by Pamela Clare
He had imagined this moment a thousand times, but he hadn’t envisioned it like this. He’d imagined tender kisses and caresses, taking her with gentleness and finesse, not fucking her up against a wall. But then sex with Laura had never been what he’d imagined it would be, the chemistry between them volatile.
He’d hoped that coming earlier would have taken the edge off, made it easier for him to last, but he was dick-deep in paradise, his male anatomy threatening to betray him. He was already on the edge, his balls drawing tight against his body, the shimmering tension in his groin growing brighter with each thrust. He fought to relax his ass muscles, shifting his stance and his hold on her hips so that every thrust made the root of his cock graze her swollen clit.
Her head fell to the side, her lips parted, her breath coming in pants as he kept up the rhythm. He lowered his mouth to her throat, biting and nipping the sensitive skin above her pulse, the mingled scents of his sweat and her arousal filling his head.
She gasped, her body going tense, her inner muscles drawing tighter around him, and he knew she was moments away from orgasm. He tried to hold on, thrusting harder, faster, willing to go to the edge for her, his sweet Laura, his bella preciosa.
She came with a cry, ecstasy on her beautiful face, her inner muscles clenching hard around him. And he surrendered, climax overtaking him in a liquid rush, carrying him over the edge and into heaven.
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER held fast to each other, their bodies slick with sweat, as he carried her to the bed. Javier got his guitar and, still naked, played for her, singing romantic love songs to her in Spanish, his voice deep and smooth. Then, contented and replete, they kissed each other to sleep.
* * *
LAURA JERKED AWAKE.
Just a nightmare.
It was the same nightmare she always had. Only this time it had been different. She hadn’t been alone. Javier had been there. When Zainab had tried to take Klara from her, he’d shot her. But when Laura had reached for her newborn baby, the blanket had been empty.
She glanced down at Javier and watched as he stirred, reaching for her in his sleep, his dark lashes resting against his cheeks. He was such a beautiful man, such an incredibly brave man, the most courageous man she knew.
It still hadn’t sunk in. Javier was the nameless, faceless warrior she’d always thought of as the tall SEAL, the man who had saved her life. She looked back and tried to see beyond the night vision optics, the weapons, and the face camo to recognize the man she knew, but couldn’t, her memories colored by confusion, terror, adrenaline. He’d seemed larger than life that night, invincible, he and his men the only force in this world capable of bringing her tormenters down.
She thought through what he’d told her about that night, his perception so different from her own. She’d blamed herself for so long for the fact that Klara was still in the hands of terrorists that she didn’t know any other way of thinking. But listening to him run through the different scenarios of what might have happened—Zainab stabbing her the moment she tried to take Klara . . . the women fighting her for the baby, hurting or maybe even killing her little girl . . . the RPGs blowing the chopper to bits—she’d realized he was seeing things more clearly than she had.
And a dark weight she’d carried for so long seemed to lessen.
She glanced at her clock and saw that it was just after five in the morning. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she crept out of bed, slipped into her bathrobe, and made her way to her office, where she sent a quick message to her mother letting her know she needed to talk about something important. She logged on to Skype and waited, popping in her earbuds to keep the conversation from waking Javier.
She told her mother and grandmother the terrible news. They spoke for most of an hour, sharing their tears and their fears for Klara, neither her mother nor her grandmother willing to surrender hope.
That was one reason she loved them so much. As long as she believed, they would believe with her, no matter how bad the odds of finding Klara might be.
“What are you doing awake already, bella?” Javier walked in behind her, still naked, apparently unaware she was online. He bent down and kissed her, giving her mother and grandmother an eyeful of grade-A Puerto Rican beefcake, complete with a manscaped package.
Her mother and grandmother stopped speaking and stared.
“You might want to step out of the line of the camera.” Laura pointed to the screen and pulled out her earbuds.
Javier’s eyes went wide, and he took a quick step sideways, hiding his bare, shaven man bits behind her chair.
“Javier, this is my mother, Birgitta, and Inga, my grandmother. This is Javier.”
Her mother’s and grandmother’s faces were pressed as near to the computer screen as they could get, and both of them were smiling shamelessly.
Laura found herself fighting laughter.
“Good morning, Javier,” her mother said, switching to English. “We—my mother and I—are very happy to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet you, too, ma’am. Laura has told me a lot about you.”
Then her grandmother spoke, struggling with every word, her Swedish accent strong. “You are a very handsome man, more handsome even than Laura has told me.”
“Uh . . . Thank you, ma’am.”
“I am glad, Javier, that the two of you found each other again,” her mother said. “I was so afraid Laura would be alone. I’m glad she has taken you to her bed.”
“So am I. I mean . . .” Javier looked like he might choke.
Laura bit her lip to keep from laughing, chiding her mother in Swedish. “Mom, you’re embarrassing him!”
“Oh, forgive me, Javier.” Her mother smiled, still amused, her grandmother staring openly at Javier’s bare chest. “We are so open about such things here. I sometimes forget that it is different there.”
“No worries, ma’am.”
Her mother frowned. “Laura tells me you were shot. I see you are bandaged. I hope you are not in pain.”
He pressed a hand against the bandage on his side. “It was just a graze—nine stitches. No big deal.”
“While I have you here, please let me thank you for all you’ve done to keep Laura safe. She is my only child, my mother’s only grandchild.” Birgitta’s voice quavered. “We lost her once. We couldn’t survive losing her again.”
“I’m glad I was able to help. Laura means a lot to me, too. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go . . . uh . . . put something on.” He turned and walked away.
Laura watched her mother’s and grandmother’s gazes follow him, taking in the sight of his ass as he disappeared from view. When he was gone, Laura turned to face the screen again, laughing. “I can’t believe the two of you!”
But they weren’t listening.
“I think I just had a hot flash,” her grandmother said. “Did you see his prick?”
“How could I miss it?” Her mother gave Laura a knowing smile. “You are a lucky woman to have a man like that.”
* * *
LAURA AND JAVIER laughed together over breakfast.
“I don’t think I’ve seen my grandmother that excited since she went on a date with that landscaper. She was seventy-one, and he was in his fifties. She is a very passionate woman. So is my mother.”
“Like mother, like daughter.” Javier grinned. “I’m glad they enjoyed the view. I don’t think I’ve felt that embarrassed since I was a teenager and my mother walked in on me when I was jacking off.”
Laura tried to imagine a teenage Javier caught in the act and couldn’t help but smile. “That would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?”
“I can’t believe how cool your old ladies were. All I know is that if I were talking to my mother and my abuelita and you walked into the room naked, the two of them would cry, ‘¡Ay, Virgen Santa!’ Or something like that, and then rip my head off for taking advantage of you.”
That seemed like an old-fashioned notion to Laura. W
hat if she’d been the one taking advantage of Javier? “That’s not what my mother and grandmother had to say.”
“Tell me. What did they say?”
Laura leaned forward, brought her face within inches of his. “They both talked about how big your cock is.”
“Yeah?” Javier grinned, not seeming to mind that at all.
* * *
JAVIER LET LAURA work in peace, knowing she had a deadline. McBride had asked him not to leave the building just in case there was anyone else out there who wanted to shoot him, so he went up to the rooftop of The Ironworks for his run, adding crunches, push-ups, and burpees to push himself. With the sun shining and the mountains off to the west, it was a pretty good place to work out.
Afterward, he showered, stuck a large adhesive bandage over his stitches, and went into the guest room to make a few important calls. He’d just finished his last call when his cell phone rang. “Hey, McBride.”
“Agent Petras and I are about to head over. Looks like this Edwards might have been behind all of this. The pieces are definitely coming together.”
“It’s about fucking time.”
“You can say that again. I also wanted to let you know that Tower has been moved out of ICU. He’s off life support and more coherent. I’m stopping by the hospital this afternoon if you want to come. But this time—”
“Yeah, I know. Keep my mouth shut and let you ask the questions.”
* * *
JAVIER TOOK ONE look at Petras’s smug face and remembered why he couldn’t stand the stupid pendejo. He walked in like he owned the place, not even bothering to say hello to Laura or to show her any concern or even to thank her when she took his coat and brought him a cup of coffee.
“How’s Agent Killeen?” Laura asked him.
Petras frowned. “I have no idea how she is. I’ve been working this case.”
“That’s cold, bro, real cold.” Javier couldn’t imagine treating one of his teammates like that. “She’s one of yours. She was wounded in the line of duty, and you haven’t taken the time to find out how she’s doing?”
Petras ignored him and sat in the middle of the sofa. “As you know, the bureau investigated the bombing. We tracked down the components used to make the bomb. The dynamite was stolen from a construction site with no surveillance, so that was no good to us. Everything was purchased with cash, so there was no credit card trail to follow. But using witness descriptions from the various hobby shops and hardware stores where the remaining components were purchased, we had an artist create a sketch of the perpetrator.”
He snapped open a black leather briefcase and took out a drawing, which he placed on the coffee table.
There was no doubt about it.
Laura glanced at the sketch. “Sean Michael Edwards.”
Javier nodded. “That’s him.”
“We were able to ID him yesterday—at which time we learned he’d already been shot dead by you, Mr. Corbray.” Petras looked over at Javier. “I understand that shooting is still under investigation.”
Javier opened his mouth to tell Petras how to unfuck himself.
McBride interrupted him. “It was self-defense. I viewed the surveillance footage myself. The man came out of nowhere and tried to shoot Corbray in the back. The DA won’t be filing charges.”
That was good to know.
Petras went on. “We located Edwards’s residence and did a thorough sweep of the place. We found residue from the explosives as well as leftover materials, which we’ve already analyzed in the Denver lab. The materials are a match for those used to make the bomb that exploded outside the newspaper. There’s absolutely no doubt that the bombs were constructed in Edwards’s home.”
“Does he have any roommates or a partner who might have been aware of what he was doing or perhaps even participated?” Laura asked.
McBride shook his head. “According to his landlord, he lived alone and was unemployed, surviving off his disability check. The only prints we found on any of the materials were his. We found an open box of 7.62 NATO AP with military headstamps that match those of the casings we found at the shooting scene. What’s more, two of the weapons we sent to ballistic popped—a Smith and Wesson M&P twenty-two and the M110.”
Petras nodded. “There’s no doubt that Edwards is our doer. He wanted revenge on you for exposing him in Iraq. He bought the components for the bomb. He constructed the device in his home. He no doubt took advantage of flames fanned by Al-Nassar to manipulate Ali Al Zahrani into helping him, then shot Al Zahrani in the head to tie up loose ends. When the bomb didn’t work, he went after you with a sniper rifle. Mr. Corbray foiled that plan, so he went after Mr. Corbray. We’ve got motive, means, opportunity—more than enough conclusive evidence to wrap this case.”
Javier looked over to see Laura’s eyes close, tension leaving her body in a slow exhale. She opened her eyes and looked at McBride. “So . . . it’s over?”
McBride nodded. “You’re cleared to go back to work at the paper. We’ll be pulling our protection detail tonight once I’ve finished my final report.”
She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and then her head snapped up. “How can you know for certain Ali Al Zahrani cooperated with him? I have evidence that Ali was framed. I haven’t seen anything that has convinced me—”
Petras cut her off. “Ali Al Zahrani remains a person of interest in this case. There are some loose ends regarding his role in the bombing, but I suspect we’ll have those tied up in a matter of days.”
Laura frowned. “You said the only prints you found on the bombing materials were Edwards’s. He bought the supplies. He built the bombs. We know Ali couldn’t have done those Internet searches because he was at work when they took place. And let’s not forget that he died with a bullet in his brain from Edwards’s gun.”
“It’s far more likely that someone—his uncle or his mother—is lying to cover up his complicity than it is that Edwards sneaked into the Al Zahrani home every day for two months to incriminate the kid.”
“Not every day—just Monday through Thursday,” Laura quipped.
But Petras didn’t find that funny. “That brings up another matter. The bureau is still trying to decide whether to demand from you the source of the classified files you somehow obtained.”
“The bureau can demand whatever it wants, but you’d be wasting your time. I’ve been subpoenaed before.” There was a note of steel in Laura’s voice. “If it didn’t work for the Pentagon, it won’t work for you. I don’t reveal my sources.”
God, Javier loved her.
Laura looked from Petras to McBride. “What about Derek Tower? Are we any closer to understanding what he was doing at the parking garage?”
Petras shook his head. “That’s another unanswered question, but I understand that the marshals and Denver police will be meeting with him shortly, so hopefully they’ll have that pieced together soon.”
Javier looked over at McBride. “I’ve heard the evidence. It’s pretty convincing. But I have such a hard time believing that the man who shot me was capable of any of this. He seemed . . . off somehow. If he was such a great shot with a sniper rifle, why didn’t he just take up position somewhere high and out of sight and kill me with the M110? Why get close enough to me to put himself at risk?”
McBride seemed to consider this. “He was given a medical discharge due to a traumatic brain injury. It’s possible that some of the lapses we’ve seen—what we’ve been calling his uneven skill set—are the result of that brain injury.”
Javier thought about that for a moment, the whole thing seeming somehow strange to him. “I guess that’s the closest thing to an answer we’re going to get.”
Petras looked at his watch, then up at McBride. “I need to go. I’m going to be late for the press conference.”
“Press conference?” Laura asked.
Petras stood. “We’re letting the public know that the bureau has solved this case so that people can feel safe again.
”
* * *
DEREK KNEW THE next couple of hours were going to suck when he opened his eyes to see McBride, Hunter, Darcangelo, and Laura’s SEAL lover—Derek thought his name was Corbray—standing next to his hospital bed. “How thoughtful of you to stop by.”
“Sorry we didn’t think to bring flowers,” Darcangelo said.
Derek knew what they wanted to know, but he doubted seriously they’d believe him, even if he told them the truth. “I think visiting hours are over.”
“Yeah? Well, too fucking bad.” Corbray glared at him. “You want us to leave, you got to answer a few questions.”
“This isn’t a social visit? I’m hurt.” Derek said it just to fuck with them. He had every intention of answering their questions, if for no other reason than his friends at the Pentagon insisted he do so if he wanted to continue their association.
He simply had no choice.
Not that he had anything to hide, really. But secrecy was his nature. He didn’t share information unless it served his purposes.
McBride set a small laptop on Derek’s table and booted it up. “I’ve got footage from surveillance cameras that shows you—”
“No need to go to that trouble. I know what the footage shows.” He reached for his blue plastic pitcher and took a drink through the straw, morphine leaving his mouth dry. “I went to the parking garage because I was pretty sure that whoever had made Laura a target would try to take her out before or after the interview. The TV station was doing everything it could to publicize her appearance. I was certain this would draw the bastard out, and I wanted to stop him.”
It was as simple as that.
The four men stared at him.
“Why did you choose the parking garage?” McBride asked.