by Addison Fox
Her breasts had always been sensitive. He’d been fascinated at how responsive she was when they were together and he’d used that knowledge to torture himself, touching her over and over in his fantasies ever since.
And now she was here.
He kept up the steady pressure against her flesh, watching as that sensual haze once again clouded her eyes. He lifted up, replacing one of his hands with his mouth, a taut nipple firm against his tongue. Her high moan echoed off the confines of the car and he kept his hands against her waist, holding her still.
Urged on by her response, he suckled her harder, pulling her flesh deep into his mouth even as he lifted his body against the apex of her thighs. Need spiraled through him, his own body hard to nearly the point of breaking, and still he pushed them both on. Her moans grew more urgent, and they both grew more frantic as one moment tumbled into the next. He wanted to stretch this out. Wanted to relive every moment of every tortured fever dream he’d had for the past decade, but the reality of having her was too much.
When her hands dropped to his waist and she tugged his work shirt free of his jeans, he let her. And when they fumbled and wrestled their way over the back seat to get their pants down far enough so their skin could meet, and their flesh could join, he let the moment overtake him.
Overtake them both.
He wanted her and she wanted him. The reality of their mutual need was enough to overcome his own mental pressure to prolong things and his attempts to live out a heated fantasy.
All of it simply faded away in the joy of the moment.
True to her promise, she found the condoms Hoyt had pressed on him earlier that week. Her motions sure and steady, sheathing him before guiding him home, sinking over him in the warmest welcome he’d ever received. As he filled her, pressing past her tight warmth, a heavy sigh shuttered from his chest.
The situation was all wrong.
The location was practically impossible.
The circumstances that surrounded them were criminal.
But in that moment, his body intertwined with Belle’s, everything was right.
* * *
The piece of trash lay on the plastic tarp, curled into the fetal position and weeping in low, steady tones. The drug runner had begged for mercy, first in his native Spanish and then in sporadic English, but all to no avail.
Justice was swift and uncompromising and it gave no pardon to the pleas of cowards.
Where was kindness and generosity when this man ran drugs back and forth over the border, ensuring they’d find their way into the veins and lungs of innocents? Where was his conscience and his weeping when money poured into his pocket and into that of his employer? Where was his devotion to God and the pleas for mercy when he did his drug lord’s business, killing others for sport?
The work that had come before—first the test case in that dirty little hotel room in Juarez, then the work he’d completed in El Paso and then Jesse Abrogato right here in the Pass—had led him to this moment. Target after target, refinement after refinement.
And justice.
The endless thirst for righteousness had only just begun. He would see that it was not only served but that those to whom he meted it out knew the need to repent for their sins.
The thug in Juarez had been an opportunity he’d finally had the courage to take. He’d toyed with the idea, of course. Had conceived the vigilante approach as a way to finally make a real and tangible impact on those who had so little respect for human life. On those who’d taken everything from him with their careless greed.
But he hadn’t known how to carry out his plans. The low-level scumbag had shown him the way.
How easy would it be to lure his prey? How much would they share about their colleagues? How much justice could he mete out before the body simply expired?
The work was slow and tiring, but it was satisfying.
And in the end, he’d found his calling. Justice had always been hard work. He’d spent his life in pursuit of what was right, with the law his moral compass. He’d made a career of it, one case at a time.
Now he could put all he’d learned to good use.
Now he would see the endless hours of frustrated anger and barely veiled hostility at a criminal’s ability to slip through the system finally meet its due.
And now—finally—he could avenge his family.
The wait had been a long time coming. If only he’d known how satisfying the work would be, he’d have started long before now.
And if he’d only known how freeing his actions would be, he could have begun to rid the world of its blight and pestilence so much sooner.
With an eye on the knife that he’d sharpened to a fine point, he walked back to the body on the tarp. And once again went to work.
* * *
Belle listened to the beat of Tate’s heart beneath her ear and took comfort in the firm, steady thump. They were still sprawled across the back of her SUV, with his legs propped on the runner of the car and her body curled over the top of his. She’d managed to wedge her knees on either side of his hips and had used the position to anchor herself to him.
Warm air blew in through the open car door, as hot and muggy as it had been all day.
“I should probably move.” Her voice had all the structure of a warm, thick cup of hot chocolate.
“I don’t think I can move.” His voice rumbled over the top of her head.
“Okay. We’ll just stay here like this for a while.”
Was it wrong she wanted to stay here forever?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Belle kept waiting for the sense of guilt to kick in. For that little voice of censure, telling her that this was a bad idea.
Only it hadn’t been.
It had been wonderful.
Even if it hadn’t solved a thing.
“Do you think Tot is okay?”
“He knows his way around. And he particularly loves the grass in this pasture. I doubt he went very far.”
“That’s good.”
“He’s a good horse. And he’s attached enough that he rarely goes off too far.”
As pillow talk went, their conversation wasn’t and Belle tried to ignore the slight warning bells at the ease with which he shifted back to more mundane topics.
Or the way his heartbeat had picked up beneath her ear.
That steady, leisurely thump post-sex had grown thicker. More insistent. Like anxiety of the assured fight to come had already set in, even as his voice still carried the lethargic aftereffects.
“That’s good. I’d hate to be responsible for having your horse end up clear on the other side of the ranch.”
Silence descended once more, that feeling of awkwardness and their conversation growing more stilted. She wanted to remain just where they were, the real world still outside the car, but she could hardly deny that the back seat of her SUV was far from comfortable.
Nor did it make a particularly cozy love nest.
Especially when there were actual body parts hanging out the end of the bench seat, exposed to the elements.
“I guess you want to be getting to that fence line?” Tate said.
That feeling he was trying to shake her off grew and she lifted her head, nodding. “Sure. I can do that.”
“Okay.” His hands briefly tightened on her lower back, at odds with his acceptance, before he dropped them as close to his sides as he could in the confined space.
Belle lifted up, the twisted position of their legs, their half–pulled down jeans and their lack of shirts all combining to add to that feeling of awkwardness. What had, moments before, felt sexy and intimate now just felt ungainly and...well, naked. Like the story of Adam and Eve, she’d tasted the fruit and now she had self-awareness and embarrassment.
And the hard, cold reality of what she’d done.
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br /> Belle stretched her hand out and grabbed her T-shirt where it lay on the floor of the car. She took the extra moment to drag it on before attempting to disengage herself from Tate’s body. She struggled to pull herself free, finally just giving up on the potential worry of being seen in the buff outside the car.
With modesty long gone, she wiggled herself out of the back seat, ass first. Belle ignored the misty rain drops that coated her skin and dragged her panties into place, then gave her jeans a quick tug back up over her hips. She diligently ignored how sensitive her skin suddenly felt, rubbing against the soft cotton. It would do no good to think of that. Or the man who’d put her in that condition in the first place.
Tate was already out of the car, his jeans zipped but still unbuttoned. She simply stopped and stared, watching as he dragged his shirt back on. She knew what he looked like. Empirically, she knew. Hell, a few moments before, she’d had all that glorious skin beneath her fingertips.
But it was something else to look at that naked chest, glistening with the misty rain, from a distance. Hard pecs defined his chest, firmed from years of tough, physical labor. Those gave way to thick stomach muscles, all of which bunched and moved beneath his motions as he put his shirt back on. A shot of something decidedly sharp and needy cratered in her stomach.
Despite their sudden awkwardness, she’d go for round two in a heartbeat.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. The mental headshake repeated itself over and over in her thoughts. This had trouble written all over it.
Tate looked up after he buttoned his last button. “I’ll get Tot and we’ll hang out here a bit while you check the fence line.”
“You don’t need to do that. I don’t want to keep you from your responsibilities today.”
“I was already out in this field.” He let out a whistle and Tot perked his head from where he stood grazing in the field about twenty yards away. “There’s plenty to do.”
“Fine.”
The back door of her car still stood open, the interior light shining outward into the gray air. It was part beacon, part single exposed light bulb swinging over a jail cell.
Incriminating.
Telling.
Illuminating the scene of the crime.
What had she been thinking? Thinking, she admitted, was the problem. She hadn’t been thinking at all. Instead, she allowed every heated memory, the close confines that had recently thrown them together and that ever-present desire for him take over her common sense.
With a slam on the back door, Belle crossed to the trunk. She opened it and pulled out a few things. A large camera, already outfitted against the rain. A department-issued metal detector, on the off chance something might have fallen off either the dead man or his killer. And the poncho she kept in a back well, something to keep her dry in the elements.
Not like it mattered, she thought. But maybe a bit of rain would do her good. Would wash away the feeling of him. The scent of him that still lingered deliciously on her skin. Would erase the memory of that moment where she let her inhibitions go.
* * *
Tate fought the urge to go to her and wrap her back up in his arms. The back seat had been uncomfortable, sure, but he’d take it again in a heartbeat if it meant having Belle back against him, his arms wrapped around her lithe body.
What was he even thinking? He knew making love with her was a bad idea but had gone ahead and done it anyway. Knowledge didn’t equate common sense in this case. No, instead, it was the knowledge locked in his memories that had created the desire to repeat the experience.
And then he’d gone and fouled it all up in the worst way.
Talking about his horse?
He loved Tot. He knew Belle knew that he loved Tot. But to talk about his horse in the throes of a postcoital glow? What a moron.
Hoyt and his damn big ideas, sticking those condoms in Tate’s back pocket. If he hadn’t had them, none of this would’ve happened. He and Belle would’ve simply stood here, in the east pasture, staring daggers at each other. Maybe tossing a few verbal barbs at each other. Their usual MO.
Instead, the feel of her body pressed against his would haunt him. The sensation of filling her, riding the waves of pleasure with her, would keep him steady company.
As ghosts went, he could think of worse. But dammit, this ghost had an awfully tight grip.
She hadn’t said anything else since she walked back over to her car, and Tate gave her the distance. He watched as she struggled to pull a few things out of the trunk of the SUV and tamped down further on the gentlemanly urge to help her. It wouldn’t kill him to walk the fence line with her. Nor would it be a complete waste of time.
The lack of information on Jesse Abrogato’s killer still chafed. If there was something there, something to find, didn’t he want to be part of that solution? The chance they’d find anything was beyond a long shot. Spring rains and the natural changeability of the land practically ensured it, but what if?
What if there was something that had been overlooked?
It would mean being close to her. It would mean breathing in the scent of her, and the memories of what it felt like having her over him, around him, surrounding him.
But between the large camera she carried, some long metal device she struggled to hold in another hand and the slick rain, she really did need his help.
And he was just a big enough idiot to step in and help her.
Chapter 13
Sex didn’t solve anything. She knew that. She’d always known that. She’d lived with that knowledge for the past ten years. She and Tate had been as wildly compatible sexually as they’d been in other areas of their life.
And it still hadn’t mattered. Not ten years ago and not today. But oh, had it felt good.
Whatever memories had lived in her mind for the past decade had paled in comparison to being in Tate’s arms once again. The strength of his body. The firm lines that had only hardened into the thick, impressive frame of a man in his prime. The glory of giving herself up to him and shutting out the world for a while.
The world had come back—with a vengeance—but it had been amazing while it lasted.
Of course, now the two of them were back to opposite sides of their personal Grand Canyon; even the best, most mind-blowing sex couldn’t change that.
She went to work on the fence line, following the methods Julio had taught her. She read the patterns in the land, using her eyes and her tools to see what she might find. What might be hidden in the earth.
Tate wasn’t wrong. The approach was more than a long shot. It actually smacked of desperation, if she was honest with herself. But the complete inability to secure a lead on the case had her grasping for straws and more than willing to engage in meaningless work if for no other reason than to act.
She’d had a conversation once with a friend who’d complained over drinks about her office job. How all she did most days was sit in meetings or send emails and Belle had thought at the time that wasn’t a job.
It wasn’t action.
The conversation had only reinforced for her the choice she’d made to go into law enforcement. To go to work every day with purpose and focus.
With action.
Yet here she was, roaming Reynolds Station, basically doing the police equivalent of sending emails. Walking the fence line in the desperate hope something would show itself wasn’t work. It was mindless effort meant to make her feel busy because there was nothing else to do. No leads to run down and not a single damn suspect to question.
Tate had kept his distance, walking Tot beside him on a lead. The horse seemed content enough, traipsing through the grass and mud, stopping to investigate as it suited him. The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with humidity, when man and horse pulled up beside her.
“Anything I can do?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
She glanced down at the heavy camera hanging around her neck and the metal detector she still carried. “Here. You’re on detector duty. Consider yourself deputized.”
He took the metal detector without comment, his focus on the ground as he moved the machine in a light, even arc as he walked.
“We’re looking for anything that stands out. Anything a killer might have left behind or anything the victim might have tossed to the ground, like a clue.”
“Guy was in pretty bad shape. You think he managed to find a way to leave clues, too?”
“You never know.”
He shrugged at her logic. “Fair enough.”
Belle ignored how good it felt to walk with Tate beside her and kept her focus on the ground. Looking at him led to other ideas and she didn’t need to dwell on the fact that a mere twenty minutes ago, they were naked—or mostly so—and having sex.
“You think this is the only murder?”
Well, that was certainly a way to end a good sex glow. Even if the two of them had done a pretty good job of ruining it without talk of murder.
“It’s the one we’re investigating.” The retort was hollow on her tongue and she wished she could say more.
But Belle knew her orders. She was well aware of what the department expected of her and telling a civilian top secret information on a suspected serial killer wasn’t the way to either advance or prove herself a valuable member of the team. Nor was it a way to make the citizens of Midnight Pass feel safe.
Even as she knew her responsibilities, it couldn’t change just how badly she wanted to talk to him and tell him all they suspected. Wanted to have him as a confidant and as a supportive partner who she could talk to about her work.
“Sufficiently vague,” he said, shooting her a sideways glance. “Is that the department line?”
As usual, Tate’s intuition and ability to read her was more curse than gift and she struggled against the urge to tell him what they suspected. “The department is in the midst of a murder investigation. Surely you can understand it’s not information that’s shared broadly.”