Tempt the Night

by Dixie Lee Brown

  Brady released her mouth and pressed his lips to her forehead. Leaning back as though he might see her eyes in the darkened room, he pulled her with him until she laid her head on his shoulder.

  He kissed her forehead again. “Go to sleep, Mac.”

  “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She tried to squirm away from him.

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I guess I just wanted to feel something besides fear for a little while. I know this sounds ridiculous because I barely know you, but I’m safe here . . . with you.”

  “And don’t forget that.” The trust in her voice chipped away at his defenses. “I’ve been where you are more than once, and I understand how you feel, but let’s not do something you’ll regret in a couple hours.” He spoke softly, his lips next to her forehead.

  “What makes you think I’d regret it?” A tiny thread of humor laced her words.

  Brady chuckled. “Just a hunch . . . but I’ll tell you what—if you’re not totally relieved that nothing happened when we wake up in two or three hours, we’ll revisit the subject.”

  Mac laughed. “Deal.” She was silent for a moment. “We’re good then?”

  Brady smiled as she repeated his question of a few minutes ago. “I think we’re good.”

  She lay quietly for a while but obviously still couldn’t sleep. “Where are you from, Brady?”

  His breath was harsh as she moved beside him. “Kalispell, Montana. I live on a ranch of sorts with friends.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t everyone miss home?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve lived here my entire life.” There was a wistful edge to her voice.

  “You’ve still got time to see the world.”

  “Paddy wanted to go to Hawaii in the worst way. He was always bugging me to go with him, but I thought we’d have plenty of time.” The sadness that flowed from her ripped at his heart.

  “You’ll go for both of you now.” It was a reflex action to hug her closer, offering something of himself to fill the hole in her life.

  She splayed the fingers of one hand on his chest. “Maybe I will . . . someday.” She laid her head on his shoulder again, and the remaining tension left her on a sigh.

  “Everyone should see Hawaii at least once.” God, she felt good tucked against him, even if there was a ton of bedding between them. She’d cuddled up to his side and seemed totally relaxed. Would it bother her to know that, thanks to her, certain parts of him were fairly rigid?

  A few minutes later, she was on the verge of restful sleep, and her breathing deepened and evened out. Again, her strength had surprised him. She was going to be all right—providing she survived. Brady would do everything humanly possible to make that happen.

  The vow came from nowhere, sliding into his thought process like it was the most important thing in the world. In reality, it wasn’t so different from what he’d been trained to do, although he had a nagging suspicion his motives were slightly out of whack. Just this once, maybe he wouldn’t examine them too thoroughly.

  For quite some time, he held her and listened to the rhythm of her breathing until he was dropping off himself.

  A noise called him back to full wakefulness and left him lying tense and unmoving, listening for the source of the trouble. Suddenly, a vehicle squealed to a stop in front of the motel. Two car doors slammed, one after the other, and the unmistakable sound of a voice through a police radio blared just outside in the parking lot. Brady was on his feet in an instant, headed for the curtain to peer outside, when pounding sounded on the door.

  “Alaska State Troopers. Open up.”

  Chapter Five

  MAC JERKED AWAKE, and through the fog of deep sleep, it was a few seconds before she could separate her dreams from reality. When she did, it was worse than she thought. There really were troopers banging on their door.

  In the near darkness, she could see Brady’s silhouette as he moved away from the window, crossed the room on silent feet, and pulled her covers back, putting a finger to his lips in silent command. His eyes gleamed with steel-hardened determination that chilled her and started her chest aching.

  “Put your shoes on.”

  She jumped to do as he whispered, sliding her feet into her bloodstained canvas sneakers. He draped his coat around her shoulders, then helped her slide her arms into the sleeves.

  His calm manner frightened her more than anything. It was obvious that being startled awake in the early hours of the morning by police officers, or similar chaos, was something he took in stride.

  She was grateful for his help, and she wanted to trust him, but she had to keep reminding herself that she didn’t really know who he was. Was it only a coincidence that he’d appeared the same night that three strangers with automatic rifles had shown up in town? Would she be better off in the hands of the troopers than with Brady?

  Mac didn’t have the answer, and that was the problem. She needed Brady in order to find out who M was and what, if anything, she had to do with those men outside Wagner’s plant. M was the only hope she had of finding out who was behind Paddy’s murder and exacting justice for his death. She would accomplish that if it was the last thing she did.

  Brady disappeared into the bathroom and returned with her clothes, stiff with dried blood, rolled into a bundle. He handed them to her and pulled her with him into the bathroom, where a small window leading outside was already open.

  He was going to send her out there alone? Nausea swirled in her stomach as she faced the window, the prospect of leaving the only safety she’d felt in hours too impossible to comprehend in the few seconds she had. She almost leapt out of her skin when the banging came again.

  “Give me a minute,” Brady growled toward the door, just loud enough and sleepy enough to pass for someone disturbed from sleep in the middle of the night.

  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her so she faced him. “Wait in here. If they insist on coming inside, I’ll make enough of a fuss that you’ll have a few seconds to slip out. Toss those clothes in the first Dumpster you come to and head for your uncle’s boat. Don’t worry—I’ll find you.” He released her and turned to go.

  “What if they arrest you?” Fear for him added to her terror.

  “I’m not on their radar yet, but if they do, I won’t be in long. You stay put at the boat and wait for me.” He pointed at her and then winked, like it was all a big game to him.

  Impossibly, it made her breathe easier. She crawled onto the counter and waited by the window as he disappeared, closing the door behind him.

  The next sound she heard was the door in the other room opening. “What the hell? Can’t a man get a decent night’s sleep around here?”

  “Sorry, sir. Can I see some ID please?” The trooper’s voice was quiet, more conciliatory, which raised Mac’s hopes a notch.

  A moment of silence passed, and then his next words almost brought her to her knees.

  “Thanks, Mr. Brady. We’re looking for someone who might have been seen in this area. Do you recognize this woman?”

  It was quiet while Brady no doubt studied a picture of her.

  “No, Officer. I’d remember. She’s a real looker. What did she do? Too many parking tickets?”

  God, he was good. Drawing the trooper in with his good-old-boy routine.

  “No, sir. She killed two of our own—state troopers.”

  What? Mac slammed her hand over her mouth, not sure if her shocked response had slipped out aloud or not. Two? Brady had said Gallagher was alive—that he’d be okay. Only Simpson had died in that alley. Her breath whooshed out as the only possible answer coldcocked her in the chest. They were accusing her of killing Paddy. Revulsion and sorrow filled the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to escape through that window and disappear. Brady’s low whistle brought her back to the moment, anchoring her in his trus
t. It was only part of his act, but it reminded her that there was one person who believed her story even if his faith in her was only based on her tell.

  “Holy shit! It’s always the pretty ones you have to watch out for. Rest assured, if I see your cop-killer, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “All right, sir. Sorry to have bothered you.” A few seconds later, the officer knocked on the next door in line, announced himself, and began his spiel again.

  Mac didn’t hear the door in the other room close, but suddenly Brady burst into the bathroom. Dim light from the other room illuminated the concern scrawled across his face. He drew the window closed before turning and lifting her off the counter. His thumbs swiped at tears she didn’t know she’d cried.

  She dried the rest with the palms of her hands. “I swear to God I never cry.” She followed that declaration with a big hiccup and smiled miserably.

  He held her gaze. “I figure you have good reason. Did you hear?”

  “Oh my God. Why? Why would they say that? Paddy’s parents will hear. My parents. It will kill them.” Her voice broke again, to her disgust, and she buried her face in his chest—his bare, very solidly muscled chest. A light coating of hair tickled her cheek. Hyperaware of his masculinity, she raised her hands to push herself away, but they lingered of their own accord, exploring the ridges and planes of his abdomen.

  Mac raised her head to look at him just as his hands circled her waist and tugged her against him. Green eyes, the color of crystal-clear ocean water, darkened as she stared, and a muscle twitched in a stubble-covered cheek. His arousal tented the front of his jeans and became more pronounced by the second, and still she gripped his sides, unable—or maybe unwilling—to turn away.

  He stared at her lips, and she longed to feel him kiss her, but as he leaned in slowly, raising her up on her tiptoes to meet him, she remembered where she was and the reason she’d been about to flee for her life. She had one mission—bring Paddy’s killer to justice. Getting cozy with a man she’d just met, though she had to admit this particular man intrigued her, wouldn’t help to achieve her goal. Brady had cautioned against doing something they’d regret, yet they’d both been drawn as though by an irresistible force. Taking such a chance was not only foolish, but dangerous. If Paddy were here, he’d kick her butt. It’s not like she was usually a risk-taker. She was the proverbial girl-next-door—not the kind of woman who frequented shabby motel rooms with dark and mysterious men.

  “Brady . . . ” She stepped back, and he let her go. Instantly, embarrassment washed over her. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . ”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s on me. I shouldn’t have let that get out of hand. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.” Brady passed through the doorway into the main room.

  When Mac followed him a few seconds later, he was packing in the light of the bedside lamp. “Are you leaving?”

  He didn’t stop what he was doing. “We’re leaving. That is, if you still trust me.”

  “Brady? Why are you helping me?”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder. A quick smile softened his rough features. “Damned if I know.”

  Mac smirked as she studied his naked back. He’d become her only lifeline in a few short hours. Paddy would have given her hell for trusting this stranger, and then he probably would have run his name through the computer at the precinct and told her in graphic detail why she shouldn’t. She didn’t have access to that insider information anymore. She had to trust her instinct. More than that . . . she had to trust someone if she was going to make it out of this alive.

  He slipped into his shirt, stuck his weapon in the waistband of his jeans, and hurriedly donned his socks and boots while she stood there, clutching her bundle of clothes, not sure what to do next. She sensed he was still on high alert, which did little to settle her nervous stomach.

  Brady stood and faced her. “I’ll need my jacket. I have to go out for about thirty minutes. You might as well try to get some sleep.”

  Mac almost laughed. Sleep? Not likely. She ducked out of his jacket as he reached for it. “Where are you going?”

  He produced a small notebook from his jacket pocket. “What size do you wear?”

  “Where do you think you’ll find clothes this time of night?”

  He stood ready with a pencil hovering above the paper. The muscle in his jaw twitched again. “If it’s going to bother you, you probably shouldn’t ask.”

  His icy green stare said he’d do what he had to whether she liked it or not, so Mac dropped her argument before she got started. “Um . . . size eight pants, medium shirts, size seven shoes . . . something slip-on if possible.” She laughed at his exaggerated frown.

  “Underwear?” He slowly raised his eyes to hers, and one of his brows shot up toward his hairline.

  Mac rested one hand on her hip and met his gaze. “I think not. I can wear what I have.”

  “Think again. Your bra and panties are rolled up in that ball you’re holding. If they didn’t have blood on them before, they do now. Unless . . . you’d like to go without?” Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

  “Oh good grief! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Six for panties . . . and thirty-four B. Happy?” Embarrassment sent a wave of heat cascading through her as she dropped her bundle of clothes on the floor.

  Brady hastily scrawled the numbers and headed for the door.

  “And don’t forget socks.” If he was going to get underwear, he might as well get it all.

  He snapped a quick salute, then stopped with one hand on the knob. “I almost forgot.” Returning to his duffel beside the bed, he pulled out Paddy’s handgun and held it out to her.

  She froze. Images of shooting Gallagher flooded her—him jerking as one of the bullets she’d fired struck him—stirring the contents of her already nauseated stomach. Brady said Gallagher would live. The worst part was she couldn’t decide if she was sorry.

  Brady, apparently sensing her misery, laid the weapon on the nightstand. “You did what you had to do, Mac. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll eventually come to terms with that.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  Dragging her eyes away from the gun, she focused on his retreating back. “Thank you, Brady.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stopped for a moment and glanced over his shoulder. “Mac? Try not to shoot yourself, okay?” The door opened and closed behind him silently.

  Mac almost laughed at his repetition of the words he’d spoken in the alley. Did he really think she was a danger to herself? Or was he trying to take her mind off darker memories? Her money was on the latter, which meant Mr. Macho wasn’t as gruff as he’d like to think.

  Chilled without Brady’s coat, Mac crawled under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. She’d just lay there and wait for Brady to return. A few minutes of undisturbed sleep had been hers while he held her earlier, but that wouldn’t happen in her current state of turmoil. And after last night’s experience on the boat, she wanted no part of sleeping alone.

  Well, sleep might have been a misnomer for what had happened. At best, it could’ve been considered fitful bouts of losing consciousness only to be jarred awake by dreams of automatic weapons fire, a dumbwaiter falling to the bottom of a long, dark shaft, and Paddy’s horror-stricken face. Now, though exhaustion pulled at her arms and legs, the thought of sleep, and the nightmares waiting there, scared her awake.

  Mac groaned, turned on her side, and curled into a ball. Despair and uncertainty rolled over her in waves. She’d made the conscious decision to put her trust in Brady, but every time she turned around, she second-guessed herself. True, he’d saved her life in that alley. Simpson would have killed her in the most gruesome of ways if not for Brady. Her body quaked at the memory. She owed him big-time for that.

  What if he didn’t come back? The insidious idea wormed its way into her thoughts, and even though she tried to shut it out, it wouldn’t be denied. He’d given her no reason to suspect he w
as leaving for good, but a glimmer of apprehension began to grow anyway. What if he decided a woman who stuck a gun in his back and was suspected of killing cops was too much of a liability? She wouldn’t really blame him for that.

  He was tall and solidly built, and his presence made her feel protected, something she’d gladly sell her soul for at this point. He was obviously capable of defending her as he’d proved in the alley, but that didn’t mean he chose to. If Brady had gotten out while the getting was good, where did that leave her?

  She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. Self-pity wasn’t her thing, although the last twenty-four hours had been a test to her convictions. It was time to start taking care of herself again. She needed a plan, and getting out of Sitka seemed like a good start. If Brady really was gone for good, so was her opportunity to find M. There’d be no reason to stick around and wait for whoever was behind Paddy’s murder to kill her too.

  Paddy had been the only reason she’d stayed here this long, but now she’d be leaving for a whole new reason. She’d be running for her life, but eventually she’d have to stop. If it took her final breath, she’d find a way to prove her innocence and see the people behind Paddy’s murder behind bars.

  A barely discernible noise pulled her attention toward the door and brought her to a sitting position. She grabbed for Paddy’s gun, held it in both hands, and pointed it none-too-steadily toward the door. Maybe Brady had come back after all . . . but what if it wasn’t him? What if he’d found the state troopers and told them where she was? She fumbled with the weapon until she clicked the safety off just as the knob turned and the door opened with a quiet snap. Mac held her breath as she laid her finger on the trigger.