Midnight Vengeance Read Online Free PDF

holding her up.
    A sound, close to her ear.—
ren?
She couldn’t make sense of it. The world was frozen, she was frozen, right down to her core.
    And then the world came back—brightly, painfully—in a nauseating rush.
    The kid taking shots looked at her as if she were a specimen in a zoo and walked off.
    No!
    Her lungs unlocked; she drew in a deep gasping breath. Jacko was holding her up but she needed to be able to stand on her own two feet. Now. Grabbing Jacko’s tuxedo lapels she leaned into him, keeping her voice low.
    “The photos,” she gasped. “Oh God. Get rid of those photos of me, please! Destroy them! All of them!” Her voice was shaking badly; her lips felt numb. Was she getting the words out right? She gulped in a deep breath, to explain—to find some kind of explanation that didn’t make her sound insane—but it wasn’t necessary. Because Jacko walked up behind the young Mick Jagger, took him by an elbow and in a second they disappeared from view.
    Lauren searched the crowd frantically, turning as she heard a cry. There they were, behind a pillar. Jacko’s big hands were quickly and efficiently manipulating the camera, eyes on the view screen, completely oblivious to the squawking of Jagger Junior. Jacko handed the camera back, leaned in close, and whatever he said must have been forceful because the photographer paled and nodded his head jerkily.
    Jacko watched Jagger Junior’s face for a long moment then he nodded and made his way back to her. Jacko had such a...presence. Partly because he was such a big man—not tall so much as immensely broad—and partly because he had the kind of face you don’t argue with, the crowd just parted for him again. Not scrambling to get out of his way but just making an opening for him to come back to her in the straightest, quickest line possible.
    Lauren stood, shaking, watching him.
    What had she done? Foolish, foolish woman. She’d let her ego and her heart get away with her. No matter that she
knew
it was a bad idea to exhibit her drawings and watercolors, that it could cost her everything. Suzanne had pleaded with her, and let’s face it, her ego had been stroked.
    And it had cost her everything.
    Jacko was beside her and she tilted her head back to look into his dark eyes. He wasn’t as tall as Suzanne’s husband or the man they called Senior, Allegra’s husband. But she was in flats and he was a head taller than she was.
    She looked around, mentally saying goodbye. It was an eclectic gathering, a good Portland mix of professionals and creatives. Friendly and welcoming, just like the city. She could feel the good vibes, feel the friendliness almost beating against her skin like a warm tide.
    The process that had begun with Suzanne—tying her to this place with silken ropes of pleasure and affection—began to unwind, spool out. It felt as if she were in some kind of experimental movie where alienation was shown by the camera zooming out.
    In the space of minutes, there was a wall between her and the happy crowd so thick she could barely hear their voices.
    Home. She had to get home fast.
    Then get out of Portland fast.
    But first—home.
    She placed her hand on Jacko’s arm. She rarely touched him. He froze whenever she touched him so she made sure she did it rarely. Now was one of those times. She needed his attention.
    “Jacko...”
    It was only when he bent low to her that she realized she’d practically whispered his name. She cleared her throat. Breathed out the pain. “Jacko.” There, her voice was almost normal. “Did you—”
    “Every single one, all the ones with people. The only photos left on the card are of the buffet tables.”
    She stiffened her knees. Thank God. She wanted to sag with relief but that could wait until she got home.
    She leaned into him. “Thank you, Jacko.” She hadn’t had to beg him or convince him in any way. For that she’d be eternally grateful because she’d have ended up sounding insane. She’d