Good Cop, Bad Cop

by Lily Harlem

  “Oh…my…fucking…Jesus Christ,” he stammered.

  A delicious, sticky heat seeped into me as he pulsed out his climax. I gripped his butt cheeks, sucked in much-needed air and felt as though our bodies had become one. His chest against mine, our legs entwined and our sweat mixing to a slick sheen that made our flesh slide.

  “Jose,” I said, finding his jawline with my right hand and urging him to face me and not the ceiling. I wanted to look at him, kiss him, devour him all over again.

  He tipped his face downward. A single, fat tear was tracking down his cheek. It dripped onto mine and slid wetly into my ear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jose cursed his emotions. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to show them, hadn’t meant to let the tears come. But they fucking had, and now India might wonder if she’d done something wrong or wasn’t good enough. Or that he felt guilty, maybe even ashamed of what they’d done.

  But the tears weren’t for any of those things.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded for emphasis. “Yeah, just…just got a bit emotional there for a minute.” That explanation would have to do for now. He just hoped she’d buy it.

  “Shit, we’re all getting so close, aren’t we?” she asked. “I didn’t expect…didn’t think something like this would ever happen to me.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t either.” Not again. “But it’s happened, will keep happening if it’s something we all want when this is over.” He’d surprised himself by saying that. Since…well, he’d told himself he wouldn’t get too close to anyone ever again. The pain wasn’t worth it when they left you or… And if they stayed together as a threesome, he’d have to explain his past to her at some point so she’d understand why sometimes he went off into his head and got moody or quiet. Could he go through it all again, tell her everything without letting the emotion of it overtake him as it had before? Could she be the one to finally set him free of the past?

  He didn’t know. Just didn’t fucking know. But that didn’t stop that little seed of hope from being there, waiting to start growing.

  Dillon strode through the forest at the back of the cabin, wanting to make sure he knew what was what in case they had to make an escape on foot. Knowing what surrounded them would also be to their advantage if anyone had a mind to moor their boat farther up the beach out of sight and walk here. He didn’t fancy that, but it was probably the way things would go. Who in their right mind would just turn up at the landing stage knowing someone inside would see them?

  Someone with murder on their damn mind.

  That thought made him shiver.

  The trees were thick, the leaves providing a canopy, and he imagined if it rained barely any droplets would be able to get through. That was all very well if they ended up out here and the heavens decided to open, but that meant the sun wouldn’t penetrate either. It would be gloomy in the forest at best, like it was now, and if they had to hightail it from the cabin and run for safety at night, they’d basically be fucked without flashlights.

  Flashlights aren’t an option. Not if we want to keep out of sight. Shit. I didn’t want crap like this, but damn, she’s got to me, she’s worth helping out.

  He clenched his jaw at how India had so quickly crawled under his skin, Jose’s too if what he’d seen was anything to go by. And for that to happen to his friend, it could only mean Jose was getting better, letting go of the past and moving on.

  Dillon’s thoughts of them made him turn back to the cabin so he could let them know what he had in mind for the next few hours. Someone had to keep a look out and it might as well be him. It wouldn’t be long before night fully descended, but he wasn’t tired, too hyped up on adrenaline, and even though there were the estimated hours before anyone showed up, they couldn’t be too careful. He’d much rather be fucking, busy all night the way he’d hinted at to India, but something was telling him now he shouldn’t.

  He went inside the little house, thankful Jose shot up from the gross orange settee, ready to do battle.

  Jose relaxed once he realized it was Dillon and let out a long shuddering breath. “Fuck!” Jose said. “You shit me up, man.”

  “Been busy, I see,” Dillon said, winking at India, who was flat on her back, legs spread wide, and didn’t blush as he’d expected when he studied the hickey on her inner thigh. “Listen, I think you two ought to be inside tonight while I stay awake and keep watch.”

  India sat upright, not an ounce of embarrassment that her tits and cunt were on show.

  My, my, she’s got comfortable with us so quickly.

  “But no one will be here so soon, surely?” she said, eyes going wide. She raised one hand to her chin and toyed with it. “And I thought you said it was going to be a busy night.” She tilted her head, smiled that damn sexy smile of hers. “Busy in a good way.”

  “It’s just a feeling I’ve got and I’d prefer to be safe than sorry,” Dillon said. “Though you’re right, I doubt anyone will come for a while but rather than all of us fucking ourselves stupid, tempting as that is, it would be risking it. I want to do it this way. I can join you in bed tomorrow for a bit, then Jose can keep watch tomorrow night. Right, Jose?”

  “Yeah.” Jose walked over to his shorts on the floor, grabbed them up and started putting them on. “Whatever works, man.”

  Dillon nodded. “Good. That’s settled then.”

  India gnawed the inside of her cheek. “Do you think…I mean, we’ll be all right, won’t we?”

  Dillon felt a pinch of sympathy for her. After all, she was the target, not them. “Fuck yeah. With us two looking out for you? That guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

  She sighed, its journey from her mouth a staggered stream. “I know you’re obviously good at your job, and I shouldn’t doubt you, but you can understand my worry, can’t you?”

  Jose sat beside her and drew her close. “Considering your bodyguard… Yes, we know how you must feel, but we are not him. We know what we are doing.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and Dillon had the urge to join them, to sandwich her between them so she felt doubly cherished, but he didn’t. He feared if he did his resolve to keep watch tonight would crumble and he’d end up hauling her to bed, him and Jose giving her a treat she’d never seen the likes of before.

  Later, some other time when things are sorted. Yeah, we’ll give her the time of her life all right.

  Dillon had dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt and some sneakers. He stood outside the cabin, arms across his chest, staring out at the sea then along the beach both ways. A night chill had ripened the air, cold on his cheeks as a crafty breeze snuck past, and he shivered at being unaccustomed to such weather since they’d begun their vacation. From the look of the clouds he thought it might rain. Still, he was warm enough that he didn’t need a jacket but cool enough that he would remain alert. He didn’t need to nod off sitting outside the cabin or against a damn tree trunk. He planned to keep moving anyway to prevent sleep creeping up on him.

  They’d eaten a meal earlier scavenged from tinned goods in the kitchen cupboard—stewed meat and vegetables along with some boil-in-the-bag rice. It wasn’t the best of dinners but it had filled a hole.

  Dillon eyed their boat bobbing on waves that were unusually choppy. Yeah, it was going to rain all right. Maybe even a storm was on the way. He thought of Jose in the cabin with India, who was now wearing that sexy, too-big T-shirt, and headed to the boat. Onboard he went down below deck to gather some more clothing for them. Baldy came into his head as he ferreted through drawers, and he wondered whether the guy really was on the level and was doing what he’d promised. Dillon’s hunch instinct said yes, but his suspicious mind whispered different scenarios that could land them all in a heap of stinking shit.

  Or just India.

  Not if I have anything to fucking do with it.

  With stronger determination to keep her safe, Dillon left the boat and went back to the cabin, putting the cloth
ing in a folded pile on the settee. He didn’t want to disturb Jose and India, who were in the bedroom or the bathroom, one of the two—who knew whether Jose would be spilling his guts to her now, explaining his past so she’d understand him better. He didn’t know why he wanted to keep guard already, why he wasn’t in there now enjoying her body along with Jose, but he knew he had to do this. It was part of his make-up to protect.

  Before going back outside, he checked the drawers in the kitchen and found a spare key, which he placed on a gaudy silver drinks trolley beside the front door. The damn thing’s shelves were topped with mismatched pieces of glass, much like crazing paving. Whoever owned this joint had their ass stuck in the 70s. It was one thing being retro but this was tasteless shite.

  He slid the other key into his pocket along with his bullets and patted his gun sitting snugly in his waistband. He wouldn’t need it tonight, hoped he wouldn’t have to use it at all while they were here, but at least he was prepared. Outside, he locked the cabin, looked left to right again then out to sea. The moon was a bright bastard, hanging high above the scattering of clouds, and it provided good light on the ocean. No boats were sailing, and he relaxed his shoulders, deciding to go farther into the forest to check the perimeter and the gates again. Jose was well used to sleeping light in situations like this, so, safe in the knowledge India was protected should he be gone for a while, Dillon entered the tree line.

  He walked for a while before the trees thinned and a clearing came into view. Once at the edge of it, he stared out onto a huge expanse of flat land, the grass cropped as though someone tended to it regularly. In the distance, he made out the dark hulks of low buildings—more holiday cabins, he assumed—orangey squares of light showing people were home now that it was darker than when he’d first passed by here.

  To his right of the fence was an airport tower. He headed closer and came abreast of it in five minutes, a long ribbon of tarmac visible as a landing strip. That made things more difficult. He’d stupidly assumed initially that this was a thin sliver of land that ended at the forest edge and another beach after that, their cabin the only one on a private island, but now he knew differently.

  At least there’s somewhere to run to if things get out of hand.

  For all he knew there were more men after India, the guy in the video being just one of them. If several people converged on the island in search of her, someone in one of those cabins might come in handy in looking after India until more police officers arrived. And that was another thing. There were flaws in their plan. If Baldy didn’t whisper in just a few ears, the authorities, India’s crew and even the press would be on their way, filling this little place with their presence and fucking up their plans.

  He skirted the tower. It was in blackness. It must be manned at specific times—maybe planes were only allowed to land during the day. Not knowing for sure pissed him the hell off, and he gritted his teeth, hating the fact they really were out on a limb here.

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he glanced all around him, expecting someone to be approaching on the other side of the fence, to see what the hell he thought he was doing. But there was no one, so he peered back at the forest with the sudden thought that someone had already arrived by sea, had dealt with Jose and India, and was now coming to find him—if Baldy had been true to his word and told people she was with two men. As far as he could see there was no one there either, so why the uneasy feeling? His stomach muscles clenched and he stared over at the cabins in the distance. Owing to the moonlight he had a clear view should anyone be coming from that direction, but again, no one was there.

  Then a movement in the sky flickered in his peripheral and he looked upward. A damn glider approached on wide, silent wings, but it wasn’t low enough that the pilot intended on landing.

  “What the fuck?” he murmured, watching its approach.

  He patted his gun again for reassurance then widened his eyes at the sight of someone jumping out of the craft. A parachute billowed up, hovering above the jumper, moonlight casting its silver-white glow on one side of the canopy. A red-hot surge of adrenaline kicked its feet in Dillon’s stomach then spread through him, swimming, making his heart rate escalate as well as letting loose questions in his mind. Was this normal for this island, that when the tower wasn’t manned people had to arrive by parachute? That theory sounded ludicrous, even as the thought grew in his mind, and he dismissed it as a crazy wish so he didn’t have to face what he struggled to keep buried in the back of his head.

  That whoever was after India was more cunning, more quick-thinking than he’d thought. He wanted her dead and would do all he could to ensure it happened—if the jumper was, indeed, her stalker.

  “Whoever the fuck it is had better have a damn good explanation for being here,” he muttered, pressing his back to a fence post.

  The jumper landed in the clearing, his side of the fence, and went into an expert roll, just one of many things that bothered Dillon. Not many people had such experience jumping out of planes. This man knew what the fuck he was doing.

  Dillon stood still as the jumper unharnessed himself and dumped his pack on the ground, then gathered his chute and began folding it, returning it to his pack. It took him an estimated three minutes, and Dillon shook his head. Who was this person? Someone with military training?

  The man—and it was a man, Dillon could tell by the way he moved, the bulk of his body—started jogging toward the forest. Toward the cabin.

  Oh no you fucking don’t.

  Dillon pulled his gun from his jeans, attached the silencer and crouched low, aiming for the runner. He squinted to get him in his firing range then, when the man was a few feet from the trees, Dillon took the safety off and fired. Caught the motherfucker in the back.

  But the man didn’t let out a bark of pain, didn’t go down in a tangle of arms and legs. He kept running, entering the woodland, quickly swallowed by the trees.

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ no.”

  Dillon raced to the forest, speeding through, his lungs burning, his throat going dry, fucked if he’d let that guy reach the cabin. He caught sight of him up ahead, wending through trees with expert precision, at odds with the visual Dillon had in his mind of the man in the video. What if it was as he’d briefly thought, that there was more than one man after India? What if the video man was just the note sender, the one who prowled because he looked inconspicuous, no one giving him a second bloody glance? It was some good outfit if that was the case—they knew who to send on what mission, that was for sure.

  Then another thought slammed into his mind. What if this was a two-way attack? Any number of people could be mooring up right now, ready to ambush the cabin from the front while this bastard came in from the back.

  As the tree line behind the cabin came into view, the man slowed then stopped beside a broad trunk. He turned and Dillon just had time to dive to one side and press his body to a wide trunk himself. He peered around it, watching as the man scoped the forest, no doubt looking for him. Dillon and the runner were maybe fifty meters apart and Dillon could just make out the other man wore goggles. Night vision? If that was the case Dillon was fucked if he moved, and India and Jose were fucked if he didn’t.

  Carry on walking, man, so I can chase then shoot your ass.

  His breaths were sharp, violent, and he worried the harsh sound of them would be heard by the man. He tried to hold his breath but couldn’t, his need for air too great. Carefully, he raised his gun and aimed once again, this time the man’s leg as his target. It was obvious this fucker had come prepared, wearing a bulletproof vest, but a nice blast to his knee would render him immobile.

  Dillon pulled the trigger, and the man started, letting out a shout of surprise, his arms flying upward then windmilling as he began his descent to the ground. Before he could retaliate, Dillon rushed toward him, gun aimed, ready to shoot again if the man managed to produce a weapon of his own. He didn’t, seemed intent on flailing where he la
y, his injured leg shaking with spasms.

  Reaching his side, Dillon stared down at him, gun pointing at his forehead. He’d been right. Night vision goggles covered his eyes, and he wore a military-style black bomber suit, a knife handle peeking out of a leg pocket, a gun from another. If this guy was well trained he’d have had his gun out long before now.

  Maybe he hadn’t expected being shot. Maybe he thought he was so clever, so unbeatable, he hadn’t expected anything except getting hold of India and killing her.

  Dillon flared his nostrils. “Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dillon had shut and locked the villa door behind himself and I couldn’t ignore the sense of loss that settled in my guts that he’d gone. It was strange, this need for them both. I never would have believed it possible to want two men with such desperation, such blind passion, at the same time.

  But that’s what was happening. Jose had just fucked me yet I wanted Dillon too. It was as though until I’d had them both, absolute satisfaction would not be mine.

  Oh, and how they were teasing. Suggestions of us all being together as one had been dangled in front of me. Ménage á trois scenarios were dancing in my mind. Impossibly sexy things that had only ever been fantasy were now a real possibility. It was all I could think of, which, of course, was crazy stupid. My life was in danger, someone was out to get me. That should be my chief concern. I knew that as well as I knew my own name. Yet the need to hold and comfort and get the hell inside Jose’s mind was a real, nagging want, as was the intensity of my desire to get Dillon inside me, become part of him again. Hear him call out with pleasure and see the wild, feral look in his eyes when he’d been holding off coming until I did. Damn the man was sexy.

  I looked at the steam rising from the taps. The bath was half full now and the water swirled with the milky skin softener I’d found in the cabinet. I touched my neck, fingered the hickey there, then slid my hand down, over my breast, my belly, and smoothed over the tender skin on my inner thigh. Both men wanted me too. With an urgently possessive need that both thrilled and slightly scared me. How did they manage to share? I couldn’t share either of them with another woman. I wanted them both, to myself. Yet it seemed to come naturally to them.