Out of the Mist (Can't Help Falling Book 1)

by Lauren Giordano

  The closer he got, the more frantic Matt felt. His limbs refusing to cooperate, he staggered the last few steps. "Jules-" His voice choking, he tugged her against him. "You're . . . okay? The IV— it didn't . . . get near you, right?"

  "It was capped off," she reminded, allowing him to examine her hand, his thumb stroking the sticky spot where tape had hidden the needle from Tori. "I'm fine." When she slid her arms around him, her warmth filled him with strength. Absorbing a violent shudder, Julie stilled. "Are you okay?"

  "What were you thinking? You— confronted her? That wasn't part of the plan." His mouth sought the comforting hollow of her throat. "You just took ten years off my life."

  "I promise I won't do it again." When her lips grazed his cheek, he knew she was smiling. Julie chuckled, surprising him. "If you'd ever once mentioned that name to me, I could have solved your case weeks ago."

  His heartbeat slowing from a gallop, he found his first smile. "Victoria Viper?"

  "Hyper Victoria Viper." She paused. "Why didn't I remember her purse? That's what was on the film. Her purse on the counter. She was at the warehouse that day-"

  "It can't have been that simple." Still clutching her to him, he breathed in her scent. Soap. Lemons. The softness of her skin. The memory embedded in his soul.

  "Most things in life are pretty simple." Her soft breath ruffled his hair. "Thanks for trusting me to help. After all she did to me . . ." She swallowed hard. "And . . . maybe my dad-"

  His heart felt like lead, weighted by the sorrow in her voice. "We're looking into that part."

  "I needed to be part of taking her down." Her arms tightened around his neck. "But I'm ready to retire from undercover work."

  "That's a relief." His fear slowly easing, Matt drank in her steady gaze. "Now . . . if you could maybe help convince my mother-"

  Her sudden burst of laughter was the medicine he needed. Warmth invaded his chest, pushing aside the icy terror. Jules would always be his warmth. His light. He needed her— in the indefinable way he needed air. Water. He could only hope he would become that to her. In the meantime, her smile promised the world.

  "Take me home, Agent Barnes."

  ***

  Twelve weeks. Matt hadn't budged when Madeline and Alyssa pleaded and cajoled and finally argued the deadline. He'd held firm, refusing to concede a single day. Their wedding would take place July 4th weekend, with or without a dress. He hadn't given a damn whether Juliet Kimball wore jeans when they walked down the aisle. But his mother had. A fashionista gauntlet had been thrown and Madeline had taken the challenge quite personally. Taking what he suspected would only be a brief vacation from strong-arming him about grandchildren, she'd whisked Julie away four weekends in a row— on a quest for dresses, cakes and more shoes.

  Still surprised that he'd actually won, Juliet had stolen his breath on their wedding day. Now, a day later, Matt had trouble remembering what she'd worn as he'd vowed to love and honor her for the next fifty years. It was all a frothy, satin memory. Except for the shoes. Jules had insisted on wearing them to bed last night . . . a jewel encrusted fantasy of tall, skinny heels and long, amazing legs. To honor the most incredible night of his life (so far), he planned to have them mounted in a shadowbox for their bedroom.

  Fingers entwined, he glanced to his left. "Are you sure you're okay with honeymooning here?"

  Leaning back in the Adirondack, she released a satisfied sigh. "This was my dream," she pointed out, raising their clasped hands. "Sitting on this deck . . . watching a sunset over the lake. Where it all started," she reminded. "How could your cabin not be the perfect place for our honeymoon?"

  "Our cabin," he corrected, the words heating his chest. Yesterday had been the start of an entire lifetime of ours they would share. At the very least, one more generation would fill the lake house with the echo of laughter and secrets. They'd already begun making new memories.

  Nodding to the stack of books on the picnic table, Julie grinned. "I don't think I'll get much reading in, though."

  "I'll read to you," he suggested, an eyebrow raised suggestively. "Later . . . in bed."

  She rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's going to work."

  "Let me guess . . . because I suck at it?"

  "With that sexy voice?" Her teasing smile hinted at the life awaiting them. He'd never be certain what she would say next. "But as fascinating as you find offshore money laundering operations, it will probably put me to sleep."

  "I promise I'll make it interesting-"

  She chuckled. "Challenge accepted. If I fall asleep . . . it will be your fault."

  "You need wine." Matt released her hand and stood. "Your fantasy vacation included lots of wine," he remembered. "I'll get you a glass."

  "Wait-" Her voice suddenly uncertain, she smiled. "Don't go. I still have to give you my wedding gift."

  Dropping to his knees before her chair, he leaned in for a lingering kiss. "Good, because I'm seriously ready to unwrap you." Moss green eyes widened, cloudy with passion. A magnetic current arcing between them, time stopped for a single moment. Matt wanted to memorize the hitch to her breath as she stared at him, waiting. The moment— when his life truly began. When she finally tugged him closer, he crushed her against him. It was several minutes before he remembered her words. Loving the bloom of color in her cheeks, he reluctantly released her. "So— where's my present?"

  "Hold out your hand," she directed. In the last rays of twilight, her confident smile seemed to glow. "And close your eyes."

  Meeting her gaze, he complied. "I think I like this." When she tugged his hand, Matt felt the rustle of silk before she pressed his fingers to the warmth of her stomach. His breath catching, he jerked his eyes open.

  "Jules? Are you- Are you saying?" His heartbeat tripled when her shy smile confirmed it. Mind reeling, his hand trembled when he stroked the soft curve protecting their miracle. His shocked smile broadened to a grin. "Wow."

  "So— no wine."

  "When?"

  "January third." Her heart in her beautiful eyes, she was radiant.

  "You— you're okay?" His brain still stuttering, he groped to gather his thoughts. "You haven't been sick-"

  "Only tired," she admitted. "But with all the wedding stuff . . . I just assumed-"

  Finally capable of doing simple math, Matt did the calculation. "Three months?"

  She nodded. "In doctor language, twelve weeks."

  Recovering from the earth-shattering news, his mind filled with visions of their future. An adorable, tiny, carbon copy of her mother who would wrap him around her finger for the next several decades.

  "Since I can't drink wine, perhaps you can make it up to me in other ways." Jules' suggestive voice brought him back to the here and now.

  "I'll have to discover all your fantasies so we make sure this is the vacation of your dreams."

  "This vacation is perfect." She smiled up at him. "And you already took care of one," she reminded. "Your desk was fertile territory."

  "If you keep looking at me like that, we'll have our own hockey team by the time we're through." Matt rocked back on his heels, gently pulling her with him. Catching her against him, he lowered her to the deck, the boards still warm from the fading sun.

  "Ooh— the deck. That's another on my list." She gazed up at him, looking like an angel, silky blond hair spilling onto the deck as she pulled him down for a heated kiss. But her eyes sparked with amusement. "And trout fishing," she teased. "Given time, I think I could become skilled with . . . a rod in my hands."

  His shoulders shaking with laughter, he nuzzled her soft, scented skin, smiling against her throat. "Rod handling takes practice, babe" he said solemnly. "Our honeymoon is only ten days." When she demonstrated her skill, he released a shuddering breath. "On second thought, I'll get my tackle box."

  ***

  Matt awoke before dawn, the sun rising in a watercolor smudge of pink and orange. Glancing down where Jules slept curled by his side, he smiled. An hour earlie
r, she'd groggily suggested he should take her fishing. He'd been happy to oblige his beautiful wife.

  Impatient, he waited for the clock to reach seven before reaching for the phone. It rang six times before being answered by a dazed and surly man. "Mullaney! What the hell are you doing— answering my mother's phone this early?"

  "Seriously, kid? Second day of your honeymoon— and you can't think of anything better to do than call your mother?"

  Undeterred by his friend's insult, Matt laughed. "Wake her up. I have news."

  ***

  Please enjoy the following excerpt from

  OUT OF REACH

  Book 2 in the Can't Help Falling series.

  Chapter 1

  Did babies ever sleep? Alyssa Barnes flopped on the couch, her nose wrinkling in protest at the foul smell wafting up from her shoulder. How could the most adorable child on the planet spit up such toxic waste? Her babysitting gig continued to be an eye-opener. At least TJ was finally asleep. In three days, her nephew's innocent blue eyes had rarely closed for long. No wonder Matt and Julie had dark circles under theirs. She hoped her brother and sister-in-law were making the most of their belated honeymoon.

  Her lips twitched at the thought of them in a tropical paradise. Aside from calling her six times a day checking on TJ, she had difficulty imagining the couple appreciating Hawaii. Romantic escapades likely consisted of sleeping around the clock to chip away at their six month sleep deficit, with an occasional effort toward baby number two.

  Stifling a yawn, Alyssa scooped up the mail she'd brought from home. The large manila envelope received a quick second glance as she rifled through the pile, before deciding it too, could wait. Tossing the envelope aside, she sank back against the cushions and admired the stained glass transom windows. Matt's rental held all the Victorian charm her modern cookie-cutter apartment lacked. As long as she was hiding out, she may as well enjoy it.

  The scrape of a key turning in the lock broke the silence in the cozy living room. Startled by the unexpected disruption, her gaze flew to the door. It took an instant before panic launched her from the couch, sending her mail flying.

  Had he found her again?

  Instinctively, Alyssa reached out, as though she'd magically developed the power required to fasten a door chain from fifteen feet away. Had she remembered to bolt it? Fighting the chill of raw panic, she crossed the room at a run. Her legs wobbled with relief a moment later when she discovered the chain safely in place. As quietly as possible, she re-locked the deadbolt. Two inches away, on the other side of the oaken barrier, someone was breathing hard from the climb up four flights of stairs. The peephole confirmed her intruder was still bent over the lock, examining it closely.

  "What the hell-"

  His annoyance carried through the door as he unlocked the deadbolt again. Alyssa threw the bolt again, before glancing back through the living room. With a clarity borne of fear, her brain calculated the time required to sprint all the way back to the kitchen where she'd left her phone.

  Keep an eye on the intruder or call the police? Or lock herself in the guestroom where TJ slept peacefully in his portable crib.

  "Who's in there?" The stranger unlocked the deadbolt for the third time and pushed the door.

  All that remained between them was the flimsy chain. Her heart careened off the wall of her chest as a large, masculine hand slipped through the space created by the door chain, clearly intent on slipping it free. A scream lodged firmly in her throat, her legs finally made the decision for her paralyzed brain.

  Close the damned door.

  She reached it just as the intruder's fingers began to coax the chain along the slide. In stark contrast to Alyssa's mounting terror, she heard him casually whistling as he finessed the fragile barrier. Bracing for a struggle, she flung her body against the door and heard a howl of agony. When he shoved hard from the other side, the force of his strength knocked her back against the umbrella stand. Unrelenting, she threw her shoulder back against the door. Through the paneled wood under her ear, his run-on string of profanity caused panic to seep around the edges of her determination. What would she do if he gained entry? When his trapped hand flailed against her breast, she shrieked in protest.

  And sank her teeth into a thick, callused finger.

  Alyssa heard him shout before he wrenched free and sent her tumbling to the slate tiles, her cry of indignation reverberating off the high-ceilinged foyer. Stifling a moan when her butt connected with the chilly stone floor, she watched helplessly as the trespasser's fingers snapped the chain free and the door swung open.

  "Who the hell are you?"

  Scrambling to her feet, she snatched an umbrella from the brass stand leaning drunkenly against the wall. "Stay back. The police are on their way," she lied. Clamping her teeth together to keep from shivering, she parried with the umbrella, prepared to thrust it into the giant's ribs if necessary.

  Dear sweet God, she was in trouble. Alyssa's gaze slid to the door. In his anger, the intruder had kicked it wide open.

  She could escape.

  Go for help.

  Mrs. Coletti was one floor down. But that meant. . . leaving TJ.

  Lord, he was huge. . . and hairy looking. Her stomach recoiled at the thought of what he appeared capable of, her limbs momentarily paralyzed by the bearded stranger. Could it be the same guy? Had he found her already? She never should have risked keeping TJ-

  Her lapse was only fleeting. "I may not be able to kill you with this. . ." She jabbed viciously at the air between them. "But I'll make damn sure you're bleeding internally before I finish." Her bravado appeared to be lost on him. The stranger simply stood there. . . dumbfounded, clutching his injured wrist with a gigantic hand.

  "Leave quietly. . . before someone gets hurt."

  He took another step into the foyer and dropped a monstrous canvas duffel to the floor. So much for the 'leave quietly' order. If she hadn't been terrified, Alyssa would've sworn a cloud of dust bloomed up from the bag.

  "Darlin'. . . I'm already hurt. Fourteen months in the desert and not a friggin' scratch. Two minutes in my apartment and you've broken my damn wrist."

  Huh? "I don't think so, Pal." His apartment? Did he think she was a moron? "You'll need to come up with something better than that."

  "I know where I live, dammit." He took a step closer. Alyssa raised the umbrella to chest level.

  "One more step and this will be lodged in your chest," she warned.

  "Can we declare a truce and discuss this? Obviously, there's been a mistake-"

  "I don't want to hurt you, but this is your last warning."

  ***

  "Seriously?" TJ raised his gaze to the ceiling and prayed for patience. The patina on his refurbished tin ceiling sent a rush of pleasure through him. Finally, something familiar. Fourteen months he'd waited for this— dreamt of this. Walking through that door.

  After traveling halfway around the world, he was a mere twenty feet from the bed he hadn't slept in for more than a year. Any other time and TJ probably would have found the situation funny. A spiky-haired midget was blocking him from entering his apartment. With a raspy, sexy voice that reminded him . . . Jeez— how many years had it been since he'd thought of her? "This is my apartment."

  "Clearly, you have the wrong floor. Next time try a designated driver."

  Just what he needed— a high-strung woman copping an attitude. If Matt had sublet his place, TJ would kill him with his bare hands. Whoever this lunatic chick was. . . she had the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen. His gaze shifted from her face back to his bleeding finger. "You up to date on all your shots there, Sheba?"

  Her spine stiffened over his comment and hell if she didn't take a step closer, tightening her already white-knuckled grip on the umbrella. Now— it appeared she contemplated beating him over the head with it.

  "Who do you think you're talking to, Shaggy?"

  She broke off, startled when they heard whimpering from the guest room. . . hell�
�� from what used to be his room.

  "You've got a baby back there?" TJ's frustration lessened only slightly when he finally realized her expression held a healthy dose of fear mixed with her anger.

  "I need to pick him up . . . before he starts wailing."

  "What the hell's one more interruption at this point?" Sighing, TJ waved her away, then inhaled sharply on a ridge of pain. Dammit, he'd used the wrong hand. His wrist began throbbing in agony. Cradling his useless arm against his side, he kicked his duffel into the foyer so he could close the door.

  "I'm not leaving a stranger in the living room."

  Torn between the wailing baby and the strange guy in her living room— hell, his living room— TJ watched her slowly inch across the room, umbrella clutched like a damned sword.

  Fatigue cresting over him like a tidal wave, he could guess her next move. She'd grab her phone and lock herself in with the kid. In his room. Where he wanted to sleep so badly he could practically feel the mattress. He could smell the cotton sheets.

  "Who are you?" she called out hesitantly.

  For a moment, TJ forgot the twin teeth marks embedded in his throbbing finger. . . forgot the jolting wash of pain in his wrist that had beads of sweat breaking out on his upper lip. She was trembling with reaction now. And all because he'd scared the bejeezus out of her. But how the hell was he supposed to know when Matt had a female stashed there?

  "Name's O'Brien." He relented, in the vain hope it might speed up the process of sorting out their predicament. Fair or not— ridiculous or not— he'd been on a military transport for the last sixteen hours. If she dragged the cops out here. . . he may as well kiss off the rest of the night. It was bad enough he'd have to splint his arm and bandage his finger where she'd taken a chunk out of him before he could finally crash— likely on the damn sofa— the way his luck appeared to be running. But messing with the cops could take hours. "There's a phone on the bureau in the corner. Cops are on speed dial. . . number 3, in case you're interested."