by Janzen, Tara
“Why wouldn’t they trust you?”
“A couple of people were killed, a couple of their people. I’m sure they thought I should have been able to prevent what happened.”
Her prolonged silence told him what she was thinking even before she spoke.
“The man from Chicago, the one who cut you, was he one of their people?”
She was using her lawyer’s voice on him. He didn’t blame her—not too much—but it ticked him off.
“Johnny Shepherd, also known as Johnny the Shark, was no federal agent,” he said. “He was a southside pimp before he got promoted to work as a piece of body armor for Austin Bridgeman. Nobody’s crying in their beer over losing Johnny Shepherd, least of all the Feds.”
“Is he the message you left Austin in Lincoln, Nebraska?”
He wasn’t going to answer such an incriminating question, and the look he gave her told her as much.
“Will there be a murder charge?” She rephrased her words to the same effect.
He held her gaze steadily with his own. “I don’t think they’re going to be able to find anyone to hang it on.”
Her face paled, and she turned away from him as his meaning sank in. “Don’t say things like that.”
“I’m just being realistic,” he said, rising to his feet and slowly turning her back around to face him. “The only way I can stay one step ahead of Austin is to face the facts and take them for what they are, good and bad.”
“Arc there any good facts?” she asked.
“Other than you? Damn few.” He slid his hands up her arms and pulled her closer. “Something was going wrong with this case from the very beginning, and I’ve never been able to figure it out. When that happens, it can only be because somebody with more authority than you doesn’t want you figuring it out. They’re withholding information. That’s what got the other two agents killed, not me.”
“So go to somebody with more authority than the person you think is keeping information from you,” she said, her voice lifting hopefully.
“The last person I went to is dead,” he said bluntly. He didn’t want her getting her hopes up for him. He didn’t want her losing sight of reality. Lord knows, he was trying damn hard not to lose sight of what lay ahead. He’d lied to her about what he was going to do after he stashed her with Charlie. He wasn’t heading to Mexico and hoping Austin followed him. He was going after the bastard, and he had every intention of killing him if he got the chance. It was the only way to protect her. It was the only chance she had of seeing next week, let alone living to a ripe old age. His own chances didn’t look nearly as good. He knew exactly how well protected Austin was, and he knew exactly what he’d have to do to get through that protection.
She lowered her head to his chest on a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. “That’s a bad sign when your superiors start dying, a very bad sign. There’s got to be something we can do.”
“You’ve done your part,” he said, brushing his lips across her temple. And if you’d like”—he lowered his mouth to her ear—“you can do it again.”
She looked up at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I, counselor.” A suggestive light warmed his eyes and put a half smile on his face.
“Last night wasn’t a civic duty. I’m not with the DA’s office.”
“And making love with you again isn’t going to change my chances, but I want to do it anyway . . . very badly.” His mouth came down on hers, hot and sweet, and his body eased up against her, rocking gently, reminding her of how good it had been in the night.
Johanna allowed the kiss, because she couldn’t resist, but she refused to be dissuaded from the job at hand. Slowly but surely she felt him come to the realization that if nothing else, she was serious about playing doctor.
“I’m not going to win this one, am I?” he asked between shorter kisses.
“Not for about ten more minutes. That’s all I’m asking. I’m worried about you. I need to see what kind of damage I did to you, and see if I can do a better job.” She stepped away and turned to shut off the bathwater.
“I don’t think I can take another suture,” he told her. “I was pretty wired the other night, and having you sew me up seemed like a sensible idea. I’m more relaxed now, and it seems like a crazy thing to have made you do.”
“I promise, no more sutures. But we need to disinfect and rebandage.” She picked up a box of cotton swabs.
“I’ll tell you what, counselor.” He took hold of her hand and relieved her of the swabs. “You give me those ten minutes alone in here to get cleaned up. Then I’ll let you do anything you want with me.”
“Do you need help with your pants?”
He glanced down at himself and saw her do the same. When their eyes met, a smile he couldn’t help graced his mouth and brought a blush to her face.
“If I get into trouble, I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, backing out of the bathroom, her blush deepening for every degree his smile broadened.
Thirteen
Dylan looked down at the woman in his arms and traced the curve of her shoulder with his hand. She was resting her head on his abdomen, her breathing in rhythm with his, the soft, silky strands of her hair trailing over his groin.
He had bathed, then let her rebandage him to her heart’s content, an indulgence that had paid off in the healing caresses of her fingers over his body. Making love with her had made his renewal complete.
He breathed deeply, stretching his muscles, and she slid her hand up his chest. God, he could get used to having her with him, to having her kind of tenderness in his life. He was already addicted to the pleasure.
With no more reminder than the trace of his last thought, he felt arousal spread once more through his loins. He slowly pushed himself up and lowered his mouth to hers, rolling her beneath him.
There was no getting enough of her.
* * *
Johanna sat on the edge of the bed and finished buttoning the shirt she had borrowed from him. Dylan was asleep behind her, still resting in what had turned into an early-morning nap—or so she thought until his arm came around her waist and brought her back down to his side.
“Impossible,” she said, shaking her head at him before she leaned forward and gave him a kiss. “You can’t possibly . . .” Her voice faltered as he moved her hand across the top of the sheet and placed it between his thighs.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, counselor.”
“It’s you I’ve been underestimating,” she said, her face suffusing with color.
He laughed softly at her blush. “I know. Me too.” A smile that was both cocky and self-deprecating teased his mouth. “It’s almost embarrassing, wanting you like this.”
“I never meant to embarrass you.” She lowered her lashes and lightly stroked him beneath the sheet.
Dylan groaned and tightened his hand on her waist, reacting to the rush of sensation caused by her touch. He closed his eyes and felt her slip away, down his body. Then his breath caught and his heart started pounding. She took him in her mouth, her breath warming him, her tongue tracing paths of dampness and lightning up and down the length of him.
His next groan came from deep in his chest and the one after that from even lower as she slowly and deliberately drove him closer to the edge of bliss. He floated in the sheer, sweet passion of her wantonness, receiving the most intimate gift of her love, until his need to be inside her became a consuming passion all its own.
“Johanna,” he said through his teeth. When she didn’t respond, he reached down and ran his hands through her hair, lifting her. “Come here.”
Her eyes were glazed, her body like liquid fire heating his skin as she came to him. Rolling to the side, he pinned her beneath him and spread her legs with his knee, making room for himself between her thighs.
“I’m going to make you mine,” he promised, then buried himself inside her with one deep thrust, sheathing himself in her heat. He ca
ptured her cry of surprise with his open mouth and pushed into her again, his body shaking. His rhythm was strong and unrepentantly meant to seduce her beyond the boundaries of given love, his goal nothing less than the same total surrender he felt building inside himself. He’d never before wanted so much from a woman. He’d never before wanted a woman to be his so completely.
With another man Johanna would have fought such a forceful claiming. He asked for nothing, took everything, and gave no quarter—all with an overwhelming intensity. He was Dylan, his actions said, and she was his. He would accept nothing less, he wanted nothing more.
In her heart she had been ready and willing to give him everything, but she hadn’t truly known what everything could entail. The man above her had known, and he was teaching her with the driving force of his body what it meant to belong to only one man and no other.
He dominated her with his strength, holding himself above her with his hands clenched into the sheets next to her shoulders. His repeated invasion crossed the border from pleasure to pain and back again.
“Dylan . . . stop,” she gasped. She needed time, she needed a breath. She needed control over what was happening.
What he gave her was a kiss—a kiss to steal her heart and soul. The sweet laving of his tongue through her mouth was sensory overload and her final undoing. The different tastes of him mingled into one and spread like a magic elixir through her pores. When he moved his mouth to her breasts, she cried his name.
“Oh, Dylan. Yes. Yes . . .”
He wrapped his fist in her hair, forcing her head up to meet his gaze. “Look at me, Johanna,” he ground out, his body straining for completion, sweat slickening his skin. “Look at me and take me.”
Take him she did, for she had no choice, neither physically nor emotionally. She wanted him from the depths of her being, a place she’d never known she could share until Dylan Jones had forced his way inside.
His climax came with a mighty groan that echoed in her heart. She clung to him as the shudders of release racked her body, completely his in the final act of dissolution.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered long minutes later when he slowly traced the line of her hip with his hand. Her voice was a bare murmur coming from where she lay curled up next to him.
“I couldn’t,” he assured her, rolling onto his side and lowering his head next to hers. He lay there quietly, breathing in her fragrance and smoothing his palm across her skin. She was so silky and soft. The feel of her was something he would never forget.
“We have to get ready to leave soon,” he said after a while. “We still have a lot of ground to cover before we get to Seattle.”
“I don’t want to move.” She eased herself even closer to him. “I may never want to move again.”
“I need to call Charlie to set up a meeting place. Let him know when we might get there. I’d like to make the drop as clean and as fast as possible.”
She stirred, turning her head just enough to meet his eyes. “By ‘the drop’ I assume you mean me.”
He grinned, and she rolled her eyes at him before lowering her head back down and resuming her serious relaxation.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said a moment later.
“About sex?” he asked, then added ruefully, “I don’t think you changing your mind is going to make much difference. Not for a while anyway.”
“No. About Charlie Holter,” she said. “I’m not going with him.”
His hand stilled on her hip. “Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” she said clearly, coming up on her elbows. A fall of hair slid over her shoulder. She looked down at him. “You aren’t responsible for me, Dylan, and neither do you have any authority over me.”
“Yes, I am, and yes, I do, counselor,” he said equally as clearly, his expression one that would brook no argument.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Her gaze slipped away from his, and she ran her hand over the suddenly tensed muscles in his arm. “What were you and Johnny Shepherd, two Chicago boys, doing in Lincoln, Nebraska?”
Dylan couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe two people could make love the way they’d been doing all morning, and one of those people’s minds could still be working like a steel trap—and it wasn’t his mind he was talking about. His mind still felt like mush, pleasantly so. Damn, she was persistent.
He waged a silent war with himself and her question. The truth was more bizarre than she could have imagined. He hadn’t planned on telling her. In truth, he’d half killed himself to make sure she would never know what he and Johnny the Shark had been doing in Lincoln—but telling her might be the edge he needed to get her to do what needed to be done.
His gaze flicked up to her face. She had to go with Charlie. There could be no compromise.
“We were working on a hit,” he said.
“A hit?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You mean like a contract to kill somebody?”
“Yes.”
“My God!” She unconsciously drew herself tighter together, her clasped hands coming up under her chin, her shoulders hunching forward. “You were supposed to kill somebody in Nebraska? I can’t believe it.”
“No, Johanna,” he said. “We weren’t supposed to kill anybody in Nebraska.” He reached up and slid his hand under her hair, lifting it off her neck and letting it slip back through his fingers. “Johnny and I were sent to kill somebody in Boulder.”
He could tell by watching her when the full impact of his words hit home. Shock drained the life from her face, leaving her curiously flat looking. Then, with a strangled sound, she pulled away from him, grabbing for a blanket as she made her escape. He caught her before she was even half off the bed and brought her back into his arms.
“Johanna.” She struggled against him, but he held her tight, making his voice soothing. “Johanna, listen to me.”
“No.”
“Johanna.” His tone became more demanding, his grip more firm.
“Why?” she cried. “Why would Austin do such a thing? That bastard.” Her voice softened into tears. “That bastard.”
Dylan cradled her next to his chest, understanding all too well both her anger and her fear. He let her cry, knowing the betrayal she was experiencing defied description. Austin had wanted her life. He had wanted her existence annihilated in exchange for an added degree of safety. Dylan knew what it felt like to mean so little, to be expendable. The woman in his arms should never have had to confront such knowledge.
When her tears slowed, she lifted her face to his. Moisture pooled in her eyes, making them appear fluid and rain-streaked.
“What if he’d sent someone else?” she asked. “What if he hadn’t sent you? I’d be dead now, wouldn’t I?”
“You’ve been safe from the day I walked into Austin’s office and saw you sitting there. I knew then that whatever came down, if you weren’t already involved, I’d do my damnedest to keep you out of it.”
“Why?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, her eyebrows drawing together.
Dylan didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t understood his reaction himself. He’d seen her sitting there, looking confident, in control, totally beautiful, and totally out of place. Watching her work that first day, listening to every word she spoke to Austin, he’d known she was flying blind, that however good she was in her capacity as one of Austin’s lawyers, she wasn’t aware of all of his other dealings.
The way she had kept looking at him, politely interested, possibly intrigued, definitely wary, had been a sure clue to him that she hadn’t understood why Austin had taken to hiring bodyguards.
“I thought you were innocent,” he said.
“And when you started looking through the papers on Morrow Warner?”
A small smile twitched his mouth. “I thought you were good, maybe too good. You were giving Austin everything he wanted and somehow managing to stay clean. I was impressed . . . and worried.”
“Worried?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I wanted an airtight case and you were weaving loopholes.”
“Do you have an airtight case?”
His smile faded and his face grew grim. “All I’ve got is two dead agents who worked with me and a whole lot of evidence nobody seems to want anymore.”
“And Johnny Shepherd.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “My God. What happened that he ended up dead?”
“I’m not sure.” He reached up and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her voice trembled, but he took her at her word. She was stronger than most.
He gave her shoulder one last squeeze, then got up and started putting on his clothes. “Johnny was wired before we even hit the Chicago city limits, and it just got worse. Ten hours in a car with a hyped up copilot flying on cocaine is not my idea of fun. I got a little rude with him, a little crude, making sure he knew who was in charge. He got rude back, told me I better watch out who I was trying to impress, told me he thought he could get a two-for-one deal by taking all of Austin’s trash out in one trip.”
Dylan buttoned his shirt, then tucked the tails into his jeans before zipping them up. “By the time we got to Lincoln, push was coming to shove, and I knew my cover had been blown. Johnny never would have confronted me unless he thought Austin was behind him, backing him up. The thing that didn’t make sense was, if Austin had really wanted me out of the picture, he wouldn’t have left it up to Johnny. I got cut a couple of times, but Austin knew I was the best he had. He had to have known Johnny would end up dead, not me.”
“Maybe he thought a murder rap would look good on you.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “Or maybe Johnny was supposed to put a bullet in the back of my head instead of trying to take me on with a knife. Johnny liked his knife a lot. He’d used it a few times on a couple of his hookers.”
The sudden change in her expression brought him up short.