Wanted Page 3

  "Hey." I flashed a quick smile, hoping I didn't look disappointed to see him.

  "Hey, yourself."

  I leaned in to receive his sweet kiss. And, damn me all to hell, all I could think as my lips brushed this man's was whether or not Evan was watching.

  I pulled away and forced myself to focus entirely on the man I'd just kissed. "Everything okay? Do you have to go in?"

  "No crises," he said. "Truth, justice, and the American way can continue on without me."

  He gently kissed my temple, and as I glanced between him and Evan, I had to wonder why the hell I was stalling. This was an incredibly kind and thoughtful man who had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to move past casual dating into a more serious relationship, and yet I was still caught up in lingering teenage fantasies? Honestly, did men get more upstanding and eligible than FBI agents? And considering my father had introduced us, he already had the parental seal of approval.

  Purposefully, I moved closer, hooking my arms around his waist, then tilting my head up to look at his face. His wavy blonde hair was neatly trimmed and his blue eyes held charm and humor. All in all, he had nice-guy good looks, like the cute quarterback who's not as sexy as the guy in leather with the low-slung car, but still totally hot. "I really appreciate you being here with me."

  "I told SAC Burnett that I needed to be here for you today," he said, referring to the special agent in charge to whom he reported. His gaze flicked in turn over Cole and Tyler and Evan. "I'll get back to kicking criminal butt tomorrow."

  "Who are you hounding now, Agent Warner?" Evan asked. There was a hint of humor in his voice, but also the tightness of control. Both Tyler and Cole must have heard it, too, because they each cut a sharp glance Evan's way. I had the impression that Cole was going to say something but thought better of it.

  "Whoever the evidence points to," Kevin said. "Follow the trail long enough, and you find the asshole at the end."

  "Evidence," Evan said, his tone musing. "I thought you boys stopped worrying about evidence years ago. Isn't the method now to fling shit and see what sticks?"

  "If you're suggesting that we go to whatever lengths are necessary to gather the evidence that we need," Kevin said smoothly, "then you're absolutely right."

  Any pretense of humor in the conversation had now been firmly erased. I winced, remembering too late that the FBI had been all in the trio's face about five years ago. I'd seen the newspaper articles and had asked Jahn about it. He told me not to worry--that a business rival had made some nasty accusations, but that his knights would have their names cleared soon enough. I'd been deep into finals, and so I'd taken my uncle at his word. And, since nothing else popped up in the news, I forgot all about it.

  Clearly Evan hadn't forgotten, and the air around us crackled with an uncomfortable, prickly kind of tension.

  I cleared my throat, determined to change the subject. "How was the hospital dedication?"

  "Inconvenient," Evan snapped. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then drew in a breath, and it didn't take superhuman observational skills to see he was making an effort to rein in his temper. "Sorry," he said, his voice now gentle.

  He turned slightly, and for the first time since he joined our group, he looked in my direction. "The dedication--hell, the entire wing--means a lot to me and even more to the kids we're going to be helping, but I needed to be here." For the briefest of moments, he looked directly into my eyes and I felt my breath catch in my throat. "He was a good man," Evan said, and the pain I heard in his voice reflected my own. "He'll be missed."

  "He will," Kevin said. His voice sounded stiff and stilted, and I had to fight the urge to pull out of his arms, because he didn't get it. How could he? He didn't really know my uncle; he didn't really understand what I'd lost.

  I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly thick with tears. I clenched my fists, as if mere force of will could keep the grief at bay.

  It didn't help. I felt suddenly lost. There was nowhere to turn, nowhere to anchor, and any moment now I knew I would spin out of control.

  Damn.

  I'd been doing so well--missing Jahn, yes, but not crossing the line into self-pity. I'd been surviving, and the fact that I was coping had made me proud.

  I wasn't coping anymore. Evan's coldness had thrown me off my game, and without warning, I'd become antsy and all sorts of fucked up. I wanted to step out of this weird triangle made up of me and Evan and Kevin, but I couldn't seem to move.

  All I knew was that Uncle Jahn had always been my way in. He'd always understood me. He'd always been there to rescue me.

  But he wasn't there right then--and to my total mortification, the tears began to flow.

  "Angie," Evan murmured. "Oh, baby, it's okay."

  I have no idea how it happened, but suddenly my face was pressed to Evan's chest and he was holding me and his hand was stroking my back and his voice was soothing me, telling me that I should let it out. That it would be okay. That I would be okay.

  I clung to him, soaking up the solace that he was offering. His body was hard and firm and strong, and I didn't want to let go. I wanted to draw in his strength and claim it as my very own.

  But then my nose started to run, and I pulled back, afraid of mucking up his gazillion dollar tux. "Thanks," I said, or at least I tried to. I don't think the word actually left my mouth, because when I looked up at him, it wasn't friendly concern that I saw. No, it was heat. It was desire. Vibrant and pure and absolutely unmistakable.

  And it was wild enough to burn a hole right through me.

  I gasped, and the sound seemed to flip a switch in him. Then--as quickly as it appeared--that fire was gone, and I was left feeling cold and bereft and desperately confused.

  "She needs you," Evan said, passing me off to Kevin, who took me into his arms even as a shadow crossed his face.

  "Didn't you want to say something to the crowd?" Cole asked, his voice reminding me that he and Tyler were standing just inches away, their penetrating eyes taking in everything.

  "I did," Evan said, his expression now bland and his tone businesslike, as if that could erase those last few seconds. But it was too late, and everything had changed. I'd seen it. Seen? Hell, what I'd seen in his face had just about knocked me over.

  But he was walking away from me now, and as I watched him go--as I stood there clinging tightly to Kevin's hand--I knew that if I wanted him, I was going to have to go after him.

  Because where Evan Black and I were concerned, he would always walk away.

  And in a moment of sudden clarity, I goddamn knew the reason why.

  three

  I started my freshman year at Northwestern right about the time that Evan was dropping out, too successful in all of his various ventures to bother with anything as mundane as grad school.

  The air seemed scented with lilac that fall, and Jahn had thrown one of his famous parties. Evan was there, of course, flanked as usual by Tyler and Cole. I'd sat with them by the pool, my bare feet dangling in the water as I answered their questions about how I was surviving my first weeks.

  The conversation was casual and easy, and I was proud of myself for playing it cool. Or I was until Jahn asked me to go inside with him to pick out a bottle of wine.

  "You know that you're like a daughter to me," he said, once we were standing in the bright and airy kitchen, looking out at the pool through the huge bay window.

  "Sure," I said happily. Then I caught sight of his face and frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  He shook his head, just the tiniest of motions. But the shadow in his eyes suggested something else entirely. "I just hope you know that I would do anything for you. That I'll protect you from anything and anyone."

  My chest tightened and I felt the beads of perspiration rise on my lip. "What's going on?" My mind filled with images of knives and threats, of assault and rape. Oh, god, no. Surely--

  "No." Jahn's voice was as forceful as his hand clutched around my wrist. "No," he repeated,
but this time more gently. "That's not what I'm talking about. Nothing like that."

  Slowly, my fear ebbed. "Then what is it?"

  "I've seen the way you look at them, Angie."

  "Them?" For the briefest of moments, I was genuinely confused. Then I got it--and my cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

  "Those boys will always look out for you," he said, ignoring my discomfiture. "They'll watch over you until the end of time because you're important to me. But it can't ever go further than that. Not with any one of them." His voice had hardened, taking on a commanding and serious tone that I rarely heard from him. "I said I'd protect you," he said. "Even if that means protecting you from yourself."

  "I don't know what you--" I began, but he cut me off sharply.

  "They're not the men for you," he said firmly. He faced me straight on, his expression deadly serious. "And they know that you're off-limits to them."

  I opened my mouth to say something, then shut it again, because what the hell was I supposed to say? This was totally freaking surreal.

  My instinct was to deny, deny, deny. But curiosity got the better of me. "What's wrong with them?" I asked.

  "Not a goddamn thing."

  "Then why are we having this conversation?"

  He turned his back to the window and leaned against the granite counter, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes narrowed, and I felt my posture straightening automatically under his appraising gaze.

  He glanced quickly away. "They're too old for you."

  I almost spit out my laugh. "Seriously? That's the problem? Daddy's thirteen years older than Mom, and no one thought that was a big deal."

  When he looked at me, there was something almost wistful in his eyes. "Sarah is special," he said.

  "And I'm not?" I was teasing, sure, but I was also serious. "Evan's barely six years older than me, and he's the oldest of all three of them. Come on, Uncle J. What's really going on here?"

  Instead of answering, he grabbed a corkscrew from where it sat on the counter, and went to work on one of the bottles he'd pulled out for the evening. I watched silently, both amused and frustrated, as he poured a glass, took a sip, and then poured another. When he handed the second to me, I had to bite back an insolent smirk. Technically, I was under the drinking age.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even and tinged with a hint of regret. "When was the last time you've seen me with my wife?"

  The question was so unexpected that I answered right away. "Not for years." I hadn't seen his most recent wife, or any of the parade of previous ones, in ages. I knew they'd all left him, but I'd never known why. And since I'd never gotten close to any of them, I hadn't ever asked.

  "Too many secrets will destroy a relationship," he said.

  "I don't have any secrets." Except, of course, I did.

  Jahn paused, and for a moment I thought he was going to call me on my lie. But then he nodded, almost casually, as if my words were a given. "Maybe not. But he does. His own, and those he holds for others."

  He.

  That one simple word rattled around in my head, making me a little dizzy. Because I knew what it meant. It meant that we weren't really talking about the trio, but about Evan. About the fact that I wanted him--and that Jahn knew it.

  I swallowed, embarrassed but also relieved in a weird way. Jahn knew me--possibly better than anyone else ever did or ever would.

  But he was wrong about one thing--secrets didn't bother me. How could they when I held so many of my own?

  Now, as I stood in the open living room of Jahn's condo and listened to Evan speak to the crowd, it was as if Jahn's ghost had drawn me, Scrooge-like, back to the past, to see that afternoon all over again. I'd been unsure before, believing that, like his best friends, Evan thought of me like a sister.

  I no longer believed that.

  Jahn's lecture that night hadn't just been about warning me to stay away. He'd been telling me that he'd ordered Evan and Tyler and Cole away, too. And while Cole and Tyler might not find that request to be a burden, I'd seen the heat in Evan's eyes.

  He wanted me, dammit.

  He wanted me, and he was too goddamned loyal to my uncle to do anything about it.

  "Howard Jahn was a man who loved his life."

  The deep tones of Evan's voice filled the room, mesmerizing and clear. "In the short time that he was on this earth, he not only lived that life to the fullest, but taught others how to do the same. He changed the lives of so many people, many of whom are standing here tonight. I should know. I'm one of the lucky people that he took under his wing."

  I took my eyes off Evan long enough to examine the crowd. They were as enthralled as I was, caught up in both Evan's charisma and the words that he was speaking. I watched him--this man who'd made a fortune for himself at such a young age--and understood in that moment how he'd risen to be one of the most influential men in Chicago. Hell, if he were a tent preacher, he could have swindled millions from that crowd.

  The only one who didn't look impressed, in fact, was Kevin. I wasn't sure if he was still stinging from his smack-down with Evan earlier or if he was picking up on my Evan-lust vibes. But since the latter was enough of a possibility to make my highly-tuned guilt antennae hum, I reached over and took his hand--then felt even more guilty because of my own hypocrisy.

  "Howard Jahn taught me a different way of looking at the world. In so many ways, he rescued me, and he never once gave up on me." He had been looking out over the crowd as he spoke, but now his eyes found mine. "We're here today to honor his memory," he continued, with an odd kind of ferocity in his voice. "His memory. His requests. His legacy."

  He paused and the air was so thick between us that it took all my strength just to draw a breath. I'm surprised that every eye in the room wasn't turned to us, watching the spectacle of the fire that blazed between us. Because it was there. I felt it--I felt it and I wanted to burn in it.

  I have no idea what he said next. He must have continued talking, because before I knew it, people were raising glasses in a toast and wiping damp eyes.

  The spell that had captured me dissipated, and I watched, breathless, as Evan melted into the crowd. He shook hands with people and accepted consoling pats on his shoulder. He ruled the room, commanding and calm. A steady presence for the mourners to rely on.

  And never did he take his eyes off me.

  Then he was coming toward me, his gait firm and even, his expression determined. I was only half-aware of Kevin beside me, his fingers still twined with mine. Right then, Evan Black was my entire world. I wanted to feel his touch again. Wanted him to pull me close. To murmur that he knew what I'd lost when Jahn had died.

  I wanted him to brush his lips sweetly over mine in consolation, and then to throw all decorum aside and kiss me so wild and hard that grief and regret withered under the heat of our passion.

  And it pissed me off royally that it wasn't going to happen because of a promise he made to a dead man.

  I'm not sure what I was trying to prove, but I spun around and folded myself into Kevin's arms.

  "What--"

  I cut him off with a kiss that started out awkward and weird, but then Kevin must have decided I needed this. That my grief had sent me over the wall and into the land of rampant public displays of affection.

  His hand cupped the back of my head as his mouth claimed mine. As far as kissing was concerned, Kevin definitely got an A. Empirically, he was everything a girl should want, and yet I wasn't satisfied. I wasn't even close. There was no heat, no burn. No butterflies in my stomach, no longing for more. On the contrary, all Kevin's kiss did was make me more aware of the void inside me. A hunger--a craving--that I couldn't seem to satisfy no matter how much I wanted to.

  Evan, I thought, and was shocked by the desperate longing that went along with those two small syllables. Somehow the tight grip I'd kept on my desire all these years had come loose. It was as if my grief had shoved me over the cliff, and for the first time in f
orever, I wished I could just erase Evan Black from my mind. I felt out of control. Frenzied and reckless.

  And for a girl like me, that's never a good place to be.

  When Kevin broke our kiss and pulled away from me, all I wanted to do was pull him back again. To kiss him until we broke through my resolve. Until we created a fire out of friction if nothing else. Because I needed that. I needed to get clear. I needed to lose myself in him until the blazing heat that was Evan Black was reduced to nothing more substantial than a burn across my heart.

  But that, I knew, was never going to happen.

  Kevin's palm cupped my cheek, his smile gentle. "Sweetheart, you look ripped to pieces."

  I nodded. I was. Just not for the reason Kevin thought.

  I glanced around the room, searching out Evan. Wanting to know that he'd seen. Wanting him to be as twisted and tied up in knots as I was.

  But he wasn't even there.

  "Angelina, my dear, the young waitress said I might find you in here. It's so good to see you again, even under such sad circumstances."

  The Southern-smooth voice rolled over me, and I grimaced. I'd escaped to the kitchen--which was technically off limits to guests--with the hope of squeezing out just one tiny little moment alone. Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

  Forcing a political-daughter smile onto my face, I turned away from the counter and greeted Edwin Mulberry, a congressman from either Alabama or Mississippi or some other state that most definitely wasn't the Midwest.

  "Congressman Mulberry. What a pleasure," I lied. I willed my smile wider. "I didn't realize you knew my uncle."

  He had silver hair and an audience-ready smile that I only half-believed was genuine. "Your uncle was an amazing man," he said. "Very well connected. When I spoke to your father yesterday and he told me he couldn't be here, I knew I had to come by."

  "I appreciate that," I said. Mulberry was a representative with an eye on the Senate, and though my father was still on his first six-year term, he had forged powerful allies, including several who had started tossing his name around as a potential vice presidential candidate. I didn't need to rely on my poli sci degree to realize that Mulberry was more interested in getting in good with the flavor of the month than he was in paying his respects to my uncle.

  "It's been what? Almost five years since I've seen you? I have to say, you've grown into quite the lovely young woman."