guy can hope.”

They reached Washington Square, and he followed her out the back door of the subway car, right in front of the fifteen-story gray and white box where Ashley lived. They waited for the light to cross Beacon. When a couple of heavily tattooed punks passed them, and one gave Sage a good, hard eye sweep, Johnny instinctively positioned himself next to her and behind one step, where he could assess and stop every threat.

At the high-rise, no one answered the buzzer for A. McCafferty. There was no guard, no doorman, and Johnny didn’t have an entrance code.

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