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“My arm is not a leash, and I am not a recalcitrant pet,” she snarled, jerking from his hold. Well aware he only released her because he chose to.
“In the house, Poppy,” he ordered. “You don’t want this to happen outside where anyone can see us.”
“Why not?” she cried out furiously. “Whoever’s watching us could just report the full truth then.”
Thankfully, she’d managed to hold on to her keys, she thought, almost shocked that she’d done so.
Gripping the house key, she tried to fit it into the lock, but even with the back porch light on she couldn’t seem to shove the key into place, her hands were shaking so bad.
Which only made her madder.
“Here.” Jack took the key from her fingers, slid it into the door lock and then the dead bolt, and within seconds was pushing the door open and stepping in ahead of her.
Poppy all but stomped into the house, went straight for the cabinet, and drew a bottle of her favorite bourbon and a glass from the cabinet.
Uncapping it, she poured a healthy drink, took it all in one swallow, and grimaced at the fiery sensation that washed down her throat.
And still, she just wanted to cry.
Behind her, Jack closed the door, set the locks, and waited silently.
It was more nerve-racking than all her brothers in a rage at once.
“Someone’s watching me,” she whispered tearfully, refusing to look at him. “Watching me and telling my brother, as though I’m some teenager who needs to be grounded. And he’s convinced you’re a traitor. A drug dealer. Someone’s feeding him information I can’t fight, Jack.”
She moved to pour another drink when she suddenly found the bottle lifted from her hand. Jack capped it and put it away before turning back to her.
“John David?” he asked carefully.
She turned to look at him, still feeling the anger John David had pulled to the surface with his questions and determination to somehow control her. But feeling anger at Jack as well.
He was dressed in riding gear again. Jeans, leather chaps, boots, T-shirt. He looked wicked and wild. The ultimate bad boy.
He was staring back at her somberly, his gray-and-blue eyes dark, stormy. Only his eyes ever gave away the fact that he actually felt anything at any given time.
“I would guess that since John David couldn’t find me tonight, he found you instead.” He sounded certain of that fact. “I felt it best to talk to you before letting him find me, but maybe I should have just stayed at the house, waited for him, and dealt with that first.”
“By hitting him?” she burst out, the tears gathering in her eyes again. “You are not allowed to hit my brothers, Jack.” She pointed a shaky finger at him imperiously.
“Well, see, that’s why I waited,” he said, completely deadpan. “Before I busted his pretty face, I wanted to make sure if a little chitchat wouldn’t suffice instead. So, tell me what I need to know, or I go find him tonight.”
And he would.
She knew he would.
And if he did, they’d fight.
She felt her lips tremble, felt the tears that filled her eyes.
“He heard about your meeting with Ian Richards,” she whispered. “Someone told him a package was slipped into your bike at the bar. He thinks you’re involved with the cartel and refuses to believe otherwise. We argued, and I yelled at him. I told him you were none of his business. I hate it when they make me mad enough to yell, and it always makes me cry.”
She glared back at him. “I didn’t lie to him. I know you wouldn’t be involved with drugs. That’s not you.”
His lips thinned for a moment, then pursed wryly. “No, Poppy, I would never mess with drugs. Not take them, sell them, or facilitate anyone else’s use of them.”
But he’d still met with a man suspected to be the head of a drug cartel. Why would he do that?
“What’s going on, Jack?” she whispered, frightened for him, knowing he wouldn’t just stop in to chat with someone involved in a drug cartel. “Ian Richards is dangerous. He’s always in the news, suspected of some crime or meeting with people who are criminals. Why is he here, in Barboursville? What does he want with you?”
