tool bench. Oblivious to the danger, he sat back on his heels and tilted his head to investigate his new find. “Pow, pow!”
“Now, baby.” Kelly halted in front of him, reached for the weapon and eased it from his hands. “Give it to Mommy.”
“I want to play with it!”
The moment the gun was securely in Kelly’s grip, her breath rushed out. Her pulse was pounding so hard, her chest ached. The urge to scream was getting stronger. It was almost as powerful as the urge to run.
Yes, run. Take her baby and keep going until her feet bled and her legs collapsed and there was no more air in her lungs. End the madness, leave the nightmare behind and find somewhere free and safe and normal where love wasn’t a tool, armed men didn’t patrol the halls and guns didn’t end up between couch cushions like stray pocket change.
Her fingers trembled as she unloaded the gun and put it on the floor behind her. How it had gotten here, who had left it, were questions she would deal with later. She leaned over to pull her son into a hard embrace. Pressing her nose to his hair, she drew in his scent, that sweet mixture of baby shampoo and warm child, the familiar anchor for her senses when the world spun out of control.…
Before she realized what she was doing, she was on her feet with her son clasped in her arms and was halfway across the room.
Kelly’s scream emerged as a moan. Clenching her teeth, she stopped short of the door and turned in a circle. She couldn’t run. Not yet. If she did, Stephan would track them down as he had before.
She had to be patient and stick to her plan. She had to use her head instead of her heart. She couldn’t trust her heart. That’s what had gotten her into this in the first place.
But, oh, God! If she had been three yards away instead of two, if Jamie had played with that gun instead of showing it to her, if he had looked down the barrel, if he had touched the trigger…
Kelly’s shoulders shook with a sob. She sank to her knees, clutching Jamie to her chest. He squirmed, restless with his mother’s need to cling, but she only hugged him tighter.
“I’ll get us out of this,” she whispered. “I promise.”
The vow was one she had made countless times.
Only this time, she knew exactly how she would make it happen.
Chapter 1
Nathan Beliveau wasn’t looking for a woman. Even if he had been, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been this one.
From the improbable shade of her strawberry-blond hair to the lethal spikes of her stiletto heels, Kelly Jennings spelled trouble. She had the kind of presence that commanded the stage, drawing every gaze in the place as she posed in the spotlight. Her dress shimmered in a sheath of gold, caressing her body in a way that was designed to make any man there think about reaching out for those curves and doing the same.
But word on the street had it that this woman belonged to Stephan Volski. She was one of his trophies, a symbol of the Russian’s power and his wealth, so only a suicidal fool would consider getting any part of his body even close to hers.
Ice cubes tinkled as Nathan wrapped his fingers around his glass and leaned back in his chair. The lights dimmed until pinpoints of white shone from the ceiling like a network of stars. That’s what Volski had named the nightclub, the Starlight.
It was a high-class place, one of the most popular in Chicago, with plush blue velvet covering the chairs and white linen on the small tables. A staff of polite servers glided unobtrusively around the room, although Nathan had spotted several who had the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under their jackets. More muscle was positioned near the exits, but they kept their presence low-key. The majority of the patrons who frequented the club weren’t aware this place was a front for the owner’s real business. They came here for the ambiance and for the music.
Nathan had come here to settle a debt.
There was a scattering of applause as Kelly stepped up to the microphone. She acknowledged it with a graceful dip of her chin. Nathan couldn’t see the color of her eyes from where he sat—he’d chosen a table far from the stage so he could put his back against the wall while keeping track of the people who entered the room—but he was still close enough to see that the rest of her features projected the same kind of sensuality as her body.
Her face was a classic oval, framed by an artful tumble of curls. Her high cheekbones and her generous mouth were emphasized by dramatic makeup, but she wore no jewelry around her neck. The tempting expanse of cleavage her dress revealed didn’t need adornment.
When it came to choosing his trophies, Volski had spectacular taste. Kelly appeared to be made for pleasure, a woman who was well aware of her sex appeal and knew how to use it.
And fool or not, Nathan wasn’t immune to her effect. He tried to ignore the stirring of interest he felt. It usually took more than a good body and a pretty face for him to notice a woman—he was more interested in what lay inside than in the packaging. Yet he couldn’t deny that the mere sight of Kelly was getting to him.
It was an understandable response, a healthy male reaction to the display of a ripe female.
Nathan reminded himself once again that this was the wrong female.
He sipped his drink and surveyed the crowd, turning his thoughts back to business. Volski’s emissary was supposed to have been here five minutes ago. It had taken Nathan over a month to set up this meeting, and Tony’s patience was running out. The plan was still a good one, though. All he needed was the chance to put it into motion.
A glimmer of movement drew his gaze back to the stage. Kelly’s dress shifted as she curled her fingers around the microphone, revealing another half inch of cleavage. Contrary to what Nathan expected, her full lips didn’t curve with the smile of a seductress. Instead, they thinned with determination. She remained motionless, as if she were drawing into herself. It went on so long, the audience began to grow restive. Finally, she closed her eyes, lifted her face and began to sing.
If Nathan hadn’t already been leaning his chair against the wall, he would have been knocked on his butt by her first note.
Longing. Pain.
Rage.
The emotions that trembled through the air were so genuine, so raw, that Nathan felt as if he’d been struck. This wasn’t an act. What Kelly was doing on that stage was too private, making it seem as if he were intruding merely by listening.
He wasn’t alone. The entire audience went silent, as if they were as stunned by the intimacy of what they were hearing as Nathan was. The melody was familiar, an old torch song from the 1930s, yet Kelly made it sound as if it had been written just for her.
There were musicians backing her up, a jazz trio consisting of a pianist, a bass player and a drummer. Nathan could see their silhouettes on the stage beyond the range of the spotlight, yet they kept their contribution to the music as unobtrusive as their appearance. Kelly’s voice didn’t need adornment any more than her features did.
Nathan swallowed the rest of his drink, along with a pang of regret. There had to be more to Kelly than just the packaging. How did a woman who sang like this, whose performance hinted at such depth to her emotions, end up involved with scum like Stephan
