The Weekend Wife Read online

  Damn it, all her ploys were backfiring.

  And when he leaned boldly in to kiss her, feminine instinct got the best of her again, compelling her to turn her head away and push her hands against his chest hard, before she could even think about stopping herself.

  But he still didn’t release her and it was like being trapped in a vice. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, laughing. “Don’t play hard-to-get with me now. You’ve been hot for me since we laid eyes on each other. Hell, you just admitted it. So you’re not leaving this room until you give me a little taste of what’s to come.”

  Kimberly’s stomach dropped like a stone. She was out of ideas, out of defenses.

  And she suddenly didn’t feel nearly as much like a tough P.I. as she did a very vulnerable woman who’d gotten herself into a very bad situation.

  Max had grown weary of making conversation with Carlo. Besides the fact that he never revealed anything about himself, he seldom had anything interesting to say. Other than gushing over Max’s pretend life, he never added much to a discussion. So Max hadn’t worked too hard at it the last few minutes—just letting the thief soak up the sun somewhere behind him on the patio while he kept to himself as he manned the grill.

  Until he asked, “Carlo, how do you like your burgers? Well done? Medium?”

  No answer.

  So he peeked over his shoulder to where Carlo had been sunning by the pool just a moment ago. But damn it, he was gone.

  And Kimberly was upstairs alone.

  Letting the metal spatula in his hand clatter to the concrete, he ran across the patio and into the house, flinging the French doors wide. How had the little rat sneaked away so quietly? He raced through the living room and the foyer and took the stairs two at a time. Why hadn’t he been paying closer attention, for God’s sake?

  He burst into the master suite out of breath, and just in time—to tear Carlo limb from limb. The other man held Kimberly in a forceful embrace—her hands were pressed flat against his chest as she leaned away from him as far as his grip would allow.

  “Let go of her, Carlo!”

  Kimberly gasped, then swung her gaze to where he stood in the doorway. “Max …” The utterance sounded unplanned and desperate, her expression steeped in fear and something deeper he didn’t have time to analyze—but he could feel her reaching out to him, needing him.

  He shifted his eyes to her for only the briefest of seconds before darting them back to Carlo, enraged as a hungry tiger who’d just broken free of his cage. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles strained, filled with a fury so powerful he feared he might burst.

  Crossing the room, he grabbed Carlo by the shirt and spun him around, leaving Kimberly to flee to the nearest corner, looking fearful of what would happen next. And maybe with good reason. Carlo hadn’t actually done anything illegal yet, and if Max didn’t find some way to rein in the anger that had taken hold of him, he might be the one going to prison.

  “Max,” Kimberly pleaded softly behind him.

  “Come on now, man,” Carlo was saying, his hands held out before him, “calm down.”

  But all Max could see was the desperation and loathing in Kimberly’s eyes when he’d come in the room. He’d known he shouldn’t let her go through with this and he’d been right. And now he finally understood why. She couldn’t handle Carlo, and he couldn’t handle watching her with Carlo. Both of them were too weak for the job, and even though their weaknesses lay in different areas, they had the same result.

  Heedless of anything but his own wrath, Max pulled back his fist and landed it squarely on Carlo’s left jaw. He wanted to kill the guy, wanted to make him suffer, not only for scaring Kimberly, but for each and every leer and touch he’d given her since the moment he’d walked in the door on Friday night.

  Regaining his balance after the blow, Carlo drew back and threw an uppercut at him, but he dodged it and caught Carlo’s wrist in his grip. His other fist slammed into Carlo’s face again, knocking him backward into the wall.

  Max didn’t care about the case anymore—this wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t right that Kimberly, or any woman, should have to endure such mauling, even if it was for a good cause. Suddenly the cause wasn’t good enough. No reason was good enough.

  He closed in on Carlo, who stood cowering before him now, a surprised sort of panic invading his eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the “oblivious husband” to react this way—he’d probably felt pretty safe after Max had let him off the hook last night, in fact—and he probably hadn’t pegged him as a guy who could fight. But as a P.I. who chose not to carry a gun, Max considered dexterity with his fists among the most essential of his skills.

  The sight of Carlo looking so easily beaten did something to pacify him, though, to make him realize just how spineless of a man he was dealing with. Carlo was more than eager to prey on innocent women, but when it came to facing a man—someone of equal size and strength—he wasn’t up to the challenge.

  Their gazes met and held for a long, uneasy moment as Max waited to see the asshole’s next move. He readied himself, just in case Carlo decided to come back at him. “What now, Carlo?” he asked, fists still clenched, eyes narrowed in threat. It was almost a dare.

  Carlo’s gaze darted past Max—to Kimberly, to the jewelry spread across the carpet, to the door—his eyes dancing with indecision.

  But it appeared that the door won out. “I guess now I make my exit,” Carlo said, inching toward it. Although a certain smoothness had returned to his voice upon realizing Max wasn’t going to beat him to a pulp.

  Max moved slowly after him, almost sorry Carlo didn’t want another go at him. “Which is harder to leave behind, Carlo?” he asked, his voice still dripping with threat. “My wife or her jewelry?” And he knew he’d just come dangerously near to tipping their hand, but the words had tumbled out in anger. Pride demanded he not let Carlo leave without letting him know they were onto him.

  Carlo backed into the doorway. “Your wife,” he replied snidely, clearly not realizing the question was rhetorical. And then he turned a surprisingly smug gaze on Kimberly. “You don’t know what you’re missing, baby.”

  Max lunged for him, but if he’d intended to do Carlo real damage, he’d waited too long—the jerk had already slipped out the door and disappeared up the hall.

  Instinct nearly made Max give chase, but several things kept him from it. Catching him would only mean pounding him into the ground—still a pleasing notion, but not particularly useful. And as unimportant as the case had seemed a minute ago, it still mattered, and Max was realizing he’d just made a fatal error. Somehow in the tussle with Carlo, he’d managed to get their positions turned around so that he’d stood between Carlo and the jewelry. Carlo had just darted from the room without it, so besides having nothing on film, they didn’t even have any stolen jewelry to report.

  But the biggest reason he didn’t go chasing after Carlo in that moment was because it seemed much more vital to make sure Kimberly was okay. Max turned toward her, finding her lips pressed tight together, fists clenched at her sides, face painted with distress. He moved quickly to her. “Are you all right?” And he didn’t wait for an answer before crushing her against him in a huge hug.

  “Yeah,” she murmured into his chest—and then she clung to him, letting her arms twine around his neck, and he held her as tight as he could.

  Damn, it felt so good—safe—to have her in his arms where no one could hurt her, where no one could touch her but him. They stayed that way, and he forgot about everything else in the world except taking care of her—until a moment later Kimberly lifted her head and looked into his eyes to softly say, “Max, we have to go after him.”

  “What?” He’d been so lost in her that the words jarred him.

  “It’s our only chance to still catch him at something. Or at least see where he goes.”

  And…aw, hell. She was right. Giving chase hadn’t seemed important when he knew Kimberly needed him, but sh
e was a tough P.I., and a smart one, too, and even if they’d blown the jewel theft sky high, maybe they could still salvage some part of this case yet. After all, Carlo had a boss somewhere who was expecting some jewelry—with any luck, that’s where he would head right now.

  “Let’s go,” Max said.

  And hand in hand, they ran down the stairs and out the door just in time to see Carlo’s Camaro flying up the wooded drive that led from the house. When they hopped in Max’s Porsche, he floored it.

  “Hold on, babe,” he told her. “This is gonna be a wild ride.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max banged his hand on the steering wheel as he drove. Damn it, he still couldn’t believe this had happened—not any of it. He couldn’t believe he’d let Carlo slink away and get his hands on Kimberly. And he also couldn’t believe that after all the trouble they’d gone to, things hadn’t come off as planned—the little creep had still managed to get away without doing anything illegal.

  Max had thought the guy would lay back and let a flirtatious, assertive woman set the pace and issue the invitation, but he’d misjudged Carlo’s ego. And he was a better P.I. than that—he should have had a back-up plan in place and kept a closer eye on the bastard. Damn all the distractions that kept making him mess up—distractions caused over and over again by Kimberly.

  “Put your seat belt on,” he snapped, glancing briefly over at her in her pretty little dress as he drove like a maniac trying to keep up with Carlo on the winding road.

  Her scowl reached across the car at him as she fastened the belt, then said, “You need to put yours on, too.”

  He spared her only another quick glimpse before refocusing on the turns in front of him and the rear bumper of Carlo’s car in the distance. “I’m a little busy right now.”

  “Then I’ll help you.”

  “No, don’t—”

  But she was already reaching over him to grab the belt, and he was saying, “You’re gonna make me wreck the car, Brandt,” but he managed to get his left arm through the opening without killing them, and she finally got it snapped into place at his hip.

  After which he murmured, “Thanks,” because as irritated as he was by life itself at the moment, it had been a caring gesture.

  The long chase led them across town and into a part of the Warehouse District that—despite some revitalization nearby—remained rife with old warehouses and deserted buildings. Many of the structures harbored broken windows—some that had been boarded up, others that hadn’t. Holes and broken pavement pockmarked the street. Now this, he thought, finally makes sense. The Warehouse District had Carlo’s name written all over it.

  Max slowed his speed and hung back a bit—Carlo had suddenly slowed a little, too, since entering the rundown area. And apparently he had no idea he was being followed, the schmuck. It irritated Max to know Carlo probably thought he and Kimberly were still back at the house lamenting what had happened, and it bugged him even more that he thought Kimberly had really been into him. It all just added to his determination to beat the guy at his own game.

  “Look!” Kimberly said, pointing. Up ahead, Carlo had braked before one of the old brick warehouses and turned into the drive in front.

  Max immediately pulled the Porsche to the side of the barren street, where they both watched in silence, although it was too far away to see much. Reaching under his seat, he snatched up a small pair of binoculars and peered through them.

  “What do you see?”

  “Looks like he’s pulled up to a keypad, punching in a code to get him inside.”

  Then a large metal door lifted, and Carlo drove through, the door descending just as quickly behind him.

  “Damn,” Max muttered, lowering the binoculars.

  “Damn what?” Kimberly asked. “We know where he goes now. This is probably where the kingpins of the business operate.”

  Sure, that much was good news, but Max shook his head anyway. “We don’t have anything on them. Still no hard, tangible proof. I’ve gotta get something concrete, Brandt. If we have any chance of nailing Carlo and whoever his bosses are, I’ve gotta get inside that warehouse and take a look around, see what’s going on.”

  She just gaped at him. “Are you crazy, Tate? We have no idea what’s behind those walls.”

  “And there’s only way to find out.”

  He turned off the car and opened his door. But she kept staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “This isn’t safe. I don’t even know what you’re planning, but I can tell you it’s not safe.”

  “Wait here,” he said. “And if I’m not back in half an hour, call in the cavalry—by which I mean Frank.” He pressed the keys into her hand.

  But she was shaking her head at him, vehemently now. “You’re not going in there, Tate.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  She released a heavy sigh. “Well then, you’re not going in there without me.”

  Max just looked at her. Kimberly. Sweet, brave Kimberly. Whose ability to handle this situation he wasn’t so sure he trusted, even now. And whose heart seemed so big, bigger than he’d ever realized before.

  He wanted to tell her there was no way in hell she was going inside that building with him. But they were partners on this case. She’d seen him through this far. If she really wanted to come, he didn’t think he had any right to stop her.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked.

  “Completely.”

  He cast her one more sideways glance, and spoke quietly. “All right then. Let’s go.”

  They got out of the car and walked up a cracked, neglected sidewalk toward the large building, hanging close to the other warehouses along the way just in case Carlo or anyone else was on the lookout from inside. When they grew closer, Max pointed out a single door at the corner of the structure near the freight door Carlo had entered.

  Then he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his khaki shorts. “I’m calling Frank,” he said. “As a precaution.”

  A moment later, Frank’s voicemail picked up, complete with soft blues music behind the friendly message delivered in a cool tone of voice. “Hi there. You’ve reached Frank Marsallis’s personal line. Leave a message when the music ends.”

  “Frank, it’s Max. It’s Sunday afternoon, just after one o’clock. Kimberly and I have tailed our suspect to a building on Lang Street in the Warehouse District, with a faded sign that says Dormer and Sons over the door. We’re going in to take a look around. I’ll call you when we’re out, but if you don’t hear from me…well, just make sure you hear from me, okay?”

  Disconnecting, he shoved the phone in his pocket—and began to have second thoughts about letting Kimberly go with him. A minute ago he’d been strictly in professional mode—thinking of Carlo and how to bring this operation down, thinking of the job and the life of a P.I. in general—which sometimes held danger. But this definitely held danger. And the more time he spent with Kimberly, the less he was able to keep anything about it professional.

  He turned to her as they walked. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this, Brandt?” Then he took a slightly different approach. “You might be of more use to me on the outside.”

  But she wasn’t buying it. The challenging expression on her face told him so as she looked squarely into his eyes. “I’m a better P.I. than you think, Max,” she said very quietly.

  The claim inflicted a little guilt, catching him off guard. “Kimberly, despite the Carpenter case, I…think you’re a fine P.I. Honest.”

  Kimberly pulled in her breath. He’d just called her by her first name, not her last. It shouldn’t have affected her—it was normally something she took little notice of one way or the other—but at the moment, it pierced her heart just a little. Because yes, he’d called her by her name during certain intimate moments this weekend, and when faking things in Carlo’s presence—but otherwise, he’d kept it all business in that way. Until just now.

  Still, she didn’t think he sounded or looke
d truly convinced. And maybe it was silly at this point, but she still suffered the burning urge to show him, prove to him, that she could work alongside him, doing the same job and doing it well. It was a matter of professional pride and it ran deep. In the beginning, he’d been her mentor and then she’d let him down. What had happened back at the house just now with Carlo had made her feel like she’d let him down again—she’d been unable to handle the situation, after all, and she’d been frighteningly close to crumbling. She had to make him see that she wouldn’t let him down anymore.

  “I intend to go, Tate.”

  He tilted his head and she waited for the argument she saw in his eyes—but then he merely sighed. “All right, Brandt. All right.”

  A minute later, his hand rested on the doorknob and she stood behind him, an eerie sense of danger biting into her spine. She’d told him back in the car that this was crazy, yet here she was doing it—she’d pretty much forced her way in on this, in fact—and it was too late to back out now.

  Only when he turned to look at her did she realize how close they stood, and she fought back the impulse to reach out, touch him, cling to him. Because whether that was about fear or desire, this wasn’t the time to let him see either.

  “This would be a lot easier in the dark, but we don’t have that luxury. Stay low,” he cautioned. “When we get in, look for the nearest thing to hide behind and get there fast.”

  Her heart beat a wild rhythm as Max gently turned the doorknob—and voila, it opened with a barely audible click.

  So when he took her hand, she welcomed the contact, the connection that provided a small sense of safety, the reminder that they were in this together. Then he led her into the enormous open-to-the-ceiling building where muffled voices could be heard somewhere, and guided her silently across the concrete floor until they could step behind a forklift that held a stack of wooden pallets.

  She experienced no real measure of relief, though, until she stealthily peeked around to peer past the pallets and to see that no one had heard them, no one was rushing to see who had just come inside.