Karin pointed at the next day. “There,” she said. “My sister reached me. She…was in trouble. She lived with my stepfather. But my stepfather isn’t a nice man, and she finally needed a way out. I left that day to get her.” So odd to talk about herself in that way…but somehow also a relief. She could tell him of herself without truly revealing anything at all. Her finger then traveled across the page, stopping at the day Ellen had died. “Here. The accident. By the time I got back home, that note meant nothing to me. ‘Hi, is this Dave Hunter? Who are you, and do you know why I was going to call you?’”
Dave ran his finger over the photograph. “Damn,” he said softly.
“Isn’t that photo enough? Won’t it help?”
He stilled, thinking about it, and then shifted beside her, settling into a cross-legged position like her own. He didn’t need to shake his head for Karin to know the answer. “Someone else, we might pull in for questioning with evidence like this. Longsford is too highly connected. When we go for him, we’ve got to have the case already made. But this is one more piece.” He flipped the photo over, checking for notes, and then gestured with it. “Can I take it?”
“It’s all yours.”
He nodded his thanks. “If I’d had any doubts about him…”
That surprised her. “Did you?”
His smile was grim and weary. “No. But I’m the only one. There’s a reason they didn’t officially bring me in to consult.”
She realized for the first time that he was doing this on his own time. Scraping around without Bureau resources, trying to find Rashawn before it was too late.
He looked over at her—caught her eye in that way he had. “You’ll come with me?”
She hesitated. She didn’t need his help…she could easily wait until he left and then do what she’d planned in the first place, hide out as someone else until the threat was over.
But if Longsford wasn’t caught, then the threat would never end. Not now, once he’d decided she was a threat. Especially not if he wanted to continue his little hobby.
She was going to have to tell Dave. To offer him the help Ellen couldn’t give him.
And when he learned who she really was, what she’d really done with her life, this man who now sat so comfortably beside her, who’d offered her his warmth and his kisses…then he’d look at her in an entirely different way.
Take what you can get.
Something must have shown on her face. The wistfulness…the want. And he had it, too. He said, “Hey.” The same way he’d announced himself at her door, but somehow an entirely different word.
“Hey,” she said softly. Had they moved closer together? Yeah. Definitely. With the want growing between them, reminiscent of their connection in the henhouse and quickly going beyond. She said what she’d said then, trusting him to catch it. “You like this with all your witnesses?”
Give the man credit, he didn’t need a Clue Bat. “No,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’m like this with…you.”
They reached for each other at the same time, fingers tangling in hair, lips meeting with inexplicable familiarity. Her cast rested awkwardly against his neck, but when she ran her fingernails over the skin behind his ear he still froze for an instant. Then he nudged her backward, shoving the box out of the way. She went gladly and brought him with her, no hesitations…just want. She offered him full, hard kisses, half trapped under his body—and she suddenly felt bereft from the waist down. No warmth, no weight…no heat. Then his hand slid down her ribs—carefully, still somehow thinking of her battered state—and up her shirt and already she strained, lifting herself with the expectation until his hand cradled her breast. Oh, yeah. She dropped her head back, giving him free access to her throat.
Mistake. That Dave Hunter integrity was still at work, and she’d given him just enough space to think about it. “Ellen,” he said, and the doubt came through clearly enough.
“Don’t even think it!” she said fiercely. “I’m not even a witness anymore, not really. And you’re not getting away this time.”
He laughed, propped on his elbow long enough to clear her face of the hair that had somehow become tangled between them; gently, he disengaged a strand. “Gee,” he said, amused in his mild sarcasm. “If you’re sure…”
She put his hand back on her breast—as close as she could get it, hindered by her cast—and pulled his head back down. Firmly. His lips barely touching hers, he murmured, “I guess you’re sure.”
In response, she levered herself up and rolled them both over. It was noisy and ungraceful and full of intent, and when she was done she straddled him.
Dave didn’t appear to notice. Too busy helping her yank his sweatshirt over his head, and then too busy hissing through his teeth as she found the flat of his nipple and scratched it lightly; he thrust up against her to create instant lightning in all the places that were rapidly becoming the most important parts of her body. Except…
Too many clothes. She wiggled in a wordless demand and his hands clenched on her hips, his head tipping back and a delightful groan working its way through clenched teeth. A man who knew what he liked…who knew how to let go and enjoy it. But still too many clothes. “Off!” she demanded, reduced to one-word sentences. She unsnapped her jeans, fumbling to unbutton his until he took over. They separated long enough to shuck their jeans and then she was right back with him, sinking into the satisfaction of almost-contact, wrapping herself around the heat of his erection through his dark boxers. She moved against him, body thrumming, and gave no quarter as he reached for his jeans, his wallet—and then arched in helpless reaction as she reached behind herself to give him an intimate tickle.
So she did it again, and then leaned down to nibble the throat he’d just exposed.
“Lord!” he said. “You—”
She laughed into the curve where his neck met his shoulders, taking in the scent of him. But he hadn’t lost himself entirely; he dropped his wallet to grab her hips and lift his own, angling them together so perfectly she cried out at the intensity of it. “Two can play that game,” he told her.
She groped for that wallet. This was what she’d wanted, what her body had been reaching for, each and every time she’d felt the connection between them. Across the room, in a crowded henhouse, over pancakes at breakfast…this was the silent language they’d been speaking to each other. “Now,” she told him. “Now, now, now.”
Panting, his ice blue eyes alight with laughter and desire, he said again, “If you’re sure—”
She knew the only answer to that. She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh, sneaking in under his boxers. He instantly snatched the wallet up, pulled out the condom lurking within and covered himself, not bothering to remove the boxers. Karin did her best to make it a challenge, scraping her nails lightly up his thigh, high enough to make him react and gasp and tighten—but he laughed, too, short and breathless, enjoying her.
And then he didn’t bother with her underwear, which she wouldn’t have predicted anyone could just yank aside like that but who cared, not when they finally came together. Together. They spent a few luxurious moments learning the feel of each other—hard and soft, getting acquainted—and started to move. Nothing slow about that, not with the two of them so explosive, so full of coiling energy. Karin arched into him, braced her hands on his thighs and threw her head back. They danced together, fast and hard and quickly building, until all her strength drained from her fingers and toes and spiraled inward and Dave’s thighs tightened beneath her hands, raising them both.
It was impulse that made her clench her knees to his side, stopping them in mid-thrust. Impulse that made her close down around him so he gave a surprised little cry, neck straining, fingers reaching and needy and headed for the juncture of her thighs. She did it again and he froze, arching upward, trembling, still reaching for her, pulsing in response to her.
A long moment she held them that way, neither of them quite breathing, the intimacy of their connecti
on almost unbearable, a pulsing focal point of—
“Now,” she whispered, and moved. He gave a great cry, a strangled sound…a startled sound. And he finally reached her, a single touch, and she cried out with him.
He should have been spent after that…Karin was, as limp as a noodle and not sure whether to fall forward or simply to finish falling backward to lie like an acrobat atop his knees. He made the decision for her, pulling her forward to kiss her with a surprising intensity. She thought it might be a thank you…she thought it might be his way of making certain he didn’t take her lightly. Either was fine with her and she kissed him back until they had so little breath left there was no choice.
She lay across his chest, taking a brief moment to regret that she’d never gotten her shirt off, never felt his hands on her bare breasts. Next time.
Except there wasn’t likely to be a next time. She was running out of time. She’d have to tell him who she really was…and the man who thought he’d made love to Ellen might well not want to make love to Karin. Karin who’d lied to him…deceived him…
For once, quite suddenly, she was grateful to Rumsey. He was the one who’d taught her to grab opportunities, to rely on her instinct…to avoid thinking things to death when the moment was right. And nothing…nothing could be more right than this. Whatever happened next. Nothing could take this moment away. She kissed his collarbone, drawing on enough energy to run her hand down the crisp of blond hair that covered his chest. “I changed my mind,” she said, lazy and satisfied. “This wasn’t a good idea at all.”
He laughed, as much as he could with her weight on his chest and a slight tremble still reverberating through his body, and he kissed the top of her head. “You’re right,” he said, and his voice tickled her ear. “That didn’t work out well in the least. We should never do it again.”
“Ever,” she said…and prepared to do it again.
Chapter 11
Karin managed evening chores with an old sock over her cast to keep it from picking up unsavory farm substances, and with Dave by her side. “Yes,” she’d told him. “I’ll come with you. But we have to talk.” So they fed the goats, and she taught him how to milk Agatha, leaning over him to wrap one hand over his, initiating just the right rhythm in his fingers.
He gave her a sideways glance, one sparked with humor. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Hell, yes,” she told him, and licked his neck.
He carried the milk pail as she fed the sheep, apologizing to them for the whole Mad Sheep disease ploy. The sheep did not appear to care, and as they ate, Dave took a rake to the worst spots of the pen. He and Karin cast simultaneous glances at the old henhouse and she waggled her eyebrows at him, eliciting a somewhat smug grin. She drank it in.
She figured it was one of the last she’d see. That connection between them, so warm and nearly palpable…she figured she wouldn’t have it much longer. Maybe that was why she pinned him against the barn for one last, deep kiss before taking him by the hand and walking along the crest of the hill. When she sat, ignoring the dampness of the spring ground, he followed suit. But he’d picked up on her tension.
“You’re not changing your mind,” he said warily, more a prod than a question.
Karin drew her knees to her chest and pulled her hoodie sweatshirt out to envelop them. Total coincidence if it looked something like a fetal curl. “I’m not. But you might.”
He thought on that a moment and shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Too cryptic. You’ll have to give me more.”
She thought wistfully about his flask, but knew he wasn’t carrying it. A swallow of that Cardhu would have gone down well, cask bite and all. “This Owen of yours,” she said. “The family business. Are you all rescuers?”
That surprised him. He withdrew, looking down the slope of the greening pasture. When he glanced at her, his eyes were back to cool ice. She told herself to get used to it. He said, “The safe house tipped you off, huh?”
“Well, yeah.” That was the truth, but not all of it…and here, on this hill, Karin was offering the whole truth. She added, “Not just that. It’s the way you are. A rescuer. I figure you either come from a family of them, or a family of the opposite. A kick-you-when-you’re-down family.”
Dave snorted. “No, not that.” He turned his jacket collar up, though it wasn’t nearly cold enough to inspire the need. “Rescuers. I never thought of it like that before, but…yeah.”
“So what’s Owen’s beef with you? He’s a rescuer…you’re a rescuer. I thought you said you weren’t in the family biz.”
“This day isn’t about me.” He tried to put some finality into his words. He didn’t have much success. Not after what had happened between them that afternoon.
She leaned into him, bumping his shoulder. Did it again, until he looked over at her. Not happily. She shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t when you got here. But now, kinda…yeah, it is.” And besides, I don’t think there’s any way we’re going to have this little talk after I spill the beans on myself.
He scruffed his hand through his hair. It looked like defeat to Karin. “When my parents started the agency, they kept it personal. Small cases, affecting individuals. But once Owen truly had control, things changed. He got a few big jobs…he headed upscale. Instead of dealing with individuals, the agency manages big-picture ops. Saving the world, instead of just your neighbor.” He shrugged. “It’s a good agency. It’s a superb agency. Their operatives are the best. But…they’re operatives. I’m not.”
She thought about that a moment. A long moment. Then she asked, “Why?”
He made a gesture of impatience. “Ellen, is this—”
“Yes,” she interrupted, unrepentant. “If I leave with you, then yes. I want to know more about who I’m going with.”
“You knew enough to…”
This time, her smile—a little wry, but undeterred—was enough to cut him short. She said, “Yes, I did. That was my now. This is about my future.”
Dave did the hair-scruffing thing again. When he spoke, it was grudging. “Okay. Yeah. Look…there’s nothing wrong with Owen’s way. It’s just not for me.”
“But you don’t mind drawing on the resources of the family agency.”
He stiffened slightly. “No,” he said. “I don’t. What I’m doing is just as important. If my parents were still alive, they would have the same priorities. Owen might not appreciate the path that I’ve taken, but he understands that. It doesn’t happen all that damn often, but if I need resources, I ask for them.”
“And you help them, too.” She filled in that blank; he gave her a disgruntled and impatient look. “You said something about Pittsburgh. Ribs…collarbone. I’ve got good reason to know how long ribs can stay sore.”
His eyes had narrowed. “You’re full of surprises.”
Oh, ha. You’re about to find out how right you are.
But he conceded her point. “Yes. I help them out when they need me. Which is just often enough to remind me what Owen thinks I should be doing, but not so often that I tell him to take a flying leap. He’s good like that. Knows just where the line is.”
“Where?” she asked softly, knowing he would be appalled that she seldom bothered to draw lines at all. Morally acceptable to unacceptable…she’d lived her life moving freely on either side of that line. “Or should I ask, why? What made you different? What made your work more important than what your family expected of you?”
Because this was one of those families. A family with obligations and expectations. Rather like Rumsey, only with an entirely different focus.
She thought he might object again. She said, “I’ve got the persistence to hang off the side of a cliff all night. What makes you think I’m going to give up on this?”
He said his bad words again. The whole string, under his breath, not even looking at her. Nom de Dieu de bordel de merde. Then he said, “It was just one of those things. Everyone’s got one or two of them.” He glanced at her as though gu
essing what hers might be but she didn’t flinch; he’d know soon enough. “I was nine. I took ride-alongs with my dad all the time—not the crucial stuff, nothing inappropriate. Meeting people he worked with, handling legwork. But I got greedy, and I wanted in on some of the exciting stuff. When you’re nine, you can’t even imagine…”
Well, yes. She could. Rumsey had hauled her everywhere, introducing her to the life. But she nodded anyway. “So you…what? Invited yourself along?”
He hadn’t expected her to guess it so closely, but he got past his surprise to say, “Just that. Hid in the backseat of my dad’s sedan one night. Turned out he was on his way to a body recovery.” He looked at her without turning his head, just a flash of those bright eyes. “Little boy about my age, the son of a French diplomat who was touring our wine county. He’d been kidnapped and dumped. It was an ugly scene.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must have been a shock.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He shifted to look her straight on, obviously struggling to move past the memory. “Don’t bother with psychobabble, by the way.”
“Me?” She hadn’t intended it. In truth, she was too lost in her own thoughts, in what came next.
“You. Anyone. I’ve heard enough of it—how it’s too late to save that kid, and if I spend my life trying I’ll just waste my time. The way I see it, I was pretty much headed for this business. I might as well choose how I go about it.”
“I get that. I got funneled into the family business, too.”
He frowned, golden eyebrows pulled together. Thick eyebrows, thick enough to avoid that pale-haired, eyebrow-free appearance. “You were a legal secretary.”
“Okay,” she told him. Now or never. “It’s my turn to talk. And you just listen. Though you’re not going to like it.” She sat silent for a moment, thinking of his hands on her body, savoring that memory. Then thinking of his honesty in love-making. He didn’t hide how she’d affected him, didn’t play stoic…he’d laughed and cried out and shared himself with her.
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