Savage Rendezvous

by R. T. Wolfe

  Lifting his hands, he placed them on each of her cheeks and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. She wanted to close her eyes, to pretend this was real and everything was okay.

  "I've kept things from you. Important things," she continued.

  He pulled back. She knew he would. Should.

  His tone wasn't gentle. "I was there when we freed those girls from those rooms. I saw. I know."

  It was true. Her brows dropped in deeper confusion. "I hated you for keeping your sightings of Zheng from me, but I've kept my most important secrets from you."

  She took his hands from her face and pushed him away once again. Taking off her coat, she laid it over his on the banister. She turned her back to him, then lifted her shirt with her reluctant hands and gathered the material against her chest. He'd seen her back a hundred times, but this was profoundly different. Disgusting.

  "My scars." She stood tall, taking advantage of not having to look him in the eye and made herself say it right. "Jun Zheng put these on my back. Every one of them. He liked it. I think it gave him more pleasure than if he'd raped me."

  She felt alone and dirty in a way she'd never experienced. Tired and alone and defeated. He stayed behind her, and her eyes moved back and forth along his floor, waiting, wondering, her lungs panting like a scared dog. His long arms came around her, took her shirt and pulled it back over her head. She could hardly blame him. The warmth of his chest covered the scars, and his arms curled around, pulling her into him. She dipped her cheek against his bicep, staring at the fire tattoo on his forearm. Oddly, the flames were comforting.

  The waiting was killing her. Slowly, she turned. His face was wet. "I'm here to say I understand if you don't—"

  "You're messy." He smiled and kissed the tears on her cheek with his soft lips. "And bossy." He kissed the other side. "You're irrational and insecure. It takes you four bites to eat a single kernel of movie popcorn. You won't get in your rusty car before hanging your feet away from the door to bang the snow and salt from your boots. You throw your clothes over every inch of the floor, but your bathroom is organized like the shelves of a big chain drugstore, and you never have a single dirty dish in your sink."

  The tears flowed freely now. What did any of this mean?

  "You are compassionate and devoted." He kissed an eyelid, then the other. "I want every part of you to be mine. To be my wife."

  It might have been the sound of the four-letter word coming from his magnificent voice. It may have been time away from him. His scent, his voice, his arms. It may have been sixteen years of stuffing her insecurities inside her, in her badge. Whatever it was, her legs gave out from beneath her. He must have sensed she was faltering because his long arms were there, scooping her up.

  A ballad of emotion played throughout her body, shaking her until she was sobbing. It was the first time anyone had ever seen her truly cry, and it was like making up for lost time. Her shoulders shook and air sucked into her lungs. This couldn't be real, not in her life. She was supposed to spend her life as a survivor, keeping anything that resembled love as far away from her damaged heart as she could keep it. And here he was, carrying her up the stairs of their home to their bed. The love between them overwhelmed and exhausted her.

  He whispered in her ear, "You're safe now." The nearly baritone voice she craved. She was safe. She was home.

  * * *

  It was Duncan's turn to wake with a jolt. Somewhere in his unconsciousness, he realized she was gone. Opening his eyes wide, he placed his hand on the pillow next to him, then the sheets. The slight scent of lavender remained, but the sheets were cool. He scooted to the edge of her side of the bed and looked down at the floor. Her clothes were still in a heap. The shower wasn't on. He hadn't had the chance to tell her she was being followed.

  Stuffing the panic, he forced himself to think clearly in his half-conscious state. She no longer had a drawer of extra clothes. Nothing in the closet. And she hadn't carried in a bag when she came to him. Ripping the covers from his lower half, he took off for the stairs in his boxer briefs to check the only other place she could be yet still unharmed.

  He took the stairs along the back of the house two at a time, three when he reached the bottom of each set. He heard splashing before he hit the basement level. Relief consumed him as he walked the rest of the way, his lungs sucking air.

  She'd put on one of the suits from the changing room. Muscled swimmer's arms and legs pumped through the water before putting on the brakes and standing. Her smile sent palettes of warm colors throughout him. She'd slept curled into him much of the night before, something she'd hardly ever done. Now, the relief of seeing her in one piece and in... seeing her woke parts of him that weren't beneath fabric that would conceal his condition.

  "You're happy to see me." She wasn't looking at his face. When her gaze finally made the trek to his eyes, her expression fell. "You're flushed. What's the matter?"

  "Andy and I found something."

  "What do you mean, 'found something'?" she asked as she pulled herself from the water.

  He took one of the towels folded neatly in his white wicker shelving and walked to her, wrapping it over the goose bumps that were already forming. He could smell the scent of her hair even through the chlorine. His eyes clamped shut. She was here.

  "Duncan?" She looked up at him.

  "You're beautiful." He kissed her forehead. "And mine." He dropped to her lips and laid his on them, savoring, memorizing.

  "And I love you," she added. Her big gray eyes were open and eager. "I want to pretend I don't have a job so that I can stay right here, but I can't be late and you haven't told me what you and Andy found."

  Right. He had an eight o'clock appointment scheduled himself. Reality. He allowed himself one more kiss before breaking the news to her. "Someone's been on my property, close to the house."

  "That doesn't mean it's Zheng."

  She'd read his mind, of course.

  "I don't exactly live in a location where someone might need to cut through my yard. That's not all of it."

  Her eyes traveled the length of his body. "I can't focus when you're dressed like this, and I really need to get something to eat and get to work. You got anything in your kitchen?"

  She wasn't taking this seriously enough, but the way she was looking at him took away his sensibility. She was here. "Our kitchen," he said and let the corner of his mouth lift.

  She blinked rapidly three times and lit another smile that evaporated the last ounce of rational thought. He dipped his lips to her ear. "I want to paint you," he growled. "I want to paint you dripping wet."

  A pronounced flutter shook her body.

  "And, no. I have breakfast pizza, doughnuts and cinnamon crunch bagels. Nothing you would consider food."

  "How about this, Duncan," she purred over her shoulder as she headed toward the stairs. "I'll let you paint me in our bedroom after I put in a day's work and have lunch with you to discuss what we've found. You pick the time and place."

  "We've? You found something, too?"

  "It's a hunch."

  He followed her, watching her firm backside move beneath his towel as she climbed the stairs.

  "But it's better than footprints in the woods," she argued.

  Chapter 12

  Nickie wasn't sure whether they were engaged or not. Her finger stood bare. She didn't need a ring, but wasn't she supposed to have ring? People did that.

  She sat in a booth at Mikey's Bar and Grill with lemon ice water and a waitress on hold. The wooden bench seat was older than the hills and the matching tabletop coated with eight-thousand layers of lacquer. At least the patrons here obeyed the no-smoking laws.

  How does a woman ask a guy something like this? "Hey, we engaged, or what?"

  "Where's my damned ring?" They weren't a conventional couple. Nothing about them individually or as a couple had ever been conventional.

  But he wanted her. Literal and metaphorical scars and all.

 
; She wore her belt that came with all the gadgets, making it weigh heavy on her waist. Cuffs, gloves, baton, pepper spray, each with its own heavy leather compartment. And her gun, of course. Feeling especially pleased and cocky that morning, she'd gone to her townhouse and changed into a pair of her tighter, light brown slacks and a snug blouse. What would he have her wear for the painting she promised him? Anything?

  He walked through the door, and her belt and the ring left her mind. She was going to be his wife. It was supposed to make her want to run the other direction. To fight it and fight him. Except he was Duncan Reed. He wasn't wearing anything special. In fact, his hair was windblown and not in that good way. She was safe. Home. Forever. For a second, she clamped her eyes shut to keep them from leaking again.

  When she opened them, he was standing next to her. She stood as he ringed his fingers around one of hers. Her heels were tall enough that they were nearly nose-to-nose. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I think I forgot to say good morning today."

  "Right," she stuttered. "You'll have more chances."

  He smiled and ran a hand through the top of his messy hair. The waitress must not have agreed that it was a mess, because as she approached, Nickie seemed to disappear. If the gal swayed her hips any farther on her way to the table, she might break something.

  "Welcome to Mikey's," she all but sang before Duncan had a chance to make it to his seat. "What can I get for you, darlin'?"

  Darlin'? Nickie didn't get a darlin'. She raised a single brow high as she assumed the gal wasn't referring to food.

  He knew. He had to see it, but he didn't flinch. Looking at the menu, he ordered. "I'll have a bacon burger with cheddar and fries, please. Nickie, dear? Have you ordered?"

  Dear? Snort. It was like the waitress suddenly realized she was there. "Side salad and a turkey wrap. No mayo." The waitress thanked him and swayed away. She left the menus. "I think you either mesmerized her enough to make her forget them, or her phone number is written in red lipstick on the inside."

  He opened the menu. "No phone number. She must be mesmerized."

  He leaned in and dropped his gaze to her lips. An electric current pulled her over the table. The scent of him could be her undoing.

  "Good morning," he said, even though it was afternoon. "You go first. What did you find?"

  "Someone broke into my town house."

  As if he stepped into the sun, she could swear his pupils constricted. "What? When?"

  "Yours was the first number I wanted to call." She needed him to know this.

  "Who? How?"

  "Through a window. Must have jimmied the lock. Good job at it, too. I couldn't find a single mark."

  "You bought locking bars for your windows."

  "You've been watching me?"

  "I went by your place last night. Andy and I did some digging."

  She hadn't realized how close they'd leaned in as they spoke, but his comment made her pull back against the wooden booth. "You mean you did some illegal hacking with your brother."

  "Potato, potahto."

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head twice before asking, "And you found something important enough to come looking for me at my place?"

  "We searched through pictures linked to the list of people you freed or arrested from Moody's white house. Andy and I found shots of Zheng, more like photo bombs of him in backgrounds."

  He'd been researching for her sake, even when he didn't know if they would ever be together again. "I love you." She let her heart guide her tongue.

  The comment made him blink. It wasn't like her to say so. Not in a booth at a public bar and grill. He slid his hand halfway across the table. She met him in the middle. His fingers were still chilly from the upstate New York afternoon and should have been soft and smooth from his light work as an artist. But she knew much more about Duncan Reed. His love for working on old cars. The house remodeling and furniture building he did with his uncle. They sat for a moment, speaking without talking.

  "You still haven't asked me." His expression seemed to follow her subject change. "An ultimatum, yes. But never the question."

  "It hasn't been the right time."

  Now, that would really make her crazy. "Slippery Jimbo saw him in town three days ago, and he left handcuffs attached to the four posts on my bed."

  He looked like she'd slapped him. His face turned ghostly, and he stood from their booth, walking briskly to the end of the restaurant, then back again. As he sat down, she read the blood thirst in his eyes. She'd seen him lose his temper before. It wasn't pretty.

  "I'll kill him." His fingers clenched and released, the veins in his neck pulsed. "I'll choke him with my hands."

  She got it. The need. "He thinks I'm still scared of him."

  His eyes darted to hers. "He's been following you. I'm not sure how long. At least from the time of last year's Vegas bust."

  "The time you spotted him and weren't sure if he was a civilian or a suspect."

  "These are new." He pulled a few four-by-six shots from the inside of his pocket. "The Seneca Hotel and Casino. This is one of the johns arrested from Zheng's operation at Moody's white house. It's dated months before. See? The john was attending a poker tournament and was doing well enough to be tagged in the shot for the newspaper."

  Zheng stood, glaring at the man like he'd been waiting for an overdue meeting. "This one was found in Moody's security camera. It was taken the afternoon before the white house bust."

  The cold left quickly, and she took off her coat, letting it crumple behind her in the booth. She pushed her chin, cracking her neck one way, then the other. "I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm not scared."

  "I'd rather you would be."

  Shaking her head, her eyes rolled before she remembered to tell them not to. "I know, I know. I meant, I'm smarter now, Duncan. He uses brutality and fear. Easy tactics on young teens. I'm not a young teen anymore. He doesn't know the first thing to do with an adult trained to fight. And who carries a Smith and Wesson M&P .45."

  "I'm going to kill him," he repeated as he folded his shaking hands.

  She sighed. There was no sense to argue. No telling him he needed to stay out of trouble, out of jail. "Not if I beat you to it."

  He leaned back and seemed to assess her expression. "It looks like we are at an impasse. Until that time comes, I'm afraid I'll need to remain closer to you than you'll like. I'd prefer to start this evening. We should tell our families of our decision. They will be hurt if we don't."

  "At this point I doubt you could be closer than I'd like. However, there is something I need to do before we share our decision with anyone. It will be the last course of action regarding my past that I do alone. That I need to do alone. I'm afraid it's going to postpone your plans until tomorrow night. Please."

  The look in his eyes turned from comprehension to understanding to reluctant acceptance. She loved this man.

  * * *

  Nickie shifted her beater into park but didn't turn off the engine. Fourteen years had passed since the last time she set foot on this property. Not much had changed. One of the enormous upright evergreens that lined the straight drive was missing. Disease? Storm? It must have happened recently as her parents would have replaced it with one the exact size regardless of the cost.

  Inhaling deeply, she assessed her reactions to being here. A weighted cloud not only hung over her but filled the air she breathed. After all she'd accomplished. All the changes she'd made in her life, she stared at the expansive manor feeling as if no time had passed.

  Pulling out her phone, she texted Duncan as she'd promised she would. 'the drive was good. peaceful. i'm here.'

  A wrought iron gate stood between eight-foot tall brick walls. It didn't open for her, but she knew she wasn't undetected.

  Still in her hand, her phone buzzed making her jump. 'thinking of you... my nickie.'

  The corners of her mouth lifted, and she pocketed her cell. She opened the car door to a warm bre
eze. As warm as a breeze gets at the end of February in Maryland. Approaching the buzzer, she pulled out her badge. Since there was really no sense in ringing, she just held it up and spoke. "Detective Nickie Savage here to see Mr. and Mrs. Monticello. I have an appointment." It was a lie, but her parents would be here at this hour and would expect nothing less of her.

  Noiselessly, the gate rolled back. She got in her warm car and eased her way down the drive. As if it was alive, the figurative cloud followed her. The job taught her to notice things her teenage eyes never would. Security cameras in the trees. With a place this size, it made sense.

  They'd added enormous pillars that flanked the porchless entrance. They were made of the same stones that covered every inch of the vast building. More cameras dotted the roof like jewels in a crown. Her teenage eyes had also never done justice to the enormity of the property. It wasn't a manor. It was a castle.

  Ignoring the obvious flow to parking, she followed the circle drive to front and center and parked between the pillars. As she got out of her car, she locked the doors. She never locked her doors. Why did she do that?

  Shrugging, she clicked her boots along the stone path to the entrance. It opened before she reached it. A man she didn't recognize bowed slightly and gestured for her to come in. The foyer was just as she remembered. Cathedral ceilings that lifted all the way past the third floor. The balconies for the second and third floor landings had the same wrought iron banisters and spindles as the gate. Since the help didn't offer to take her coat, she slipped out of it as she followed him along the intricate tiled floor. This was new. Different colored tiles formed a falcon with outstretched wings and covered the entire area.

  The familiar sensation of a cool, damp basement engulfed her. Over the years, she'd forgotten it. But just like the cloud, it came back as if it had never been absent. It must be from all the stone.

  He brought her to one of the rooms her parents had never allowed her to enter. For her, that meant she had kept trying until she'd found a way in. Like everything else, there was nothing of interest in here... other than the thrill of breaking in where she wasn't allowed.