by Herron, Rita
Uncertainty flared in Liz’s eyes. “To your place?”
Rafe shrugged, although he couldn’t resist giving her a devilish look. “You’ll be safe there with me, Liz.”
She gave him a doubtful look, but disappeared into her bedroom to pack.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rafe veered onto a graveled road leading into the woods.
“You moved here?” Liz asked.
“Yeah. I rented a cabin.”
Rafe parked, and she studied his house. Icicles had begun to form along the overhang of the roof. Rafe started around to her side of the car, but she forced herself out. She’d stood her ground; she couldn’t back down now.
Rafe retrieved her bag from the back of the SUV, and she followed him up the stone path. The rustic log cabin looked primitive against the dark woods, but when he opened the door and they entered, it felt new and cozy. Whitewashed wood floors complemented knotty pine walls and ceilings. Comfortable chairs and a tan sofa formed a sitting area around a stone fireplace that ran from floor to ceiling. Skylights brought in light, although tonight winter clouds shrouded the moon and stars.
Stainless steel appliances and a granite counter gave the cabin a modern feel, yet a braided rug reminded her of days gone by.
“This is beautiful,” she said, hoping to ease the awkwardness between them.
Rafe gestured toward the bathroom. “If you want, there’s the shower.”
Liz rubbed at the back of her neck. “Thanks, I think I will.”
His gaze met hers, dark emotions glittering. Emotions she was afraid to explore.
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “A drink would be good.”
He nodded, and she grabbed her bag from him and ducked into the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, the night’s events playing on her nerves.
They’d found a dead woman at her house. Someone had left a rose on her bed. And now she was here, alone with Rafe.
She stripped, her body trembling as she stepped beneath the warm spray of water.
But when she closed her eyes to rid the tension, the image of a man cutting out a woman’s tongue rose in front of her.
Rafe felt the stench of death on him as Liz disappeared into the shower. He could still smell the blood, the decomposing body, the sweat from the victim. The room was cold, too, so he lit a fire, then poured shots of bourbon for himself and Liz.
Deciding he needed to wash away the odor himself, he showered in the master bathroom, his gut knotting every time he thought about the fact that Liz could have been home when the killer had left that body on her porch.
She was a damn magnet for trouble.
Or maybe it was the death curse following him, reminding him that anyone he got too close to would end up dead.
Something had spooked her inside her house, too, specifically in her bedroom.
Something she was hiding from him.
Something besides the fact that she was still taking antianxiety medication.
Maybe she was afraid he’d have her removed from the case.
Hell, he wanted to do just that. Because he wanted her safe, dammit. And she would never be safe doing her job.
Just like he wouldn’t be.
Still, it was different . . .
A dark laugh caught in his throat. Yeah, Liz would love that sexist thinking.
He towel-dried his hair and yanked on jeans and a clean shirt, although he didn’t bother to button it.
Tension vibrated through him as he stepped from the bedroom. The guest bathroom door was cracked, steam oozing out in a cloudy, sensual haze. He imagined her naked, and his pulse kicked up a notch.
He caught sight of Liz in the mirror as he paused at the door. She’d dressed in a camisole tank and boxer pajama shorts.
The steam from the shower created a halo around her, making her look sensual and so damn beautiful that his blood stirred. “Are you okay, Liz?”
“Yes,” she said.
But her voice broke, making her sound vulnerable as if she needed someone to hold her.
He wanted to be that someone.
Her sigh punctuated the silence stretching between them.
He inhaled deeply, vying for control, but when he got a whiff of her body wash and shampoo, he felt himself swiftly losing control.
“You could have been there when he left that woman,” he said, his voice cracking.
“But I wasn’t,” Liz replied quietly.
Emotions blending with need, Rafe tipped her chin up with his thumb. Desire darkened Liz’s eyes, and the memory of making love to her flashed back in delicious tempting snippets that made him harden.
“Rafe,” Liz whispered.
“Shh,” he murmured. “I can’t help it, Liz. I tried to forget how it felt to be with you, but I can’t.”
Her sweet sigh of acquiescence fueled his hunger. “Neither can I.”
Her softly spoken admission shattered his last shred of restraint, and he cradled her face between his hands and did what he’d wanted to do the moment she’d walked back into his life.
He closed his mouth over hers and kissed her.
Liz had wanted Rafe’s arms around her for months. Ever since she’d pushed him away at the hospital . . .
“Liz?” Rafe teased her lips apart with his tongue, drawing her back to the moment and the desire rippling through her. She’d missed him, missed this.
No man had ever given her orgasms like Rafe.
He probed deeper with his tongue, and she moaned, raking her hands up his back to draw him closer. Rafe was all strong, sinewy muscle, his body hard as a rock. His hands glided everywhere, teasing her to life with erotic sensations that she hadn’t felt since the last time he’d touched her.
She wanted more.
He deepened the kiss, hands roving over her hips and down her legs. She wrapped a leg around him, sliding her foot up and down his thigh. He hadn’t buttoned his shirt, and she slid her hands inside, stroking his chest until he groaned and pushed her against the wall.
He dipped his head and trailed kisses down her neck, suckling the sensitive skin behind her ear as his hand cupped her breast. Her nipples hardened to peaks, aching for his mouth.
Rafe seemed to read her mind. He kissed his way down her throat, then lifted her camisole and teased one nipple with his fingers while he closed his mouth around the other. Liz moaned his name, frantic to have him naked, to feel his bare skin.
His breath sent a chill rippling through her as he moved his mouth to the other breast, and she clung to him, willing him to take her to bed.
“God, Liz, I’ve wanted you,” he growled.
She smiled as she dipped her head and took his nipple between her teeth. He moaned, then picked her up and carried her to his bed.
For a fraction of a second, she remembered the scar, covering it with her hand.
“Don’t hide from me, Liz,” he murmured as he pulled her hand away and kissed the jagged line.
His tenderness made tears pool in her eyes. Then he made her forget everything but him when he stripped her pajamas and tossed his shirt and jeans to the side. He kissed her again as he slid between her thighs, and she opened for him, needing him more than she needed air.
Last time, at her house, he’d pleasured her and taken nothing for himself.
This time she wanted to please him.
She rolled him over to his back, and cupped his thick length in her hands.
“Liz,” he groaned.
“Let me,” she whispered. She trailed her tongue down his torso and abdomen, circling his cock with her lips and mouth. He dug his hands into her hair and threw his head back, and she loved him with her mouth until he yanked her up on top of him and gripped her hips.
“Wait,” he said in a strained voice. He rea
ched inside the nightstand, grabbed a condom, ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, and rolled it on. Liz watched, tempted to tell him that they didn’t need it, but she held back.
No explanations now.
They both needed to feel, to be alive. To hold each other and forget the horror that had been on her doorstep.
That more horrors would come tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.
He framed her face with his big hands and kissed her again, and Liz forgot about everything else as pleasure overcame her.
She straddled him and sank onto his rigid length, closing her eyes and savoring each inch as he penetrated her. Erotic sensations overcame her, and she braced her hands beside his chest and rode him.
Rafe teased her clit with his fingers as she built a rhythm, their bodies sliding against each other, slick skin against slick skin, sex against sex, until she felt the tremors of her release clawing at her.
Liz whispered his name as the colors blinded her and she soared over the edge.
Rafe groaned with pleasure as his release seized him. Liz’s sweet body moved against him, creating an erotic friction that made him crave her again.
She clung to him, riding him until the waves of pleasure started to recede, and he rolled them to the side and cradled her in his arms. Their bodies were still joined, their breathing erratic, the room filled with their heated lovemaking.
Liz kissed his neck, and he tightened his hold, stroking the fine softness of her back. Memories of the dead women tried to intercede, but just for tonight, he banished them.
They would tackle work tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to savor the fact that Liz was alive and naked in his arms.
Where he wanted her every night.
He tensed; the thought had come out of nowhere. The idea of waking up to her every morning stirred primitive instincts and hunger.
But fear rode on its tail.
Liz’s breathing steadied, and he realized she’d fallen asleep. He threaded his fingers into her hair, amazed at the silkiness, enchanted by the soft purr she emitted when he kissed her cheek.
But the scar on her neck reminded him that she could be taken from him any minute.
Shaken by the realization that he was losing himself in her again, he left the bed, disposed of the condom, and tugged on a pair of sweats. He walked into his den and paced the room, desperate to wrangle his emotions under control.
The wooden animals he’d carved for the Boys’ Club were lined up on his bookshelf, waiting for his next visit. He took his knife off the shelf, then stepped onto his back porch and dropped into the chair he kept outside.
Remembering Benny’s little face, he knew he had to make something special for him.
Night sounds crept around him, the animals foraging in the woods, the trees rustling, as he selected a piece of wood. One of his mentors at the club had taught him how to whittle. Something about carving an object out of a raw piece of wood helped relieve his stress.
Then he’d realized that the young kids at the Boys’ Club liked his crude pieces, so he kept up the hobby.
Tonight he carved a deer, whittling and smoothing the wood until he felt himself relaxing.
But he thought of Liz in his bed, and his sex hardened again.
He’d broken his own rules by getting involved with her. By caring so much for anyone.
But there was something about Liz that made it impossible not to care.
Sweat soaked the back of Nick’s shirt. The bastards who’d taken him at gunpoint had refused to let him go. Instead they’d tied him up, tossed him into a chair in some kind of interrogation room, and beaten him until he was so weak he’d passed out at one point.
“You know I’m an agent with the TBI,” Nick growled. “Just tell me where the Commander is, and we can make a deal.”
The big burly guy in camouflage, who appeared to be the leader of this militant group, crossed his beefy arms. “We told you we don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you. I saw your posts on that damned website. You support what he did. You helped him escape.”
“That’s because pussies are running the government now. Someone has to take action to defend this country.”
“Commander Blackwood is not doing anything for the country,” Nick said. “He took advantage of innocents in a crazy experiment that even the government realized failed. Why else would they cover it up?”
“The same reason they lie to the public and don’t tell the citizens about terrorist attacks they know are imminent.”
More conspiracy theories.
“You think teaching those young boys to kill is protecting our country? You’re brainwashing them to commit murder based on your own paranoia.”
The man clenched his assault rifle. “You must have been a disappointment to your father.”
Nick opened his mouth to argue, but the asshole raised the weapon and slammed it against his head. He grunted in pain, his head swimming. Another blow came, then another. Nausea threatened, and he passed out again.
When he stirred, he struggled with the wire they’d strapped around his hands. Two of the big guys stood watching him.
He had to get out of here. Save himself. Bring Jake and backup to disband this group.
The wire cut into his wrists, and he twisted and fumbled to undo it until blood dripped down his fingers.
One of the soldiers took his fists to him again. Another blow and another, and Nick spit blood at his attacker’s feet. Driven by his survival instincts, he lunged from the chair and slammed his head into the man’s gut, knocking him backward. Head-butting him, he dug his elbows into the man’s chest, striving to render him unconscious.
Seconds later, two of the militants rushed in and dragged him off their leader. Nick cursed and threw a kick at the bigger guy, but another blow to the head made him fall to his knees.
Before he could recover, they hauled him out of the room into the dark. Nick scanned his surroundings, using his weight to slow the men down.
“We going to kill him?” one of the men asked the other.
“Probably. But we’ll wait for our orders.” A low laugh. “Not that anyone will ever find him out here.”
Nick summoned his energy and pushed to his feet again, but they had the advantage and shoved him into a hole in the ground.
He blinked to orient himself, but it was so damn dark he couldn’t see, and he toppled down a set of stairs and landed with a thud at the bottom. He ate dirt as he rolled to his back, and the darkness swallowed him.
Above him, the wooden door slammed shut and hammers pounded.
Fuck. They were nailing him into this godforsaken hole in the ground. Then they’d probably pack up, move their headquarters, and leave him here to die.
Chapter Twenty-Three
For the first time in ages, Liz slept peacefully. No nightmares to terrify her. Instead she dreamed that she and Rafe were living together in a beautiful cabin in the mountains, happy and content. Snow fluttered down, Christmas music played in the background, and the tree sparkled with white lights.
Three stockings hung from the hearth—one filled with rattles and baby bibs in anticipation of the baby they’d have.
She jerked awake, then rolled over, but the space beside her was empty. Rafe’s head print still remained on the pillow, and she inhaled his masculine scent, missing him already.
Stretching to relieve the kinks in her muscles, she ducked into the shower, almost hating to wash off the scent of Rafe’s lovemaking.
But she and Rafe had a job to do.
She dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, then dabbed powder on her cheeks to cover the dark spots beneath her eyes that betrayed the sleep she’d lost this week.
A little lip gloss, and she hurried to meet Rafe.
The scent of coffee and bacon wafted toward her, and she found hi
m sipping from a mug while he flipped the bacon in the pan. She was tempted to run her hands over his back and greet him with a morning kiss.
But the look he gave her when he glanced over his shoulder made her pause. Just like he had the last time they’d gotten close, he already seemed to be pulling away.
“Smells good in here,” she said, testing the waters.
He shrugged. “Figured we’d need breakfast before we hit the road.” He gestured toward the cabinet above the coffeepot. “Mugs are up there.”
She offered a tentative smile, opened the cabinet, and chose a handmade mug. He placed the bacon on a plate lined with a paper towel, then scooped eggs and toast onto more two plates, carried the food to the table, and set it by the orange juice he’d poured. Butter and jelly waited on the table.
“Thanks,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward. Early morning sunlight filtered through the trees, glittering off the soft coating of snow on the ground, dappling golden lines across the oak table. The scene felt cozy, so intimate, that she ached to reach across the table and squeeze his hand.
To kiss him and beg him to come back to bed, where they could forget about murders and dead bodies and focus on loving each other all day.
But being needy would only drive Rafe away and prove to him that she wasn’t ready to be back at the bureau.
“Where should we start this morning?” she asked.
Rafe spooned a bite of his eggs into his mouth and chewed. “The sheriff who handled the Lintell woman’s murder. See if Brian Castor or his brother were persons of interest in that case.”
A strained silence stretched between them as she ate. Finally, Liz couldn’t stand it any longer. “Rafe, about last night . . .”
He threw up a warning hand. “Forget about it, Liz. It’s normal to need a tension release.”
Anger hit her. “Is that what we were doing? Just releasing tension?”
His level gaze showed no emotion. “Of course.”
Liz gripped her coffee cup. She certainly didn’t intend to declare her feelings when he obviously didn’t reciprocate them.