“You don’t play fair,” she finally managed to choke out.
“What do you mean?”
“Stop talking about sex.”
“I just said this wasn’t about sex—”
“Oh, I heard what you said, but you had to tag on that last line that completely screwed up my ability to think.”
His gaze smoldered as he took another step toward her. “Really now? I have that much of an effect on you? Agent Masterson—always so damn cool and calm.”
Oh like there was any denying it now? “You know you do. You proved that back inside my house. Which is why you’re nuts to try and ask to come back.”
He was so close now, his breath feathered across her face. “I’ll take the couch. I promise to behave myself. I just want you protected tonight.”
Why wasn’t she offended by his admission? Normally she would’ve bristled and snapped out some harsh response at the idea that she needed protecting.
But something inside her softened a little. Clung to the idea that someone wanted to protect her. The concept was almost a novelty. Since she’d lost her parents, she and Aubree had been on their own. Guardians or not. Grace had been the protector.
And now here was Darrius, forcing his way into her life. Forcing her to face fears and memories she didn’t want to revive.
How easy and wonderful would it be to crack a little and accept his help?
She struggled between the yes that hovered on her tongue and the no that was nearly an automatic reply.
Curling her hands into her fists, she finally shook her head.
“I’ll be fine. You know I will. Thanks for checking on me tonight.” She turned to walk back to her house.
Strong fingers curled around her elbow, halting her retreat and spinning her back around into his arms.
“I’ll respect your decision. But before you go…” He caught her jaw with one hand and before she realized what he was doing, he’d covered her mouth with his own.
As his tongue slid past her lips to claim hers, the ground beneath her seemed to lift and fall. Or maybe that was just her legs giving out.
If the first kiss tonight had been her sexual resurrection, this one was its rapture.
The nocturnal noises of the forest slipped into the background and all she became aware of was the taste of him. The increasingly familiar scent of Darrius.
It raced through her blood like wine, making her heady and impulsive. Where she’d agree to almost anything. And maybe he knew it, because he released her mouth just as abruptly as he’d captured it.
“Go.” The one word was ragged from his lips, even as the thumb that swept across her swollen mouth encouraged her to stay. “Get your ass back home and fast, Grace.”
She nodded, still not completely back in reality.
“But know this,” he warned, “even if you’re outright refusing my help tonight, you will be safe.”
Still she didn’t move. Her body hummed and ached, and she could barely remember why she’d come out into the forest in the first place.
Tires. Slashed. Bad guys… Right.
Darrius set her aside and closed his eyes. “Dammit, go. Now. Before I do something I know you’ll regret in the morning.
With clarity returned, Grace let out a strangled moan and then spun on her heels, shifting back to wolf a moment later. Before he could make good on his words, or she begged him to, she rushed back home.
“I need you and Masterson to do surveillance on a POI in Thom Wilson’s death.”
Darrius snapped his attention from the email he was typing, and reached up to catch the piece of paper Larson dropped before it could hit his desk.
Hell, the morning was already off to a busy start.
“Person of interest? Are you saying that the agency believes this may be more than a suicide?”
The alpha’s expression remained unreadable. “At this point we’re still leaning toward a suicide. All the other survivors have remained unharmed. But some prints showed up in the garage that weren’t easily explained. Not family, doesn’t seem to be anyone they knew.”
“Definitely sounds like it’s worth checking into.” And Grace would sure as hell be excited to hear about the POI.
Grace. That’s all it took. That one brief thought of her and he was hurtled back to the night before and that moment on the path. When he’d been flush on top of her, both of them naked.
Jesus. That situation could’ve ended so differently. Like him buried balls deep in her, instead of sending her scurrying off like a damned frightened rabbit.
It had been damn hard not to nudge her thighs apart and slide into her welcome heat. And she would’ve taken him. When he ultimately sent her away he could smell her arousal, could almost feel the slickness of her body wrapped around his dick.
Instead he’d told her to run. Damn smart in retrospect, but at the time it had nearly killed him.
But the danger last night had far outweighed his need for Grace—even if just barely. When he’d been leaving her house, Darrius had sensed someone on her property. He hadn’t seen the slashed tires on Aubree’s car or heard anything more than a rustling in the trees along her property, but that and gut instinct was enough to make him give chase.
“So this guy.” Larson leaned back against the wall to the cubicle. “Wesley Parker, he lives out in Tukwila. Has a record of domestic violence.”
So their person of interest was also a piece of shit. Nice.
Darrius scanned the paper. No jail time or conviction—his wife had dropped charges, but at least had had the sense to divorce him.
“You hand this off to Masterson yet?”
“She knows, and is wrapping up a morning session with Wedgewood. They know to meet out front at the top of the hour.”
Wedgewood, the therapist. Larson didn’t say it, but it was clear what Grace’s session was about—the dark days during the drug trial.
Good. Relief eased through him and he nodded. Actually it was damn good that Grace was finally opening up about it. Maybe it wasn’t to him, but it was to someone.
When Grace joined him in the agency car, the lines around her mouth were tight and her gaze was haunted. Talking to the therapist had obviously dug up some wounds she might not be ready to deal with.
He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel and tried to stop his body’s automatic response to the scent of her. To the primal wolf side of him that immediately rose to the surface.
Forcing aside the lust clouding his mind, he started the car and focused on a safer subject.
“How did your session with Wedgewood go?”
The tension in her body snapped back like a tautly released rubber band.
“You know that’s confidential.”
Maybe not the safer subject, he realized, pulling out into traffic. “Yeah, I realize that. And feel free to tell me to fuck off, but just know I’m asking as someone who cares about you, not as your fellow agent.”
Silence ate up the space between them, before she finally gave a small sigh. “I don’t know, I guess the session was fine. I’d rather not do them at all.”
“Then why do you?”
“Because it was one of the conditions of my returning to work.”
And clearly she resented it. “You can’t blame them. It’s only natural they’d want you to seek help.”
“Oh hell, of course I don’t blame them. Not at all. My God, it’s amazing they even took me back.”
“They’d be crazy not to. You graduated from Charter Academy top of your class,” he said, referencing the training academy all agents had to complete.
But she didn’t respond. If anything, she seemed to draw deeper into herself as she struggled with the demons that obviously tormented her since the experiments.
“Talking to Wedgewood will help. You will heal from this.”
She muttered something under her breath. He wasn’t quite sure what, but it sounded along the lines of not deserving to heal. His chest tightened as
frustration consumed him. He wanted to heal her—wished there was some way to help. Because the guilt she held on to was thick enough to dam a river.
“Anyway, it looks like you may have been on to something, Grace.” Since they were alone, he made no attempt to call her by her last name.
And from the way her expression remained impassive, it didn’t seem to bother her too much.
“How do you mean?”
“Did you see who we’re watching? POI on the Wilson case.”
“Oh right. That.” She smiled slightly, but her attention slid, almost distracted, out the passenger window. “You don’t need to hear me utter ‘I told you so’.”
No, and she wouldn’t anyway. Grace wasn’t the type.
“It’s not a smoking gun. The POI could’ve been any guy who’d come over once or twice.” He threw it out there casually, knowing she’d argue it.
“Or he could’ve killed Thom and was a stupid enough son of a bitch to leave his prints.”
He laughed softly, genuine amusement at the sarcastic drawl in her voice. “I’m glad we got assigned to do this together.”
“Why? Yorioka not giving you the warm and fuzzies?”
“Yorioka’s fine. She does her job well enough.” He pulled the vehicle onto the highway. “But you and I, Grace, we have a chemistry.”
He sensed the tension running through her body without glancing her way.
“I hope you mean in a compatible coworker way.”
“I mean in an every way, sugar.” Now he did look at her, just in time to see her scowl deepen.
“Save your pet names for your girl of the week, Darrius. I thought we covered this last night. I’m not interested in you.”
He made no attempt to hide the knowing smile. “Really? Really? Last night on the trail, I could’ve had you on your back—”
“Oh Christ, will you shut it? We’re at work. I don’t want to discuss this.”
Another quick glance her way showed his comments had gotten beneath her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, he could hear the racing of her heart, and her hands were knotted in her lap.
Deciding to take pity on her, he changed the subject. “How’s your sister?”
Some of the tension left her shoulders and she shook her head. “She’s all right. I drove her home and then called in a favor from a friend who owns a garage. He’s hooking her up with some new tires today.”
“Any idea who’d do this? She have any enemies?” Or is it one of yours, sugar.
“I really couldn’t say. She may not be prom queen, but I don’t think she has anyone with any kind of grudge against her. I mean, Bree’s a good kid. Crap, and almost not a kid anymore,” she muttered almost under her breath.
“How old is she? She looks young.”
“She’s seventeen.”
Still in high school. He couldn’t resist teasing, “So you’re, what, two years older?”
“Five. Which, I’m sure you’ve read my file and already know.”
Christ, she was young. He had almost a decade on her. He could often forgot how young—how much of a rookie—Grace really was. She seemed older than her years and fit in with their team like a seasoned veteran.
Again he had to wonder how the hell she got involved with the experiments.
“There’s the house on the right.” Darrius nodded his head to the gray house, but kept driving. Only at the end of the street did he swing the car around and slide parallel into a spot along the curb.
They were far enough away to avoid being spotted, but with a pair of binoculars trained on the house. Though they barely used the tool—which seemed almost primitive nowadays. With their ability to see longer distances with incredible clarity, they relied more on their animal senses that always gave them the advantage.
Darrius made quick observances, noting the lawn that was probably a foot high with uncut grass and weeds. The gray paint on the house appeared weathered and dated, chipping in places and peeled completely off in others. A couple of rusty bicycles littered the front yard, and what looked like a basketball.
The house stuck out in a neighborhood that was probably middle class. The icing on the cake of their POI’s meth-lab-looking home was the peeling beige station wagon in the driveway that had to be from the seventies.
“This feels a little like profiling,” Grace murmured, her voice laced with amusement. “Shitty house where the POI lives? I mean, I was kind of hoping for a nice condo on Lake Washington or something.”
“If our POI had that kind of money, I doubt he’d have fallen to the level of involvement this case has.”
“Hmm. You’d be surprised. Sometimes money has nothing to do with it.”
Something in her voice—the slight harshness in the word nothing—made him suspect Grace wasn’t talking about their POI anymore. This was personal and likely went back to the experiments. If money hadn’t been her motivator, then what had? Not that he’d ever suspected she’d gone in for the money.
Grace seemed financially stable, and from what he understood and had learned recently, she brought in a nice sum for those glass flowers she blew.
“Do we know if this guy is a shifter?” she asked.
“According to the notes Larson gave me, it looks like it. Wesley Parker. Twenty-nine, not married but has weekend custody of two children.”
“Hmm. Hope his kids have tetanus shots if they’re riding those bikes.”
Darrius laughed, falling into the usual ease they had together. When Grace decided to use it, she had a wicked sense of humor.
“I’m trying to figure out whether the guy is home—” he jerked his chin toward the house, “—because really, does that car even look drivable?”
“Maybe…with some jumper cables and duct tape.”
“Yup. Definitely spotting some silver tape on the front fender.”
“Oh jeez.” She laughed softly and then glanced his way. “Did you eat breakfast?”
His smile grew, knowing where this was going, and he met her gaze. She’d relaxed a bit, seemed more in her element and was back to the usual Grace he knew on assignment.
Often one of the agents would bring breakfast or snacks along when they knew they’d have an early morning or stakeout. He hadn’t known they’d get assigned to do surveillance, but he’d brought in breakfast anyway this morning.
“I had a protein shake before I left his morning.” He reached behind him and snagged a brown paper bag. “But I picked up some maple bars from Top Pot on the way in.”
Her eyes lit up even as her mouth compressed. “I thought I smelled something pretty awesome. But, donuts? Really? Isn’t that a little clichéd for what we do? Not to mention a total sugar rush.”
“Says the woman who denies making oatmeal raisin cookies.” He grabbed one of the bars and cocked an eyebrow. “And are you complaining? ’Cause don’t think I won’t eat the whole damn bag of these and not share.” To make his point, he licked the glaze off that had spilled down the side of one bar.
He hadn’t meant the move to be sexual, but the small hitch in her breathing didn’t go unnoticed. Nor the dilation of her eyes—which he suspected had nothing to do with donuts.
“Yes. I don’t doubt it.” Her words sounded choked as she snagged the bag from him. She lowered her gaze from his mouth and pulled out a donut.
Satisfaction slid through his blood and he made no attempt to hide the arrogant smile that curved his lips. She could deny it all she wanted, but she wasn’t immune to him by any means. Grace apparently hadn’t been able to erase last night from her mind any more than he had. Though if she had any idea of his smug thoughts right now, she’d likely slap the smile right off his face.
Darrius turned his attention back to the house, but there hadn’t been any movement since they’d arrived. Maybe the POI wasn’t home. Which seemed more like a possibility if he had a nine-to-five job. Though looking at the house, the POI didn’t exactly scream suburban dad who worked five days a week at a local bank.
&
nbsp; Grace made a noise of satisfaction, then murmured, “This maple bar is good, no matter how damn bad it is for me. Thanks.”
“Anytime, sugar.” He finished off his donut and glanced her way. “Hey, how well did you get to know Thom Wilson?”
Darrius hadn’t realized he was going to even ask the question, but it had been rolling around in his head for days now. Maybe he’d finally asked because they were so at ease now, so relaxed and back to the norm.
But clearly Grace didn’t like going there mentally, because the tension was visible as her shoulders stiffened and her brows drew together.
“I knew him from the experiments. That was it.”
“Did you ever talk after? When you were both freed?”
She hesitated, and he could sense she was debating answering honestly. “Once.”
He didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. Why lie about that. But would she elaborate? “Did he contact you?”
She gave a slight nod—seemed to be focusing extra hard on their POI’s house as she ate her donut.
“He was depressed. Needed someone to talk to who understood what he was going through.”
Crap. The donut he’d just eaten revolted in his stomach. Her words didn’t bode well for ruling out suicide, and if Larson were to figure out she’d met with Thom…
“And I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I’ll never believe it was a suicide. Thom Wilson would never kill himself.” She paused and seemed to be struggling with her own demons. “You don’t know what we went through—how every day was just a struggle to not die. We were survivors.”
The last statement was almost inaudible, but he’d heard it and she was absolutely right. It was pretty much a damn miracle any of the volunteers had survived the experiments.
Seeming to lose her appetite, Grace chucked her half eaten donut back into the bag.
Seeing her now, here, so alive and determined was such a potent reminder at how close they’d been to losing her. His heart stuttered a bit just thinking about it, imaging the seat next to him empty, or permanently filled with another agent. It disturbed him on the deepest level to think about what if she hadn’t been rescued in time.
Savage Betrayal: Savage, Book 2 Page 9