by TL Schaefer
Oh heck no. How was she supposed to explain Nick, England and the whole mess if her family suddenly showed up on her doorstep?
“Ah,” she paused, thinking on her feet, literally. “This next week is awful for me, but I’ll give you guys a call if anything frees up. Besides, isn’t the Legislature still in session?”
“Yeah,” her father sighed. “But you know I can always make time for my best girl.”
That brought the smile Cris knew he’d intended. “You always have. Listen, I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll let you know about my schedule after I talk to Rob, all right? I love you.”
“Love you too, pumpkin. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“G’bye Dad.”
Cris placed the phone back in its cradle on the wall and turned to face Nick. He was watching her with a focused look on his face.
“Legislature?”
“Um, yeah. You know, the Honorable Christian O’Connor?” She was amazed. She’d assumed that since he knew of her past as a cop, he’d also know about the bigger scandal. The story of the decade in Austin, where the daughter of a celebrated judge and public servant had been involved in the biggest fiasco the Texas Rangers had ever seen, and the aftermath had been even uglier. A full-scale media storm, complete with a crazed stalker and a no-kidding attempt on Cris’ life. Then again, her near-death had only graced the news for a few days, since Lori Wright’s attempt had shown everyone just how crazy the woman really was.
“Your father is Christian O’Connor? Never mind, that’s a dumb question. I’ve got a better one. How did you end up being a Texas Ranger?”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Nick? Just because Dad’s a senator doesn’t mean I should’ve followed in his footsteps, now does it?” Even though that had been Christian’s fondest dream. She’d tried, really tried, but in the end, the politics and everything that went with them had been too much for her to stomach. Her brother Adam, though, was filling her first-born shoes quite admirably.
“I don’t know. I guess I expect an O’Connor to do something more social. You know, marry well, have a passel of kids for the senator to dote over, basically be a deb.” His last word was strangled as he saw the expression on her face.
“Oh really? Then I suppose you need to lower your expectations when it comes to me, now doesn’t it?” Cris felt something sweep over her, and it took her a moment to recognize it as profound disappointment.
Lots of people thought that way and had second-guessed her career choice from the day she’d set out on it. Those same people had tsked and shaken their heads after the shootout, and then after Lori Wright’s insane actions. She’d expected better from Nick and was disgusted with herself for setting herself up like that, for expecting more. He was a cop, after all, and understood what it meant to wear the badge, to serve the community in a way that counted. She should have known he was no better than the rest.
She reined in her anger. It had no place here, in her home, her sanctuary. She closed her eyes, trying to find inner peace, and almost succeeded. Blowing out a big breath, she opened her eyes.
“I forgot to tell you, there are dry clothes in your room that should fit. Help yourself to that and the shower in the master bath. I’ve got some work to do.”
With that, she turned and headed for her office, dismissing him from her sight, but not so successfully from her mind.
Chapter 6
Dumbass, dumbass, dumbass. Nick mentally kicked himself. What was wrong with him? Cris was the furthest thing from a deb he’d ever seen, and he knew enough of Christian O’Connor’s record in court and in the Senate to know she’d inherited his sense of justice. The man was a legend, even up here in Oklahoma.
An array of pictures scattered across the mantel drew his attention, and the truth of what he’d said to Cristine punched him like an uppercut. There she stood, under the arm of the esteemed judge, garbed in cap and gown, the famous clock tower of the University of Texas at Austin in the background. And in the next, both her parents at her side when she received her Ranger shield. Last, Cristine and her parents in full, dressed-to-the-nines glory, the governor of Texas on one side, a former President of the United States on the other. Cristine was breathtaking in the last photo—hell, in all of them—but there she especially shone. Her hair was pulled up in a fancy hairdo, her makeup flawless, a sapphire-blue sparkly dress seemingly painted on her lean body.
Nick took a shaky breath and wondered, not for the first time, what he was going to do, and exactly how he’d gotten himself into this situation. After this debacle, he was never going into the field again.
He heard her in the office and stepped down the hall. He wasn’t spying, not really. It was more of a need to know, after her little bombshell about being the daughter of one of the most famous Texas legislators ever. After seeing the photos so casually placed on the mantel featuring some of the most powerful men in the Southwest. Heck, in the nation.
Her smoky voice pulled at him, as it had since she’d first opened her mouth, tire iron in hand.
“Rob, any sign of Karla?” Then, “Thank God. At least the SOS worked. I’ll tell you more when I can, but this is Linc’s gig, at least for now, all right?”
Nick slid into the spare room as she finished the call to her boss. He’d ask later if the dispatcher made it out all right.
As much as he wanted to formulate a plan to finish this job and get back to Tulsa, the enigma Cristine presented was tantalizing. His earlier reticence about her had been allayed through her direct action–and interaction with him and Linc. The stories had to be wrong, or at least distorted, didn’t they?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Getting the job done did. The job didn’t include Cristine O’Connor. What he needed was a plan.
Enlisting assistance from anyone but Linc would be foolhardy and probably get him killed. The fictional England might have lifted the real man’s identity, but Cristine had been right about him. He walked and talked like a cop. Even if he was off the force, he’d still have contacts within.
Nick’s military career was a fair parallel. He’d been out of the Corps for a good six years, but still kept in touch with the guys he’d served with, stayed in the loop. The brotherhood the military, cops and firefighters shared wasn’t something you gave up all that easily, or willingly.
He sat down on the bed and glanced at his watch. Only noon, and what a day it had been already.
Cris threw herself into yanking up the hideous carpet in the guest bathroom, not really caring two whits if she disturbed McLain.
Inwardly she seethed. A deb? What a laugh.
She’d been a tomboy since she’d taken her first steps. Yeah, she’d done the dutiful daughter thing, attending functions and such when absolutely necessary, but she’d never bonded with the other girls in her social circles, and would much rather have been in the garage, tinkering with a car. If she’d been smart, she’d have tested for an ASE certification and become a mechanic. It would have saved her the heartbreak of Austin, and possibly spared the three lives she’d snuffed out through sheer inaction. Would have saved her family the anguish of almost losing another child.
As much as she’d like to hate McLain, she knew he was only going off the information he’d been given. Even if that intel was grossly wrong. So instead of hating him, she merely despised him. Yeah, she thought to herself, she despised him, but he had a great butt.
That thought fueled her as she jammed the last of the carpet and padding into a trash bag, leaving the ancient wood floor beneath bare. Nick McLain was nothing but bad news, and they’d both be better off when he formulated a plan and got out of her house.
Until his deb comment, she’d been more than ready to jump in and help with his case. It had been her old muscles, begging to be flexed. But now? Piss on McLain.
As if she’d conjured him with her thoughts, he appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, the sweats and tee shirt she’d loaned him practically glued to his body. Her brother Adam was big,
but not as big as McLain.
“Need some help?” he asked. His rough, thoroughly masculine voice sheared through her, made her want to flop down on the old wood, pull him down with her and say, “Damn straight you can help.”
She really needed to rethink her dating schedule.
“No,” she replied, her tone a little too harsh for the simple question.
His brow furrowed for a moment in response before he winced. The cut over his eye and the fully developed shiner were obviously beginning to hurt.
Before she could play peacemaker, a role she’d never been truly comfortable with, he cut her off.
“I’m sorry. I was out of line before.” There was enough sincerity in his voice to make her believe him, and it took the steam right out of the little pity party she’d been throwing herself.
“No worries. It’s not like you’re the first to say it.”
He leaned up against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. A globe and anchor tattoo peeked out from beneath one sleeve, and upon seeing it, Cris understood a lot more than she had seconds ago. Only guys who were in the Marine Corps got those tattoos, and their attitude about women in authority positions wasn’t exactly in this century. They believed in hearth and home, not women on the front lines of anything. Sure, attitudes were changing, but that kind of seismic shift took time.
“Whether I was or not,” he replied, his mouth thinning with anger, “it’s not like me to make assumptions like that.”
Cris eased herself up on the rim of the tub. “Huh. Every experience I’ve had with guys in the Corps has been pretty much exactly like that. So why’d you separate?”
Nick looked momentarily shocked, as if she’d read his mind. His eyes followed her pointed gaze to the tat, and his confusion cleared. “Medically retired,” he answered shortly. “Op that went bad.”
It couldn’t have been too bad, Cris mused inwardly, because he still had the body and attitude of a Marine.
“So,” she said, bringing the topic of their forced togetherness to the fore, “what are you going to do about your fraud ring?”
“I’m waiting for a bit of intel from Linc or Jacobsen on the guy posing as England before I move,” he replied easily, his discomfort over discussing his personal life pushed aside. “If I didn’t think it would get me a bullet in the head, I’d let them know they’d caught a cop, and see what they do with it.” He held up a hand as Cris started to interrupt him. “But I won’t. I may not have been in the field in a long time, but even I’m not that much of a moron.”
Mollified, Cris settled herself back on the uncomfortable porcelain. “You can crash here as long as you like. I’m going back into work tomorrow, come hell or high water. There’s no way this yahoo is going to derail me.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” The tenor of his voice said he sure didn’t think so.
“Remember, I threw Linc’s name around, so I doubt he’ll be back…it’ll screw his cover even more than it’s already been blown. Now he knows I’m friends with an OSBI agent, I probably look as attractive as the plague.”
Nick grunted in response, making Cris look up. His expression said he found her a damn sight more attractive than that. Her pulse stuttered as his gaze went molten. In two short steps he was across the bathroom, hauling her into his arms.
“Know I shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, before dropping his head and sealing his mouth to hers.
The stark, needy contact of his lips on hers, the not-so-gentle pressure he applied to the back of her neck, seared Cris down to her soul. He tasted of coffee and something smoky that tantalized her senses, made her moan as his tongue teased the seam of her lips. She opened, desperate for his true taste in a way she couldn’t, wouldn’t name.
His tongue tangled with hers, sending shock waves through her system, igniting nerves long gone dormant. His hand left her nape and cruised down her body, leaving a firestorm in its wake. She arched against his palm, his mouth, screaming want tumbling through her body.
He groaned in response and pulled her body against his until not a whisper remained between them, his mouth devouring hers as he did.
Cris fisted her hands in his hair and held on tight as she leaned into him, reveling in the hard press of his chest, the strength of the arms banded around her. Everything inside her went liquid as one of his hands rose to cup her breast through the thin material of her tee shirt.
Distantly she heard a bell ringing, and even as she longed to dive deeper into his mouth, his body, she pulled her face away. “Doorbell,” she whispered on a jagged breath, her heartbeat hammering in her ears.
His hands still clutched her to his body, the contact burning through the layers of their clothing. “Ignore it,” he rasped.
“Can’t,” she replied. “It might be Linc.”
“Let him find his own girl,” Nick growled, before surging in for another taste.
Cris met him for a brief, all-consuming kiss, then truly pulled away, her body instantly bereft. The doorbell chimed again.
“I have to answer it,” she said, before sliding away from him, her heart beating in double time. If she’d imagined this morning her life could change from a not-so-simple kiss, she would have scoffed. But as she walked to the front door, she had to admit that Nick McLain had rocked her world, whether she wanted him to or not.
She approached the door and used the peephole built low, to purposely avoid the detection of people who dared call on her. Austin had made her all-too-aware of how tenuous one’s privacy was. Yeah, the peephole was at crotch-level, but few people thought to look that low, and it was well disguised. It was also out of shooting range.
She’d been on the verge of getting one of those camera doorbells but had changed her mind after seeing the opportunity for hackers. Would’ve been great right about now, though.
She glanced behind her, and was glad to find Nick, his loaned Beretta at the ready, standing around the corner of the dining room, covering her. It warmed her heart as flowers or chocolate never could have.
Kneeling, she looked through the angled peephole. Barely stifling a gasp, she scuttled away from the door, waving Nick into the kitchen, as she crab-walked there herself.
“It’s England,” she said, making sure her voice was quiet. While moments ago her heart had raced because of Nick’s touch, now it pounded for an entirely different reason.
She glanced up at her compatriot. Before, when she’d made her declaration about returning to work, it had been based upon the fact her cover was deep and true. England’s presence at the door blew that all to hell.
“Weapons?” Nick asked, his demeanor now ultra-professional, ultra-coplike.
“None,” she said, raising her chin, refusing to be ashamed by her choice. “What you’re holding is what we’ve got.”
“Dammit,” he cursed, low and vehement, his voice carrying no further than the kitchen. “Options?”
“We have to assume he’s coming in, hell or high water, yes?” Cris posited, even as she procured a filet knife from the drawer. It wouldn’t do diddly squat against a bullet, but in close…
“Agreed. Even if he’s doing recon, he’ll search the place.”
“I’ll figure out how he found me later. Until then, the basement is the best bet, behind the furnace. There’s a crawl space between the first floor and the basement you have to look for.”
“Lead the way,” Nick tucked her beneath his free arm as he used the Beretta to clear first the front door, then the door leading to the garage in a smooth back-and-forth movement.
She pulled away from him, hurrying to the basement door, opening it even as she prayed it wouldn’t squeal. For once it didn’t; she closed it quietly behind Nick, then led him downstairs carefully, barely seeing her way by the light of a tiny casement window. The basement of the old house was partially finished, holding a conglomeration of odds and ends and her washer and dryer.
The crawlspace was well and truly hidden, something she’d discovered only after th
e plumber had shown it to her. It would be tight, but considering the options…
Cris pulled open the tiny door and scooted into the crawlspace, giving McLain as much room as she possibly could. He slid into the tiny tunnel by upper body strength alone, crushed against her as he closed the door, leaving a sliver of murky light to penetrate.
It was tight quarters, and Cris pulled as far away from him as possible to give him room to work. He retaliated by pulling her so close they almost shared the same breath. His heart beat slow and steady beneath her fingertips. They were as ready as they could be; his Beretta pointed toward the small door, the filet knife in her hand.
“Rats,” Nick shuddered against her. “Are there any?”
“Not that I know of, and I’ve lived here for almost two years. Why?” she whispered.
“The things give me the heebie-jeebies,” he replied in sotto voice, matching her own.
“You’re safe,” she said. “If I’d seen any, I would’ve gotten a cat, or better yet, a rat-eating Rottweiler.”
He chuffed against her hair. “Right now, a cat would be a great alarm.”
“So noted,” she grinned, absurdly elated as adrenaline flowed through her for the second time in one day. Oh, how she’d missed this. Then a thought struck her and she flinched.
“Oh no.”
“What?” he breathed against her skin.
“My phone--it’s still charging. They’ll know we’re here.”
“We’ll play that as it comes,” he breathed into her ear. Above them, ancient floorboards squeaked. “Now hush and hold on.”
While that type of order had always been foreign to Cris, today it was the right thing to do, the smart thing. McLain held the greater firepower, therefore he would take the first shots. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Nick pulled Cristine against his body, reveling in the contact, even as he praised her good sense in checking to see who was at the door when he would have been perfectly happy in continuing the hottest kiss he’d ever experienced. Ever.