by Freya Barker
I step aside when I feel a hand in my back, and she steps up beside me, her hand out.
“Nice to meet you,” she says, smiling hesitantly. “Please come on in.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” the guy says, a big grin on his face as he watches her turn to go in before following behind her.
I just want to rip out his balls, through his throat.
Isla
“Do you have a desktop unit?”
The hunky, blond surfer boy, who is far too pretty to be hiding out behind computer screens and motherboards, also has a voice like silk. Sexy. Not quite the same caliber as Ben’s deep rasp, but sexy nonetheless.
“Nope, just the laptop,” I answer, only vaguely aware of Ben, who is watching our interaction closely.
“I suggest you get a desktop to run your edits in Photoshop on. It takes up a lot of your disk space on the laptop, which causes it to get sluggish. If you want, I can hook you up with a decent refurbished unit that has enough RAM to support your needs.” Neil’s smile is shameless as he wiggles an eyebrow at his own blatant innuendo.
I almost laugh out loud when I hear Ben growl, before shooting from his seat, and stepping up behind my stool. His arm slips possessively around the front of my chest, his hand cupping around my opposite shoulder, as he pulls me into his body.
“Almost done?” Ben snarls at the young pup, who seems to be having a great time rattling the older man’s cage.
“I don’t like to rush things,” Neil drawls, winking at me and effectively taking his life in his own hands. I quickly grab Ben’s arm, crossed in front of me. “I’m always thorough,” he can’t seem to resist adding.
I can’t help it; I burst out laughing when I feel Ben go rigid behind me.
“You are incorrigible.” I wag my finger at Neil. “And you,” I direct at Ben, tilting my head back so I can see the flare of his nostrils. “You need to stand down. Or did you not hear the part where Neil was telling me about his lovely wife?”
“Not to worry,” Neil interjects, aiming a grin at Ben. “All done. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Damian was already gone; he’d left, right after Neil got here, with the promise he’d be in touch. I like Damian. He looks all polished and proper, but underneath there’s this whole smoldering Latino passion. The complete opposite of Neil, who could’ve stepped right out of the movie Point Break, looking like Patrick Swayze’s younger brother, and is mischievous. A blatant flirt.
“Call me if you need me,” he says suggestively, peering around Ben’s broad shoulders when he’s being ushered out the door.
I’m still chuckling when Ben slams the door and prowls toward me, bracketing me in with his hips between my legs and my back against the counter. The angry scowl on his face just makes me laugh harder. It’s a welcome release after a tense day.
Apparently Ben’s had enough of my hilarity, because he bends down, lifts me off the stool, and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I protest, knowing exactly where he’s taking me and what follows. “I thought we were going to talk?”
“Gonna fuck you first—then we can talk,” he says, making clear there will be no argument on that.
I’m flipped, rather unceremoniously, on the mattress and Ben doesn’t hesitate divesting me of my clothes. Every last thread.
Then he pauses, with his shirt halfway up his torso and his eyes on my body. He pulls the shirt over his head, slowly, much slower than the frantic pace he set earlier.
By the time he steps out of his jeans, I’m squirming on the bed, heated by just the touch of his eyes.
“Correction,” he rumbles, sinking down on his knees and pulling my hips toward him.
“First, I’m going to worship you—then I’m going to fuck you. Then we’ll talk—much, much later.”
CHAPTER 18
Ben
“Aim for the largest part of the body and gently squeeze the trigger.”
The loud reverberation of the gun travels and bounces off the mountains around us.
Then it’s quiet again. Almost too quiet, the noise absorbed by the blanket of snow that fell yesterday. A good ten inches, not quite the several feet I’ve been told to expect, but a decent start anyway.
I should be glad things seem to have settled down, but instead it’s making me uneasy.
It took Neil a few days to pull the information. The clinic in Tulsa, where the ultrasound was taken, had closed down since, but the files were digitally archived and stored in a central data bank. Harder to access, and apparently a maze of digital information to sort through, but he found her.
Jahnee Kaiser nee Wells, born March 13, 1973, in Amarillo, Texas. Except, there had been no record of any Mr. Kaiser. I could’ve told him there’s no record to be found. Nor would there be a marriage license of such a union, since it never took place.
Bat-shit crazy.
The DEA would have some file on her—at least leading up to our sting in Tulsa—but no need to keep track after.
I’m more interested to find out where the fuck she is now, I don’t really give a shit where she’s been. Except to find out what happened to that child she was clearly pregnant with. A kid, which by my calculations, could very well be mine.
Neil dug hard but found no record of any birth. What he did find was that Jahnee sent those emails from different IP addresses. He tried to explain that he knew she was sending from her phone and had a dynamic IP address assigned to her from the server, depending on where she was. The only conclusion he was comfortable drawing was that she’d been in or around Durango for the first one, and somewhere in central Montezuma County for the last one. That’s a pretty decent chunk of real estate to cover.
“Can I go again?” Isla turns to me, the gun in her hand aimed at the ground and away from her body, like I instructed. The first time I took her up for target practice, I’d nearly crapped myself when she swung the damn thing toward me, barrel first.
She argued at first, but when I explained that unless she had an adequate alternative to protect herself, I’d have to handcuff her to my side, she relented. This is our third day shooting, and I’m pretty confident she’ll be able to pull the trigger under extreme circumstances. I’m not sure what she would hit, hopefully not her own foot, but it would be enough to scare an attacker off.
“One more,” I give in. “But then I want to head inside, see if my game is on.”
Friday the guy was here installing the satellite and we mounted the TV in the great room. Today is Sunday and I’m ready for some damn NFL.
-
“Jesus Christ, Brady—throw the damn ball!”
The fucking guy always hangs on to the ball a little longer than is comfortable, or wise. I don’t care if he’s the winningest quarterback in the NFL; he likes playing with fire.
“Damn right you got sacked! Dumbass.”
A soft hand slides down my chest and I lean my head back on the couch. Isla is standing behind me with a grin on her face.
“Should I be worried?” she asks, biting her lip. I’m instantly distracted by her little white teeth, biting into the plump pink flesh. “Ben?”
“About what?” I ask, blinking a few times.
“Your blood pressure, for one,” she says sardonically. “My new furniture, for another.” Her gaze focuses on the beer bottle I’m still holding clenched in a fist.
I pluck her hand from my chest and press my lips to her palm.
“Not to worry, baby. I’m good.” I wink and bend forward to set my bottle on the table. My eyes naturally drift to the big screen, where Gronkowski can barely stay inbounds as he’s barreling to the end zone. “Fucking time, too!” I yell at the screen, when I feel the couch depress beside me.
“If this is going to be my life, you better initiate me,” Isla says, shrugging her shoulders. “First I want to know why that cutie, who keeps throwing the ball, is wearing the little white apron?”
It’s eleven-thirty by the time the last whistle blows and Is
la is fast asleep on my lap. Three back-to-back games is a bit much for a novice NFL fan, and Isla gave it her all. If possible, she ended up yelling at the screen louder than me.
Poor Atsa is exhausted too; every time Isla would jump up or raise her voice, he was on his feet and alert, ready to protect her. The dog’s protective instinct actually makes me feel better than my Pixie’s newfound fascination, with the gun, about leaving them for a couple of hours tomorrow.
It’s a surprise for Isla. We’ve both been going a little stir-crazy up here in the past week. Isla, because I wouldn’t let her go into town on her own, and me, because my once legendary patience is at an end. I need to actively do something to flush this crazy chick out or I’ll go nuts. Besides, in another week my sister and niece will be here, and I’d feel a whole lot better if we have this woman located by then.
When I called her Uncle Al two days ago, he was ready to hop in his old car, but I convinced him to fly in. He’s arriving tomorrow at noon in Durango, and I plan to pick him up, alone. He’ll be pissed when he finds out what’s been going on, and I don’t want any of that blowing back on Isla. The two-hour drive back here will give him a chance to work out his inevitable anger on me.
I turn off the TV and slide out from under Isla’s reclined form. Atsa scrambles to his feet and I know what he wants, but he’s going to have to wait.
“In a minute, boy,” I tell the dog, who’s closely following my moves as I bend down and carefully lift a sleeping Isla up in my arms.
Other than a little groan of protest when I tug down her jeans and cover her with the blankets, she doesn’t stir.
“Let’s go.”
Atsa is waiting by the door while I shove my feet into boots and tug my coat on. He’s out of the door before I have it opened properly, and bounds into the tree line. I follow in the same general direction at a much slower pace. When I hear him bark frantically somewhere in the woods, I break out in a run. It’s a clear night, and the moonlight reflects blue off the snow-covered ground. I have no trouble seeing where I’m going until the trees get denser and less light filters through.
Atsa’s barks are getting closer, which is my main source of navigation now. The gun I’ve taken to carrying on me again recently, is already in my hand when I break into a small clearing at the base of a large rock, not too far up from the house. The dog stands in the middle of the clearing, his body tight with tension, and his ears pulled back. His attention is entirely focused on the mountain lion on top of the rock.
The beautiful animal has its head hanging low between its shoulders, staring straight at Atsa, looking ready to pounce.
Isla
The second sharp crack has me shoot up straight in bed.
Gunshots. Away from the house, but not far.
“Ben?” I call out, but even as the sound travels through the house I know he’s not here. He’s out there.
Already I’m out of bed, tugging on the first pair of pants I encounter as I hop to the door. No Ben, and no Atsa, I confirm, peeking into the great room where the lights are already off.
From the shelf in the laundry room, I retrieve the small gun Ben has had me practice with. The thing is shaking in my hand as I try to jam my bare feet into my snow boots. I’m terrified and all I hear is my own panicked heartbeat.
I swing around, and lose my balance, when the door suddenly flies open.
“Jesus, woman!” Ben’s angry growl is a welcome sound. He bends down, plucking the gun from my hand, just seconds before Atsa barrels in after him, landing almost in my lap. “Get off her, you big mutt.” The dog is yanked off and Ben’s large hand wraps around my upper arm, pulling me to my feet. “Are you alright?” Other than my heart forcing its way up my esophagus?
“Fine,” I croak instead.
“Had to get between the dog and a mountain lion,” he grumbles, still holding me with one hand on my arm, and the other wiping imaginary dust off my ass. I slap at his hand impatiently.
“Mountain lion?” My voice has gone from a croak to a squeal. “I didn’t know we had those here? And aren’t they supposed to be hibernating?”
Ben calmly turns to lock the door and shrugs out of his coat, kicking off his boots at the same time.
“They’re around,” he confirms, as he pulls me along down the hallway to the bedroom, where he leaves me by the side of the bed, so he can take off his clothes. “There’s just not that many. They’re generally shy. And no,” he adds with a grin. “Mountain lions don’t hibernate.”
“Clearly this one wasn’t shy,” I grumble, ducking back under the covers, while Ben slips in on the other side.
“He’s probably just checking out who moved into his territory,” Ben explains, slipping his arm around my waist, and tugging my backside into the crook of his body.
“His territory? We’re going to have to move,” I announce, Ben’s body shakes with laughter behind me. “I don’t find anything about this even remotely funny.” It’s clear Ben disagrees with me.
I work hard to hang onto my snit, but eventually sleep, and the safe heat from his big body, gets the better of me.
-
“Do me a favor?”
I glance over my shoulder at Ben, who’s waiting for his eggs to be done.
“Depends?” I say cautiously, not wanting to make promises blindly. Ben smirks and shakes his head, looking down in his cup.
“Stay inside this morning? Or at least within a few steps from the house? Atsa can fend for himself, and he’ll listen to you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I wave the spatula dismissively and turn back to the stove, doing my best to ignore the real concern I hear in his voice. He’s heading to Durango for some important meeting with law enforcement there. Something about an old case that came up. I didn’t really ask because he seemed reluctant to talk about it.
I ignore the scrape of the stool on the floor, and the footsteps coming around the island, but I can’t ignore the arms that slip around my middle and the lips that find the back of my neck.
“Please?” I roll my eyes at his clear attempt at manipulation, with the use of his raspiest voice. He knows full well it makes me a little weak in the knees. “It’d make me feel better, Pixie, knowing you’re safe. Otherwise, I’m just going to be worrying the entire time. My focus will be off, I might not even pay attention while driving, and—”
“Alright, alright. Enough already!” I twist around in his arms and shove against his chest. His grin splits from ear to ear. Cocky bastard was laying it on way too thick. “I think I liked you better when you weren’t talking at all.”
Half an hour later, I’m waving from the doorway as he drives off down the road.
Grabbing a fresh cup of coffee and snagging the remote off the table, I settle in for the Netflix binge I’ve been craving. I tried watching one episode of Downton Abbey with him, but he was providing nonstop, nonverbal commentary. Mostly in the form of snorts and grunts, but at some point he even laughed at the most inappropriate moments.
When he’d mentioned needing to go into Durango for a good chunk of the day, Downton Abbey was the first thing that popped in my head.
-
I’m almost through season two when I hear the crunch of wheels on the snow. Atsa beats me to the door and I have to shove him out of the way so I can pull it open. Just in time to see Uncle Al climb out of the SUV.
I don’t notice the cold on my shoeless feet as I bolt out the door, straight into his arms.
“You crazy, girl?” he grumbles into my hair, lifting my feet high off the ground. “Came here for some good cooking, and how are ya gonna manage that if you’re laid up with pneumonia?”
I squeeze his neck hard.
“Missed you so much,” I mutter, fighting happy tears.
“Me too, girl. Me too. Come grab this crazy woman of yours, will ya?” he calls out to Ben, who walks up toting luggage. “I can carry my own damn bags.”
I’m swung up into Ben’s familiar arms and carried inside the ho
use.
“Thank you.” I smile at him when he finally sets me on my feet. “I should be pissed you lied to me, but I’m too happy right now.”
“That’s what I was going for,” he grins. “And I didn’t technically lie,” he whispers in my ear, bending down. “I did have a meeting with law enforcement in Durango.”
“He’s retired,” I point out, shoving at his shoulder.
“Semantics.”
“Whatever.” I shrug, grabbing one of my uncle’s bags to put in one of the spare bedrooms.
Al is impressed, I can tell. Even though he’s too stubborn to voice it, he can’t hide the appreciation in his eyes. Ben lets me do the honors showing him around, while he takes the dog out for a run.
“You keeping things from me, little girl?” my uncle starts, when I hand him a hot chocolate.
“Ben tell you?”
“Uh-huh. Ticked at you but I’m right pissed with him. Knew that boy had trouble written all over him, right from the get go,” he grumbles, his lips carefully testing the hot drink. My own temperature is rising at my uncle’s remarks.
“You have no right,” I spit out forcefully, and his eyes fly up at my evident anger. “If anyone should get the kind of sacrifices he’s made his whole life, in an effort to uphold the law, it should be you. That man has been here, at my back, by my side, covering my front, every damn step of the way. He does not deserve what you’re laying at his feet, and you don’t even know the half of what’s going on.”
“I know enough,” he says, his face hard and unforgiving. “He told me, girl—about the crazy bitch, about the child he might have, and about the pain it’s causing you. He’s hurting you, that’s enough for me.”
On a cerebral level I know he’s concerned, he’s worried about me, but my heart is so disappointed. I lean over the counter and let him see the tears in my eyes.
“You’re the one hurting me,” I hiss at my uncle, who’s been at the center of my world for so long. “You’re sitting in his kitchen, in the house that he spent the past few months building with me, and you dare tell me he’s causing me pain?” Not even the flinch on his face at my words can stop me now. I grab the mug he just put down on the counter and dump the whole thing in the sink, shattering it on impact.