by Dana Marton
Provoking him now wasn’t in her best interest. As long as they hadn’t gotten wherever he was taking her yet, she was still okay.
“We’re leaving. I need to hang up.” She wasn’t sure how many minutes she had left on the phone. She wanted to save some for later, in case she needed it.
“Hang in there. I’m coming.”
“I know,” she said, and then she disconnected.
* * *
Murph flew down the road with the siren blaring, grateful to Bing for the cruiser.
Mordocai could have left the second he’d snatched Kate, or he could have hung around a while to watch Murph go nuts, watch the FBI arrive. Maybe he got off on that kind of thing.
He dialed Bing’s number. “It’s definitely Fred. He’s traveling on the PA Turnpike Northeast Extension. Going west.” Since the Northeast Extension started at Plymouth Meeting, about thirty miles from Broslin, west was the only way they could have taken. “Driver is armed and dangerous. Kidnap victim confirmed in trunk. Exercise maximum caution.”
He ended the call and focused on the road, winding in and out of traffic when the cars wouldn’t pull aside. He flew down Rt. 476, then onto the Northeast Extension. He knew the car he was looking for and he would recognize Mordocai. His mind was razor sharp, focused.
Passing the physical, getting back on the force, finishing his house—none of that mattered now. Only finding Kate. He could give up everything else, just as long as he found her.
Two State Troopers zoomed by. Bing had put out the APB. Murph wondered if the FBI was still wasting their time at his house. He couldn’t worry about them now. All he could think of was Kate.
His phone rang. Unidentified number.
“We’re off the highway,” Kate whispered as soon as he picked up, her voice sending a spiral of relief through him. “On a dirt road. He just stopped.”
“How many turns did he take? How many times did he slow?”
“Just straight to the dirt road,” she said, and then the line went dead.
What exit? What dirt road? Highways didn’t intersect with dirt roads for the most part, they connected to off-ramps and other major thoroughfares.
Except the pull-offs cops used to catch speeders. Some officers liked to hide behind signs, others parked behind bushes with their radar guns.
Murph kept his eyes open for a place like that, somewhere that would be concealed from oncoming traffic, but would have visibility over a long stretch of highway the opposite way. Since he knew exactly the kind of prime speed trap spot he was looking for, he found it in less than twenty minutes, fresh tire marks in the snow.
He shut off his siren and pulled off the road, stopped the car. He could see something red behind the bushes a few hundred feet ahead on an incline. He nosed the cruiser forward a foot at a time until he could finally see into the other vehicle.
Empty. Nobody in sight. But the yew bushes behind the Mazda spread wide enough to hide several people.
He called in his position then got out, took cover, pointed his gun at those bushes. “Police. Come out with your hands in the air!”
No response came, no movement. He inched forward, ready for anything. He rounded the Mazda, noting the trampled snow. The trunk stood open to a small gap. He held his breath as he opened it all the way, praying he wouldn’t find a body.
But Kate wasn’t in there, and no blood either. He drew in a ragged breath.
He skirted the bushes, found nothing behind them, scanned the open fields ahead, the edge of the woods. A line of footprints lead that way. Did Mordocai have another car waiting somewhere up ahead on some little country road?
Murph didn’t think so. More than likely Mordocai had simply gotten spooked by all the police on the highway and pulled off.
A water tower glinted in the winter sunshine above the tree line, probably the nearest town. Murph ran. He had to catch up with them before Mordocai could steal a car and disappear with Kate.
He reached the woods, gasped icy air. He was out of shape. What little workout he’d been getting at the station was nothing. He’d been out of the action for too long because of his injury and the surgeries. But he couldn’t fail Kate.
He followed the tracks in the snow for a good twenty minutes before he caught a glimpse of purple. Her ridiculous Christmas sweater? He pushed forward even harder.
The purple wasn’t moving. She was still. After a dozen or so careful steps, he realized why. She was tied to a tree, her head hanging, her auburn hair disheveled and loose from her ponytail, obscuring her features.
His heart stopped. Move. Be alive. And she did look up at last, although she hadn’t seen him yet. A piece of cloth hung from her mouth. Mordocai had gagged her.
Cold fury coursed through Murph as he pulled behind an oak tree. If she was out here like that, alive, it could mean only one thing: Mordocai had seen him and set a trap.
As if to confirm his suspicion, a voice rang out. “I’m glad you could join us. You caused me so much trouble, I really hated leaving you behind.”
Murph could identify the man’s location by the sound, but didn’t look that way. Doing what assassins did might have been Mordocai’s expertise, but Murph wasn’t a novice in the game of search and destroy either. He knew the rules of engagement.
He inched forward, keeping in cover, pulled into the thickest bushes to his left where some evergreens would obscure him. Mordocai could blanket the position with bullets, but he wouldn’t know where exactly Murph was or if he’d been hit.
He pressed into an indentation on the ground that would keep him mostly protected. The spot was great while he measured up the situation and got his bearings, but he couldn't stay there until reinforcements arrived. He had to move forward and get Mordocai in his sights. He had to protect Kate who was out in the open.
A movie began in the back of his mind, his team leaving cover and being ripped to shreds, explosions shaking the ground, blood everywhere. A bolt of pain shot through his shoulder and for a moment he couldn’t move.
But only for a moment. He pushed the past aside and shrugged out of his coat, hung it on a branch so Mordocai could see patches of the fabric through the gaps between branches.
He carefully dropped to his stomach and crawled forward. A fallen tree provided him with cover for the first twenty feet. He ignored the gruesome memories that tried to push into his mind. He ignored the cold, not nearly as bad as in the Afghan mountains in winter during his first deployment.
Search and destroy. He looked forward to getting to the second part.
He left the cover of the tree and crawled behind a scraggly bush that didn’t have a single dried-up leaf left on the branches, not much of a cover. He moved. Stopped. Moved again. No shots rang out. Mordocai was probably still watching his coat.
“I can hit you any time,” Mordocai bragged, his voice amplified, carrying a theatrical tone. “I’m an assassin. But I’m going to make you watch me put a bullet into her heart first. I don’t like it when secondary characters disrupt my plans. And you're not even that. You're just a walk-on, you know that? The nameless guy who gets killed in the third act.”
Murph moved into position, scanned the spot where the voice was coming from and saw a small movement halfway up a tree. Mordocai had gone for high ground. Smart. But he should have kept his mouth shut.
The bastard had picked a good hiding place, behind an evergreen, the branches obscuring him as he kept shifting in his perch. No way to hit him. But the round receptacle of the water tower peaked through a narrow gap between trees, clearly visible in the distance, right at the same level as the bastard’s head.
So Murph aimed for the tower, then moved the crosshairs to the left by a fraction of an inch, the handcuffs still dangling from his wrist.
“I’m an assassin!” Mordocai shouted with the overdone drama of a bad stage actor, sure of himself.
Murph took his shot and dropped the bastard right out of the tree. Then he stood. “I’m an American soldier, you
son of a bitch.”
The sound of sirens reached him as he ran forward to make sure Mordocai was dead. He was, his chest bathed in his own blood. Murph kicked the man’s gun away then ran to Kate.
“Are you all right?” He pulled the rag from her mouth, and as she gasped for air, he filled his own lungs. He didn't think he'd drawn a full breath since he’d found her gone.
“I knew you would come.” She smiled through tears. “I fought him every step of the way. I wanted to give you time to get here.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?” As he cut her ropes, his left arm began to shake. He hadn’t even felt his injury until this moment. And now he didn’t care. She was alive. Nothing else mattered.
She was smiling at him. “I'll take bruised and alive over the alternative.”
He loved her no-nonsense courage and resilience. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. She didn’t play coy. She gave as good as she got. Another thing he admired about her. God, he loved the taste of her lips, the way her body fit against his.
Heat and need filled him, kicked up a notch when a soft, sexy moan escaped her throat. An urgency to take her and make her his pushed all other thought from his head. He deepened the kiss, explored and conquered. He could have gone on kissing her forever.
But the State Police arrived, running out of the trees with guns drawn, shouting for hands in the air. Oh, hell. And before Murph could fully explain himself, the FBI, too, put in an appearance.
Agent Cirelli and her team weren’t amused by the jailbreak. No matter how loudly Kate protested, they insisted on snapping the cuffs back on Murph and sorting his story out later.
Chapter Twelve
Kate packed her clothes in the bedroom, Murph helping. The agents had let him go after a lengthy explanation, and after she swore he’d been on her side all this time, protecting her.
Agent Cirelli had ordered him released, but insisted on taking Kate into protective custody tonight and handing her over to the U.S. Marshals Service to be entered into the witness protection program.
“I wish I didn’t have to go.” More than anything, she wanted another night with Murph.
He carefully folded up her patchwork quilt. “The Witness Security Program we have in this country is top of the line. They’ll keep you safe. They've never lost a single person who followed the instructions and was protected by the Marshals. Not one. It’s not like in the movies where the bad guys come and shoot up safe houses left and right. The Marshals know what they’re doing.”
“Trusting the system doesn’t come easy for me.”
“Then trust me.”
She did. “I liked being on the move because I could control it. I don’t like other people to have power over me, even if it’s the U.S. Marshals Service.”
“You can make a new home.”
“I want my old home back.” But then she paused. Did she?
Yes, she wanted her parents and Emma to be in her life again, but was she going to go back to live at home at thirty one? She desperately wanted a home, but maybe it was time for her to make a home of her own. She could do that, actually, put down roots if she stopped running and settled down somewhere.
Yet part of her resisted. “I could make a home in Broslin.” She liked the town. She actually could see herself living here long-term. Murph was here....
He shook his head as he watched her, his expression unreadable. “Asael is still alive. Now you’re not only the one that got away, but also the one that caused the death of his lover. That’s the way he’ll see it, even if you weren’t the one to pull the trigger.”
“Fudge him,” she said with feeling. She was sick and tired of Asael in her life. But then the next thought froze her in place as she stood by the bed. The air got stuck in her lungs. “You took out Mordocai. Asael could come after you.”
“If I could be sure of that, I’d sit tight right here and wait for him. I’d love for things to go down that way.”
“I want to stay.” She wanted to stay with him. They had the house fortified. They had defeated Mordocai. Maybe they could defeat Asael, too, together.
Murph strode over to her and cupped her face, dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. She wanted the moment to last forever. She wanted him, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. She dropped the sweater she was folding, and linked her arms around his waist as she snuggled against the hard planes of his chest.
When he would have stepped back—there were two FBI agents in the kitchen—she held on and kept on kissing him. He gave a fierce growl, like a tiger catching up to his dinner. The kissing changed tone, grew more heated then, within a second, more desperate.
This could be the last time they kissed. She slipped a hand under his shirt, needing to take the feel of him with her when she went. The warm muscles in his lower back shifted as he gathered her even closer, and she caressed them with her seeking fingers, kneading her way up his back.
A ragged groan escaped his throat. “If we’re going to stop, we better stop now,” he said in a tortured whisper against her lips.
She didn’t think she could walk away from him. She didn’t want to. He’d started out as an unexpected complication in her life, but in just a few days, he’d become important to her. “Don’t stop.”
His dark chocolate eyes narrowed with desire. He picked her up and strode into the bathroom with her then locked the door behind them.
She was shrugging out of her clothes already. While she stepped out of her shoes and pants, he undressed himself with military speed and stood in front of her naked.
His scars didn’t detract from the beauty of his magnificent battle-honed body, muscles everywhere, primal masculine energy radiating off him. She reached back for the clasp of her bra, but he turned her and took care of it, then drew her panties down, tossing them aside. He kissed his way up her legs, her back.
From the corner of her eye she could see as he reached for his bathroom box he’d brought up from the basement, and pulled out a foil wrapper. He took care of that, then turned her around to taste her lips once again. He kissed her with reverence, with so much gentleness that it stole her breath.
He made her head spin even before he reached his hands under her thighs to lift her up and onto him, her back against the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist.
He was inside her so deep they weren’t even separate entities anymore; they were welded together.
“There are FBI agents waiting for us in the kitchen.” She found the faint voice of reason, way too late.
“I’ve been deployed for the last eight months, then titillated by you for days on end. It’ll only take two seconds.”
Laughter bubbled up her throat. “Words every woman wants to hear.”
Then he began to move and she forgot all about the agents. She wound her arms around his neck. “You think I’m titillating?”
“Every moment of every day.”
He supported her weight with his good arm, which gave his left hand a chance to cup her breast. His thumb played a torturous game with her nipple while his tongue conquered her mouth. His steady, deep strokes sent her body higher and higher. She could barely hear the door rattling with every thrust. She didn’t care. Sweet cocoa bean heaven.
They didn’t have much time, but she didn’t need much. Her world exploded when he squeezed her nipple and shifted her at the same time to fill her even more fully yet.
She clung to him as pleasure shook her. They clung to each other.
“This is ridiculous,” she said as they dressed later, her mind still lost in a fog of pleasure. “They can’t make me go if I don’t want to.”
“You’re going.”
Disappointment burst her bubble of bliss. “You don’t want me here.”
“I want you safe.”
“I’m safe with you.” She opened the door and stepped out into the bedroom, looking back at him. She simply stated the fact. She wasn’t going to beg. If he didn’t want her, she was at least going to
leave with some dignity. She could cry her eyes out later.
Murph followed her. “Damn right, I can keep you safe. That’s why I’m coming with you.”
The words slammed into her and left her breathless. “You’d leave Broslin?”
“I figured out something while I was hurtling down the highway at a hundred miles an hour, trying to catch up to you. I’d be more miserable without you than without Broslin.” He gave a wry smile. “The way I see it, I can have another surgery. I can heal. Maybe I could be a cop again here. But with all the bad stuff in my head, maybe I’ll never be a great cop. And maybe that’s not what I need anyway. I’ve seen enough murder and violence. This could be my chance to open a new chapter. I need to figure out what that chapter is, and I want to figure it out with you. You seem to be good at moving on and surviving. How about giving me some tips?”
To hell with decorum. She threw herself into his arms. And then she did her best to kiss the self-satisfied smirk off his face.
Until someone cleared his throat behind her.
The agents were standing in the doorway.
Oh, God. How long had they been there?
* * *
Murph watched a blush spread on Kate’s face, and he turned to glare at the agents. He'd about had it with them in his house.
Agent Cirelli cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology Mr. Dolan.”
He rubbed his wrist that the broken cuff had scraped bloody when he’d tried to pry it off. “You were doing your job. Apology accepted.” Kate was here safe and sound, he could afford to be magnanimous.
Bing pushed inside. “Thought I’d stop by to make sure everything’s going okay here.”
Because he didn’t trust the FBI with him, Murph thought and nodded in appreciation.
Bing looked Kate over first, then Murph, as the agents backed away. “You two okay?”
Murph rubbed his wrist again as the weirdest thought popped into his mind. He shook his head. “Robin Combs.”