by The Saint
Courtney had wondered how long it would take Jake to ask. She offered him a sly grin. "In a way, you can credit Michael for teaching me that little trick."
"I will." Once Jake got them out of this mess, he planned to look up Michael and thank him personally. Jake brought her fingers to his lips. "But you're the one who did it."
Modesty had always been one of Courtney's most steadfast virtues, but between the sincerity in Jake's voice and his warm mouth on her hand, she didn't quite know what to say. "Well, I just–"
"Nice work partner," Jake interrupted, needing to say what he had to say quickly. The reference was tough enough to spit out, but he figured she'd earned it. Watching her squirm a bit, brought back memories of six years ago and how hard it had been for her to deal with praise. As driven as she'd been throughout this entire ordeal, he thought the contradiction was quite endearing.
"Any time," Courtney assured him. She sensed, for whatever reason, Jake didn't use the term partner lightly which only made the compliment all the more special and a cabin, stopping her cold. Sensing he had something else to say, she sat quietly and waited.
Jake cleared his throat. "What if she doesn't like me?"
"Not like you?" Courtney reached across their makeshift table. "Janey will love you."
"But she's not a baby. She's five years old, and I'm a complete stranger."
"That's true." Patting his hand, Courtney assured Jake, "And that's exactly why we'll start out slow. I promise I'll be there to help both of you through this."
"Thanks." That was all he could think of to say.
His uncharacteristic humility touched her. "You don't have to thank me," she told him quietly.
When Jake reached for her empty paper plate, Courtney batted away his hand. "You cooked, so I'll do the dishes."
Watching her efficiently repacked the supplies, he couldn't help but wonder what–exactly–had brought Courtney to this place in her life. He had known since the night of Templeton's party there was something personal driving her. There had to be. But, what?
"You know, you never told me why you're working this case," he pointed out. Before she could answer, he added, "Besides helping O’Shea, I mean."
Without looking up, Courtney contemplated telling Jake as she tightly folded and retied the sheet, securing their supplies. After everything they'd gone through, she couldn't think of a single reason not to explain. Jake had risked his life to save hers, so under the circumstances, she decided he had every right to know.
Taking a deep breath, she sat down beside him and leaned against the rustic barn wall. When he put his arm around her and pulled her close, confiding in him felt more right than anything she had done for a very long time.
Courtney rested her head on his shoulder, her hand on his heart. She started to tell him, but huffed out a breath instead. And then it dawned on her. No wonder this was so difficult. She'd never actually spoken the words before.
"A couple of weeks ago Uncle Brian and I went to lunch, and I had never seen him off the wall over a case before. He literally looked sick, and that really worried me. I'd already lost one father. I couldn't bear to lose him, too. So, I cornered one of his rookies and found out why he was so upset."
Sensing her reluctance, he coaxed, "And?"
"Twenty years ago, Uncle Brian's partner was shot and killed. That morning he had gotten a tip that Dirk Templeton did it."
Jake figured that explained Brian's obsession, but not hers. "What does that have to do with you?"
Her voice tapered to a whisper. "His partner was my father."
"Templeton murdered your father?" Jake's voice split the silence like a woodsman’s ax.
"Uncle Brian believes he did."
Thinking back, Jake's instincts about Courtney had been right on target. He'd picked up on every nuance that supported exactly what she had just told him. The indescribable hunger he'd seen in her eyes. The determined tilt to her chin. The out-and-out guts it took to face Templeton, believing he'd killed her father. Every piece fell neatly into place.
"Oh, Sweetness," he began. "I'm so sorry."
"Me, too." His voice was so tender, his words so sincere. She blinked back the tears. "Templeton stole our dad from Michael and me. He robbed my mother of her husband. And Janey never got to know her grandpa. If I can bring that monster to justice, even after twenty years, then maybe my family can finally know peace."
He kissed the top of her head and held her close. All he wanted to do was take away her pain. Bring her the comfort she had been denied. Show how much he still cared.
Courtney turned to face him. Dappled in moonlight she could see the concern in his dark eyes. The distinctive planes and angles of his face. The hard set of his jaw. She wanted Jake's strong arms around her tonight. The feeling of security only he could provide. His gentle touch. She wrapped both arms around his neck and murmured against his lips, "I need you, Jake."
As vulnerable as Courtney was, the woman definitely had a mind of her own. Her warm mouth melted his caution. Her soft moan, dissolved his reservations.
Jake pinned Courtney against the wall, hands on either side of her head. Talk of murder had resurrected a panic in him, the likes of which he'd never known. The one thing he did know–he'd come too close to losing her. Never again, he vowed.
"The first time I saw you–all those years ago–I wanted you." By the time he slipped her sweater over her head, his breathing was ragged. "Just like this."
"I know. I saw it in your eyes," Courtney confessed, unbuttoning his shirt. Nimbly. Swiftly. "I felt it"– She took his hand and placed it on her breast–"right here." With his palm on her heart, she felt her life's rhythm synchronize with his.
Courtney trembled when Jake reverently lifted her bruised wrists to his lips, murmuring sorry against the tender flesh. She sighed as his fingers slipped the satin straps from her shoulders. He pressed his mouth against the warm skin on her throat and whispered amazing in her ear as he cast the frothy scrap of lace aside.
She arched against him, then tugged at his sleeves, peeling off his shirt. Flesh against flesh. His skin felt so warm against hers, so right. He ran his hand up and down her sides. Slowly, very slowly.
"Jake–" She wanted so much. Needed so much. His hands caressed her breasts. Kneading. Skimming. Circling. She closed her eyes and refused control, languishing, instead, in the warmth of his touch.
He tasted the tender flesh of her throat…just behind her ear…at the corners of her mouth. Nipping with his teeth and tracing with his tongue. But holding back. All the time, holding back. He wondered how desire, both the giving and the taking, could be so all consuming.
She turned her head, searching for his mouth. Her lips clung to his until she could no longer distinguish one erotic pleasure from another. The sensations faded and crystallize like the brilliant colors in a kaleidoscope. His teeth. His tongue. His mouth.
His body pressed against hers, demanding and insistent. Barely under control, the desire simmering just below the surface stopped just short of dangerous. It was that strong. That sure.
And all the while his hands stroked and soothed. Deceptively calm. Maddeningly skillful. Always in control.
"I want you, Jake." Breathing in short gulps, she rocked back and forth against the rough barn siding, wriggling out of her slacks. She tossed back her head and with unsteady hands, grabbed the waistband of his pants.
What little control Jake still had…snapped. In a tumble of arms and legs they rolled across the sheet and blanket, impatiently tugging and yanking at the remainder of their clothing and shoes.
Courtney watched Jake brace himself over her. He was all she could see. All she wanted. All she needed. Her body inched teasingly close to the edge of a dazzling cliff. Desire pushed. Lust pulled. Again and again, until she had no choice but to leap.
Jake heard Courtney cry out his name once before he buried his face in the soft subtle fragrance of her hair and let himself follow.
CHAPTER 11
>Jake had been up for hours. Long enough to carefully cover Courtney with the soft, hooded sweatshirt he'd packed. And way too long to keep from pacing the confines of the barn and thinking. About Dirk. And Courtney. And how his role in the Templeton case had drastically changed the moment he had laid eyes on her again. He knew that, and so did Courtney. She just hadn't known why.
After Juan Rivera, his best friend and partner of eight years, had been killed, Jake had worked six long months to isolate himself. He had worked alone. Drank alone. Slept alone. Yet no amount of remorse had been enough. And then, like a cool breeze on a hot August night, Courtney had sashayed back into his life, and nothing had been the same since.
Unknowingly, she forced him to feel again. To remember. To forget. To let go. She gave him back his past, but more than that, she offered him a glimpse of what the future could hold. A daughter.
Staring out the barn's dirty window, Jake stood alone in the dark. Unlike yesterday, today he knew exactly what demons had driven Courtney to risk her life on this case. And as fate would have it–if he believed in fate–he identified with each and every one. He understood her loss. Her need for revenge. Her search for peace. Maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right, he could give her all that. And more.
The first rays of dawn streaked the early morning sky and forced Jake's hand. Not wanting to wake Courtney, but certain they should be on their way, he knelt beside her and brushed a wayward lock of hair from her cheek. He watched her stir. Her eyes fluttered open, and a smile curved her lips as she stretched from beneath the sheet with which he had covered her.
Watching Courtney, the word innocent sprang to mind. She was good and decent, and God willing, Jake would be able to get her out of this mess alive.
"Morning," Courtney yawned, surprisingly content just to look at Jake. Before she could block it, the notion of waking up to that handsome face every day skittered through her mind. Afraid to stop. Afraid not to. The fleeting thought was content, for now, to play a frisky game of peek-a-boo with her psyche.
Jake waited for Courtney to sit up, then handed her a slice of Melba toast. "You'd better eat a little something before we go."
Nibbling at the crispy bread, she watched him pour her a glass of juice. Jake's kindness and his gentle words were obviously meant to comfort, but he couldn't fool her for one minute. She knew him far too well not to recognize his edgy, concise movements. Or the tense lines that framed his mouth. Respecting what probably amounted to his years of experience on the Force combined with his gut instinct to move out early, she finished her breakfast as quickly as she could and readied herself to leave.
Slapping the loose straw from her slacks, Courtney shivered. The morning air still held a chill, so she slipped into the sweatshirt Jake had rolled up and slipped beneath her head sometime during the night. How considerate he had been, taking care of her that way. She smiled at the thought and offered him a hand sliding open the barn door. Content to be on their way and to walk in silence, she kept her thoughts to herself and allowed Jake to do the same.
Two hours later–about the same time she shed the sweatshirt and tied it around her waist–they stood at the edge of a clearing and spotted a small, well-kept farm. Like a folk art painting, its white, two-story house lay nestled among a huge red barn, one tall, circular silo and several well-kept sheds. A pristine picket fence surrounded the yard, and a rambunctious Collie guarded the gate.
An unfamiliar pang of envy jabbed Courtney as she watched the woman routinely hang her washing on the clothesline. Against the backdrop of a clear blue sky, the crisp, white sheets billowed softly in the warm breeze. Wisps of dark hair streaked with gray escaped her neat bun. The flowered apron she wore was a far cry from some revamped, retro fashion statement. Its utilitarian patch pockets were filled with large, wooden clothespins. No frills, Courtney thought with admiration. Right about now, the simple life looked pretty darn good to her.
Remembering Jake's warning last night, she asked, "How do we know who to trust?" She watched his eyes narrow, taking in the entire scene.
Jake faced her and answered honestly, "We don't."
Courtney swallowed hard, but nodded just the same. She knew he was right. But she also realized they were running out of time.
Before approaching the woman, Jake planned to leave their backpack as well as the truth behind. Explaining their situation was out of the question. If the people living on this farm were legit, his and Courtney's abduction story would not only sound unbelievable, but it might arouse suspicion. Not to mention, putting the farmers' lives in danger. After all, if the two of them found this place, Dirk's people would, too. Eventually.
On the other hand, if these people were already connected to Templeton…then it wouldn't matter what Jake told them.
Jake watched the woman pick up the empty clothesbasket and head inside before he and Courtney stepped from the woods and started toward the farmhouse. Closing the distance, Jake decided he'd just have to play it by ear. Lucky for them, he was damned good at it.
"Here boy," Jake coaxed, as the dog wagged his tail and ran from the fence to the house and back again, barking to alert his mistress.
Courtney grabbed Jake's arm. "When you talk to O’Shea, tell him to send a car to the Belmont Harbor Apartments, Apartment 12D and get the man out of the house. That was the last leg of my computer transfer–where I dumped Templeton's files."
"Hey there," the woman called, the screen door slamming behind her. Balancing another basket filled with wet laundry against one hip, she shaded her eyes with her free hand and smiled.
"Hi," Jake returned as the woman approached. His smile was warm. Sincere. He was more than anxious to get the rest of the story from Courtney, but for now, first things first.
"I'm Courtney and this is Jake." She made the necessary introductions as short and uninformative as possible.
"Sarah." The woman looked toward the woods. "Where on earth did you two come from?"
"Our car died," Jake lied, evading her question. "Boy, are we glad to see you."
"Maybe my husband could take a look. He's real good with engines." The woman glanced from Jake to Courtney. "Where abouts did you leave it?"
"Now that is a good question." Courtney shrugged, laughing it off. "Who could tell? We've been walking so long." Sensing sympathy in the woman's softening features, she added, "Since yesterday."
"Yesterday?" the woman repeated, switching her basket to the opposite hip. "Come in the house. You must be starving."
"We really couldn't impose." Regardless of how ungrateful it sounded, the last thing Jake wanted was to waste any more time. He spoke up before her hospitality complicated their already insane predicament. "We just need to make a phone call."
"Sure." The woman motioned for them to follow her inside. Her husband, Ben, was a lumberjack looking man, in his late fifties. Dressed in a plaid shirt and blue jeans held up by bright red suspenders, he shook Jake's hand and nodded respectfully to Courtney when Sarah introduced them.
While Jake picked Ben's brain for their exact location and used the phone to call O’Shea, Courtney took a short, but well needed rest at the kitchen table with Sarah. For Barry's sake, she hoped Jake remembered the address she'd rattled off outside.
Too polite to pry, the older woman was content to offer iced tea and answer all of Courtney's questions regarding the mouth-watering aromas wafting from her oven.
With a thermos of coffee and a dozen home made oatmeal and raisin cookies bagged to go, Jake ushered Courtney outside. Ben had given him directions and loaned them his old pick up truck solely on the promise they would see that he got it back. That kind of humanity, Jake thought, was something progress could never spoil. Thank God for small favors.
The moment their butts hit the front seat and the truck doors slammed shut, Courtney asked, "Before we leave, I want an honest answer."
"Shoot." Jake listened as he fastened his seat belt.
"Are Sarah and Ben in danger?
" she asked, buckling hers as well.
Adjusting the rear view mirror, Jake assured her, "After Ben left the room, I filled in O’Shea, and he's notifying the authorities up here. They'll send a team right over who will stay put until this ordeal plays out. Of course, the moment we surface, Templeton will call off the hounds, but until then I wouldn't intentionally drag innocent people into this and not protect them."
Courtney relaxed. "Do you think Sarah and Ben were crazy for trusting us?"
"Crazy? No." Jake checked the side mirror. "Maybe just naive because they live in a different place than we do—literally."
"That's for sure." Courtney settled against the seat, unsure how she felt about Jake’s observation. Glad for gentle people like Sarah and Ben who could still trust? Or sad because so much of society couldn’t? Probably neither. But with everything else on Courtney’s mind, different strokes for different folks would have to serve as one explanation. "Did you give Uncle Brian my message?"
"Belmont Harbor Apartment 12D," he repeated succinctly, before rolling down the window for a little fresh air. "Now spill your guts, Sweetness. What—exactly–was all that about?"
As Ben's old truck rumbled down the lane, she began, "Remember the first time you caught me in Templeton's office?"
"Uh huh." Like he could ever forget being plastered against Courtney's firm, warm body in Dirk's closet.
Satisfied to see recognition wash over his face, she offered him a still-warm oatmeal cookie, but he shook his head. Her willpower had dissolved the moment she stepped into Sarah's Spic-n-Span kitchen. The unmistakable smell of warm cinnamon had made Courtney weak in the knees, and after taking one melt-in-your-mouth bite, she knew exactly why.
"Well, you really put me in a bind that day–" She could ignore Jake's smirk, but not the memory of the tiny closet. "You interrupted my timetable," she corrected. "So, I had to step up my work schedule accordingly."