Midnight Vengeance by Lisa Marie Rice Read Free Book Online

in the vestibule and the glass must have been thick because it was soundproofed. It was as quiet as a cathedral. She glanced over her shoulder at the sight of revelry in the huge exhibit space behind two-story glass doors. Everyone looked like they were having a really good time. Only Lauren and Jacko were leaving.
    There was something heartbreaking about watching the huge throng inside, laughing, chatting, eating, drinking, like a movie with the sound turned off. Before, in her previous life, it was the kind of party she’d have loved. If you were there, it meant you had some kind of interest in interior decor or at least a passing acquaintance with art. It meant you enjoyed beautiful things and you belonged to Lauren’s tribe. She’d loved exhibits like this, where everyone was dressed to the nines and really intent on enjoying themselves.
    Take a good look,
she told herself. Because it was the very last time she would ever voluntarily be in a crowd. Crowds were dangerous in these times of Facebook and Pinterest and Twitter. Crowds shared.
    Inside, everyone was spotlit, colors more intense, clothes fancier, smiles brighter than in ordinary life.
    Inside everyone was enjoying life, their greatest care whether shoes matched purses. No one was running for their lives inside.
    She was cut off from them by more than thick plate glass walls.
    As long as her life was under threat, events like this were forbidden. As was rising in a career, any career. As was friendship or marriage or—God!—motherhood.
    The thought of her life as it was now, continuously on the lookout, on the run, with a child in tow to protect—well that thought made her slightly nauseated
    From now on it would be all about solitude and staying indoors and working through a computer under her assumed name for her book cover art. Working as Fabiola Chenet, who lived in France.
    Nothing but work and solitude, for the rest of her life. Or for the rest of Jorge’s life.
    The external doors suddenly opened. She hadn’t even seen Jacko arriving. For such a huge man, he was extraordinarily fast and light on his feet.
    He was by her side in an instant. He pulled the lapels of his tuxedo jacket tighter around her neck. “It’s really cold. I’ve got my vehicle right outside with the engine running and the heater on. Watch your step outside—it’s slippery.”
    Lauren wanted to roll her eyes and answer “Yes, mom.” Except it
was
really cold and the marble steps
were
really slippery.
    There was no question of her slipping though, because Jacko had a big arm around her waist and he wasn’t going to let her fall. Her feet barely touched the marble stairs. Before she knew it, she was sitting in Jacko’s huge SUV, enjoying the heated cabin.
    The backseats were all turned down and a big gleaming thing was back there, a mass of shiny steel and chrome, glinting in the darkness.
    “What’s in the back?”
    “My bike.”
    Oh. The famous motorcycle everyone talked about. She turned her head and studied it. It was huge and looked more like a rocket than a bike. A car turning around in the driveway shone the headlights into the back and she could see it was lacquered a bright red. It looked dangerous, powerful. Sexy.
    Jacko was looking at her, big hands dangling over the top of the steering wheel.
    “Home?” he asked.
    She nodded, throat tight.
    Home.
Not for very much longer.
    He seemed to understand that she didn’t want to talk. Couldn’t talk, actually. If she opened her mouth, the words choked in her throat would come tumbling out. So she turned her head and watched the landscape go by as he drove her back to her house, blinking back tears.
    Such a pretty city, Portland. Cool, in every sense of the term. Less overwhelming, less snooty than Boston. And a million times better than the hot, money-soaked Florida her mother had wallowed in.
    The snow that had been threatening all day started drifting down. Damn. Even the snow, on her last night in Portland, was