Wicked and Dangerous by Shayla Black and Rhyannon Byrd Page B

coat, so it wasn’t
     like he could hide a shoulder holster. The piece might be tucked into the small of
     his back, but . . . The man’s hands looked too soft to be lethal.
    Whoever this was, Decker didn’t think he was threatening. Annoying? That he already
     believed.
    “I’m here to see Rachel.” The other guy tried to look down his nose at Decker, but
     that had to be hard when he had to look up a few inches and through glasses to meet
     his stare.
    “She’s . . . busy.” Decker flashed a tight smile and hoped the dude got the right
     idea. Whoever he was, no way was he homing in on Rachel.
    Mr. Glasses straightened his rims and glanced down Decker’s body, rolling his eyes
     at the tattoos and hard abs. Then his stare bulged when he spotted the gun pinned
     to his thigh.
    “What are you doing with that?” he backed away a step. “I hope you’re a policeman.”
    Not exactly, but close enough.
“Something like that.”
    “Are you hurting her?”
    “Would I be answering the door if I was?” Decker rolled his eyes.
    “Are you taking advantage of her?” Though nervous, the stranger looked ready to dress
     him down.
    Decker tried not to laugh. Taking advantage of her?
Every chance I get . . .
    “None of your business. Who the hell are you and why are you standing on her porch
     when you weren’t invited?”
    If it was possible, the guy got even more uptight, and some suspicions about his identity
     took root. And if this was who he thought, that would really fuck up everything.
    Before he could say another word, Rachel came skidding around the corner and into
     the foyer. She stopped at the door with a gasp. “Owen, what are you doing here?”
    Yep, that confirmed his suspicions.
Damn it.
While it seemed awfully convenient that Four-eyes was in town when Decker had been
     solicited to kill her, the truth was Owen hadn’t been the guy on the next barstool,
     offering him twenty-five thousand down and another twenty-five when the job was done.
     Yes, Owen could have hired someone to employ him. But why? Rachel’s ex looked more
     like the sort who would protest violence, not create it. With a curse, Decker surreptitiously
     tucked his pistol in the small of his back before Rachel could spot it, and leaned
     against the wall.
    If Owen hadn’t solicited him to commit murder, then he was back to square one, trying
     to figure out who had.
    •   •   •
    WEARING LITTLE MORE than a frilly robe with her hair in disarray, Rachel stared at her ex-husband, who
     gave Decker a derisive glare, then sent her a look filled with scorn. She bristled.
     He’d moved on with his life. Hers was none of his business now.
    “I’m here to talk to you,” Owen said stiffly. “I didn’t realize you were occupied.
     New boyfriend?”
    “We just met,” she admitted softly.
    But Decker talked over her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. I’m possessive,
     too.”
    Rachel nudged Decker, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. Then she tugged
     him away from the door, pulling it open. “Come in, Owen.”
    Val had other ideas. The fat orange tabby pranced to the door, sniffed at Owen, and
     hissed. Beside her, Decker laughed.
    “You’ve still got that beast?”
    “Of course.”
    “Hmm . . . And now you’ve added another.” He shot Decker another disdainful stare.
    Annoyance flared through Rachel. Who was Owen to judge? She hadn’t met his new girlfriend,
     Carly, but she sounded like she could be a bimbo. So she’d gone for the hot guy who
     was good in bed this time. So what? She was entitled.
    Except Decker was way more than that. When she’d met him at the bar, then texted him
     for what amounted to a booty call, she hadn’t expected anything beyond a good time.
     Instead, he’d put her at ease while challenging her notions of herself and sex. He’d
     been patient, understanding, willing to listen, and ardent in bed. If he wasn’t a
     one-night stand, he might be