Dangerous Behavior Read online

  BURIED MEMORIES

  “Just tell me what you remember from that day,” Sam said. “I need to find out what happened on that boat. Why my brother’s dead.”

  Jules tried to remember, everything. But the details were elusive, the bits of memory lying beneath the fog.

  “You don’t remember anything about that boat trip?” Sam asked.

  “No. I just . . . I remember getting on the boat, that’s all.” She told him of the quick flash of recall she’d just had. Shaking, her fear palpable, she stared at the house, her home, and felt herself shrink inside. “Something happened here . . . somebody came. . . .” She felt she was getting close to some kind of breakthrough and her breath came fast. The gray curtain was pressing down on her, hurting her head.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I’m afraid to know,” she admitted. “I just know we had to get away. . . .”

  “Away from what?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Think, Jules!”

  “I’m trying! I’m really trying.”

  “Someone threatened you?”

  “Yes. I think so. I don’t know!”

  “Well, what do you know?” he demanded in frustration. “Jules, I know you’re trying, but I need you to remember!”

  Books by Nancy Bush

  CANDY APPLE RED

  ELECTRIC BLUE

  ULTRAVIOLET

  WICKED GAME

  WICKED LIES

  SOMETHING WICKED

  WICKED WAYS

  UNSEEN

  BLIND SPOT

  HUSH

  NOWHERE TO RUN

  NOWHERE TO HIDE

  NOWHERE SAFE

  SINISTER

  I’LL FIND YOU

  YOU CAN’T ESCAPE

  YOU DON’T KNOW ME

  THE KILLING GAME

  DANGEROUS BEHAVIOR

  OMINOUS

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Dangerous Behavior

  NANCY BUSH

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Bush

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4289-1

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4290-7

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-4290-9

  VD1_1

  Table of Contents

  BURIED MEMORIES

  Books by Nancy Bush

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ominous

  Prologue

  “I can tell the future,” she said.

  He slid a look over to the woman two seats down at the bar.

  Tiny Tim’s was the kind of shitkicker place that hung its hat on expensive microbrews, like the rest of Greater Portland, but its decor was strictly blue-collar beer signs, scarred wooden chairs, booths, and sports channels. Tiny Tim, whose bald pate and center girth made him look a little like Humpty Dumpty, his nickname, was pulling a Deschutes black porter from the nearest tap and jawing with a guy sitting at the far end of the bar.

  “Nobody can tell the future,” he said, friendly-like. He’d had his eye on this one since she’d slipped into the room in a gust of wind and water. Outside the window he could see the light rain trickling down, visible in the sodium vapor lights that illuminated the strip mall’s parking lot, although it was black as Satan’s heart beyond these walls.

  She moved to the seat next to him. He could smell her cologne, fresh and light. He thought she might be thirty-something, but she could pass as twenty-five. He felt his cock stir and smiled to himself. He was a little buzzed. Just enough to make everything shine a bit brighter.

  “I can prove it,” she said, gazing directly into his eyes.

  “Yeah? You want my palm or something?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tom. But if you can see the future, you probably already know that.”

  “Well, Tom. I can see things that are about to happen. And I see you and me out in your truck, moving to a rhythm all our own. Some call it love, some just call it sex. . . . I call it inevitable.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “I have a sedan, but that’s a good line.”

  She slowly moved her head from side to side. She was a good-looking woman. Sure, a faint hardness showed through the facade, but her hair was long and lustrous, brushing her shoulders, and her eyes were dark and sultry. Her lips were plump, probably pumped up with some sort of product that they would find out was deadly cancerous twenty-five years from now, but they sure looked good enough to eat right now. He noticed the dusky valley between her breasts as she leaned into him.

  “Should I put my hand on my wallet?” he asked.

  “You’ve been watching me. I could feel it as soon as I walked in. Before, really. You saw me outside, too.”

  He tilted his head, thought about it a moment. “That was you with that guy?”

  “My husband,” she said. “He left. Don’t make too big a deal of it. We go to a bar together and he thinks everyone’s trying to pick me up. We fight. He drives off mad and I go home with the guy I want.”

  “It’s like that, huh?”

  “It’s like that. Except . . . you don’t look like the usual clientele around here.” She ran a hand inside his black overcoat and pressed hot fingers against his silk shirt. Almost absently she played with his nipple, which made him go rock hard. “You dress nice, but some guys wear their best after work. . . .”

  “Meaning?”

  “Who are you, Tom? What’s your day job? And what are you really doing here?”

  Tiny Tim shuffled toward them, polishing a glass and giving a poor imitation of being disinterested in their conversation. Tom ignored the barkeep and said, “You’re the ‘seer.’ You tell me.”

  “Were you following me and Ricky? I doubt it’s Ricky you want.”

  “Ricky your husband?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t want Ricky.”

  “Good.”

  “Does Ricky beat you?” he asked curiously.

  She withdrew her hand, which was a pity, but there was no way Tom could afford the kind of trouble s
he was offering. A jealous husband, spoiling for a fight? He didn’t need everyone in the bar remembering him, especially, as she’d pointed out, since he didn’t look like the usual clientele.

  “Ricky loves me a little too much, that’s all,” she said with a dismissive shrug.

  “That’s what you call it?”

  “It pisses me off and makes me want to fuck every man I meet.” Her lips tightened. “You gonna buy me a drink, or what, Tom?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Maybe I should be working on somebody else?” Her dark eyes sparked with challenge.

  “The guy at the end of the bar looks available.”

  Her gaze narrowed and her expression turned to granite. “You lose,” she said, moving past him to sidle up to the guy he’d pointed out. She leaned in and started talking close. Whatever she was saying brought a bright smile of good fortune to her next mark’s face.

  Tiny Tim said quietly, “Don’t know you, man, but that one’s trouble.”

  “You know her?”

  “Never seen her before around here, but you can smell it on her. Maybe I should warn him.” He looked down the bar where the woman had her hand out of sight beneath the bar. Her arm was rhythmically moving up and down and by the dull look of bliss on the mark’s face, it was clear just what that hand was doing.

  Tom dropped two twenties on the bar, a nice tip without being too showy, then walked past the woman and the mark and shoved his way out the back door into a damp June night filled with rain and fog.

  His gray, midsize Honda sedan hunched at the edge of the lot, barely visible. A rental. He looked at it for a moment and thought about the sure thing he’d turned down inside Tiny Tim’s. He craved a cigarette, but those little cancer sticks would ravage your lungs, so he steered clear of them. A vein pulsed near his ear. He could feel it. He pictured the woman inside the bar naked on a bearskin rug in front of a stone hearth filled with smoldering orange embers and dancing flames. He pictured himself on top of her, ripping off his own clothes, cock hard, nearly bursting, driving into her.

  The back door of the bar flew open and banged against the wall. He automatically took a step back.

  And there she was, locked in an embrace with the guy at the end of the bar, climbing all over him. They fell out together, nearly to the ground, but the mark braced himself with his hand against the rough, cedar siding, just barely.

  It took a couple of moments for them to realize he was standing there.

  “What the fuck you lookin’ at, asshole?” the guy panted. One hand was in her waistband, the other was clutching her butt, bringing her crotch toward his.

  “I guess the future was a little different than you predicted,” Tom said to the woman.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she said, but there was a smile on her face. She was getting off on it all, too.

  “It’s a shame we couldn’t get together. Maybe next time.”

  “How about right now?” She opened her mouth and rimmed her lips with her tongue.

  “Get lost, asshole,” the guy growled, burying his head between breasts that had practically sprung out of her blouse.

  “Maybe we could go to my car?” he suggested, jerking his head in the direction of the sedan. Man, he was horny. She was really doing it to him.

  “NO,” the mark grunted in fury. His hands came free and he clasped the front halves of her blouse, yanked hard. Scritch! He ripped the damn thing apart.

  “Hey!” she protested, slapping at his hands and backing up.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Tom told him.

  “We ain’t having no ménage a twat,” the mark snapped.

  The woman slapped him hard, right across the face.

  He cried out and fell back, holding his cheek, shocked at the sudden about-face. “You bitch! You bitch!”

  “No cameras,” she said, looking around.

  “Nope,” Tom answered, reaching into the pocket of his long, black coat. He pulled out a hypodermic needle and uncapped it.

  The mark blinked at them, staggering and swaying. He reached for the handle of the back door, but she stopped him with a swift kick to the groin. He shrieked and grabbed his crotch, groaning and swearing and pleading as he collapsed onto the ground.

  “Ugh,” Tom said with a grimace. “Makes my balls hurt.”

  “Wha’d you do that for?” the man whined, sounding teary. He squirmed on the ground, squinting up at her.

  She gazed down at him a thoughtful moment, then came over to Tom and slid a hand gently over his crotch. “Love you,” she purred.

  “Love you more,” he answered.

  Stepping forward, he plunged the hypodermic into the man’s neck. “Sorry, Denny,” he said. “But on the craps table of life, you just rolled snake eyes.”

  Denny gazed up at them fearfully. “You know me?”

  “Oh, yeah. We do.” She smiled.

  “Whoo—why?” Denny chattered.

  “You made bad choices,” Tom said.

  “Karma,” she agreed.

  Denny opened his mouth and tried to scream, but she swiftly bent down and clasped him by the throat. His only sounds were garbled glugs until he was a wallowing mess.

  “We’d better get him outta here,” she said.

  Tom carefully recapped the hypodermic needle and put it back in his pocket. Then he grabbed Denny’s limp form beneath his arms and dragged him to the sedan. She helped him toss Denny into the trunk, then Tom climbed behind the wheel and she slipped into the passenger seat. They looked at each other.

  “Good thing he Ubered it from that ratty apartment he now calls home,” she said. “No car to deal with.”

  “Yep.”

  “We still have other problems back home,” she reminded.

  “I’m going to take care of ’em.”

  “How?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You need to tell me,” she insisted. “You don’t think things through like I do.”

  “Bullshit. You’re not the only brains here.”

  “Yeah, well, you gotta stop shopping us around. I don’t like anybody knowing about us, no matter how much they pay.”

  “The next one’s for us as much as the man.”

  “The man,” she sneered. “As soon as this whole mess is taken care of, we’re not taking any more jobs, you understand? It’s too dangerous, and I like my life.”

  “Me too.” He inclined his head in agreement and focused on her lips. “How’d you get ’em so big?”

  She ran her tongue around them. “Actually I bit the hell out of ’em. Hurt like a bitch.”

  “I was thinking about them from Tom’s point of view when we were in the bar. Tom thought it was Botox and it wouldn’t be good.”

  “Collagen, but no. I didn’t have time for that,” she said. “Tom didn’t like them?”

  “Tom’s got a rod up his ass.”

  “Except when Bridget’s around,” she said, pulling back the shreds of her blouse and unsnapping the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts tumbled out and he cupped one and rubbed the nipple.

  “Tom turned Bridget down tonight.”

  “Well, he’s not going to now, though, is he?”

  “No . . .” With a groan he bent down and drew one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, until she was arching and moaning and damn near yanking out his hair.

  “I thought about you . . . naked . . . in front of a fire. . . .” he gasped.

  “God, I wish!”

  By unspoken mutual consent he pulled reluctantly away from her and she redid her bra clasp and tucked her blouse back together. “Jesus,” she said in disgust at the ruined garment.

  “I liked the bit about Ricky.”

  She shot him a sideways smile. “Love a good backstory.”

  “Maybe we should stop at a motel,” he said as he pulled out of the dark lot and headed slowly through fog-shrouded streets toward Sunset Highway.

  “Don’t let your cock be your guide. We’
ve got Denny and we’re going to be late as it is,” she said.

  “I know.”

  They drove in silence for half an hour, climbing up the foothills of the Coast Range to where the fog was ghostly wisps. Ten minutes later he turned onto a narrow side road and bumped along for about a mile. They got out, popped the trunk, hauled Denny’s body out and dumped him onto the ground. Then they both dragged him into the underbrush.

  She leaned over Denny as Tom pulled a bottle of bleach from the trunk.

  “He’s dead,” she said.

  He doused Denny from head to toe with the bleach, rolling him over and doing the same to his backside, just in case there was any of her DNA anywhere.

  They returned to the car, backed out of the rutted road, and pulled onto the dark highway. There was no traffic; everyone was already wherever they wanted to be.

  She said, “God, I want to fuck.”

  “Me too.”

  “Oh, hell. Pull onto that side road just past the summit.”

  “You sure . . . Bridget?”

  “Get that rod out of your ass, Tom. The only one I want to see is the one that hits the G-spot.”

  “Oh, baby,” he groaned.

  He found the turnoff and bumped and banged over tree roots and river rocks. But when he threw the car into park and grabbed for her, she put a finger to his lips and lifted her cell phone to her ear. He froze as she waited for the connection, then she said, “Hi, it’s me just checking in. I’m afraid I’m delayed again. Everything go okay?” He heard the voice answer though he couldn’t make out the words.

  “You’re the best. See you soon . . .” she said, clicking off.

  “Kids okay?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Then she slipped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his facedown to hers. She ground her lips to his, her tongue delving deep into his mouth as he settled himself over her, fighting the gearshift and the steering wheel, but it was still the best sex in the world.

  Chapter One