Page 5 of Jacking Jill

Jill frowned at being called sweetheart but let it go. She shrugged out a reply to the question about her weapon-handling skills. “Kind of, I guess. I took a class at the shooting range. Why?”

“Because I’m going to place my weapon in the passenger seat beside you,” said the man. “You’re going to pull over, then check the weapon. You’ll find that it has a full magazine plus one in the chamber. It hasn’t been fired. I didn’t shoot that gas station attendant.”

Jill swallowed as she thought. “You might have used another weapon. Or you might have reloaded.”

The man huffed out another frustrated breath. “Look, honey, I’m being really fucking patient with you here. This isn’t my first time hanging onto a moving vehicle’s roof. You won’t be able to throw me off. I’m better than the world’s greatest rodeo star once I’m locked in position. And this isn’t a real carjacking, anyway. More like a car-borrowing. No kidnapping. I want the car, not you, sweetheart. You’re clearly way more trouble than you’re worth.”

Jill felt her cheeks burn again, but with a different sort of blush now. She swallowed a rude reply that probably wouldn’t be helpful. Something about how she wasn’t the one pointing guns at other people’s heads and calling them honey and sweetheart. She was about to say all that anyway, but then she felt the gun barrel lift off her head.

Suddenly her body relaxed in a way that told Jill she’d been tensed up without fully realizing it. She blinked as her vision blurred from the adrenaline draining away as the immediate fear subsided. Then she flinched as the guy reached halfway into her car, placed the gun carefully on the passenger seat, pointing it away from her. He drew his body back, but not before leaning in close to her ear, his warm breath rustling the soft curls of her sandy brown hair.

“Pull over,” he whispered gently against her skin, that wickedly wolfish flirtatiousness shining through like it was habit, instinct, just how this asshole interacted with women, calling them sweetheart and honey, speaking with a cocky confidence that Jill recognized as the sign of a player, the kind of man who takes what he wants and then moves on without looking back. “Check the weapon. And if you still don’t believe me, then use the damn weapon. Blow my brains out, sweetheart. Tell the cops it was self-defense. You’ll be a hero. They’ll put you on all the morning talk-shows where you can inspire millions of others to act like an idiot and argue when someone’s holding a loaded gun to their fucking head.”

“Ohmygod, you are such an asshole!” Jill hit the brakes, not all the way but enough that she heard the dickhead’s breath catch as his heavy body slid forward on the roof. He didn’t slide off, though, making her believe that maybe this wasn’t the guy’s first rodeo after all. “All right. I’m pulling over. This better not be a trick. Because I will shoot you.”

“Well, if it’s a trick, then you’ll be tricked, and therefore you won’t be shooting anyone,” he pointed out from above her as Jill slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder before rolling to a stop.

Immediately the man slid off the side of the roof, yanked open the passenger side door, snatched his gun back before she could grab it, and planted his butt in the seat. He’d moved so fast Jill was left breathless, her mouth hanging open in disbelief that anyone that big could move so quickly.

She stayed silent and speechless as the guy pointed his weapon at the floor, pulled back the slide to show a chambered bullet, then removed the magazine and held it up.

“Full mag plus one in the chamber,” he informed her before sliding the gun into a shoulder-holster beneath his leather jacket. “Now, where were we? Oh, right. You were calling me an asshole.”

Jill gulped back a mix of racing emotion that wasn’t just fear but something more intoxicating. There was something about this cocky muscle-bound dickhead’s tiger-like physicality that made Jill feel funny beneath her clothes. Now she felt his gaze move down along her seated body, shamelessly taking in the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her knitted gray sweater, those wolfish green eyes moving all the way down her legs which were nicely wrapped in black tights and knitted gray-wool leg-warmers that matched the sweater.

“You knit that sweater and those leg-warmers yourself?” He glanced up at her with a quizzical frown.

“Um, yes. Why do you look so surprised?” Jill replied with her own frown.

The guy shrugged. “Didn’t peg you as the knitting type.”

Jill’s frown cut deeper. “Why are you pegging me as any type at all?”

He grinned to show annoyingly well-aligned teeth, white and sharp, like everything about this cocky military man screamed alpha wolf. “It’s human nature. We all apply labels to one another within the first few moments of meeting. Pretty sure you pegged me as a certain type.”

Jill snorted. “Yeah. Murdering psychopath carjacker.” She smiled with exaggerated sweetness. “That’s a type, right?”

The guy’s grin spread wider. “Is that your type, baby?”

“OK, you are just—” Jill was about to lay into him for his tasteless jokes, but he’d already turned his attention away from her and was talking to someone on his cell phone—which was expensive-looking but unbranded, definitely not something available to the average citizen. “Great. Now he’s on the phone, chilling in my car like it’s his living room,” she muttered before shutting up when she realized the guy’s phone was close enough and loud enough that she could hear both sides of the conversation.

“He’s already ditched your bike,” the man on the other end of the line was saying. “Paige picked him up on the traffic-cams when he merged onto I-95. He just took an exit leading to a small urban center and left the bike in a strip-mall parking lot. Paige is tapped into the closest traffic cams, but there’s no sign of Diego. We’ve called it in to the local police. They’ve got the manpower to sweep the area, check the strip-mall stores. Benson wants Darkwater to hang back until the cops turn up something or Paige picks up the trail again. We have no legal standing to take Diego down in public.” A pause before the voice continued. “Where are you, Jack? Paige says your phone GPS shows you a few miles down the road from the gas station. You got a vehicle?”

The man—whose name, interestingly enough, appeared to be Jack—glanced over at Jill, cracked a half-grin, then flashed an arrogant wink. “Yeah, I’ve got a vehicle.”

“Um, no you don’t,” Jill fumed, crossing her arms beneath her boobs and glaring at his annoyingly handsome face.

Jack winked at her again, then talked into the phone. “I’ll pick up my bike and hang back until Paige gets a line on Diego again. Send me the strip-mall location.”

“Roger that,” came the reply. “Oh, and be careful that Diego hasn’t booby-trapped your bike. Benson’s already grumpy about losing the trail because you were holding your dick while Diego was getting away. I mean, literally holding your dick.”

Jack’s face darkened. “Wait, how does Benson know I was holding my dick at the time?” He winced, mouthed the f-word silently, then shook his head and groaned. “The helmet-cam. Damn it. How many people at HQ just saw my cock, Keller?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jack. From what I hear, your cock isn’t exactly the nation’s best kept secret, buddy.” Chuckles crackled through the phone, like there were several dude-bro types on the other end, probably grinning and giving each other high-fives for a successful dick-joke.

Jill rolled her eyes, sighing loudly, then shaking her head as she glanced down at herself. Her gaze rested on her tights, which were black fleece for the winter. Her sweater had ridden up the gentle curve of her belly, and when she glanced down at her crotch she was horrified to see the beginnings of a camel-toe where her tights and panties had slid into her slit because she’d just waxed smooth for the first time in years!

Cursing inwardly that she even cared, Jill stole a glance towards Jack, who was off the call but squinting at his phone, perhaps checking the location of his stolen bike or whatever. Still annoyed at her own self-consciousness but unable to stop herself, Jill lifted her butt off the seat just enough to pull her long sweater down so it would cover her lap and hide what looked like her vagina giving Jack a big wink, like it was in on the joke, had already pegged him as a certain type.

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