I remembered to be outraged and snatched mine back.
“Michael Francis Xavier Jackson,” he said. He raised an eyebrow, daring me.
I dared. “Michael Jackson? Your name is Michael Jackson?” I snorted. “Great. When the bad guys catch us, will you moonwalk us free?”
“Take it up with my mom. She’s from Ireland, and just for the record, the Jackson Five were not really that big over there when I was born. Most people call me Jack.”
Against my will, I felt a thrill of…something…at the image of meeting his mother. The men I tended to date…well, used to date…seemed to have hatched rather than been born into families.
“Well, Michael Francis Xavier, often called Jack, as much as I’d like to spend the rest of my life running from the Mob with you, I’m going to have to pass. How about I drop you off somewhere?”
“Sorry, Beth, no can do. I really think it would be best if you just kept your mouth shut and let me do the talking.”
“Are you a federal agent of some kind?” I asked a bit desperately, visions of Fox Mulder dancing in my head. I’d always thought Scully was a dope for not jumping his bones. “Because I’m really hoping you are. Not that there’s anything wrong with carrying a gun to your wedding, especially when you’re marrying the Worm’s daughter and all, but color me paranoid, I just don’t want to hang out with an armed stranger who’s basically just kidnapped me.” He said nothing. “Mr. Jackson? You’re a good guy, right?”
“Can’t tell you that. Sorry, babe.” He ran a hand through his ridiculously attractive, Patrick-Dempsey-would-be-jealous hair. “I’ll say this. I’m sorry you got involved, and I’ll try to keep you safe. Okay? Okay. Now be a good girl and pretend to be my girlfriend when we go in here, and there’s actually a chance in hell this will all work out in the end. Any other questions?”
“I’m not a girl,” I said.
“Good.” He gave me a look that turned my bones to hot chocolate. Brown eyes, and lashes that would put Maybelline to shame. I love brown eyes, dang it. Again he offered the damn grin that sent a shot of electricity straight to my girl parts. “I don’t like girls. I like women.”
“You sure? Because I don’t know…that tux says Provincetown to me.”
“Talkative women with blue eyes and three inches of roots showing.”
My face burned. “I was planning to color my hair this very afternoon. Until you stole my van and kidnapped me.”
“First of all, you climbed in the van of your own free will. Secondly, it’s for the best. I’m not crazy about blondes. Now come on. Let’s go inside and get you stowed.” He got out of the van and, what did you know, opened my door for me. When I chastised his mother for the ridiculous name, I’d have to compliment her on her boy’s manners.
“You mentioned safe house,” I said, taking a look around. “This doesn’t seem all that safe.”
The top of Jarvis Mountain was once home to a drill bits factory, before the Bush administration started paying corporations to move jobs overseas. One day, according to the Providence Journal, the morning shift employees had arrived for work, only to find the doors locked and a hand-written note telling them they’d all been laid off. The place was now an after-dark meeting place for drug deals.
There were four or five smaller structures…storehouses, maybe. Jack headed toward one now. “I think you’ll love it here,” he said, knocking on the peeling door. The windows were barred. So cozy.
Maybe we could swing by the Four Seasons,” I suggested. “They’re supposed to be very safe.”
“This will have to do.” He slung an arm around me. Damn. He smelled incredible. I probably smelled like sweat and old coffee and possibly rotting flowers. He smelled like the inside of GQ magazine. “Relax,” he murmured, then knocked again.
“Why is it men always say to relax right before they want you to do something unnatural?” I asked.
“Seriously, Jack, I have to go home. You’re very cute and you smell great, but I don’t want to be buried alive by Jimmy the Worm, okay? I’ll just tell them you stole my van and made me go with you, and they’ll leave me alone.”
“Yes. The Mafia is known for their compassion and understanding. I’m very sorry you got in the middle of this--”
“Not to haggle or anything, but you put me in the middle of this--”
“ -- and I’m doing my best to keep you safe. Now shush.” Inexplicably, he dropped a kiss on my head. My roots, I should say.
The door opened a suspicious crack.
“Hello, hello,” Jack said. “How are you, Spooner? Mind if we come in?”
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