Page 27 of Perfect Vengeance

Keep your sex-starved body in check.

She needed to remember who he was. More to the point, what he was and the power he wielded over her and her friends.

As he shut his door, he reached to the dashboard for the laminated placard sporting a huge gold badge and the word POLICE emblazoned on it. He tucked the placard behind the visor.

With his left hand, he grabbed his seat belt and pulled it across his chest. He fumbled with his other hand—the one with the cast—to buckle himself in. “Dammit.” A flash of pain crossed his features.

Only then did she realize how much his broken wrist actually hurt him. Again, guilt swamped her that she was the cause of his pain. After a few more seconds of watching him struggle with the receiving end of the buckle, which had now sunk deeper into the crack between the seat and the console, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Here,” she said softly, placing her hand on his cast. “Let me help you.”

As the pain on his face receded, a little bit of her anger melted away and a disturbing thought insinuated itself. Jack was a lot of things, but he was still just a man and could feel pain like anyone else.

She slid her hand to his fingers where they protruded from the white fiberglass cast. With a gentle tug, she eased his hand from the seat belt and finished buckling him in.

“Thank you,” he said in a gruff voice.

It could have been her imagination, but the disarming intensity of his eyes seemed softer, not quite so hard and unapproachable. His forehead furrowed, calling attention to the red gash peeking out from the edge of his dark hair. I did that too.

“You’re welcome.” Something about this guy got to her. She jerked away and sat ramrod stiff. “I’d have thought the FBI would force you to take medical leave until you’re fully healed.”

“They tried.” He started the engine. “I didn’t listen.”

With his good hand on the wheel, he steered the SUV toward the West Side Highway and the Holland Tunnel. Even one-handed, he maneuvered the large vehicle through the busy side streets with admirable finesse.

He slowed to merge into the long line of vehicles waiting to enter the tunnel. Another ten minutes and they hadn’t made it more than twenty feet. To alleviate the tension, she tried focusing on the op for today.

Surveillance. Access points. Entry. Egress. Complete the job and get out from under the FBI’s way too big thumbnail. She began strumming her fingers on the strap of her tote, then chewed on her lower lip.

“Nervous?” He chuckled.

“No.” She refused to look at him. “Did I say something funny?”

“Not yet, but you usually do when you’re uptight.”

“What makes you think I’m uptight?”

“You’re biting your lower lip.”

When he smirked, she gritted her teeth. Crap. He’d known her for a total of what, four hours? Already he knew too much about her emotions. Must be something they taught federal agents. Mind Reading 101.

As they continued crawling through traffic at a slug’s pace, Jack was silent, but his presence was as big as a Mack truck. Powerful and commanding, which only irked her more. She suspected he already had a plan and would get to it in his own time. The silence made her edgier by the minute.

When his cell phone rang, he grasped the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers sticking out from the cast and grimaced from the pain even that small movement caused him. With his good hand he tugged the phone from his belt and held it to his ear. “Kyle. What’s up, bro?”

Jack had a family? Then again, bro could just be one of those macho terms men used when referring to each other.

“No, I didn’t forget.” His mouth tightened. “I was working. You know I’m right in the middle of⁠—”

He blew out a heavy breath. The voice on the other end of the phone got louder to the point where Gina heard every word.

“You’re breaking Mom’s heart. It’s been six months since you showed your ass at Sunday dinner.”

“I’ll try to make it one of these weekends,” Jack grumbled. “I promise.”

More cursing. “Your promises are about as reliable as a drug lord swearing he’s going straight.”

Jack glanced at her. Embarrassed at having been caught staring and eavesdropping, she glued her eyes to the brake lights ahead.

“Gotta go. Wait! Do me a favor and feed my clownfish for the next couple of days. John Wayne is old. Make sure he eats.”