Dreaming of a Hero (Heroes Series Book 2)

by Lyssa Layne

  ~*~

  “I’m too tired to look any more. I think it’s time for me to go.” Mallory set aside her scribbles. She and Mike had been trying to figure out the symbols for hours but hadn’t worked them out yet. She reached for her dirty plate and glass.

  He circled her wrist with a big hand. “Stay.”

  Their eyes met.

  “I should really go.” She didn’t want to leave.

  “No, you shouldn’t.” He tugged her close and settled his mouth over hers.

  She closed her eyes and lost herself in his kisses. He had been gentle earlier, he was less so now. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, seeking, exploring. She tasted, teased. He led, she followed.

  Her breath came short and she had to break away. She said the first thing that came to her. “I need a shower.”

  He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. He led her to the door and kissed her again. In the bathroom, she reached into the shower and turned it on, then stripped shoes, then socks, dropping them on the floor. The room began to fill with steam and she placed her glasses on the sink and stripped off her clothes. She stepped into the hot water and pulled the curtain closed. Tipping back her head, she closed her eyes and let the stream pour over her face and neck.

  A slight, cool breeze slid over her skin.

  She opened her eyes as Mike climbed in with her. “Mind if I join you?”

  “No.” Goosebumps rose on her skin, but they had nothing to do with the air. Her nipples pebbled and she crossed her arms over her breasts.

  He reached for a bar of soap. Holding it with both hands he made lather.

  Her breath grew short.

  This couldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t let him do...this.

  With soapy hands, he slid along her outer thighs.

  Her legs trembled. She allowed her head to fall back and he leaned in to nibble along her collarbone. The sensation of his seeking mouth on her wet skin was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Her arms dropped to her sides like two useless sticks, leaving her breasts exposed to his hungry eyes.

  He placed his palms over her small, brownish-tipped breasts and the sight of his large hands covering her sent a jolt of desire burning through her body. Her breasts swelled under his palms, pushing her already peaked nipples into his palms. He squeezed and she bent her back to allow him better access.

  All the reasons she shouldn’t be with him flitted through her head. He was Mr. Wrong in so many ways. But he was right in so many others. She was tired of trying to ignore her desire. He was impossible to resist. But it was more than physical. The way he made her feel had more to do with his mind than what he could do to her body.

  His sly fingers teased her nipples until she wanted to beg him to stop, yet wanted to beg him not to. She lifted her head and licked his shoulder. He tasted like clean skin and water. As he pushed her gently against the slick wall, her buttocks touched the cool tile and a shiver flashed up her back.

  She had never been so free.

  She didn’t care.

  Mike wouldn’t shame her or hurt her.

  She lifted her limp arms and circled his neck. His erection pressed against her flat belly and her legs spread in response. There was no turning back. No matter what tomorrow brought, she wouldn’t regret this moment.

  With her uninjured hand, she massaged his neck and he moaned.

  He tipped his head forward and the water cascaded over his hair, turning it dark gold. Taking a step back, he drew a nipple into his mouth and sucked. She rubbed his tight muscles in small, circular motions that mirrored what he was doing with his tongue.

  Releasing her breast, he again reached for the soap.

  And again, made a mass of foamy lather.

  Whatever he wanted to do to her, she would let him.

  Pressing her legs apart with his knees, he reached one hand between her trembling thighs. Mallory swayed and grabbed his shoulders. Her skin felt too tight. Every nerve in her body seemed to be centered between her legs. With long, slow strokes, he washed her. Parting her, he explored every inch with his soapy fingers and flicked a slick thumb over her sensitive center.

  Deep in her belly, she began to shake.

  With his free hand, he leaned it against the wall, supporting his weight.

  Her nails dug into his skin.

  He slid a finger inside her.

  The shaking inside her doubled. Her legs wouldn’t hold her much longer. Too much. Too much. She turned her head and nipped his arm. He pushed his finger deeper. She couldn’t bear it. Her hips jerked forward, bringing her mound into his palm. He cupped her for a moment, then withdrew his hand.

  A whimper escaped her tight throat.

  “Hold on, sweetheart. I want to be inside you when you come.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.

  His raw words, spoken in a hoarse, low tone, created another quiver in her.

  He grabbed a foil wrapped condom and tore the wrapper. With quick, efficient moves, he sheathed himself. Lifting her left leg, he propped it on the edge of the tub. Keeping his eyes on hers, taking her by the hips, he raised her over him.

  Mallory’s eyes fluttered shut.

  He slid into her. Pressed deep.

  She screamed as he went further, to her limit.

  He shuddered.

  His lips covered hers, muffling her cries as her body convulsed around him, finding release. She slumped against him and he wrapped his arms around her waist, catching her before she fell.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mike pulled Mallory close, inhaling the faint odor of her vanilla-scented hair as she snuggled against him. They fit perfectly. They’d continued their lovemaking until she finally fell asleep, exhausted.

  He loved the way she fit not only into his arms, but his life. For the first time in months he found himself smiling again. She would leave in a few days when the coroner turned over her father’s remains. Maybe he could convince her to stay. Mike started. Was he really thinking of asking Mallory not to leave? The idea of her not being here filled him with gloom. He tightened his hold.

  Her spirit and her bravery amazed him. But it was her big heart that made her something special.

  She’d forgiven him when he had given her little reason to.

  He was falling fast for her. If she thought half as much of him he would be a lucky man.

  One way to show her his feelings would be to find Skeeter’s buried treasure. Mike let his mind wander over the day’s events, always coming back to the symbols on the rock. He’d seen them hundreds of times and never put two and two together.

  What were the images trying to tell him? There wasn’t a place on the ranch he hadn’t explored.

  Except one.

  He sat straight up in bed.

  His heart thudded so loud he didn’t see how Mallory could sleep through it. The X on Skeeter’s map wasn’t an X, it was a cross. And the only place one existed was in the old courtyard, intertwined in the arch over the wrought iron gate. He had never spent much time in there. He rolled to his back, pulling Mallory with him onto his bare chest.

  She sighed.

  If she weren’t so tired, he’d wake her now.

  Almost 2 a.m. A long time until dawn.

  He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. If he didn’t calm down it would be an endless night.

  ~*~

  Mallory rolled over and bumped into something solid. The wall? No. This was warm. Human. Mike. A hot flush started at her toes and spread to the top of her scalp. What had she done last night? A better question was what had she not done? She groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Oh no. He was awake. No chance to sneak away. She peeked out. “Hi.”

  “I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you to get up for about three hours.” He sounded so chipper she wanted to scream.

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven.” The bed creaked as he stood.

  “In the mor
ning?” She needed at least four more hours of rest to make up for last night. Her entire body ached. Some places more than others. She felt around for her glasses, finding them on the floor next to the bed. After she shoved them on, she saw he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “Why are you up so early?”

  “Because I figured out the puzzle.” He looked so smug she wanted to hit him. Or kiss him.

  “You did? When?” She squirmed, fighting to sit up.

  “Last night after you fell asleep. My mind kept going over those symbols until I thought I’d go insane. But all of a sudden it clicked. I know where the treasure is buried.” He grinned. “Ready to go get it?”

  Mallory sat straight up, realizing too late that her bare breasts were exposed. His blue eyes darkened and she grabbed the blankets and covered herself. “You know? Where?”

  “Come on, and I’ll show you. I’ll make coffee while you get ready.” He walked to her, bent over and kissed her. And she nearly forgot anything else. He grinned and pulled away, looking very satisfied with himself. “Meet me in the kitchen.”

  A half hour later she met him in the kitchen.

  Her mouth went dry as she looked at him. His blond hair fell over his forehead and she ached to brush it back. Wearing a plain blue T-shirt and snug jeans that accentuated his sexy male body, he looked too good to be true. But she knew he was. Her lungs expanded, squeezing her heart. At least that’s what she thought made it constrict painfully.

  How could he look so refreshed when she knew she looked like hell with her curls unruly and dark circles around her eyes? She doubted if he was too sore to walk either. The reason made her cheeks burn. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him last night.

  “Tea? The water’s hot.” He smiled and her heart did a little dance.

  “You made me tea?” He remembered she wasn’t a coffee drinker, that she preferred herbal tea. The thoughtful act touched her more than she wanted to admit. “Get a grip,” she muttered. “It’s only tea.”

  The orange-lemon blend cheered her as she sipped it. “How did you figure it out?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, and I kept thinking about those marks. I know this ranch like the back of my hand. There’s no mine on this property. But there is an X. A cross, actually. At the old courtyard.” He set aside his cup. “Come on and I’ll show you.”

  ~*~

  Mallory climbed out of the SUV and followed Mike to the courtyard. A whitewashed adobe fence, some of it crumbling to the ground, circled about an acre.

  “Is this a graveyard?” Mallory stood at the fence.

  “No. There used to be a house over in that corner. But it was falling down and we finished taking it down when I was just a kid. It was dangerous and snakes liked to sleep in there.” He hefted a shovel. “Let’s go to the arch.”

  They moved to the archway and looked up. Rising from the adobe fence was a beautiful wrought iron arch. Intricately made, with flowers and vines, and although one arm had been broken off, right in the middle was obviously a cross.

  Mallory caught her breath. If there was buried treasure here, Skeeter would be right. His entire life wouldn’t have been wasted. All the sacrifices would matter. She wanted to cry. Instead she said. “Where do we look?”

  Mike tapped the ground directly under the cross. “Here, I think.”

  Mallory went to the SUV and retrieved her shovel. She returned and asked, “Where do you want me to dig?”

  He dug the point of his shovel into the sand. “I’ll start here. So anywhere close by, I’d say.”

  Mallory dug like a ditch digger, sand flying. Next to her, Mike did the same.

  After two straight hours of laboring, she looked up. Her shoulders and arms were trembling. Around her was a hole about four feet deep. His hole was deeper yet. “How far down do you think it is?”

  He wiped his forehead with his arm. “I don’t know.”

  She voiced her fear. “Maybe it’s not here.”

  “I think it is.” He jabbed his pile of sandy dirt. “We just have to keep looking.”

  “You know what we need? A metal detector. You don’t happen to have one, do you?”

  “No, but we could run into Mesa and buy one.” He jabbed his shovel in the sand. “Let’s go.”

  Mallory reluctantly left her shovel with his. “Okay.”

  Inside the Durango, he said, “Let’s swing by the ranch. I don’t have my wallet.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes. Exhaustion overwhelmed her.

  He parked and left the engine running while he dashed in to retrieve his wallet. When he came back he spoke, “You awake?”

  She opened one eye. “Yes.”

  He looked so grim she forced the other eye open. “Mike? What is it?”

  “There’s a message from the coroner. She wants us to come by. We’re to call first. She said Bodine is going to meet us there, too.”

  She sat up straight. “Why?”

  “I have no idea.” He pulled into the driveway. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  ~*~

  A secretary at the morgue told them to have a seat and wait, the coroner would be with them soon.

  Mallory perched on the edge of a hard plastic chair and tried not to worry. Mike reached for her hand. He twined his fingers through hers and she drew comfort from his steady presence. How had she grown to rely on him so quickly? She, who had no trust in men, had absolutely no reservations about leaning on him. Her fingers tightened.

  The coroner came around the corner. “Hello. Would you follow me to my office? I’ve asked Sheriff Bodine to join us.”

  She entered a small, cluttered office. Sheriff Bodine sat in one of the two chairs in front of her desk. He stood and motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat.”

  Mallory hesitated and looked at Mike. What was going on? Her head began to throb. They sat and Bodine moved to the other side of the desk.

  Dr. Anson sat in her own chair and steepled her fingers. “I called you here to tell you I have some serious reservations about your father’s death. I did the autopsy early this morning, and there are some things that concern me.” She looked at Bodine. “I think Mr. James was murdered.”

  Mallory swayed, then covered her mouth with her hand and looked to Mike.

  He squeezed her hand. “Can you tell us why?”

  “Yes. Remember, I asked you about cactus in Mr. James’s feet? Specifically, under his toenails? That struck me as odd. Most people wouldn’t leave cactus thorns in their skin if they were able to pull them out.”

  Bodine reached for his notebook.

  Dr. Anson continued. “When we removed the thorns, we were able to determine that the cactus was placed in Mr. James after his death. In other words, he was either dragged through cactus after he died. Or,” she paused, “it was placed in his feet by someone after death.”

  Bodine scribbled something.

  “What are you saying?” Mallory couldn’t take it in.

  “I’m telling you that someone is attempting a cover-up.” She picked up a pen and rolled it between her hands.

  “You think someone killed Skeeter because he had cactus in his feet?” Mike sounded skeptical.

  “No, I don’t.” She met his eyes. “There’s more.”

  “Go on,” Bodine ordered.

  “When we removed the thorns from under Mr. James’s toenails, we found needle marks.

  Sometimes heroin users shoot their drugs there because they believe no one will notice the tell-tale tracks. We found two such marks although we didn’t find illegal drugs in his system. But what was there was an abnormal amount of insulin.”

  “And James wasn’t a diabetic?” Bodine asked.

  “No.” Dr. Anson looked at him with troubled eyes. “We know he was not. Sometimes people get it in their later years, but he was a healthy man. He had no symptoms of diabetes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mallory whispered.

  “I do,” Mike said. He leaned forward. “If I’m following you right, you’r
e saying Skeeter has needle holes under his toenails. He wasn’t an illegal drug user, or diabetic. But he had an abnormally high amount of insulin in his system. You’re telling us that someone injected him with insulin, then tried to cover the marks with cactus.”

  “This is crazy,” Mallory said. “Skeeter wouldn’t just lay still while someone jabbed him under the toenails with needles.”

  “He might’ve been overpowered,” Sheriff Bodine commented. He flipped through his notes. “He wasn’t a huge guy. About five-ten and one-eighty. Not small either.”

  “He wasn’t small, but he was ill,” Dr. Anson said. “He had an advanced case of pneumonia. He should’ve been hospitalized. It is very possible he was unconscious while this occurred.”

  Mallory reeled and if Mike wouldn’t have had hold of her hand, she would’ve fallen. The implications turned her stomach. Skeeter had been so close to his goal. Someone had found out and murdered him. Her head spun and she put it between her knees.

  “You okay?” Mike sounded far away.

  She breathed deep, through her nose, and the spell began to pass. Dr. Anson touched her shoulder. “Are you coming around? Do you need to lie down for a minute?”

  “No.” Her head still spun.

  “Take your time.” Dr. Anson continued to touch her shoulder and Mike let go of her hand and wrapped his warm palms around her arm.

  After a few minutes Mallory sat up. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know this has been a shock,” Dr. Anson said. “But I didn’t want to break the news over the phone. And I wanted the sheriff here to hear this, so he can act accordingly.”

  “Thank you,” Mallory managed.

  The coroner gave her a quick, awkward pat, then moved back behind her desk.

  Bodine straightened. “You two have any idea where the lethal dose might have come from?”

  Mallory looked at Mike. His jaw was set and his lips were pinched tight. “Yes.”

  “You want to tell me?”

  Mike’s voice went steely. “Brent Fedderson is a friend of mine. He works...lives at the ranch. He’s diabetic and he needs insulin to control it. But he wouldn’t kill anyone.”