Who's the Boss

by Linda Turner

  He could talk until he was blue in the face, but he wasn't going to get anywhere with her tonight.

  Sighing in defeat, "he gave her hand one last consoling pat and rose to his feet.

  "If you can't do it, then you can't."

  "She's going to spend the rest of the night here in the back room," Josey said quietly.

  "I'm on call till seven, so I'll be here to make sure no one bothers her." A haven for the night.

  It seemed like a pitiful offer for a woman who had just been brutalized, but it was the most Connie would let any of them do for her.

  Frustrated, Riley said to Josey, "If you have any trouble, don't hesitate to call me. When I left Hank, he was blubbering like a baby, but there's no telling how long that's going to last.

  Once he gets tired of feeling sorry for himself, he could be mad at the world and come looking for someone to blame all his troubles on."

  More than capable of taking care of herself, Josey nodded, her eyes glinting with promise.

  "His wife might take that kind of crap from him," she retorted in a low voice that didn't carry to Connie, "but he'd better think twice before he tangles with me. And if Gable finds out he so much as looked at me wrong, he'll make him wish he'd never been born."

  Knowing how protective her husband was of her, Riley couldn't help but grin.

  "Even drunk as a skunk, Hank's '- of that stupid."

  Minutes later, they were back in the patrol car and heading cross-country, taking small, deserted two-lane ranch roads to Becca's house rather than going the longer route back through town. This time, however, there were no static-filled calls from Myrtle on the radio to break the silence, which seemed to stretch for miles.

  Shooting Becca a quick look, Riley tried to read her expression, but it was impossible in the dark. She was too quiet, too still.

  What was going on in that head of hers, anyway? he wondered, scowling at the empty road in front of him. Was she already trying to find a way to use to the night against him in the campaign? Hell, he'd never even thought about that when he'd taken the call.

  Cursing himself for forgetting even for a moment that she was his opponent, he drove all the way to her house without saying a word. Half expecting her to let him have it then, he almost dropped his teeth when she suddenly turned to him and said into the silence, "I'm sorry I jumped all over you at the Crawford place. After seeing the wife, I realize you handled the situation the only way you could."

  Stunned, Riley made no attempt to hold back the devilish grin that twisted one corner of his mouth.

  "You hit your head when I tripped you in the gym, didn't you? Damn, I should have had Josey take a look at you instead of Connie. You've obviously scrambled your brains."

  "I did not!" she said, laughing.

  "Darn you, Riley, I'm serious."

  "Then it must be a fever," he replied, surprising them both when he playfully reached over to feel her forehead.

  "One of those quick things that sneaks up on you when you're not looking and flattens you. You know the kind."

  With his hand brushing her hair back from her brow, heating her skin, she knew exactly what he meant. Every time he touched her, she felt as if she'd been run over by a train.

  Already her heart was racing, her breath short, and she couldn't seem to think straight otherwise, she would never have been sitting here in his car in the dark," letting him charm her.

  Forecing herself to shake off his hand, she warned, "It's not every day I sing your praises, tough guy. If I've got a fever, I just might not remember any of this tomorrow. "

  "Oh, yeah?"

  Grinning, he switched off the motor and turned in his seat until he was facing her, his back wedged comfortably against his door and his arm stretched out across the top of the seat.

  "So you're singing my praises, huh? I like the sound of that. Tell me more." Thinking more clearly now that he wasn't touching her, she copied his position and settled back against the passenger door, the mischief in her eyes hidden by the darkness

  "Okay, so you impressed me. I admit it. But I should also warn you that I thought Slinky toys were pretty nifty things, too, when I first came across one. Then I discovered they weren't good for much."

  "Watch it, short stuff," he growled, giving her braid a quick warning tug.

  "I'm bigger than you are. And in case you've forgotten, I can trip you up whenever I want. And I'll bet that's something very few men can say about you. You're one tough customer, lady."

  He was teasing, his blue eyes glinting with smug amusement, and had no idea that truer words had never been spoken. Since her husband's death, she hadn't made it easy for a man to trip her up—physically or emotionally.

  But Riley had a way of sneaking up on a woman, she decided, the back of her neck tingling from the sweep of his fingers as he slowly released her braid. Steady as a rock, he was incredibly easy to lean on, to trust, to like more than she should. She could turn to him, laugh with him, kiss him, and not once give a thought to the fact that they were both running for the same office.

  Her pulse started to throb and she fumbled for the door handle.

  "It's late. Thanks for the ride."

  He should have let her go. The air in the car was suddenly thick with tension, close with expectation, and she wanted to run from it as badly as he did. But he'd learned a long time ago that there were some things you just couldn't run from. Giving in to the need that seemed to come from the depth of his soul, he reached out to her.

  "Don't," he said hoarsely, closing his hands over her shoulders.

  "Stay awhile longer."

  She wanted to—he could see it in her eyes.

  "I shouldn't. Dammit, Riley, this isn't smart!"

  Smart or not, he wasn't letting her out of there until he kissed her.

  "Do you always do what's smart, Mrs. Prescott?"

  He knew just how to push her buttons. Her eyes flashing at the mocking taunt, she glared at him, and that was all the invitation he needed.

  Tightening his fingers, he tugged her across the seat and covered her mouth with his.

  He'd promised himself he'd be satisfied with just one kiss. A thorough, possessive, toe-curling kiss. But every time he tasted her, it was like the first time all over again.

  Surprise, heat, need emotions came out of nowhere like a tidal wave to swamp him and drag him underlie couldn't think and didn't give a damn. Only one need registered: more. He wanted—craved—more. Just that easily, one kiss drifted into another.

  She was going to stop this nonsense any second now. The thought whispered through Becca's dazed brain only to fizzle into steam like a single drop of rain on hot pavement when his big, strong hands slid down to her waist, her hips, silently urging her closer. Somehow, she should have found the strength to resist. But Riley was a man who could tempt a woman to take a risk with nothing more than a kiss, a caress, a murmur of need. His sure hands cupped her breasts, tenderly, gently, and every nerve ending in her body tightened in response. He made her want more than she should.

  "Riley..."

  Riley had never heard his name called with such longing. Or panic. She suddenly seemed to be churning with agitation, and it was that vulnerability, not his own common sense, that brought him abruptly back to earth.

  "Easy," he whispered.

  "Take it easy. It's okay, honey."

  But she was trembling, hardly listening.

  "I can't do this. I can't take the risk. I just can't."

  She tried to push out of his arms then, her breathing ragged, but he wasn't letting her go anywhere. Not until he got some answers. But when he caught her face in his hands, refusing to let her look away, he was stunned to see tears in her eyes.

  "You want to tell me what's going on here?" he asked quietly.

  "It was just a couple of kisses, sweetheart. Nothing to get upset about."

  Feeling miserable, she would have given anything to believe that, but she knew better. She'd never been the type
of woman who was free and easy with her kisses. If she let a man get that close, she was in trouble. And Riley was the first man she'd let touch her in years.

  Shaken, she wiped impatiently at the tears that spilled over her lashes and struggled for control.

  "You don't understand. I don't want to get involved. With anyone. I won't go through that again."

  Something in her tone had his eyes narrowing.

  "Through what?"

  "The possessiveness, the distrust. I couldn't go to the store without having to account for every second I was gone."

  In her distress, she told him more about her marriage with those few words than she'd ever told anyone, and that horrified her. She saw understanding dawn in his eyes and could have died of shame right there and then. Stiffening, she said, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not another Connie Crawford. I'm not one of those women who has to have a man, even a jerk, rather than no man at all."

  Even if he hadn't known she'd been the sole support of her daughter for the last five years, Riley would have known that. You only had to look at her to tell that she didn't let men dump on her. But she'd obviously had major problems with her husband.

  "I know that. So what happened?"

  "I loved Tom," she said simply.

  "And at times I hated him. He had this problem with control, and we fought about it all the time. I thought if I just loved him enough, was patient enough, he would learn to trust me out of his sight. But he never did."

  "Yet you stayed with him." She didn't deny it.

  "He got sick."

  And her conscience wouldn't let her walk out on a man with cancer.

  She didn't say the words, but the knowledge was there in her eyes.

  "Not every man is like Tom, Becca."

  She knew that, but she didn't need it pointed out by a man who made her strong-willed husband look like a wimp.

  "Maybe not," she agreed, jerking open the door.

  "I'm not a very good judge of that kind of thing. I fell in love with Tom and married him before I ever knew what he was really like."

  With that parting shot, she was gone before Riley could stop her, bolting inside and slamming the door as if he was the one who was a threat to her. And it hurt, damn it! He wasn't Tom Prescott. He wasn't so insecure that he had to have his woman constantly in sight to be sure of her. His woman.

  Like a switchblade between the ribs, the thought brought him up short.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, he stared at the dark windows of her house, his thoughts whirling. When had he started to think of her as his?

  From the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. r Snarling a came, he started the car with a savage twist of his wrist and shot out of her driveway, deliberately dredging up memories to rebuild the protective walls around his heart. Even after ten years, they were all too vivid.

  A night much like this one. A female partner who should have been there to back him up but was nowhere to be found. A blast of gunfire, an agent—a friend— dead. He'd still been reeling from the shock of it when he'd come home to find his wife gone, his bank account emptied.

  No, he told himself grimly as he headed for home. He had to be wrong about his feelings for Becca. If she thought her dead husband had been a distrustful bastard, then she sure as hell didn't want to tangle with him.

  His mood sour, he pulled into the driveway of the small adobe house he'd bought years ago on the north side of town and tried to remember if he had any beer in the fridge. It was a good night to get polluted.

  Lost in his grim thoughts, he didn't see the unfamiliar blue sedan parked across the street or the man waiting for him on the porch until he was almost upon him. Suddenly realizing he wasn't alone, he glanced up and immediately recognized the long, tall figure slouched in one of the metal patio chairs on the porch.

  "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he drawled, his rotten mood forgotten as a slow smile spread across his face.

  "You always did have a lousy sense of direction. What happened?

  You take a wrong turn at Tallahassee or what? "

  His broad grin flashing in the darkness, Dillon Cassidy pushed himself to his feet.

  "I guess you could say that. I was in El Paso for a trial and figured that was as close as I was ever going to get to your neck of the woods.

  So I rented a car and drove over. I tried calling, but you're a hard man to track down. Where the hell you been?"

  "Playing the Lone Ranger," Riley said, chuckling as he unlocked the front door.

  "Come on inside. Damn, how long has it been, man? Six ... seven years, maybe I think the last time I saw your ugly mug was at that law enforcement convention in Tucson."

  Dillon nodded, his gray eyes glinting with wry humor.

  "Yeah, we got into a discussion with those two thick headed FBI agents who couldn't stop talking about how great they were. God, I'd forgotten about that. Talk about a bunch of jerks."

  That was all it took to start a trip down memory lane. Riley discovered he did have a couple of beers in the refrigerator, after all, and they settled in two overstuffed recliners in the den to catch up on all the news—agents they had both worked with, the lifers who suffered through the bureaucracy and danger rather than give up their badges, the hotshots who thrived on the risks they took.

  Unstated was the knowledge that no matter what sacrifices were made, they hardly put a dent in the drug trade.

  "I've got to tell you, I thought you were crazy when you quit all those years ago and ended up here, a million miles from nowhere," Dillon confided as he leaned back in his recline and crossed his booted feet.

  "You'd been with the agency a lot longer than I had and could have probably headed up a field office if you'd gone after it, but you just walked away."

  "I didn't have the stomach for the job anymore," Riley said flatly.

  "Not after what Sybil pulled."

  Dillon nodded, not surprised that it took only the mention of Riley's former partner to turn his friend's jaw as hard as granite. The trust between partners had to be as strong as that between spouses, and Sybil's betrayal had hit Riley and the agency hard. His square face pensive, he shifted in the recliner and admitted gruffly, "I can't s that I blame you. In fact, I've been giving a lot of through lately to chucking it all myself.

  In the process of washing Sybil's name from his long with the last of his beer, Riley nearly choked. One of t few men he would have trusted with his life, Dillon was hard edged and tough and damn good at what he did. "You're going to quit? You? Mr. Gung-ho Government Job? Mr.

  Security?"

  Dillon had to laugh. Riley had him pegged, all right. But then his expression turned somber, his gray eyes dark as storm clouds.

  "What security? You and I know that every day you step out on the street with badge in your pocket is a day you could walk into an m bush. I'm sick of it. Sick of the drugs. Sick of the lowlifes smugglers who have more firepower than an army." Understanding perfectly, Riley nodded.

  "You can fight a losing battle only so long before you get burned out. But the quitting's not easy. It's hard to walk away."

  "Did you ever regret it?"

  "No." Riley didn't even have to think about it.

  "When to see the light.

  If I'd handed my resignation three years earlier, I might not have . He'd never admitted that before, not even to himself but looking back with the objectivity that time brings, he found the truth right there in front of his face refusing to be ignored.

  "She hated what I did. I knew: but I was so caught up in the job that I thought she would adjust."

  "She was awfully young."

  It was a convenient excuse, one that Riley would ha latched on to in the past. But not tonight.

  "No, I was jackass. She accused me of caring more about the agency than I did about her fears, and she was probably right. I'll never forgive her for the way she left me, but I don't blame her for divorcing me. I deserved it.

  " Surprised by the admission—i
n all the years that he'd known him, Dillon had never heard him mention the end of his marriage with anything but bitterness robe studied him thoughtfully, trying to figure out what had caused the change in him.

  "You're different. What's going on? It sounds like you've finally let go of the past, and a man only does that when another woman comes on the scene. What's her name? "

  Caught off guard, Riley scowled, an image of Becca flashing before his eyes, that saucy grin of hers softly teasing him.

  "There's no one," he snapped, but Dillon's knowing grin told him he might as well have saved his breath.

  He knew him too well.

  Disgusted, he growled, "Becca. Her name's Becca Prescott, and she's driving me nuts."

  Chapter 7

  The coffee was hot enough to melt and strong enough to strip the paint from metal.

  Hunched over her kitchen table, her favorite mug cradled between her palms, Becca sipped at the steaming brew cautiously and waited for the caffeine to slip into her bloodstream and jolt her awake. But it was a two-cup morning, and she had a feeling that nothing short of battery acid was going to get her moving anytime soon.

  And she had only one man to thank for that.

  Riley.

  Every time she'd closed her eyes last night, she'd felt the intoxicating weight of him covering her like a blanket as he'd pinned her to the mat in the high school gym. And then there were his kisses.

  Kisses that haunted her, tormented her, enticed her.

  Kisses that she desperately tried to convince herself were nothing out of the ordinary.

  But plain, ordinary kisses didn't keep a woman awake half the night.

  That thought had driven her from her bed near dawn and hadn't given her a moment's peace since. She'd lost control somewhere and she had no idea how it had happened. She'd spent the last six years of her life clinging to the conviction that she was through with romance and men, relieved that she would never have to risk her heart again. And it was all a lie.

  The reason she hadn't lost sleep over someone before now wasn't because she'd written men off her list, but because she simply hadn't met one who could tempt her. Lord, what was she going to do?