Fearless

by Marlie May

  A long pause ticked through the line. “Why?”

  “Because you might find evidence.”

  “Of what?”

  “That he’s…” Shit. I couldn’t come right out and tell the sheriff what I’d found in Tom’s attic. “I feel like you’ll find something in his house.” Which sounded lame, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment.

  “Can’t do that without a warrant, and no judge would grant one based on a hunch. We’re doing all we can. Already told you that.” His voice rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve…” I could almost see him shake his head.

  I wasn’t admitting or denying anything.

  “I’m telling you again,” the sheriff said firmly. “Leave this to me and my crew. We’re conducting a thorough investigation. If there’s any validity in Ms. Bradley’s claims, believe me, we’ll act.”

  “Thanks,” I growled. I’d have to be satisfied for now, because I couldn’t say anything else without incriminating myself.

  After hanging up, I dialed Eli and told him what I’d found.

  “This guy…I fucking want to kill him,” Eli said. “We need to keep this from Ginny. She’s getting better, but this could set her backward.”

  “Yep.” I could only imagine the horror she’d feel knowing Tom had been stalking her for over a month. I also had a good idea how Tom’s former wife had gone missing. “I’m not letting him anywhere near her.”

  “I’m up north, in Allagash. Ginny’s got her security system which should keep her safe but I’ll call her, tell her to remain behind locked doors.”

  “I’ll be at her place within a few hours, after I work at Dad’s.”

  “Good. You’ll keep anyone from bothering her. Can’t tell you what it means to me knowing you’re with her, ready to defend her from that creep.”

  I’d do everything I could for Ginny until I had to leave. Anxiety clawed through me. Would I be here long enough to see this finished? I couldn’t leave her while she was in danger. I’d have to somehow convince the sheriff to issue a warrant for Tom’s house. Once they discovered the shrine in the attic, they’d lock Tom behind bars.

  I sat in my car, fuming for a moment before driving out to my dad’s. Might as well vent my frustrations on the rubble inside. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could be with Ginny.

  As I cleaned out the basement—and set the old croquet set in the trunk of my rental—I crapped on myself about what happened in Ginny’s kitchen last night. Despite my efforts to protect her from everything, I’d been the one to scare her. Sneaking up on her for fun, when I should’ve realized she’d jump, was the worst thing someone could do to a person with PTSD. She hadn’t named it, but I’d be foolish not to see it for what it was. Enough of my buddies got counseling for it after serving overseas. Me, too. While she was everything strong on the outside, inside, she was fragile. The kidnappers had broken her. If anything, the recent incidents had only heightened her stress.

  Once Tom was out of the picture, she could heal and finally be free.

  I rolled up my shirt sleeves and got to work.

  Later, as I was dragging a file cabinet across the basement floor, my phone rang. Pulling it from my pocket, I squinted at the screen.

  “Bill,” I said. A Chief from NMCB 3. We’d shared at least one deployment together.

  “Coop. How you doin’?”

  “Should be back Sunday, as expected. Another few days will see this through.” More work on the basement tomorrow. Then Dad’s room. Saturday was all for Ginny, if she could fit me in. I had a feeling she would.

  I wanted to talk. See if we could work out something long distance. I didn’t have much to offer her, but I couldn’t say goodbye. The thought of never laughing with her again…never touching her again…never hearing her soft sighs again…I couldn’t stand it. I had to find a way to be with her always.

  “It’s about Sampson.” Bill’s words pulled me away from my dreams of a future with Ginny.

  “Sampson?” A friend who’d deployed to the Middle East a few weeks ago. “How’s that newborn son of his? He’s super proud of that kid.” I would be.

  “He’s dead.”

  I groaned as I slumped against the wall.

  “Sniper.” Bill’s chipped word carved through the echoing silence, stabbing deep.

  “How’s his wife?” She’d be devastated. I was devastated. I pressed my fingertips against my brow to center myself and focused on Bill’s words.

  “Her mom flew in to take her and the kid home.”

  The crushing pain of lost opportunities hit me. Sampson was gone way too soon, leaving the rest of us behind to mourn. The man’s son, Trooper. Poor kid would grow up without ever knowing what a great guy his dad had been. And his wife. Plain as day that woman loved him.

  “He shouldn’t have gone.” I choked out the words. It should’ve been me.

  “He volunteered. You know how it is.”

  Volunteering was for single guys who had nothing to lose. Broken men, like me.

  Bill cleared his throat. “We all do it. They make you need it. You know it’s a part of us, more than just a job.”

  No one could stand back and watch their buddies risk a firefight without going in with them. To protect them. Pull them out if the situation turned bad. Cover their backs.

  Who’d been covering Sampson’s back?

  “I thought you should know,” Bill said. “Better to hear it this way than casual-like on the base.”

  My throat clamped tight. “Thanks.”

  After ending the call, I stuffed my phone into my pocket and turned and pressed my forehead against the wall. I slammed my fist into the concrete wall. Again. Until my knuckles stung, protesting the abuse I delivered. Facing the dank room, I stared around with blurry eyes. I couldn’t believe it. Sampson. Hell, I’d miss my friend.

  Gathering myself together, I forced my misery back into that dark place in my mind where everything that had gone sour in my life hid. This was why we signed up. Why we went wherever the government sent us. To protect our country.

  But right now, I couldn’t remember why it mattered.

  I pulled into Ginny’s drive shortly after two. Reaching into the back seat, I hooked my fingers through the grocery bags, then I climbed out and grabbed the croquet set from the trunk.

  Ginny stood at the top of her steps, wearing a flowery, strappy dress that teased her calves. Bare feet. A big smile on her face.

  Just looking at her made me want to rip my heart out and hand it to her.

  The wind blew her hair and for an instant, the girl from that photo I’d stolen years ago stood above me. Waiting for me, her arms spread wide.

  I took the stairs fast and bowled her over on the landing, nuzzled her neck, making her squeal. With my hands full, I couldn’t touch but I sure could taste. Drink my fill.

  She pulled back and fanned her face. “Welcome, sailor. You in port long?”

  If only I was in port forever.

  With a bright smile, she opened the door and I went in ahead of her. She took the croquet bag from me. “I’ll set this on the back deck.” After, she returned to the kitchen. “What’s in the bags?” Her fingers snaked toward one sitting on the counter.

  I dragged them out of her reach. “No snooping.”

  She pouted. “Come on, I’m curious. Whatcha making for me tonight?”

  I’d wanted to buy her ice cream like when I was seventeen. Gallons in every flavor imaginable. Someday, I’d buy her all the ice cream and tell her why.

  “Nothing fancy,” I said. “You’ll have to wait until it’s served to find out.”

  That subtle tilt of one eyebrow, followed by the siren glint in her eyes, made my pulse surge.

  “I’m not sure I’m the waiting kind,” she said in a breathy voice.

  Squeezing her hands, I kissed her. Honey. Hints of mint. That moan I died for worked its way up from her chest. My reward. As if having this woman in my life wasn’t reward enough.

 
I was completely gone for her. So gone, there was no pulling me back. I’d willingly slay for her.

  “You drinking iced tea?” I asked when I lifted my head. “I taste lime.”

  “Want some?” She nodded toward the fridge, keeping her arms snug around my waist. Her hands were underneath my shirt already, but I was more than okay with that. I planned to get underneath her dress as soon as was decently possible.

  Croquet was overrated. Would she be open to spending the afternoon in bed?

  “No, no, no.” Her fingertip tapped my lips, and she gave me a heady smile. “You’ve promised me a croquet whooping this afternoon, and I won’t be dissuaded.” Leaving me floundering in the trench I’d dug all on my own, she strolled across the room to the deck where a second set of stairs led down to the lawn. The steamy look she threw over her shoulder made my knees weaken. “You never know. I might wind up giving you a whooping, too.”

  Where she led, I followed. Catching up to her, I tapped her sweet ass and leaned close to her ear. “I think you just issued me a challenge.”

  “What do you plan to do about it, soldier man?”

  “Pull my weapon?”

  Nothing beat watching the color rise in her face.

  “You.” She hefted the croquet set which I took from her. “I think if you had your way, we’d spend all our time in bed.”

  “Actually…”

  She fed me a stern look but her lips quivered. “Croquet.”

  “Lead on.”

  We reached the lawn.

  “How do we play, anyway?” She squinted at the bag in my hands.

  I dumped out the supplies. My mom had worked at the supermarket when I was a kid but was always there when I got home from school. After homework, we’d do puzzles or play board games. The outside drew me in like a fish to a lure, and we’d spent a lot of time in our backyard. Badminton. Horseshoes. Bowling using weighted soda bottles for pins.

  And always croquet.

  I pulled out the instructions. It made me sad that I couldn’t remember the set-up off the top of my head. With a mallet, I drove in the home peg. “You need to hit your ball through these hoops.” I held one up to show her. “In the right sequence in one direction and then back the other way. Whoever returns their ball to the home peg first wins.”

  Her gaze hovered on me as I laid out the hoops across her lawn.

  “What’s my prize if I win?” she asked.

  I returned to hand her a mallet. “Sweetheart, you need to be thinking about my prize because I’m gonna win.”

  She smirked and shoved her hair off her face. “Feeling overly confident today, aren’t you?”

  I puffed my chest and leaned in for a kiss. “Confidence is my game.”

  Mallet flipped onto her shoulder, she nudged a yellow ball toward the starting point with her foot. “Maybe I’m the croquet queen of Crescent Cove, Maine.”

  I put on my sunglasses so she couldn’t read my intentions. “Any neighbors around outside of your turkey friends?”

  She shrugged. “A few deer. Next house is at least a mile away.”

  “Decent.” I held back my smile and waved my mallet. “You can go first.”

  She curtsied. “Generous of you. What do I do?”

  “Hit it.”

  “How?” The scowl twisting her pretty face begged for a kiss, which I delivered.

  “Well, there’s the golf-swing, the side-stroke, and the between-the-legs hit.”

  She smirked. “I believe the last might interfere with your game.”

  I needed to remember never to underestimate Ginny. “I’ll show you how to hit. It’s actually called a stroke.”

  More color flooded her cheeks, telling me she was fully vested in the game I played within the game. Fair-skinned, Ginny’s complexion showed everything. The pink on her cheeks was only heightened by the color above her dress, a dress that hinted at the softness underneath. This tease was going to do me in. I’d have to make sure I took her along with me.

  I moved behind her and encircled her with my arms, placing my hands on her forearms to direct her motion. “This is the golf swing.” We swung out to the right before bringing the mallet back to connect with the wooden ball.

  “And the side swing.” Demonstrating, I led her to sweep forward from behind.

  “I like this game,” she said. “I think I’m going to have a lot of fun playing croquet.” I swore she wiggled, shifting her butt squarely across my groin. Thankfully, I wore loose shorts. It was a stretch to think my groan could be interpreted as agreement but she ran with it. “Like this?” She swept the mallet, smacking a blue ball, sending it flying. She followed the hit with more butt wiggles that made my knees tremble while other parts became rock solid. If she kept this up, I’d be unable to resist my urge to bend her over, hike up her dress, and drive myself home.

  Was she wearing anything underneath her dress? Sweat prickled on my forehead at the idea that she might not be. Could a guy delicately ask a woman a question like that?

  I scrubbed my face with my palm. This was a simple game. I couldn’t turn it into another sex-filled romp. Could I?

  What sounded like a snicker slipped from Ginny’s lips, bringing my brain back into focus. Wait a minute. Ginny dominated me far too often. I needed to maintain the upper hand at least once.

  I stepped backward, putting space between us. Otherwise, thinking was out of the question. “There’s one more stroke, but I believe you’ve already mastered between the legs, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes drifted downward. “I believe I have.” Her half-smile begged me to kiss her until it achieved a full-on blaze. “So, I hit the ball through these two hoops?” A sharp crack sent her yellow ball shooting through the wires.

  I blinked.

  “Wow,” she said. “Imagine that. I believe that stroke gains me two more hits, am I right?”

  At my befuddled nod, she strode forward, her dress shifting across her curves. I squinted, seeking panty lines.

  Stop it.

  I gathered up enough brain power to speak. “Yep. Two strokes.”

  She glided forward but paused to peek over her shoulder. “Oh, and sweetheart? In case you were wondering, that’s a no to panties.” Her hot ass sashayed over to the ball, and she hit it with a stroke worthy of a golf pro. Another quick lob drove it through the next wicket. “My, my, my. I guess I’ve earned another stroke, haven’t I?”

  I’d definitely been had. If I was wise, I’d concede defeat and numbly follow her. Kiss her heels then move my lips up further as soon as was decently possible.

  She missed the center wicket and groaned. “Damn. Your turn.”

  It was time to up my game, or I’d get caught with my pants down. Mallet centered, I hit the ball. It skittered forward and smacked against the first wicket. Crap.

  “Hard luck,” Ginny said. “Guess that means it’s my turn again.”

  One would think I hadn’t played croquet more than a thousand times in my life. But my skills were sliding, driven away by the vixen who smirked my way.

  “Some people might believe I have no internet in this neck of the woods, that I’m not able to watch training videos.” She sauntered back to where I stood next to my lonely ball and closed my mouth with a fingertip under my jaw. She followed the gesture with a quick kiss to seal my lips. “My turn again?”

  “Yep.”

  Crack. Her ball shot through the hoop on the right. She jumped and squealed, waving her mallet in the air. “Another free hit.” Her ball flew through the end wicket and smacked against the far post. If she kept this up, I’d still be waiting at the starting point when she finished.

  With one lifted brow, she strode over to stand in front of me. “I think your mallet has a malfunction.”

  The functioning of my mallet was not in question.

  At my growl, Ginny backed up, giggling.

  I caught her in three strides and scooped her up in my arms.

  Smugness bloomed on her face, and she linked her arms
around my shoulders. “I think it’s past time you gave me that whooping you promised.”

  25

  Ginny

  Complaining about caveman tactics was the furthest thing from my mind while he carried me up into my apartment and down the hall to my bedroom. Without getting winded. I appreciated his stamina.

  After lowering me onto the bed, he stripped off his tee. My mouth watered as I took in the flex of muscles across his chest and shoulders. His boxers dropped to the floor and like this was our first time all over again, my body thrilled with anticipation.

  My naked man had struck again, and he wanted me.

  “Your turn for a tease.” His lips coiled up on one side. “Payback is going to be fuckin’ sweet.” His feet padded around to the foot of the bed where he stalled and raked his gaze down my body in a heavy caress. His erection jutted forward, and he stroked himself, making his length extend further. From the way his eyes smoldered, I knew he did it just to watch me heat up.

  I swallowed and darted my tongue out, and he groaned as his eyes traced the movement.

  He lifted my foot off the bed and kissed the back of my heel, bringing out my laugh. Not only because it tickled but because his light bristle felt scratchy-good on my skin. With one knee braced on the bed, he worked his mouth upward slowly, kissing to my mid-thigh. My other leg was given the same attention.

  I’d never thought leg-kissing could be so hot.

  I was about to demand my hard and fast dues when he spread my legs apart further and climbed in between them. His warm palms stroked up my thighs, taking my dress along with them. The fabric pooled at my waist, leaving me exposed to his view. He watched my face as he rubbed where I ached for him most. Heat waves jolted through me, and I moaned.

  “I’m ready,” I shouted.

  His grin blazed. “Nowhere near ready enough.” He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth. His tongue swirled. He sucked.

  I cried out his name in urgent gasps while his fingers performed magic, sliding in and out. Unrestrained, I bucked. My whimpers grew high-pitched, filled with endless need.