Silent for several seconds, his gaze latched onto a faraway point in the darkness ahead of them. MaryJo held her breath, praying he would continue.
"When I think about that EMT—working so hard to keep a stranger alive, while the driver was breaking speed records to get him to the hospital-" He shook his head. "Those guys have families at home. Full time jobs. It was a Friday night. They could've been home . . . enjoying life. Up late, drinkin’ a beer, watching a ball game. . ."
He turned to her, his expression bleak, and a chill skated over her. "Instead, they were on duty that night. They were hanging out at a fire station . . . for no pay . . . waiting for these horrible calls to come in. They headed out on a freezing, dark night. And they saved someone like my brother. So, I guess . . . that's why I do it."
"Travis—you're going to make me cry." The moment she uttered the words, she sensed him withdrawing. Staggered by his explanation, instinct told her there was more to his story. Someone like my brother. Keeping her gaze firmly planted on the road, she reached over and squeezed his hand, where it lay fisted on his leg. "Is your brother-"
"Alive and kicking."
His clipped tone suggested she should stop questioning him. Releasing his unyielding fist, she deftly changed the subject to the previous night's basketball game. Accustomed to working with men, MaryJo knew pushing never worked. Prying, even less. Not that she wasn't curious as hell about him—about his relationship with his brother. Was Travis merely protective of his privacy? Or was he a guy who walled himself in? There was a depth to him she sensed he didn't like revealing. It wasn't right to press him. She was starting to recognize his limits. He'd clearly reached one tonight.
"Thanks for letting me come with you," he said, breaking the awkward silence. "I shouldn't have come over without calling."
"I’m happy for the company," she admitted.
"I was supposed to pull a shift at the rescue squad tonight, but they already had enough volunteers," he explained. "Then I should’ve headed home . . . to work on my software release, but somehow, I found myself driving to your place."
"I’m glad you did." Despite his obvious confusion over exactly why he'd stopped, she acknowledged the foolish burst of happiness his words delivered. Okay—so she was proving to be a little weak when it came to him. After tonight, you need to toughen up. Maybe not be so available . . . if he ever decided to call. "I had a great time Saturday night."
"Me, too," he said after the slightest hesitation. "I still can’t believe we’re going on a stakeout."
Though she noticed the swift change of subject, MaryJo chose to focus on the positive. He’d stopped to see her and he was with her now—even if his only interest was the experience of being on a stakeout. She'd worked with her dad so long, she took it for granted. It was her Tuesday night job, not something to get overly thrilled about. But through Travis' eyes, she realized tonight would be fun.
"Will your dad be there tonight?"
Focusing on traffic as she merged onto the Central Artery, she bit her lip. "I think so. He usually brings Maddie—or I should say Madeline forces him to bring her along. They’ll be set up somewhere so he can get a different vantage point. There'll be a few others out there. Undercover." Glancing from the road for a moment, she met his stare, still a little giddy he was actually there. That he’d showed up. To see her. "Would you like to be the lookout?"
Travis’s eyes widened. "Hell, yeah. I want to do whatever you’ll let me."
"If something goes down, I have to make sure I get good pictures." Gorgeous, blue eyes looked a little too hopeful. "Lots of nights, nothing happens, Travis," she felt compelled to add.
Her stakeouts were nothing like cop shows on TV. Typically, they were exercises in frustration. Boredom. Hours spent watching a building. Or a person. Who might spend an entire evening doing nothing. Working in an office. Or watching TV at home. Or plopped at a bar having way more fun than she was. MaryJo preferred the ops where she got to do something. Pretend to be jogging around the block. At least that kept her awake . . . and in shape. Climb a wall. Climb a tree for a better vantage point. Of course, being outside was colder. Or hotter, depending on the time of year. Or rainier.
Travis leaned forward in his seat as she slowly circled the block. "Are we here? Is this it?"
"Building on the right," she acknowledged. "My dad is in that van we just passed around the corner."
"The white one?" His head whipped around for another look. "But—that's an HVAC truck-"
She smiled over his eagerness. "Placards. We have them for any service you can imagine. They're magnetic. Whatever might be logical for the neighborhood we're in, or the time of day . . . that sort of thing."
"Computer geeks like me don't get to do stuff like this." He turned back, the boyish eagerness returned to his face. "This is gonna be wicked."
"Dad has lots of computer geeks on staff," she said. "They do firewall testing. Ethical hacking."
"To see how well you hold up under an attack?"
"You'd be amazed how many requests he gets from companies wanting to test their systems."
Travis shrugged out of his jacket. "I wonder if we do that."
"Someone on your IT staff probably does, but a consultant finds exposures you haven't thought of. Ethical hackers find the weaknesses before your enemies. But it's an ongoing process."
"What do you mean?"
"You can't find every vulnerability," she explained as she jockeyed into a spot on the opposite side of the street, the warehouse now half a block in front of them. "It's not an exact science. If you hired me, I'd find a few problems and close the loop. Then, you could hire someone else and he'd find things I missed—or new exposures that didn't exist the first time."
"Wouldn't our own IT guys know our system best?" Travis released his seatbelt, intent on getting comfortable.
"Internal IT is a great resource," she agreed, "but, no one knows it all. Things change rapidly in this field." Warming to her pet hobby, she slid him a cautious glance to check for boredom, but he was listening intently. "It's easy to get complacent. Forget to patch a problem that leaves you vulnerable. Internal IT tends to fall back on the premise that nothing's happened, so nothing ever will."
Shifting in his seat, he tossed his coat on the backseat. "I can see that," he admitted. "We all think we know our own systems better than anyone else."
"You're going to need that pretty soon." She nodded to his coat. "Once I shut the engine off, it gets cold fast."
"Maybe we can keep each other warm," he suggested with a hopeful smile.
A blush stealing over her face, she was grateful for the darkness. "As long as I can keep my eyes . . . and my brain completely focused on the building, that could be an option."
"A challenge?" Travis grinned. "I accept."
"Just remember my dad—the former cop—is parked right around the corner." Accepting the binoculars she handed to him, he sighed. "Way to kill the mood, MaryJo."
TRAVIS HAD IMAGINED he might grow bored. But three hours in, he was still fascinated, despite the fact that not much had happened. Unfortunately, his fascination stemmed more from the confirmation that MaryJo was funny. And smart. Sighing, he lifted the binoculars to his eyes, more to avoid staring at her than for observation purposes. Mariela chewed her bottom lip when she was engrossed in a task—as she was now, staring through the windshield with an intensity that reminded him of—him. He'd discovered that knowing she chewed her bottom lip was making him crazy to feast on it himself.
Her lashes—were ridiculously long. Her nose, he'd decided an hour earlier, was actually adorable, as was the earlobe peeking out from the funny, knit cap she'd tugged over her beautiful hair. Travis also learned he possessed more self-discipline than he'd ever given himself credit for. He’d been trapped in MaryJo's car, her intoxicating scent surrounding them, and he'd managed not to jump her. Yet.
Each subtle movement teased him with her clean, citrusy fragrance. Each time she shifted, Tra
vis grew a little drunker. His vision of MaryJo—warm, silky skin, her scent on him—under him—made him ache with wanting her. If he managed to survive this night, Travis had the troubling suspicion that for all eternity, the scent of lemons would likely trigger a boner.
When she sat up straighter in the seat beside him, he braced himself for the intoxicating hit. "What's wrong?" He asked the question through gritted teeth, annoyed that she seemed oblivious to his edgy arousal.
"Sean wants a closer visual." Listening to the directions coming from her earpiece, she turned to him, eyes wide. Pulling the mic down to her mouth, she confirmed they would apparently be taking a walk around the block. At this point, Travis was eager for fresh air. To clear his head of her. Maybe freeze his ass off for a few minutes—if only to experience pain in a different extremity.
"Okay—we're gonna take a spin around the block, coming from the opposite direction," she explained. "When we get close to the warehouse, we need to create a diversion . . . so Maddie and the guys can get a closer look." Tugging the ski cap from her head, a cloud of silky hair tumbled free.
His heart stuttering, Travis realized he was actually sweating. "W-what are you doing? Won't you be cold?"
"I need to look as though we've just left that bar on the corner," she explained, fluffing her hair around the earpiece to hide it. "So—I need to look semi pickup-able." Turning to face him, her eyes lit with a flare of excitement. "Here's what I'm thinking. We sort of stumble together-" She paused. "How good are you at playing drunk?"
Travis smiled, visualizing the scene she wanted to play. "I think I can handle that. You want me to be loud? Or just having trouble walking?"
She nodded. "Loud. And maybe you can sort of fall into me. I'll be holding you up. While that's happening, Maddie and the guys on team two can do whatever my dad is asking of them."
They rehearsed the plan again, standing next to her car. Travis was so relieved to be breathing fresh, wintry air he didn't notice when she unzipped her coat. Until she removed it. Then, she unwound the scarf from her slender, kissable throat. Dumbfounded, he watched as she shimmied her turtleneck over her head.
"What are you doing?" His voice was ragged as he caught a flash of her bra. Hell—now he was freezing his ass off and he was hard again.
"Changing clothes," her muffled voice answered as she emerged with an eye-popping, low-cut black sweater. "I had this on over the turtleneck," she explained, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be stripping in a dark alley on a brisk, February night. "I had a feeling the night might go down like this."
"Y-you looked fine-" Travis was having trouble capturing his disjointed thoughts. He'd just witnessed a fantasy come to life—and he hadn't had time to enjoy it.
She shot him a look suggesting he had a shortage of brain cells. "Really? You'd pick up a woman in a turtleneck and thug cap?"
This particular woman? Hell, yes. Unequivocally, yes. Every day and twice on Sunday—yes.
A quick shiver rippled through her. "We don't want to be memorable. Even as a diversion, we want to look like we're supposed to be there—like we're part of the scenery. Otherwise, the target might get suspicious."
Right. Travis nodded, his pulse pounding less ferociously as his body finally, thankfully began to chill in the blustery wind. No way in hell was this night not going to be memorable. "Got it."
Tucking her protectively against him felt completely natural as they rounded the darkened corner. Frowning when he felt her shiver, he wondered how often MaryJo found herself all alone in darkened alleys. Damn it, she was freezing in that slinky sweater. It was likely below zero with the wind chill—and she was worried about appearing authentic. "Tell me when to start," he muttered.
Her fingers slipping through his, Travis felt her tense beside him as they rounded the final corner. The seedy bar they were allegedly coming from was on the right. Jeez—what a dive. They paused for two guys who stepped into their path. MaryJo's fingers pressed a warning. Slowing up, he watched them closely. One of them paused to give her a leering smile. Like a fuse lighting, Travis' prickly awareness of them morphed to outrage. Forgetting the roles they were supposed to play, he shoved her behind him, drawing himself up to his full height. Six foot three, jackass. His body tightening to a fist, he took a threatening step toward the more obnoxious of the pair. "Is there a problem?"
"Travis? Come on, babe. Let's go." MaryJo tugged his hand.
"Chill, Travis," the shorter guy mimicked before lighting a cigarette, the match light flaring to frame his face in the murky darkness. He offered his pack to the jerk—his stare still challenging him. Jackass finally took the bait, before turning and heading in the opposite direction. Staring after them, Travis finally allowed himself to be pulled toward the corner where MaryJo crossed the street diagonally.
"Jeez, way to stay out of trouble," she whispered. "We're supposed to be not causing a scene."
"Maybe if you had more clothes on, that might be easier." Dragging in a harsh breath, he wondered fleetingly whether he'd lost his mind. In the space of an evening, he'd morphed into an undisciplined, jealous idiot.
She smothered a laugh, clearly unimpressed with his observation. "Start acting drunk," she reminded. "I can see the van. We're getting closer."
Surprised by the residue of anger over the non-exchange in front of the bar, Travis altered his gait, stumbling a little, but clutching MaryJo tighter against him. She was a little too careless with her personal safety. Tripping up the curb, he used it as an opportunity to get a faceful of her scented hair. She smelled so damned good. Fresh, clean. Cold. But the slender body tucked against his was addictively warm. Pliable. An amazing body. Like a wizard, his brain conjured the images that had been seared into his retinas. Holding her up in his shower. Hips under his fingertips. Freckled shoulders. The transparent bra and panties-
"We need to get a little closer," she urged, tightening her grip on his hand as she led him down the block.
He continued to jostle her, making her stagger just a bit, careful not to let his full weight knock her to the ground. There were several people on the street, making it difficult to determine who was working for MaryJo's dad. Travis noticed an older woman with a tiny dog on a leash and wondered whether she might be the infamous Madeline. She appeared to be walking briskly with the yipping dog guiding her direction. But to a trained eye, she seemed to be steering the poodle closer to the warehouse door, where twin blocks of light spilled onto the sidewalk from the windows. Her Styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in her hands, probably to keep them from freezing.
"Come here," he slurred. Unsuspecting of his motives, MaryJo tumbled back against him.
"Babe, let's go," she urged as they staggered past the woman who was likely her father's girlfriend. "We're almost to the car," she announced for the benefit of the few stragglers on the street as they continued to stumble past.
"Not yet," he muttered. Pulling up around the corner, a half block past the warehouse they were supposed to be watching, he pulled her closer, drawing her into the front of his coat when he felt her trembling. "You're going to freeze to death."
"Travis—I'm fine-"
Cutting off what would surely be a ridiculous comment about why she had to freeze her ass off for the cause, he covered her mouth with his. She was still murmuring when he kissed her. Starting with her lush bottom lip—since it had been torturing him for the better part of the evening, he nipped it with his teeth. MaryJo shuddered against him, this time having nothing at all to do with the cold. Working slowly, with light, grazing kisses, he settled her back against the building. He'd wanted to toy with her, tease her—until she was frantic with the need to get closer. Until she could no longer think about anything but him. Until all she could think about was this. The unstoppable, magnetic pull he felt every damn time he was near her.
The only problem with his plan was his own inability to steel himself to her response. Too quickly, he experienced the overwhelming need for more. T
aking the kiss deeper, he was flooded with satisfaction. Followed by bone-melting heat when she began kissing him back. Her hands tugging desperately through his hair sent a fully-loaded message scorching down his back as she pulled his head down for more.
"Mariela." Dazed, he pressed his mouth to the hot, wild pulse at her throat, before drifting lower to a perfect, fragile collarbone. Her throaty moan was a needy punch to his hard, hurting groin. She was so good. So hot. So wildly undisciplined. Finally lifting his head, his breathing was ragged as he stared into passion drugged eyes that likely mimicked his own. "I just rescued you from two thugs. You owed me that." ***
It took a full second for MaryJo to remember where they were. To remember who she was. To realize she was completely, utterly drowning in the sensual heat of Travis' eyes. Not even the possibility of freezing to death could get her brain jump-started. "We should-"
"Evenin', MaryJo. That wasn't quite the diversion I had in mind, but I guess it worked." Sean Mullaney's gravelly voice shattered the sexually charged, nearly combustible atmosphere hovering between them. "Perhaps you'd care to introduce me to your friend, here. Then—we can go around the corner and resuscitate Maddie."
Startled, she felt Travis' hands, warm as they sought hers, then firm as they pried her fingers from the lapels of his coat. Her stunned gaze never leaving his suddenly boyish grin, she managed to unearth her own smile, trying not to think how the situation must appear to her father. "Dad, I'd like you to meet Travis Lockwood." ***
"So? I'm dying here—what did Sean say?" Alyssa’s amused voice cut through MaryJo’s muddled thoughts. "His daughter practically having sex up against a building. That must have been some introduction, Mariela."
"We were just kissing, thank God." And thinking about sex, she mentally added. If Sean hadn’t shown up when he did, she would have been hard-pressed to make it back to her car. Where she would have taken him in the backseat.
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