* * *
JUNE OPENED HER eyes when Dean pulled away, moved off of her and tossed the condom. She sighed, not yet ready to break their connection. She rolled onto her side and placed her cheek on his chest, breathing in the essence of him, of their sweat and sex. Delicious.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, looping one of his legs over hers.
Dean’s desire to maintain their intimacy warmed her, reassured her. Rick would leap out of bed after sex and pour a glass of wine. She’d hated that.
She sighed, not wanting to think about the past, much less the future, wishing she could stay right where she was for a long, long time, content in the bliss of the best sex she’d ever had, probably anyone ever had, snuggled up close to this amazingly talented man.
Hmm. Was it a talent? Or experience? She turned her head to plant a kiss on his damp chest. Whatever. Who cared? Dean had aroused her beyond anything she’d ever imagined, taking her to the brink of complete dissolution, to where she utterly lost herself in him. Remembering the power of her orgasm, the taste of him in her mouth, still feeling the sweet friction between her legs, she shivered.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, raising his head to look at her.
“Oh, yeah,” she said meaningfully.
“Thank God,” he muttered, plopping his head back down, tightening his arm around her to draw her closer. “Because I’d be no help right now. You’ve destroyed me, woman.”
“I destroyed you?”
“Maybe annihilated is a better word.” He laughed, his chest rumbling with the sound beneath her cheek. “You feeling the same way?”
“Pretty much,” she murmured, thrilled with the idea that she’d affected him as strongly as he’d affected her. Annihilated? Yeah, that perfectly described the sensual experience they’d just shared.
“Pretty much?” Dean asked, his tone indignant as he lazily stroked a finger up and down her arm. “That’s a pretty lukewarm response. Give me a minute—well, maybe five—to recover, and I’ll try to do better.”
Grinning, she propped herself on an arm to study his face. He gazed at her, the intensity in his eyes belying the humorous tone of his words. She placed her lips against his to give him a light kiss. Pulling back, she said, “I don’t see how you could top that.”
He stroked her cheek, shaking his head as he stared into her eyes. Then he slid his hand behind her neck, pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly, as if trying to convey some emotion neither of them could yet name.
She broke the kiss and again placed her cheek on his chest, relishing the warmth and weight of his hand against her head until he began to absently comb his fingers through her tangled hair. She closed her eyes. How could Dean know such sweet, intimate, sexy things to do? How could this dangerous bad boy, a man who hunted other men for a living, probably killing them when necessary, make her feel so whole, so content, so at peace with the world?
She’d felt the controlled power of his body, his ferocity as he’d made love to her. Fierce and controlling, yes, that described Dean perfectly. But yet he could also be gentle, caring, considerate of her feelings. She sensed he understood her, how she felt about her parents, better than anyone ever had. Maybe that explained why she was so drawn to him.
But she didn’t understand him.
“Have you ever killed anybody?” she asked, surprising herself with the question. She stared across her bedroom, looking at nothing. “A human being, I mean.”
His fingers stilled. “I’m a police officer, Junie.”
“I know, but—”
“Yes, I killed a man once in the line of duty.”
When she didn’t respond, he said, “This is ugly, June. Do you really want to talk about it right now?”
His words frightened her. Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t want to know him. This thing between them was temporary, purely sexual, the result of two strangers being thrown together under highly charged circumstances. When he solved the murders, he’d move on to his next exciting case, another set of witnesses. She should let it go.
But she said, “You know everything about me. I’d like to know you better.”
“And even though I’m a cop it bothers you that I’ve killed?”
“Not if it was you or him.”
“It was either him or two kids he was holding hostage. When I took the shot, he held a Glock against the skull of a terrified eight-year-old and announced he was going to show the cops he meant business. My only safe shot was a kill shot.”
She sucked in a quick breath at the scene playing out in her head. “Were the kids okay?”
“Definitely traumatized, but both still breathing.”
“Did you get a medal?”
Dean issued a sound that was half snort, half laugh. “Actually, I got busted back to patrol for acting before my superior gave the go-ahead.”
“But if you hadn’t acted...”
“At least one of the kids wouldn’t have made it out alive.” He fell silent, absently stroking her arm again.
She gave him a gentle squeeze, realizing she’d forced him to relive painful memories. Most times it was better not to think about ghosts from a haunting past. She of all people should have known better. Why had she done this to Dean? Sometimes she could be a real jerk.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—”
In an unexpected, swift motion, he flipped them so that she was under him again. Her words got lost and she heard herself laugh breathlessly. His forearms rested on either side of her head as he stared down at her.
“Forget it,” he said. “As it turns out I’m more than okay with my punishment.”
“You are?”
“Damn right.”
She nodded, loving the smoky expression that had crept into his eyes. “Because in your heart you know you did the right thing that day,” she said.
“Well, there’s that,” Dean agreed, “but I just got it that being on patrol again is how I met you.”
She grinned and lifted her hand to touch his cheek. “When you answered the call to the pet shop?”
“Carrying out my sworn duty to put down a bird riot stirred up by a gorgeous do-gooder.”
“Activist,” she corrected, noticing that his hips now moved rhythmically against her again, creating that sweet, sensual pull on her center, and she decided he’d forgiven her. She parted her legs and reached her hand between them to stroke a growing erection.
He sucked in a breath and positioned himself in just the right place. “Activist,” he repeated. “You just love to stir things up, don’t you, June?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. “Your five minutes are up.”
* * *
WHEN JUNE AWOKE the next morning, Dean was gone. She sighed and stretched long on her bed, wrapped in delicious memories of the previous evening.
At some point in the night—maybe around nine when they realized they were ravenous and got their butts out of bed to eat something—she’d given him the code for her alarm so he could rearm the system when he left the next morning. She’d teased him about being overly protective, but he hadn’t cracked a smile, so she gave it to him to avoid a lecture. Later, she vaguely remembered his wrist alarm beeping while it was still dark, him rolling out of bed, kissing her, telling her he had to go, he’d call her later.
She smoothed her hand down her belly to cup her center. A little tender and definitely sticky. They’d showered together around midnight—she closed her eyes, remembering how Dean had gently soaped and massaged her breasts—but afterward, well, there’d been more stirring up and definitely some activism, and now she needed another shower.
She placed her feet on the floor and shrugged on a robe. Should she feel guilty for spending most of the previous twelve hours playin
g naked games with Dean? Maybe she should, but she didn’t. No way. Not when every cell in her body tingled with the joy of just being alive.
There’d be time for regrets later, but not yet.
Yawning, she padded into the kitchen to start coffee. She had to leave twenty minutes earlier for work because she couldn’t depend on the bus being on time. She sighed. Walking was so much easier and quicker, but Dean insisted a sniper could be waiting for her at the top of a high-rise. And he ought to know.
He’d killed by sighting a man’s beating heart down the scope of a rifle.
She paused in scooping grounds into her machine, remembering the story he’d told her last night. She shivered, wondering how he lived with an ever-present threat of violence. Perhaps Dean had more ghosts to live with than she did.
More alert after her first sip of caffeine, June found a note from him on the dining room table.
“Out of town today with Sanchez re Kublin at Sunrise Clinic. You can reach me on my cell.” Considerate.
“Stay away from windows and doors.” Hardly romantic.
“Take the bus to work.” Dictatorial.
“I’ll call you tonight.” Better.
She folded the paper and tucked it into her purse. Damn. She was analyzing his note as if it were a coded message from the CIA. She regretted nothing they’d done, but did he? She couldn’t help wondering what Dean was thinking today, how he felt about last night in the harsh light of day. She wished she could talk to him, judge his reaction.
Pitiful. She wouldn’t call him for that.
Did all women obsess after making love with a man for the first time? Did men ever think about the repercussions of sex, how a little time together naked changed everything between two people?
Lazarus squawked, and she moved to the aviary. “I agree, big boy. Not likely.”
In response, the macaw raised his giant claw and scratched his head.
Laz had been quiet last night, but she ought to give him some attention this morning. She glanced at her watch. She also needed to clean the aviary, so she should get her butt moving.
While she was working on the balcony, the phone rang. Thinking it was rather early for calls—but hoping it could be Dean—June hurried inside to answer.
“It’s Jared. Did you see my email?”
June sat on the sofa. “No. I haven’t been online in a while.” Too busy having wild sex to worry about bird society business.
“You didn’t answer the phone, either.”
“Sorry,” June said, remembering, yeah, the phone had rung and quite insistently, but they’d ignored it. Dean said if it was police business, they’d call his cell.
“I need your help,” Jared said after a pause. “We have a situation in the Redlands with the buntings.”
She stood. “You’ve found a trap?”
“Damn right. Didn’t you tell me your office was closed today?”
“What? Oh, right.” Perhaps that wild sex had destroyed her memory. Dr. Trujillo was attending a seminar in Boca Raton today, so they’d scheduled no appointments. Elaine was staying home. June had intended to go in to make follow-up phone calls and do some filing, but she didn’t have to.
“I want to be there when the poacher shows up,” Jared said. “Probably around nightfall.”
“Did you release the birds?”
“Of course, but there may be more overnight. I left the trap in place to lure the poacher in.”
“Were any buntings injured?” June closed her eyes against the image of a tiny, magnificently colored bird cowering in a wire cage while suffering with a broken wing.
“No.”
She released a breath. “Thank goodness. I’ll call Agent Gillis. Fish and Wildlife needs to be there.”
“I already left him a message,” Jared said.
“That’s not good enough. I have his cell number. I won’t go unless I reach him.”
“What’s got you so spooked?”
“Never mind. What time can you pick me up?”
“I’ll be out front at noon.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DEAN ASSESSED THE dignified man sitting across the massive oak desk from him and Sanchez. Dr. Avery Harkness, medical director of Sunrise Rehabilitative Clinic, appeared to be in his sixties, graying, but otherwise aging well. Trim, very little paunch. Neatly manicured fingernails. He wore a white lab coat over a pale yellow dress shirt and blue tie. Professional, pleasant, yet on guard. Not panicked, but definitely concerned about the outcome of this interview.
As he effing well should be. Here was the man in charge, and he’d lost a murderer from the grounds of his facility.
Dr. Harkness folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I’m confident you understand about patient confidentiality, Detectives.”
Dean slammed the warrant on the desk.
Dr. Harkness sighed. “I understand you have a warrant, but—”
“And I understand you lost a homicidal maniac from this hospital,” Dean interrupted. “A man who went on to murder two more citizens after your security failure.”
The doctor paled at Dean’s words. “There have been more deaths?”
“And we have no reason to believe the killing will stop.”
Harkness shook his head. “I don’t believe Al Kublin is a murderer. In fact, I don’t believe he is capable of harming anyone.”
Dean narrowed his eyes at the doctor. Now they were getting somewhere. “Why?”
“Al is a gentle soul,” Harkness said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been treating him for years and am convinced he was wrongly convicted, which ruined his life. His wife divorced him and remarried.”
“So he was framed?” Dean asked, trying not to sound sarcastic.
“Let’s say I believe a mistake was made. Al worshipped the Lathams, felt he owed them everything and would never have harmed them.”
“But this couple Kublin adored had been accused of smuggling. How did he justify his worship in light of that crime?”
The doctor picked up a pen and tapped it on his desk, obviously considering. “Look, I know this will sound like the ravings of a convicted lunatic, but Al maintained the Lathams were innocent, that they would never break the law.”
“Okay. If Kublin is such a sane, stand-up guy, why did he bust out of here?”
“He didn’t bust out. Because of excellent behavior, he’d been afforded certain privileges, and frankly never came back from a walk one morning.”
“I don’t care how. I want to know why,” Dean said.
“To right the wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“He wants to prove the Lathams were innocent, that he was innocent.”
“How is he going to do that?” Sanchez asked, speaking for the first time.
Good, Dean thought approvingly of his rookie. Keep the subject off balance, come at him from a different direction.
“That’s an excellent question,” the doctor replied. “I don’t know. However, there was a daughter that—”
“You think he’ll go after the Lathams’ daughter?” Dean demanded.
“No, not go after her. I think it’s more likely he’ll seek her out, maybe try to protect her. In Al’s mind, this daughter is another victim of a horrible injustice. It bothers him that she would never know what he sees as the truth.”
Dean stared at the doctor. Actually, that theory went along the same path as his own thoughts. What if June’s parents weren’t criminals? What if there had been a frame and a fire to cover up any evidence? Not to mention the fact that Kublin had no history of skill as a sharpshooter. He could have hired a pro, but Kublin didn’t make the actual kills. And where would he get the money for hits? Even if he’d stashed away cash befo
re his conviction, it’d be hard to access.
“The only pathology I see in Al is he’s fixated on a conspiracy theory,” Harkness continued. “He believes whoever framed him will try to kill him to shut him up, and maybe go after the daughter, too.”
“So why now?” Dean asked. “After all these years, why would Kublin decide to go back out into the world and set the record straight?”
Harkness looked down at his hands, dropped the pen and shook his head again. “You’re putting me in a difficult ethical position.”
“Your escaped patient is connected to two brutal murders,” Dean said.
“You’re certain?”
“He’s all over them,” Dean said. “We’re trying to prevent another death.”
The doctor released a heavy sigh. “I guess Al won’t be around to sue me anyway. He’s got pancreatic cancer, a few months to live at most. I think he escaped to find the Lathams’ daughter, to let her know her parents were innocent before the truth died with him.”
“And you didn’t think you needed to tell anyone about this theory?” Dean asked.
“But I did,” Harkness insisted. “I reported everything to the county sheriff. And in my medical opinion, Al is not a danger to anyone except himself. Between his illness and the years of wrongful incarceration, the man is terrified of every noise.”
“It meant that much to him for the girl to know the truth?” Sanchez asked.
The doctor nodded. “I believe it’s the only thing keeping him alive.”
* * *
“SO, HAWK, WHAT do you think?” Sanchez asked as they returned to the Crown Vic.
Dean tossed him the keys. “I think it’s your turn to drive.”
Sanchez grinned and slid behind the wheel. Dean climbed into the passenger seat and snapped the seat belt in place. Sanchez fiddled with the electric seat, finding just the right position, adjusted the rearview and side mirrors, tilted the angle of the computer to better suit him and then finally started the car.
Dean smothered a grin of his own. Damn rookie had been itching to drive since they partnered up.
Her Cop Protector Page 19