The Cave

by Amanda McKinney

  She grinned. “Player.”

  He laughed out loud at this. “Nope. That is one characteristic that dear daddy—or my uncle for that matter—didn’t pass onto me.”

  “Come from a long line of ladies men?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bet that’s tough on your mom.”

  “It was. That’s why she left my dad after his second hiccup.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He shrugged. “She’s down in Mexico, married, living on the water. Happy.”

  A moment ticked by.

  “So, why exactly are you back here in Berry Springs?”

  Owen shifted again—a nervous, or uncomfortable tick, apparently.

  “My dad.”

  “Something happen?”

  “You could say that.” He grabbed the whiskey and took a deep sip. She took it from him and did the same, settling in for the story she could tell was coming.

  “My dad… is in a court-ordered rehab program.” He glanced at her. “So, trust me, I know all about the feeling of being gossiped about.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm. “You left your job to come back and deal with it?”

  He nodded. “Dad has a business, a house, bills that I found out he’d stopped paying… life goes on whether he’s here or not. Someone had to take care of everything.”

  She paused, “You didn’t have to.”

  He grunted.

  “You’re a good son.”

  He glanced down for a moment before saying, “You know the kicker of it is? I didn’t even hesitate. When Amos called me, I put in my notice five minutes later. All these years dad wasn’t around, but the minute he really needed my help, I didn’t hesitate. The guy would have come back to absolutely nothing. The bank was threatening to take his home, car, business. Everything.”

  “Gone all those years? Where was he?”

  “Navy. Gone almost all my childhood.”

  “That must’ve been tough.”

  “No, it was tough when he got out. That’s when everything went to shit. ’Scuse my language. It was like he… it was like he just became a different person. Like he was completely lost without the military in his life anymore.”

  She saw the pain in his eyes… but there was more. A thinly veiled sympathy.

  “When does he get back?”

  “Soon.”

  “And then you’re going back? To Louisiana?”

  Dead silence dragged by before he finally looked at her. “That’s the plan.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Figured.” The thought made her stomach sink and also reminded her that she needed to pull back on the flurry of emotions this guy invoked in her. He was leaving, heck, she was leaving, and chances were they were never going to see each other again.

  What an idiot she’d been to even think otherwise. On that thought, she attempted to shift away from him, when a bolt of fire shot up her leg. A groan escaped as she squeezed her face in pain.

  “Whoa, whoa, don’t move like that. Where are you going? What do you need?”

  She waited until the lump of pain dissolved in her throat. “Nothing, just repositioning.”

  “Here.” He shifted behind her, one leg on either side and positioned the packs around them. “Lean back.” His warm arms flanked her sides as she leaned into him, the back of her head settling onto his chest. He unwrapped the tarp from his pack, shook it out and tossed it over her. She was immediately engulfed in warmth. Comfort. A tornado of emotions.

  “Better?”

  “Yes.” Was she better? Or was she more confused than ever?

  She felt this heartbeat through his T-shirt, matching hers that had picked up the moment they’d touched.

  Silence settled around them as they inhaled and exhaled together, the sexual tension shooting like electricity between them.

  The light touch of his finger had her jerking as he swept a strand of hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. Goosebumps flew over her skin. Next, a subtle movement behind her, followed by his warm breath along her ear lobe.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She closed her eyes, his lips like a feather against her skin.

  His fingers began to slowly trace the top of her thighs as he kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear.

  Oh, my God.

  His kiss on her body sent a storm through her, a desire, a heat she hadn’t felt, maybe ever.

  Her hands found his, and she turned her head, angling so they were face to face. Her eyes met his, a fire through the dim light, and without allowing herself to think—to talk herself out of it—she sealed her lips against his.

  Butterflies burst in her stomach as he kissed her back with an intensity of throwing caution to the wind, letting go, and releasing what was happening between them. No, she’d never felt like this before. She never wanted anyone so badly in her entire life.

  She grabbed his shirt, demanding him closer. On her.

  Owen slid out from behind her, careful to avoid her leg.

  “Crush it. I don’t care,” she whispered between kisses.

  He grinned before pressing his mouth onto her again. This kiss was different, less soft and sensual, more frenzied. Greedy.

  Commanding.

  She frantically tugged his shirt over his head. Her fingers danced over his flesh, rippled, tan, swollen with muscles that only came from hours swimming in rough water. Owen Grayson was the sexiest man she’d ever seen in her life. He leaned her back, guiding her head onto the pack he’d repositioned. She wanted to leap on top of him, rip his clothes off, devour every inch of his hard body, but—her damn ankle. Well that wasn’t going to stop her. Hell, a hurricane wouldn’t have stopped her.

  Propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned into her, answering her demand for his lips to be on her while using his other hand to explore under her T-shirt. He pulled down the top of her bra and rolled her erect nipple in-between his fingers. Lightning shot through her body. Her shirt was pulled off, followed by her bra. He took her in his mouth, licking, kissing, sucking her nipple, a soft groan between kisses.

  “Owen…” she fumbled with his belt, but he moved out of touch, down her stomach, kissing her naval.

  She ran her fingers through his dark hair, her skin sizzling against the cool rock below her.

  Dammit, if she could only move!

  He looked up from her stomach, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down her spine.

  “I want you, Sadie. I want every inch of you,” his voice gravelly as he undid her pants.

  She desperately gripped his head. “Come here.”

  The corner of his lip curled with a subtle shake of his head as he unzipped her.

  “Owen, I can’t…” she whispered desperately, willing her leg to heal in that very moment. “I want to… Dammit, Owen, I can’t move.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said as he slowly, carefully, pulled her pants down to her knees, straddling her one good leg.

  His finger trailed her barely-there lace and mesh panties, the white color glowing through the darkness. He grinned and looked up at her. “See-through.”

  She met his smirk, thanking her lucky stars that she’d forgotten to do laundry and the sexy panties were the only thing available as she was packing for the trip. “I’m not all bones and dirt, Owen.”

  “No,” he leaned down and blew his warm breath through the mesh. “No, you’re not.”

  His fingers felt like silk against her skin as he pulled the teeny straps down, exposing her to him. The rush of cold air between her legs did her in, sending a wave of tingles across the delicate skin.

  She was wet, ready, desperate, and the man hadn’t even touched her yet.

  He reached up and rubbed her nipple as his face disappeared below, his mouth kissing her inner thighs, the crease of her legs, until finally, he enclosed over her.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, every bit of her focus rushed below. His tongue slid
warm, silky between her folds, tasting, teasing, until settling onto her clit.

  Her hands wrapped into fists as the sensation overtook her—small, wet circles, caressing the tiny, swollen bud.

  She put her hands on his head, feeling the slow rocking of his head, back and forth, while his mouth worked her below, devouring the most intimate part of her.

  His hands left her breast and slid into her, one finger, two, matching the rhythm as he licked back and forth over her clit.

  Tiny prickles spread over her skin, the warmth funneling between her legs. Her mouth went dry, her muscles tensed in tiny spasms like fireworks exploding through her system.

  He pressed harder into her, licked faster. Greedy. Frantic.

  She squeezed her face, gripping at the rock below her, grasping at anything to anchor her.

  “Owen…”

  Another finger.

  Faster. Wetter.

  “Owen…” She squeaked his name as the orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave, an explosion so intense that tears filled her eyes.

  Her muscles fell limp, lead weight attached to her body. She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, meeting the gaze of a man that appeared to be as satisfied as she was.

  “Owen, that was…”

  He kissed her thigh, slowly tracing her wetness with his fingers.

  “Good,” he said. “How’s your ankle?”

  “What ankle?”

  He grinned, leaned up, and grabbed the tarp that had been tossed to the side. She stared at him as he covered her up, looking at him in an entirely new light. His touch was soft, gentle, as he took care of her, completely okay that they didn’t have sex. Or, that he didn’t even get off, for that matter. He was content. Happy, as if he enjoyed pleasing her more than anything else. She was staring at, yes, the perfect man.

  Once she was secured in warmth, he slid behind her and pulled her to him. “Now, try to get some sleep,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  Chapter 22

  Owen looked down at Sadie sleeping in his arms, the heavy rise and fall of her chest in perfect rhythm with the drip, drip, drip echoing behind them. She’d been out cold for three hours, and he’d spent the last three hours fighting the desire to wake her up for round two.

  The turn of events had not only surprised the hell out of him, but shaken him to his core. And not just because he’d been strong enough to withhold sex, but because of the connection he’d felt when he kissed her, when he’d felt her skin beneath him, when he’d slipped into the most intimate part of her body.

  It was the first time he’d had foreplay without a grand finale in the end. Hell, it was the first time he’d remained dressed next to a half-naked woman. It was the first time, he thought about her, instead of him.

  He wanted to tell Sadie in his own way that he might not be a billionaire beau, but he could give the fucker a run for his money. The overwhelming desire he’d had to make Sadie happy—more than anything else—both caught him off guard and excited him. He’d never felt that way about anyone. Ever.

  It was all about her, and to his utter shock—it was HOT. AS. FUCK, and only made him want her even more. And although he wasn’t quite ready to admit it, he knew it wasn’t just because of that face, those curves, or those damn see-through panties.

  He’d been infatuated with Sadie Hart since he first laid eyes on her in the woods.

  She was smart, beautiful, tough, funny, with enough attitude in her to make things interesting.

  She was perfect for him. They fit.

  He took his hundredth deep breath, the thought still knocking him off kilter.

  What time was it? The rain had stopped. He knew because the lake had stopped rising, but not before engulfing the bridge. If they weren’t trapped before, they sure as hell were now. The roar of the waterfall had turned into a calm, white noise over the last hour which meant the water would recede quickly. They’d be out soon enough.

  His gaze shifted to the narrow tunnel on the far side of the Anarchy room, as it had every minute for the last three hours. When Sadie had fallen asleep, he’d shifted the flashlight to shine outward, a dull beam fading into the water ahead and reflecting off the tunnel. That was the only light. One stream of yellow in a massive room of black. There was an entry point into the cave somewhere down that tunnel, and the thought made him uneasy.

  Had someone really been watching Griffin?

  Had someone used that tunnel to kill his uncle?

  His thoughts drifted to Deputy Tucker. The guy was former military, which certainly didn’t mean he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but Owen couldn’t wrap his head around the why of it. As far as he knew, Tucker had no connection with Ray, his dad, or anyone who had anything to do with Owen’s family. Furthermore, if Tucker did kill Ray, where did the venom come from to mess with the dead man’s bones afterward? Someone hated his uncle bad enough to not only leave his body to rot in the cave, but come back after the fact and desecrate his bones.

  Anarchy.

  Whoever killed Ray and Jane Doe was someone who despised authority, conformity. Someone who played by their own rules. Someone who probably had a criminal record. None of that matched up with Deputy Tucker. Hell, the guy didn’t take a piss without Crawly’s approval. No, this was someone with a lot of anger.

  Someone who had something out for his uncle.

  Who?

  Who checked all those boxes?

  And who would kill an innocent kid, and innocent homeless woman on top of it? What was Ray’s connection to Jane Doe?

  And who the fuck was Peg?

  He thought of their conversation with Kat.

  A flag.

  Jane Doe had been hysterically screaming something about a flag.

  The American flag stitched on Deputy Tucker’s pack? Possibly. It made sense. But, still, it didn’t sit well with him.

  He imagined the Anarchy symbol in his mind. Anarchists had flags. Shit, they proudly displayed flags.

  He frowned, recalling the few times that he’d seen them.

  Red and black, the colors split diagonally across the flag.

  Red. Black.

  His eyes widened.

  Red. Black.

  His spine straightened, remembering meeting the boys at Frank’s the night before. Lieutenant Quinn Colson, Detective Dean Walker, Wesley Cross and Aaron Knapp… with a fresh black and red tattoo peeking out from his shirt sleeve. He closed his eyes and pulled his memory, recalling the slant in the blocks of black and red. The fucking anarchy flag—right there on Aaron’s goddamn shoulder.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  Aaron Knapp.

  Owen’s pulse kicked up, heat rising up his neck as the realization gripped hold. No way. No way was this right. No way Aaron would kill his uncle. Owen knew Aaron. He knew his family. Shit, he’d gone to the guy’s wedding when he’d married little Pam Ellen Granger right out of high school.

  His blood froze ice-cold.

  Pamela Ellen Granger.

  P.E.G.

  Son of a bitch.

  Ray had a ring he’d intended to give to Aaron Knapp’s ex-wife.

  Holy shit.

  His attention was pulled to a ripple in the inky-black water, a circle of small waves spreading over the once-still lake.

  Knowing they were hidden behind the light beam, he slowly picked up the Glock he’d kept at his hip for the last three hours, watching over Sadie while she slept.

  Something was in the water.

  Something was coming straight toward them.

  Owen narrowed his eyes, feeling a tingle of adrenaline. It was the same feeling he got before something big was about to happen.

  The ripples faded, the dripping in the background like the steady beat of a war drum in the distance.

  Holding his breath, he stealthily slid out from under Sadie, using their packs to prop her up. He paused, focused on her breathing again until he confirmed she was still asleep.

  Gripping his gun, he c
lenched his jaw as he stepped in front of Sadie, guarding his precious territory.

  The slightest shuffle had his head turning to the left, focusing on the far corner of the lake, shrouded in blackness. He considered moving the light, but didn’t want to alert whatever—or whoever—was lurking in the shadows.

  He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to adjust to the darkness. He listened to the waterfall in the distance, the drips. Felt the still air around him, the heavy, wet humidity cool against his warm skin.

  His eyes opened at the faint sounds of steps along the ledge of the lake—where he couldn’t see a damn thing.

  He turned, re-positioned so he was in front of Sadie again, then shifted his weight to his toes.

  It’s go time.

  Sadie moved behind him, momentarily breaking his concentration just as a barely-visible outline emerged from the darkness. Too close to get a shot off, Owen lunged forward and felt the whoosh of a blade inches from his cheek. He gripped the hilt of his gun and whipped it against his attacker’s face.

  “Owen!” Sadie’s yell was followed by a frantic strobe light of flashes until she finally settled the light on his attacker.

  Aaron Knapp.

  Holy. Shit.

  He took a swing, connecting with Aaron’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. Owen pointed his gun between Aaron’s eyes.

  Blood dripped from his former friend’s mouth as Aaron’s gaze shifted to Sadie and a devilish grin cracked his face, showing two teeth missing.

  “Just like your fucking good-for-nothing playboy uncle.”

  “What the fuck are you doing, Aaron?”

  “Give me the fucking knife.”

  “The knife you used to kill my uncle?”

  Aaron’s eyes flared with rage. “Your fucking uncle cheated with my wife for years, Owen! Right under my nose. We were supposed to be friends.” He spat blood. “He ruined me and Pam.”

  *

  Sadie’s pulse roared in her ears as she frantically searched through her pack for her knife. She needed some kind of protection. Something to help Owen if he needed it. Her foot throbbed as she pulled herself up to a seated position, then pulled her good leg to her chest, ready to push up as soon as she found her damn knife.

  She wasn’t just going to sit there watching.