A Tracers Trilogy

by Laura Griffin

  He muttered a curse, then cast about desperately for a few seconds. Mia grabbed his jacket off the sofa and tossed it behind her, then tried to lower him down with her, but he pulled back.

  “This floor—”

  “It’s okay.”

  She wanted his weight on her. Now. And she didn’t care what was under her, although it wasn’t bad—his jacket was warm from his body heat and thick enough to give her some cushion. And he seemed to want to please her, because he stripped off his T-shirt and positioned himself between her legs, which was just where she wanted him to be.

  He kissed her and touched her, and she squeezed her thighs against him.

  Another curse.

  “What?” She propped up herself on her elbows. “Is it your jacket?”

  “No.”

  He unsnapped her jeans and kissed her navel, then pulled off her shoes. He flicked a glance at her face before he slid the jeans down her legs, panties and all, and she flushed with self-awareness. His gaze didn’t leave her body as he stood up to unbuckle his belt.

  “Let me do that.” She scrambled to her knees to help him, and his look darkened again as she hooked her fingers in his pockets and helped him get rid of his clothes. Every coherent thought went out of her head as she looked at him. Suddenly, there were butterflies in her stomach. And then he was kneeling between her knees again, his skin bronze in the light of the fire, his face a picture of male lust as his gaze trailed down her body and then back up again to her face.

  He brushed her hair back from her forehead and eased her back, kissing her. She let herself get lost in it, every detail of it—the heat of the fire, the hard chill of the concrete beneath her heels, the rasp of his stubble against the plump flesh of her breasts, which he couldn’t seem to get enough of. She stroked her hands over his broad shoulders, loving the feel of his muscles under her fingers.

  The window rattled, and for a second, they froze.

  The cabin was dark now, except for the pool of light where they lay, clutched together. She realized he’d pulled the shade behind the sink. Had he known they’d be doing this? The idea excited her.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Wind,” he said, intent on what he was doing again.

  The worry faded away as he lavished so much attention on her breasts that they began to ache. He kissed and nibbled and pulled, all the while caressing her hips and thighs until she wanted to scream. And finally, he slid his hand between her legs, and the sensation was so exquisite she couldn’t breathe. His touch was hot, magic. Through the haze settling over her, she saw him watching her intently from under those dark lashes. He knew what he was doing to her, and she forced herself to push his hand away so she could draw this out.

  He kissed her, more urgently now. She felt him digging around for something in the pocket of his jacket and sincerely hoped it was a condom. She glimpsed the packet in his hand and closed her eyes with relief. Please hurry. And then he was back again, and she waited breathlessly as he shifted position and, with one powerful motion, pushed inside her. Her muscles clenched, and she made a sound.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.”

  He took her at her word and pushed again, harder this time, and she closed her eyes and squeezed her legs around him. As she held on tight, he found a rhythm, a good one. A slow, sweet, delicious rhythm that fit her perfectly and made her gasp and moan and glow from the inside out. And when she thought she’d lose her mind from the full, unending goodness of it, he whispered a warning in her ear and increased the intensity. She opened her eyes to watch him above her, the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders telling her how much his control was costing him and how much he wanted her. His eyes drifted open, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, both tender and tortured. Her heart squeezed, and she’d never felt so connected with anyone in her life. But as fast as the moment was hers, it was gone again, and she felt a sharp stab of loss before she tipped her head back and let herself come apart. She was still in a thousand little pieces when he made a fierce, final plunge and collapsed against her.

  For a moment, he just lay there, his face buried in her hair as she slowly came back to herself. She was sandwiched between a hard man and a hard floor, and she felt too weak to move.

  He groaned and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She blinked down at him, and his hands cupped her butt.

  “Damn, this floor’s hard.” He sounded as winded as she felt. “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine.” She pushed up on one palm and tried to wriggle away, but he held her by the waist.

  “Where you going?”

  “This isn’t comfortable.”

  His gaze darted to her breasts. “It’s very comfortable.”

  “But I’m—”

  “Relax.” He tucked her head against him. “I’ll keep you warm.”

  Mia closed her eyes, and he did keep her warm, with his arms wrapped around her and his hands stroking her skin. She tried to relax. She tried not to think about her weight and if she was smothering him, but he seemed to like her there, and so she lay on top of him, absorbing his heat and listening to his chest as his galloping heart slowed.

  She’d made it race. And knowing she’d done that caused a rush of pride. He made her feel desired, sexy. He’d always done it, not just today but ever since they’d first met, as if flannel shirts and lab coats were his idea of sex appeal. She didn’t understand it.

  “The couch folds out, you know.”

  She sighed. “Now you tell me.”

  “You didn’t exactly give me a chance.” There was amusement in his voice, and his arms tightened, as if he knew that might rile her into climbing off him.

  “So I was in a hurry. Sue me. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

  She lay still, waiting for his response. Maybe she was treading into personal territory. But what was more personal than being naked on top of him?

  His arms tightened again, and she felt better.

  “Sorry about your jacket,” she muttered.

  “Are you kidding? I’m thinking of getting it bronzed.”

  She smiled and nestled her cheek against his chest. She liked the hair there. She liked the way he smelled. She liked his arms around her and his heartbeat against her ear. She gazed into the fire and let the flames hypnotize her. She tried not to think about another fire on another day. And she must have succeeded, because she drifted into sleep.

  Something pinched her bottom, and she shot up.

  “Hey!”

  His attention drifted down, then back up again. “You’re not going to sleep, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because we’re not near finished.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and she stared down at him, trying to decipher what he meant. They weren’t finished having sex? Talking? As usual, his face was impossible to read.

  Another rattle at the window. She looked over her shoulder.

  “Front moving in.” Ric sat up. “I’d better go take a look around the perimeter.” He gently slid her off his lap and onto his jacket as he reached for his jeans. Instantly, she felt cold.

  She tucked her knees to her chest and watched him get dressed, completely unfazed by his attentive audience. And why not? His body was hard and muscled, not an ounce of fat on him. Just pure man, and she couldn’t believe that a short while ago, she’d had the manliest part of him inside her.

  She watched silently as he headed off to check the perimeter, whatever that meant. She went back over everything and tried to understand the subtext of what had just happened. She had to read between the lines with him, because he was amazingly tight-lipped, even for a guy. He was guarded, taciturn, which was probably hell on anyone in a relationship with him.

  A relationship. Fear tightened her stomach. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want one. What did that make her? Some woman he’d just screwed by a fireplace. It also made her stupid, because despite all of the things she s
aid, he’d been right the first time. She wasn’t good at casual sex. She wasn’t wired that way. The one time she’d tried it had been a disaster, and she had the distinct feeling that another disaster was looming.

  Mia stood up and gathered her clothes. She spent a few minutes in the bathroom washing up. When he came back from his mission, she was at the stove in her shirt and socks, heating water for cocoa.

  “If you’re hungry, there’s soup,” she said, dividing the water between two mugs. The little bits of marshmallow melted and made white swirls on top.

  She turned around, and he was watching her with that predatory look again. He didn’t touch her, though, just reached out and took a mug.

  “There’s tomato. Some chicken and rice, I think.”

  He looked into the cup, then put it on the table with a clunk.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Mia didn’t want to talk. Talking was the very last thing she wanted to do with him. This could well be their only night together, and she wanted to savor it.

  Because a night was just a night. Anything more would border on Relationship Territory, and he didn’t want to go there. Knowing that, she wouldn’t cling to him. She couldn’t, not if she wanted to maintain her self-respect. So that left her with tonight.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” He watched her, still waiting for the answers she’d promised him.

  “I’m cold.”

  “You’re cold?”

  She took her mug of cocoa and crossed the room to the fireplace. She sank onto the sofa and folded her legs beside her.

  He joined her near the fire, but he didn’t sit down. Points for him for being wary. He probably figured she was going to try to distract him, which she was.

  “You never explained how you found me,” she said.

  “I told you, I looked.”

  “You didn’t just look. I covered my tracks. I’ve been using cash. And a fake ID.”

  He crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, you left out a few things, babe. Once I knew you were at White Oak Cabins, it took me about five minutes to find you. Next time you want to get lost, maybe try a town with more than three hundred people.”

  “How’d you know about the cabins?”

  He watched her, obviously weighing how much to say. “You left a note in your kitchen.”

  “I most certainly did not!”

  “You left the notepad. Same thing.”

  She blinked at him. “You’re telling me you broke into my house and …” She frowned. What had he done, exactly?

  “I didn’t break in. And yes, I swiped your notepad and got the phone number from the little indentations in the paper. Basic detective work. So what? I probably could have gotten the same info from your phone records if I’d looked.”

  She pictured him standing in her kitchen, rubbing a pencil over her notepad, figuring out where she’d gone. And she should have been angry. He’d let himself in, invaded her privacy. But instead, she felt blown away. He’d searched for her and been worried about her. He’d snatched her out of the sights of a gunman. She still couldn’t believe it.

  “Truth time, Mia. Who are you running from?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you running from?”

  “I don’t know that, either.” She said it quietly, staring into the fire. She remembered the flames swallowing up Ashley’s clothes. Dread gripped her. How had she let herself get into this mess? And what would he think about her when he knew?

  She gazed up at him, his face half-lit by firelight, his expression hard. She wanted the expression from before that told her she excited him and made his blood rush.

  She put her mug on the floor and shifted to her knees. His gaze narrowed as she unbuttoned the top button on her shirt.

  “Mia. We’re not done talking.”

  Another button. “I know.”

  Something sparked in his eyes, and she didn’t know whether it was anger or desire. Not that it mattered.

  “Tell me something.” She reached the last button and let the shirt fall open. All she really showed him was a narrow strip of skin, but it was enough. “Is this really a safe house?”

  He eased closer but didn’t touch her. She rose on her knees until she was only a breath away from him.

  “Because if it is, that means we’re safe, right?” She rested her index finger on the buckle of his belt and slowly traced it. “We’ve got all night to talk and … whatever else.”

  She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his chest. His muscles tensed beneath his T-shirt. She pressed a kiss there.

  He drew in a breath and released it slowly, with control. “Mia—”

  “Because I couldn’t help noticing that you sort of jumped in front of a bullet earlier. For me.” Those fathomless brown eyes were looking at her with so much heat she thought she’d melt. “And I never even got a chance to say thank you.”

  The man pulled up the long private driveway and slid his battered Buick between a souped-up Escalade and an Audi, both black. Good to see his fucking tax dollars at work. He walked across the driveway to the back door, ignoring the state trooper and the PR flack who stood on the patio having a smoke break.

  He hiked the back stairs to the spacious office that sat above the four-car garage. Jeff Lane was alone, as expected, and he was on his cell phone. He had his sleeves rolled up like someone who’d had a tough day at work, but he had a relaxed smile on his face. Probably had a girl on her knees under that big desk.

  Lane’s smile faded as he entered the office. He strode up to the desk, pulled the phone from Lane’s hand, and disconnected the call.

  “I want my money.” He tossed the phone onto the leather sofa behind him.

  Annoyance sparked in Lane’s eyes, but he managed to keep his cool. “I assume you’ve finished the job?”

  “Change of plan. I want to get paid first. Then I finish the job.”

  Lane sighed, very put upon. He got up and crossed the room to a granite bar.

  The man was relieved to see that Lane hadn’t heard about the botched attempt. With a little luck, he never would.

  “Scotch?”

  “Whiskey.”

  Lane poured two and handed him a short glass with an L monogrammed on it. “I thought we agreed—”

  “You’re stalling,” he said. “And the price just went up. I want six figures.”

  Lane chuckled, as if they had some private joke together. He returned to his chair and leaned back, setting the drink on the desk in front of him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were getting greedy.”

  “This is the last time, too. Then I’m out. You have any more problems after this, call someone else.”

  Lane smiled. “No one’s ever really out.”

  “I am.”

  He sipped his drink smugly.

  “And I want my money tomorrow, or I’m out before this even gets done. I don’t think you want those kinda loose ends.”

  Lane watched him for a few moments, as if debating his strategy. They both knew there was nothing to debate, because for once, Lane wasn’t calling the shots. He was between a rock and a hard place this time, and he knew it.

  “You realize, don’t you, that you’re all over the map with this,” Lane said easily. “First, you tell me the DNA woman’s a problem and we need to get rid of her. When that doesn’t work out, you tell me it’s okay because we need her help. Now you’re saying we need to get rid of her again. Which is it?”

  “We need her gone.”

  Lane’s expression hardened. “You know, I’m beginning to think I’m being lied to. You told me she didn’t see you.”

  “She didn’t.” He remembered the flash of eye contact after she jumped from the Jeep and looked back over her shoulder. The sunglasses had slipped. It had been just an instant, but he was becoming less willing to take risks. He was way too exposed.

  Lane gazed into his glass and shook his head. “I’d just as soo
n not part with that kind of money. And I’d just as soon not have another body on my hands. Why don’t you intimidate her?”

  “I did.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, she’s fucking a cop. It won’t be long before they put their heads together and figure this out. Then you’ve got two problems to deal with.”

  “Who’s the cop?”

  “The same one who’s in charge of the murder case.”

  Lane’s eyebrow tipped up. “Which one?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Both of them.” Lane knew he wasn’t happy about taking out a cop, but it had been unintentional.

  He felt his composure sliding, felt the anger bubbling to the surface. Lane represented everything that was wrong with this country, and he hated the man’s guts. He hated even more that he took money from him. But he kept a lid on that hate. Emotion was a weakness, and Lane was looking for any weakness he could exploit.

  Better to keep this a business transaction, cold and impersonal.

  He downed the whiskey in one sip, and it scalded a path down his throat. He set the glass on the desk. “One hundred grand. Tomorrow. Then I finish this for you. You wait any longer than that, the DNA woman and this detective are going to figure things out, and everything you’ve built over the last twenty years is going to come crashing down around your head.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And then you’re going to be wearing an orange jump-suit and missing your whores and your Jameson and wishing you’d given me every dime I asked for and more.”

  He towered over the desk now. It was a war of wills, and he won it because they both knew he was right.

  “I’ll wire it tomorrow,” Lane said. “And then I want this over.”

  The man walked to the door, hiding his relief. Six figures. It had been a shit day, but he’d salvaged it. He turned around, with his hand on the door frame. “Hey, by the way, I saw that nice black Audi down at El Patio.”

  “So?”