“Pretty sure it’s similar to riding a bike.” He slid his hand around her waist and drew her body against his. “It all comes back to you.”
He yearned to feel her warm skin. Slipping his hands under her top, he lifted it up and over her head. Black lace covered her breasts, swelling over the tops of the cups. Unhooking the bra, he tossed it on the floor, and let the weight of her breasts fill his hands. Perfect. Just like everything about her so far.
She lifted his shirt up, and reluctantly he released her breast, and removed his shirt. The heat from her hands gliding over the muscles on his back made his skin tingle. Dipping his head to her neck, he inhaled the warm vanilla scent on her skin as he kissed at nipped at the delicate skin leading up to her jaw.
His fingers slid under the waistband of her jeans. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Her lips kissed along his shoulder, and she gently bit his ear lobe. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure.” Her hot breath sparked a flame that coursed through his body and made his erection twitch with anticipation.
Unbuttoning her jeans, he slid them down her legs and encouraged her to step back until her legs jit the edge of the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he breathed in the scent of her arousal.
“Lie down on the bed, baby.”
She slid her body along the top of the comforter, and rested her head on his pillow. He stood and took his jeans off, marveling at the sight of her milky white skin against the darkness. Her blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. Her eyes sparkled with lust and trepidation. He knew he needed to go slow with her. If she were telling the truth, and she hadn’t had sex in a while, she was going to need to stretch to accommodate his swollen girth and generous length.
The only problem he could see with the plan was it was going to be damned near impossible to come the minute he entered her.
He hovered above her, both of them naked, the contrast more than just male and female. His dark skin against her white milkiness. His need to take her—rough and fast. Her needs and his desire that she enjoy this as much—if not more-than him.
She wasn’t a one-and-done. He knew once he tasted her, once he felt her heat around him, once they dove head first into the deliciousness of an orgasm, once would never be enough.
Gently, he pressed the tip of his erection against her opening. She stilled as her body acclimated to the invasion. Her smooth silkiness made the journey to her core a pleasure ride, and soon he was able to slide in and out of her with ease. Slow at first—so slow she whined, her nails raking his back, her heels digging into his buttocks. Then he increased the speed, and the friction between them built to a fever pitch until they were both moaning and gasping and screaming for each other as they toppled over into a sensual abyss.
He grasped her hip and rolled them onto their sides, maintaining the connection between them for a little while longer.
“You’re amazing,” he said through stilted breaths.
“Never, ever,” she said, then drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, “have I ever felt anything as good as that.” A smile spread across her face. She caressed his cheek and kissed him softly on the lips. “Please tell me that won’t be the last time we do that.”
John chuckled at the absurdity of the comment. As if he could ever deny her anything after what they had just experienced. “Whenever, wherever, however you want, baby.”
“Good,” she muttered and stifled a yawn. Resting her head into he crook of his arm, she snuggled into him. “So good.”
John listened as her breathing leveled out and soft snores filled the space between them. Without the heat of their lovemaking, the room was cooler. He was going to have to cover them with a blanket soon. BUt that would necessitate moving away from her. And that wasn’t something he was willing to do. He wanted to live in the moment forever.
Reality would soon return to their lives, and there were still so many unanswered questions between them. John didn’t want to have doubts, but they still lingered in the back of his mind and he knew before he could truly move forward with Charlee, he had to get to the bottom of what she was hiding.
Charlee woke with a start, sat up in bed, and tried to locate something familiar. She wasn’t in her bed. She glanced to the body next her. John.
She was still at John’s house after a couple of outrageously enjoyable rounds of lovemaking. But as much as she had savored eerie moment they shared, John was not who was making her heart beat erratically in her chest.
The dream had started out innocently enough. Connor as a little boy blowing out the candles on his birthday cake, grinning from ear-to-ear. She had sent him and his friends out to the backyard to play with all his new toys. When she went to check on him, she walked out the door and found herself standing in a hallway. Brilliant white fluorescent lights illuminated the gray laminate flooring and dirty walls. A man in a police uniform stood in a doorway at the opposite end, and beckoned her to come forward.
When she peered into the room, it morphed into a jail cell. Connor sat on a wooden bench, shackles on his wrists and ankles. Even as she sat in the bed with John asleep at her side, the vision was seared into her memory.
Tears streamed down her face. She choked back a sob.
John stirred next to her. “Charlee?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t without risking him finding out she was a blubbering mess over a nightmare.
He sat up and turned her face toward him. Moonlight filtered in through the window. “You’re crying.” He swiped the tears away with his thumbs.
“I’m sorry, this is ridiculous,” she managed to get out.
“What’s wrong?” He wrapped his arm around her. “Are you having second thoughts about where things went with us tonight?”
“No,” she said. “No, that’s not it at all. You’re going to think I’m completely mental…I had a bad dream.”
“Was it about me?” He asked.
“Connor. He was in jail.”
John stilled. Grasping her shoulders he turned so they faced each other. “That’s odd.”
“That’s just it—I’m not sure it is. I’m not sure that it couldn’t happen.”
“Charlee, just because he is acting a little off doesn’t mean—”
“No, John. You don’t understand. I didn’t tell you everything last night.”
He rubbed her shoulder, but she could feel tension roll through his body. “So, tell me now.”
“God, I don’t even know how to say this out loud…it’s so surreal.” She looked up into his questioning eyes. “I think Connor is involved with a terrorist group.”
John furrowed his brow. “What makes you think so?”
“I found some videos he’s been watching on his computer. They look like—I don’t know exactly—recruitment videos? Is that the right term?”
“Okay, well, with the sudden changes you say he’s gone through, that could be what is happening. But it could also just be the curiosity of a young male teen.” He took her hand in his and lightly pressed his lips to the back.
“There’s more,” she said. She dropped her gaze to her lap unable to look at him for fear of breaking down again. “I think he may have had something to do with Andropov’s death. I saw the description of the person that left the scene—he was wearing the same outfit Connor was wearing that night when I saw him.”
He sighed. “Okay, I don’t want to minimize your fears. It just so happens that I work in this area and can probably find out if he is just inquisitive or if there is something more to it.”
The heaviness that weighed her down lifted a bit, and she felt as if she might be able to breathe again. “What can you do?”
“Let’s get his computer into my guy—he can take a look around and see if Connor has done more than just watched the videos. I can also have my deputy see if any assets within the terrorist community are talking about the murder and who may have committed it. If someone like Connor did kill Andropov, people will be talking. They’ll want to
use him to recruit others his age.”
Charlee felt sick to her stomach. She was torn between wanting to do what was right and prevent her son from hurting anyone in the future, and protecting him.
“You said Connor is with his dad, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah, he is dropping him off at school today.” She chuckled. “First time for everything.”
“What do you mean?”
She waved her hand to dismiss her statement. “Peter usually says he can’t take Connor to school because it would make him late for work. I guess he doesn’t have to be there on time today.”
“Well, that might work in our favor. We can get the computer from your house, go through it while he’s at school, and hopefully have it back n place before he gets home.”
The unspoken truth was that if they found anything, the game would change, and Charlee would have to hope to God John would help her and Connor and not throw them both to the wolves.
Chapter Twelve
Charlee led John down the stairs and into the kitchen. He set Connor’s CPU on the island. A ball of fire churned in her gut. Why did she feel as if she was stealing from her son? He was a minor, lived under her roof. She had every right as his parent to check what his activities were online. And in light of what she had already seen—Connor needed some parental intervention before things got out of control and he did something she couldn’t fix.
Unless he already has…
She dismissed the thought out of self-preservation. She had to believe she was stepping in at just the right time to avoid a disaster.
“I’ll take this in and let you know what we find,” John said. “What time does Connor usually get home from school?”
“Around 3:30.” That gave them six hours before Connor found out what she had done—and lost all trust in her.
Tough shit…
How many times had she lectured Peter about how parenting was a thankless job? You can’t be your kid’s best friend. If Connor got upset because she let someone rummage through his computer, that was just too damn bad. She was going to protect him, even if it meant protecting him from himself.
The back door opened and Connor stepped inside. When he turned around, his eyes widened when he saw her. He glanced at John, then caught sight of his computer on the counter. “What are you doing with my computer?”
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at school.”
“I had to pick something up. Is that okay with you?” His words hissed. If he could’ve hit her, he probably would have. John folded his arms across his massive chest. She had never felt unsafe around Connor, but she was happy John was there.
“Watch your attitude. Is your father here?” She moved to the window and looked out. Peter’s car was not in the driveway, but she couldn’t see the street from that vantage point.
Connor ran his fingers through his long, dirty blond hair. “No, he’s coming to get me later.”
“What do you mean? When is he coming back?” Frustration was making her blood boil and she felt as if she was a second or two from becoming completely unhinged. She had already been wound pretty tight. Now, she was a powder keg with a short fuse. “Goddammit, Connor, you better start talking.”
“Fuck you!”
The words were like a slap across her face that left her stinging.
“Hey,” John said, taking a step in between Connor and Charlee. He put his hand out in front of him to prevent Connor from moving towards her. “Let’s take this down a notch or two. You’re mom asked you a question.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Connor yelled. A sick grin that reminded Charlee too much of her ex slid into place on Connor’s face. “Oh, you must be the new fuck-buddy my dad told me she was seeing.”
“Connor!” The words were coming from his mouth, but this was not the son she knew. What the hell had happened to her boy?
“So, tell me, Mom, is it true what they say? Once you go—”
John had Connor up against the wall before he could speak another word. His eyes were large. Shocked replaced the shit-eating grin from a moment earlier. He struggled to draw in a breath, apparently having had the wind knocked out of him.
“Now, son, your father may find that humorous, but I find it hard to believe your mother raised you to be so disrespectful. And I don’t know your father, but I have seen how he treats your mom, and I gotta tell you—he is not a great role model for you.” Charlee stared at John. Had he seen Peter attack her at the restaurant? Mortification race through her veins and she wanted to shrink into nothingness and disappear.
“Now,” John continued, “I suggest you apologize to your mother.”
“Or what?” Connor said through gritted teeth.
John moved in as close as he could to Connor, trapping him. “You don’t want to find out.”
Charlee watched as Connor struggled to swallow. He and John stared at each other in a battle to see who controlled whom. Finally, Connor dropped his eyes. “Sorry, Mom,” he whispered.
Defeat laced his tone and broke her heart. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. But, perhaps shit was bound to come to head. Better now, with John here, than alone with Connor and his hair-trigger anger.
“Thank you,” John said. “Now, you and your computer are coming with us.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. My dad will be here soon. I’m going with him—” His gaze slid over to Charlee—“forever. I’m through with you.”
If he had slit her throat slowly, he could not have hurt her more. She was gutted. And exhausted.
And wondered if she could close her eyes and wish it all away. Wake up in John’s bed, and stay there forever. And never let the world intrude on her happiness.
Chapter Thirteen
John carried Connor’s CPU and a duffel bag they found in the boy’s room into his office. Charlee followed closely behind him. Connor had refused to get out of the truck, and was stewing in hate juices in the backseat.
“Tink,” he called to the largest Navy SEAL he had ever seen. Mason “Tink” Hunt was intimidating when he wasn’t trying.
When he was trying? Well…
“Sir,” Tink said. He took up the entire doorway. Charlee’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. John forced down a chuckle.
“Dr. Finch’s son is sitting in the backseat of my truck and doesn’t think he wants to join us. Can you persuade him?”
“Yes, sir.” He turned on his heel and headed to the parking lot.
“He’s not going to…hurt Connor, is he?” Charlee asked, as she stared after the mammoth of a man.
“No, Tink rarely has to actually resort to physical violence. Most people back down.”
Within a couple of minutes, Tink returned, grasping Connor by the hood of his sweatshirt, nearly lifting him off the ground. Connor looked as if he was walking on tiptoes. “Where do you want him?”
“Conference room. And make sure he doesn’t try to leave.” John looked through the glass windows into the outer offices filled with cubicles. “Is Riley here?”
Tink nodded toward the front of the building. “TOC.”
John nodded and picked up the receiver of his desk phone and hit an button. “Can you come to my office? And bring Lance, if he’s with you.”
Riley and Lance entered the office. John introduced them to Charlee and explained that Connor needed to be questioned.
“Let’s get Flaherty working on the hard drive and see if there’s anything there.” Riley grabbed the computer and handed it to Flaherty, who had come up behind her when he heard his name.
John picked up the duffel bag from the floor, placed it on his desk and opened it.
“What’s that?” Lance asked.
“Connor’s dad dropped him off to pick it up.” He pulled out a pair of chinos and a polo shirt. “Looks like a change of clothes.”
“Those aren’t Connor’s,” Charlee said. “He wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that preppy.”
Riley stared at
Charlee, and her posture stiffened. John had been around her enough in the past few months to know she was slipping into interrogation mode. Part of him wanted to intercede on Charlee’s behalf. But a larger part wanted to see where the exercise went.
“You said Connor’s father was coming to pick him up?”
“Yes,” Charlee said, her gaze slid over to John. “But we never did find out why he wasn’t in school—or where they were going when my ex came back for him.”
Riley nodded and glanced briefly at John. “I did some research like you asked. I didn’t find anything unusual with the subjects you requested background checks on.” She looked back at Charlee, but continued to speak to John. “What we did find was a name for one of the men at Andropov’s murder scene. He’s on of the high ranking members of the RRA—Dmitri Petrov.”
No reaction from Charlee denoting the name was familiar to her. “Is that the man who killed Dr. Andropov?”
“No, he’s the man that found Andropov’s body.”
Holy shit.
Charlee’s brow furrowed. “No, my ex-husband found the body.”
John cleared his throat. “Do you have confirmation that Finch is Petrov?”
Riley nodded. “I ran pictures of both subjects through our database of known RRA members. His was statistically matched to Petrov. No match for the other subject.”
Charlee wasn’t in the RRA, at least as far as they knew. But with her non-reaction to Riley’s subtle name-drop of her ex-husband’s alias, John was convinced she had no idea who the man really was. And was not involved in Andropov’s murder or any other terrorist activity.
“Wait,” Charlee said, her hands on her hips. “That’s just not possible. Peter was born in the US. His parents are Italian and Dutch.”
“Chances are good that your ex was adopted at birth and brought here from Russia,” Riley said.
John grasped Charlee by the elbow gently, needing to make some sort of physical connection with her without being overly demonstrative in front of his team. “That’s how they do it—they adopt a child at birth. The birth certificate is changed so that it looks as if the baby was actually born to the adoptive parents.”
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