Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye
E.C. Sheedy
ISBN 0-7582-1563-0
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Fear…
She knew him only as the dark-eyed man, the one who put her in that dank basement. She was only nine years old when she stared into those eyes and understood that something unspeakable lived in them. Though she was saved at the last minute by an unlikely ally, she’s never forgotten that fear. And fear has not forgotten her…
Never…
Now the woman who rescued April from that living hell long ago has disappeared, and it’s no accident. Whoever came after her wants April—dead. April has one chance to save her guardian angel before it’s too late. But to do that, she’ll have to break the promise she swore she never would and contact the one man she knows she shouldn’t…
Dies…
Joe Worth’s horoscope said he was in for trouble, but the woman sitting in his office is the kind of trouble any guy would welcome—mile-long legs, blond hair, gorgeous face. She’s also scared. Very scared. Protecting people is Joe’s business, but this time it’s also personal: the woman April wants him to find is the mother who abandoned him. He can only say yes, and that could cost him. A stone-cold killer is out for vengeance—a man who will do anything to keep his dark, twisted past behind him. Anything.
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Chapter One
Joe Worth appreciated seriously fine woman flesh when he saw it—and what walked a few steps ahead of him was up there with the best of it. Made him wish he could strap on a tool belt and whistle. The high heels and skirt—short enough to be interesting without shouting about it—were an added bonus. As was the hair. Damn near to the middle of her back. And that darkish blond color that looked real instead of salon metallic. Then there were the legs . . . showgirl quality, endless and shapely.
A devout leg man, Joe experienced something close to awe.
Hell of a way to start a morning.
“Coffee, tea, me—or her,” a booming voice said from his right.
“Definitely her.” Joe jutted his chin in the direction of legs unlimited, then looked down at Riggs. “But I’ll settle for the coffee—preferably with less sludge than yesterday.”
“Picky. Picky.”
Donny Riggs, a small guy to start with, who barely managed to clear the kiosk countertop from his wheelchair, ran the coffee shack a block from Joe’s office. On a good day his coffee hit the psyche with the silk and heat of good- morning sex; on bad days, a mug of crude oil with curdled cream would be an improvement.
Joe took the coffee Riggs handed him and studied the donuts. “Today’s? Or last year’s?”
“Suddenly you’re a gourmet?” He accented the final T and shoved a donut into a paper sleeve. That was the thing with Donny Riggs, you ask about the food, you’ve bought the food. “Here.” He handed Joe the donut. “You don’t like it. Bring it back. Comes with a one month guarantee.”
Joe took the donut, capped his coffee cup, and handed him the usual fiver. “Tell me again why I buy this crap from you.”
“One of two reasons. My scintillatin’ personality or my wheelchair gig.”
“The chair’s too obvious. It’s the scintillating thing. Definitely.” He headed down the street, taking the same hallowed path as the long legs that had enamored him seconds before.
“Hey, Joe.”
Restraining a sigh, he turned back. He knew what was coming; Riggs hadn’t missed a morning yet. “Yeah?”
“Your horoscope says you’re in for trouble today. Says something left behind is coming back in your life that will seriously affect your future and ya can’t avoid it.”
“Good to know.” He made to turn.
“It also says something that looks like a simple puzzle on the surface is nothin’ but a nest of snakes. You better be careful, it says”—Riggs jabbed the morning paper he had spread out on the counter—“or you’ll be—and I quote—ensnarled.”
“Great. Thanks.” He lifted his coffee cup in salute and turned the corner. Joe wasn’t worried about snakes, and the only thing coming back into his life was last month’s bills. Which, thanks to the check he received yesterday, he was able to pay and then some. Temporarily at least, he was ankle deep in clover.
Snakes and ensnarling aside, he was planning a damn fine day; the morning setting up next week’s job, which would start with his joining Zern, his partner, on a yacht in Spain—not hard to take—and the afternoon at the gym. Okay, so he wasn’t so keen on the gym thing but keeping in shape was part of the job. No one hired bodyguards from the before pictures.
Joe rounded the corner and walked the half block to his office. The building was ten floors, and he was on the fourth; he took the stairs.
The door to his floor opened on the end of the hall farthest from his office, and he’d cracked it barely an inch or two before he spotted Legs—standing outside his office door.
The day was getting better and better. He stopped to admire the view.
Legs reached for the knob on his door then, as if she’d touched a hot element, abruptly stepped back and ran a hand through her long hair, brushing one side of it behind her ear. She looked nervous. No. Beyond nervous. Scared.
And the face that went with that Grade-A body didn’t disappoint. The woman was eye-blasting beautiful.
Beautiful + scared = client.
Interesting . . . Joe watched her make another attempt at the door, back away again, then finally—and he could damn near hear her inhale half of Seattle’s supply of air— she opened the door and walked in.
Joe stepped into the hall, uncapped his coffee, and did a taste test as he ambled toward his office.
If Legs was the trouble Riggs predicted—bring it on.
April closed the door behind her and looked around Joe Worth’s reception area.
It was a long, windowless room painted a pale institutional green. Amid the green, there was a reception desk with no one behind it, some battered filing cabinets, bench seating along one wall, and a coffee table piled high with magazines. A blood-red movie poster touting Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye, featuring a mean-mouthed James Cagney in lurid, fist-raised detail, hung crookedly behind the bench. The place looked like something from a thirties crime novel—not a computer in sight. She wondered if it was intentional—and if she’d made the right decision coming here.
But Cornie said their mother, Phylly, was in trouble. Big trouble. Enough trouble that Cornie bussed in from Vegas on her own and landed on April’s Portland, Oregon, doorstep. Enough that she convinced April they needed to go to Seattle ASAP—a city April never expected, or wanted, to see again. And, damn it, it looked as though the girl was right. So, even knowing Phylly would freak at her being here—here she was. About to talk to Joe Worth.
Rumor had it, when the going got tough, family came through. She wouldn’t know about that, but she was anxious enough to give it a try, because Joe Worth was definitely family.
Lifting her eyes to the old ceiling, where a fan spun without enthusiasm in the warm August afternoon, she prayed silently: Forgive me, Phylly . . .
“Can I help you?”
April nearly fell out of her stilettos. She was so busy second- guessing herself, she was still gripping the doorknob and hadn’t noticed a young man enter from a side door.
She settled herself and stepped into the room. She might not want to be here, but she wasn’t about to advertise the fact. “I’m here to see Joseph Worth.”
The young man—he wasn’t much more than twenty— settled his fashionable metal-rimmed glasses on his nose, smiled at her, and glanced at an open scheduler on the desk. “Sorry, but I don’t see an appointment here.”
“I don’t have one.”
“And she doesn’t need one.”
The voice came from behind her, and she turned to see a big man enter the room—fill it—and approach the desk in long easy strides. When he stepped a little too close to her, she moved back, and looked up into his sharply assessing, very curious eyes and a gaze that settled on her like cool water.
There was no doubt this was Joseph Worth. Those eyes— a pale silver blue—were instantly recognizable. Set in the family genes, Phylly said. As was the height. The man was at least six feet three. Even with her wearing high heels, he was taller than she was. No mean feat when, barefoot, she stood five-ten.
“You’re Joseph Worth.”
She put out her hand and he took it, held it, and nodded, his gaze unwaveringly direct. She had the brief thought they were playing some kind of macho who’ll-blink-first game. If so, Silver Eyes would lose. When it came to men, April stopped blinking years ago.
“I’m April Worth,” she said. Ignoring how small her hand was in his, she tightened her grip, and shook firmly. “In a roundabout way, we’re related.”
One eyebrow arched and he frowned. “A kissing cousin, I hope.”
“Afraid not.” Not even close.
“Damn!” He withdrew his hand, eyed her closely. “You don’t by any chance have anything to do with snakes, do you?”
She couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “Worked with a few in my time,” she said, “but only the human variety.”
“Lots of those around.” He half-smiled and added, “You want a coffee?”
She nodded.
He looked at the young man. “Meet Kit, the purveyor of all caffeine-related products and resident genius.” He gestured to a door. “He holes up in there with his stuff.” The door said Genius.
Kit grinned at her. “That ‘stuff’ being computer muscle—his being of the more mundane variety.”
April smiled. “Nice to meet you, Kit. And it doesn’t look like you’re doing too bad in the ‘mundane’ department yourself.” Where Joe Worth had height and breadth, Kit was closer to five-ten, compact and wiry. His arms were lean, tan, and looked stronger than they needed to be to punch computer keys.
“All Joe’s fault.” He grimaced in Joe’s general direction. “He keeps dragging me to the gym. He calls it a job perk.”
“What do you call it?” she asked.
“Death by dumbbells.”
