by Karen Rose
His mood abruptly changed. His gaze heated, moving down her body slowly before taking the return trip to meet her eyes. She felt scorched, her skin too taut for her bones. But she couldn’t look away, even if she’d wanted to.
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s done a lot of things for you. And to you.”
Her breath caught. She wanted to say something. Anything. But her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s and her mind had gone blank. As he had done the night before, he ran his thumb over her lips, the promise of a kiss to come. Her lips tingled, remembering the kiss outside the restaurant before his mother had interrupted them.
There was no one to interrupt them now. The thought teased. Enticed. Tempted.
Grayson stepped back, breaking the moment before she could decide what she wanted to do. He snapped his fingers for Peabody, reaching for the dog’s leash.
“No,” she said, shocked into vehemence. “You can’t walk him outside. Someone could shoot you. Whoever tried to kill you tonight won’t just stop.”
“I won’t walk him out front,” he said. “I have a courtyard out back with a privacy fence. It’s a small area, but it will do for now.”
He walked around her toward the kitchen and she turned to follow him.
Then stopped dead in her tracks. “Grayson.” It came out a horrified gasp.
He paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn. “I’m okay,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
She ran to him, reaching for him, then snatched her hands away before she touched him. “Your back.” She wrung her hands, staring. “There are holes. In your coat. Burns.” Great jagged holes with charred edges. “You said you weren’t hit.” She remembered them rolling, then him shielding her. “You’re burned.”
“I’m okay,” he insisted. “I was wearing—”
But she’d ceased listening. She grabbed at his coat, pulling it off his shoulders. The holes went all the way through. All the way through his shirt. She yanked the shirt from his pants. Her hands shook and she fumbled the buttons.
Then realized she couldn’t see anything through her tears. “You should have gone to the ER. Why didn’t you go to the ER?” she demanded, her voice breaking.
He brought her hands to his lips. “Paige. I’m okay. I was wearing Kevlar.”
The breath shuddered out of her. “Kevlar? How?”
“Sometimes I get threats from the accused or their families in court, so I got a vest. I put it on when I walked Peabody earlier, when you were with my mom. It seemed… prudent at the time. Joseph’s getting one for you, too. You’ll wear it. Promise me.”
She blinked up at him. “Kevlar?” she repeated numbly. “Where is it?”
“I took it off when the medics checked me out. CSU took it. To get burn residue.”
She nodded mechanically. Burn residue. Hearing but not yet believing his assurances, she pulled at the buttons on his shirt, popping a few. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, baring his chest with all that beautiful skin.
She flattened her hands on him, touching him, needing to feel him. His muscles flexed under her palms and his breathing changed. Hitched. Grew more shallow.
Her hands slowed, no longer frantic. She took her time, touching him the way she’d wanted to the night before when he’d lain beside her, not sleeping. She pressed her mouth to his powerful chest, feeling him tense beneath her lips, his breath coming out in a hiss. She reached around him, her hands tentative, searching his back.
No burns. Just smooth skin. “You’re okay.” Rippling muscle. “You’re perfect.”
He said nothing, gripping her hips, pulling her against him. He was aroused. Very, very aroused. For me. This is all for me. And she wanted it all. She wanted him.
He kissed her neck, hot wet kisses that made her hotter and wetter… everywhere. One big hand rose to cover her breast, gently shaping and reshaping, and she closed her eyes on a throaty moan. It felt so good.
“Good,” he said huskily and she realized she’d said it out loud. He kissed the curve of her shoulder, bit lightly, making her gasp. Then he sucked hard, marking her. “Stop me,” he whispered harshly against her skin. “Unless you plan to finish this, stop me.”
She lifted her hands to his face, felt his stubble tickle her palms. Knew she wouldn’t be stopping him tonight. She leaned up on her toes and kissed him, a hot, openmouthed kiss that yanked a guttural groan from his chest. He unbuttoned her jacket, pushed it off her shoulders to the floor.
“Be sure,” he ground out. “I won’t do this if you’re not sure.”
She said nothing, but unsnapped her shoulder holster with quick, economical movements and let it land on top of her jacket. He pulled her shirt off, then unhooked her bra with a practiced finesse she wouldn’t think about. Ever.
He was staring at her breasts, his eyes dark with greed. “You’re beautiful, Paige.”
She’d heard it before. Too many times to count. But this time… Please let it be him. Let him be for me. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to grab. To pluck and pinch. But he didn’t. Instead she felt hot breath against her skin and opened her eyes to find him bent, his dark head at her breast. It made her knees weak.
She waited for the touch of his mouth. Waited for him to suck. Instead his hands spanned her waist and she found herself lifted off her feet, whisked to the edge of his dining room table with devastating ease.
“I want you,” he whispered. He planted his hands on either side of her, caging her in. Leaned forward, kissing her with an intensity that left her lungs empty and burning. “I fantasized having you here, on this table. All afternoon, when you were watching other people having sex in that pool. Tell me to take you. Tell me I can have you. Tell me.”
She opened her mouth, but no words would come. His head was close to her breast, his breath hot against her nipple. But he didn’t touch her. Anywhere.
“Tell me, Paige. Say the words.”
She swallowed hard. “Do it. Please.”
He laughed, low and wicked. “Please is nice, but you need to say what I tell you to say.” He brushed lightly between her legs, making her jump. “Tell me to take you.”
“Please. Please.” She whimpered it and he looked up, his gaze razor-sharp.
“Say it.” He increased the pressure between her legs, his thumb finding the place that made her gasp. She lifted her hips, trying to get more. More pressure. More of him.
He took his hand away and she protested. “Grayson.”
“Say it.” He delved under her waistband, finding the holster, setting the gun and knife aside. He peeled her pants to her knees, leaving only her lacy black panties. “Pretty.” He bent, kissing the inside of her thigh, inches from where she needed him.
“Grayson.”
He looked up, his gaze intense. “Say it.”
She closed her eyes, her heart pounding like a wild thing. “Take me. Please.”
He moved fast then, yanking at the laces on her boot, pulling one off and letting it fly. It landed somewhere in the foyer. She didn’t care where. “Hurry,” she whispered.
He stripped her pants off one leg, leaving her with one boot on, throwing her bare leg over his shoulder, opening her wide. Then she cried out when his mouth closed over the black lace, sucking hard. She came in a blinding rush, her head falling back, gasping for air. Too soon. It was over too soon. It had been so long. Too long. She wanted to scream. She wanted to curse. But she didn’t have any breath.
“Again,” he muttered, pulling her panties down, freeing her bare leg. Finally his mouth closed over her breast and he plunged two fingers deep into her. Her body went rigid as he sucked, long draws that had her writhing and bucking on the edge of his dining room table. “Come, Paige,” he demanded. “Again.”
He moved to the other breast, sucking, while his thumb found her most sensitive flesh. He pressed and rubbed and sucked and she came apart again, her cry strangled in her throat. “Grayson.” It was hoarse. Barely discernible as her own voice.
He cursed, bent over, and pulled a condom from his back pants pocket. By the time he’d straightened, he was covered. He caged her in again, moving between her legs, leaning over her until all she could see was green, green eyes.
“Tell me again,” he whispered. “Tell me you want this.”
He’d leave her no way to blame him, she understood. “I want this,” she whispered back. “I want you. Do this. Take what you—” She cried out again, this time in surprised pleasure. He was big. All over. She was filled and she could feel him, deep.
“I want you,” he said gutturally, beginning to move. “You’re mine. You understand?”
“Yes.” She met his thrusts, watching him. Watching them. “I understand.”
He slid his arms under her back, hooking his hands on her shoulders, and he thrust even deeper. “Do you like this?”
He hit the spot that sent a jolt of current singing across her skin. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”
“I couldn’t.” He closed his eyes, sweat beading on his brow. “You feel too damn good. I want you. I want you.” He set a rhythm and she let herself be swept away. And when she came, her scream made no sound at all.
He found her mouth, covered it with his. Kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. And then he went rigid, throwing his head back with a grimace that was beautiful to behold.
He laid his cheek against her shoulder, panting. Weakly she ran her fingers through his hair, then stroked his back. Once. Twice. Her hand fell to her side, useless. Limp.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, still out of breath. Still buried inside her.
“I don’t know. Am I?”
He lifted his head. Looked into her eyes and her pounding heart fluttered. “You’re more all right than I deserve,” he said. “I’ve just had you and I want you again.”
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Do I have to beg each time?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Depends. If you jump me, then no.”
She laughed softly, keenly aware that for a few precious minutes she’d thought only of him and the magic he’d worked on her body. Even if things didn’t work out between them, those moments were worth the risk. “Jumping you requires a softer surface.”
“I have a bed,” he said silkily. “It’s very soft.”
She sucked in a breath, her core muscles clenching around him, and he groaned quietly. Again. She wanted him again. “Can we have a shower first?” she asked.
“I have one of those, too.” He kissed her jaw tenderly. “You go upstairs. I’ll lock up down here and meet you in a few minutes.”
Thursday, April 7, 2:15 a.m.
Silas had dumped Kapansky’s body into the Patuxent, switched his van for the untrackable car, and now pulled into the storage unit he’d rented under one of his aliases. I was a damn good cop. Now I have untrackable cars and aliases.
He locked up, found his sleeping bag, shook it out, settled onto the floor. Sighed as his bones creaked and his muscles ached. He needed a hot shower, not cold concrete.
It was dark. And quiet. Too quiet. He could hear himself think. He hated to think. When he let himself think, he was deluged with regret over what he’d become. The people he’d hurt. It had all started with a choice that hadn’t seemed so terrible then.
He’d needed to save his daughter from ruining her life.
She’d been such a precious child, his Cherri. And then adolescence arrived and the fights began. Sneaking out, smoking. Boys. He hadn’t had the time to guide her, to keep her straight. He’d been busy catching bad guys. Being a goddamn hero.
The day the nightmare started… he’d thought it would be the most terrible day of his life. He’d find he was wrong about that. He’d been watching a rerun on TV when two cops had knocked on his door, a man and a woman. They had a search warrant.
He’d looked up the stairs. Seventeen-year-old Cherri stood on the top step and one look at her face told him she knew why those cops were there. There had been a robbery and the stolen goods were found hidden under his daughter’s bed.
Cherri was guilty. Of that, he’d had no doubt. But taking the rap… She would have gone to prison. The daughter of a cop. Her life inside would have been hell. He couldn’t let that happen.
All those thoughts passed through his mind as he watched his only daughter taken away in handcuffs, sobbing, begging him to help her.
Mere minutes after the police car had driven away, the phone rang. And then came the offer. Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting him.
I can make that evidence go away. As if it never was. I can make it so that your precious daughter never sees the walls of a prison. But you have to act fast. The cruiser is taking her in. When they arrive at Central Booking, the offer disappears, as if it never was. Think fast, Silas. The clock is ticking.
What do I have to do? he’d asked.
Whatever I say. Whenever I say.
And if I don’t?
Those two cops that got your daughter asked the same question. The woman cop’s son spent a week in the hospital. Hit-and-run. She doesn’t ask that question anymore.
What will you do?
Someone else will take the blame.
Who?
Do you care? As long as your daughter is safe, do you care?
He hadn’t. God help him, he had not cared.
The voice on the phone had chuckled. If it makes you feel better, the one who’ll take the blame has already served time. She can take care of herself inside. Can your daughter take care of herself?
Silas had said nothing, frantically trying to choose, and then the voice on the phone hit it home. A cop’s daughter, in prison. They’ll eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The clock is ticking, Silas. I need your decision.
And so he’d decided. Yes. He’d blurted it out before he could change his mind.
Excellent. I’ll be in touch.
And so it was done. Another girl had been framed. And Cherri had been released. Spared. It hadn’t had the effect he’d hoped for, though. Free from jail, she’d run off again. There would be more trouble. More heartache for him and for Rose. He’d always thought it couldn’t get worse.
And then not even a year later, Cherri was gone forever. He’d held her newborn child in his arms and vowed Cherri’s baby would always be safe.
The voice on the phone had contacted him again two weeks later. It was time to pay his debt. The first job was one like Cherri’s, framing a young man for a crime he did not commit. But Silas had been able to justify it. The boy had already been convicted. He’d reoffended. He hadn’t done the crime for which he’d been accused, but he sure as hell had done others.
Years passed. The jobs got harder. His first kill… He’d balked and his employer had reminded him of the cop whose child had been hit by a car. The boy still walked with crutches. So he’d killed his mark, then thrown up afterward. But over time, the kills got easier, too.
He thought of Cherri. Of Violet. Even now, knowing what he knew, he was sure he’d make the same choice.
Habit had him reaching for the photo in his shirt pocket, even though it was too dark to see the little girl with chocolate on her chin. He slid two fingers in his pocket.
Then sat up straight, panicked. It was gone. Cherri’s picture was gone.
I’ve lost it. Where? He made himself breathe. Mentally retrace his steps. He’d come home from Toronto. Showered and changed. Had he put the photo in his pocket?
What if I dropped it? What if someone finds it? If he dropped it at the river, no one would find it. No one ever went there. What if I dropped it in the woods at the nursing home? The area was crawling with cops. CSU would be sure to find it.
What if the cop who finds it is the one cop who’d know who it is? That Silas himself had been there would be their
eventual conclusion. He’d be found out.
Then so be it. Grayson would realize who he was sooner or later, so it really didn’t matter in the end. If that one cop did find the photo, it would be cared for. She would give it back to him. She would know how much the picture meant.
He lay back down, forced his eyes to close. And made himself sleep. He needed to be sharp tomorrow morning when he pulled the trigger for what would hopefully be the last time. And if his employer had arranged for incriminating records to be made public in the event of his death, so be it.
Of course, the other “operatives” might be pissed, because their records would be made public, too, but that was their problem. Silas just had to survive a little longer.
Thursday, April 7, 2:25 a.m.
“Hmm.” Paige snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder as they lay in Grayson’s bed, her hand resting lightly on his abdomen. He didn’t seem to be able to let her go. They were clean, and he’d had her again, in the shower. Up against the smooth tile wall.
He hadn’t planned it. He’d joined her in the shower after letting her dog sniff around his courtyard and locking up his house. Never had setting his alarm seemed so important. Now it was keeping her safe. For me. He’d planned to get clean, then tell her. Tell her everything.
But he’d been unprepared for her reaction when she saw his back. He was black-and-blue from whatever had fallen from the sky after his car had blown.
She’d cried, great gulping sobs. He’d kissed her mouth, trying to comfort her. But he couldn’t kiss her and not have her. Then she’d begged. Again. He’d lost control. He’d made her come twice, changing her sobs to sensual pleas.
And then he’d come so hard. Inside her. Without a condom.
He’d never done that before. He’d always been careful. Never lost control. Never made that kind of commitment. Because he knew none of the others were ones he’d keep.
But this one… the woman cuddled up against him, trusting him. I want to keep her. I need to tell her. Now. Before this goes any further. Before he took her again, lost control again. Made her pregnant.
His heart clenched in his chest so hard it hurt. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes, hers filled with worry. “What is it?”