“Nah. Video.” Nate pointed to his tablet. “Then mom comes in… Mom… Mom…” He stuttered the words. A mantra. A song. A psalm of grief. Tears leaked from his eyes, his face turning red. He mumbled about bedtime stories, prayers, and the best night of his life when they’d stayed up all night binge watching Doctor Who and eating popcorn and chocolate. He’d had candy and soda and a mom. A mom who had loved him unconditionally, whose last words were about her son. A mom who was dead.
Nate sat on the edge of the bed, breathing in snot and trying to rein in the tears. Sobs racked his little shoulders, and Dez was lost. She sat on the bed and pulled him into a hug. Words failed her. Unlike Diane, she wasn’t a mom; didn’t know what to say to make it easier for the kid, so she just held him and let him cry it out. The sobs yanked at her heart, and her stomach started to churn.
Today was her biggest failure as a police officer. She’d never felt so hollowed out by her inability to protect. She’d been moaning about babysitting duty, and now this kid would never see his parents again. Dez didn’t misplace the blame. This one belonged to Patrick Sullivan. One more reason to nail his sorry ass. When Nate had cried himself dry, Dez leaned back and wiped a hand through his hair. Soft and smooth, she soothed. He closed his eyes. “Can you say a prayer?” he asked. “After the video, that’s what mom does.”
Does. Present tense. Good God, Dez would just as soon wish upon a star as pray, but Nate needed it, and for him, for his loss, she could suck it up. She used the one she had memorized once upon a time but never used, and when she was done, it was all she could manage to tuck him in without losing it. Her hands shook as she closed the door behind her. She leaned against the wall for a minute, took a breath and another, forcing herself to clear her head. In the undercover world, sometimes you had to lock shit up and deal with it later.
The bathroom door was still closed. Not much time must have passed. The pain meds were starting to work, taking the edge off the throbbing in her arm. Not so much the ache in her heart. Nate’s tears stained her shirt. It was as bad—worse—than the blood earlier in the day. She needed to change, take off the memory with the scrubs, but she didn’t have a stitch of clothing. Mick did. She had no compunction about rifling through his bag and pulling out a concert T-shirt. She’d barely pulled it over her shoulders when he walked inside. She’d hoped to be in bed and faking sleep so she didn’t have to deal with him, but her luck was bad all day today. “This okay?” she asked, pointing to the shirt.
“If I say no, will you take it off?” he asked with a lecherous grin.
“No. Idiot.” But she grinned back at him. She could always count on Mick to ease the tension. They had a solid friendship. Truth be told, he and Blake were the only two people she’d let get close enough to consider friends, so when her body screamed hello every time he walked into the room, she shut it down, but that was hard to do after the day she’d had. After smelling him fresh-from-the-shower clean. She’d blame his aftershave, but he hadn’t taken the time to shave. He still had a shadow of scruff on his jawline, which would put her panties in a twist if she were wearing any.
Mick’s long blond hair was wet and tousled, his face scruffy with a day’s growth of beard. Good look on him. Water soaked through a T-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps. He turned to toss the bag onto the chair, showing off his back. Some women liked abs, but for Dez, a strong back was the sign of a man who worked for a living. A man who could carry as much as you put on his shoulders. Mick could carry a bus. Damn. Now his presence sparked the tension. She’d have to be blind not to notice his hotness. The strength was one thing. He worked as a bartender and bouncer, so he had to stay in shape, but for all his strength, the man had a way of talking a drunk down that didn’t involve cracking his skull against the wall. He was big as a truck, but calming. A strange, magnetic man, who invited confidence without offering much of himself in return.
“Nate cried on me,” she said out of the blue.
“Be weird if he didn’t.”
The intimacy of the moment unnerved her. He was fresh from the shower; she was half naked and only human. Mick’s damp T-shirt showed off muscles that would make a nun question her oath. Sex was definitely on Dez’s mind. She pulled the decorative pillows off the bed, tossed them on the chair where Mick had put his bag. “Maybe Nate should have cried on you.”
“Not what he needed. He needed soft.”
Dez turned and nearly walked into Mick in the confined space. “Do I seem soft to you?”
He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Yeah. Soft.” His voice lowered to a rough whisper.
The shiver he elicited was part his touch and part his tone. Two words, one touch, and he had her straining closer to him. So much for her rules. She needed him tonight, and not just for comfort. The erratic pulse beating in her heart thundered in her ears. This was the first time they’d worked together without Blake as intermediary. Dez had nowhere to hide and no one to help distract from the attraction.
“We should sleep together.”
The world had come to an end. He was suggesting exactly what her traitorous body wanted. She glanced up sharply. “Pardon me?”
The grin on his rugged face brightened the universe. “You break character when you say things like that. I can hear your schooling.”
He confused her. Excited her. Damn it. “You were saying?”
“The bed. We need to share it.” He rubbed the knots out of her shoulder while he spoke. “You were right. My big ass won’t fit on Nate’s twin bed, and I’m not sleeping on the floral sofa downstairs.”
Words lost their meaning as his big hands massaged away the tension of the day.
“Or I could bunk with Aunt Peg,” he suggested.
“Over my dead body.” She stepped back and immediately missed the touch of his big hands, but her words to him finally sank in. She sounded territorial, and since they were just friends, she had no right. “She’s my aunt for heaven’s sake.”
“Then I guess it’s just you and me.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “Detective.”
“You know it pisses me off when you call me that.”
“I do.” He stepped close again until the backs of her legs hit the mattress, and she had nowhere to go. “Want to know what pisses me off?”
She swallowed reflexively. “I already know. You hate country music, overcooked eggs, and a lack of respect for the American flag.”
“You’ve paid attention.”
God, could she get any more obvious? “You’re not so hard to figure out.”
“Then maybe you can tell me why I’m pissed at you.”
“Me?” Her voice cracked. “I don’t have the faintest idea.”
His hand flexed into a fist. “You put yourself in danger. Didn’t call for backup. Didn’t tell me you were injured. I had to hear it from Doctor Diane.”
Dez was dumbfounded. “It’s my job.”
“You have a partner. Partners,” he corrected. “You’re not the Lone Ranger.”
Dez gestured wildly, smacking against his chest. “It was the middle of an op. I didn’t have time.”
He held her hand against his chest to prevent more frantic movement. “Wrong answer.”
“Getting shot at is sometimes part of the job. Deal with it.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Me, neither.” She strained but couldn’t release her arm from his grasp. “What crawled up your ass?”
“Hell if I know.”
They stared at each other for long moments. Her breath panted out, lifting her chest, and no matter how hard she strained, he wouldn’t let go.
“That’s a lie,” he finally said. “Losing contact with you when the operation went to hell worried me.” He cupped a hand around her neck and drew her in. The brush of his lips was surprisingly gentle. “Ever since it happened, I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, the warmth of his breath blowing against her lips, drawing her closer.
Ah, hell. The softness of it brought the whol
e day into focus. She’d nearly been killed. Dez stepped into him, closed her eyes, and blocked everything else out. No snipers, no bullets, no death. She blocked it all. “Hold me for a few seconds. A minute tops.”
His big arms wrapped her up, made her feel fragile. The weight of his arms was like a barrier between her and the world. She soaked it up, rested her cheek against his chest, heard the beat of his heart increase as they stood motionless in the small bedroom. The minute passed and another. They didn’t say a word.
Outside, the wind blew, whistling around the edges of the old window. The draft should have chilled her, but it sent her burrowing into Mick’s heat. The grief she shared with Nate had chewed her up and spit her out. Coming home had brought up ghosts she might never re-bury, and the rules she set in motion once she left this town had not protected her from any of it. Hooking up with Mick—no better than a criminal informant as far as her superiors were concerned—would put a big red X on her chest.
But Mick was the salve she needed to mend the pain. He might be the only one who could reach it.
Desire built inside with the need to lose herself. Wash away the day. She looked up at Mick’s solid jaw and grabbed the lifeline. She pressed her lips to the pulse beating in his neck. His muscles tensed, his arms shifted to drop his hands to her waist.
Emboldened, needful, Dez nibbled her way to his lips, tasting the delicious temptation. He wasn’t a soft, sweet treat. Not melting chocolate or fruity sweet. He was rock candy. You couldn’t melt it or chew it; the only way to enjoy it was a long, slow sample, so she flicked her tongue and took a taste. When her lips met his, he stopped being sweet.
The hands at her hips pulled her closer so she felt the hard length of him against her belly as his tongue answered hers. He transitioned from warm hug between friends to hot, sexy embrace without missing a beat. The way he moved her into his body as his lips took control shifted the balance. Suddenly, he was seeking, leading, and seducing her to the next level. His tongue tangled with hers, his teeth nipped, and his breath stole hers.
She didn’t need oxygen; she needed Mick. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of his taste and his heat. She lifted her hands to his damp hair, and he groaned, his erection flexing against her.
“Yes,” Dez moaned into his mouth, pressed up on tiptoe to angle her body closer to his. The movement pushed his hands lower, until his fingers grazed the skin on the back of her thigh, lifting the shirt as his hands roamed higher. “God, yes.”
“You’ve got the sweetest ass,” he muttered against her lips. His hands moved to cup the cheeks. “Fuck, you’re not wearing underwear.”
She’d blush, but she was too busy enjoying the way his large hands grabbed and kneaded her bare skin. This is what she needed to block the rest of the world away. Mick Donovan was the perfect place to hide. At least for the night.
He pulled back, drawing her lower lip between his teeth. The move sent a spark straight to her core. And then he smoothed the T-shirt to cover her bare skin. She whimpered when he moved his hands to the small of her back, the cotton a barrier between them.
No. She wasn’t ready to lose the heat sparking between them. “Don’t stop. Not yet.”
He lifted his lips out of reach.
“Blame it on the meds,” she said, desperate for one more taste. One more minute of sex haze.
He dropped his forehead to hers before taking her lips in a gentle kiss, much the same as they’d begun. She growled in frustration. She couldn’t force him, couldn’t play games to get him to the point of no return. This was Mick. It wasn’t simply that he was intractable; he was also a friend. A friend she valued. She couldn’t force what they might both regret, but it didn’t stop the stinging hurt at his rejection.
She shoved against his broad chest to get away, but he held her close another slow beat.
“When I’m finally balls deep in your tight little body,” he whispered, his voice gravelly with need, “it won’t be because you need pain meds to get there.”
Chapter Six
Dez woke to her arm throbbing, a reminder of the gunshot wound. She rolled off the suture site. The pillow next to her was empty. She knew Mick had slept there. Above the covers, because apparently she was not to be trusted with his virtue. She dug a hand through her hair. Stop being such a bitch. Mick had done the right thing. Their friendship was worth more than a one-night stand. They shared a mission to take down Patrick Sullivan and those like him, but knowing didn’t stop regret from tugging at her. She’d let her guard down, and Mick had turned her away. That was the problem—one of many—with getting involved with a friend. He had known it was a weak moment for her, and as a friend, he’d done the right thing. But that wasn’t what she’d wanted. Not last night.
This morning, she could see the logic, and wasn’t that a pisser?
The truth was, they were mid-case, on the run, without backup. Sex complicated things. This mission was complicated enough. Plus—and this was what she’d been telling herself from the first time she’d met Mick—she could scratch that itch anywhere. Trying to break that rule in the middle of a dangerous mission was stupid.
Logic firmly in place, she got up, dressed in yesterday’s scrubs, and went in search of life. Aunt Peg stood at a griddle next to the stove making pancakes. She turned when Dez walked into the kitchen. “You slept in. It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Sorry.” Dez felt like a slug sleeping in while Peg cooked for them.
“You needed it. The boys are out shoveling snow. Got a few inches last night.”
At least someone had. She smiled at her dirty thoughts. Now was most definitely not the time or place. “Are the roads clear?”
“Mostly.” Peg flipped the pancakes. “I hit the discount store this morning. Got you some clothes and hair dye.”
“Thank you.” Dez poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “Wait, hair dye? Peg, I haven’t been blond since the day I left here.”
“You might want to reconsider.” Peg didn’t wait long enough for Dez to doctor the coffee. “Your face is plastered all over the web. Television, too.”
“What?” Hell, it hadn’t occurred to her. “What for?”
“Wanted for questioning. Kidnapping.”
So much for staying off the grid. It should have occurred to her. The task force was organized to take down Sully, and the kid was a means to that end, much as Mick had said yesterday. The members of the task force didn’t have time to make educated guesses about her motivation. The kid was missing, and she was the last known person to see Nate. The house where she’d called for backup was now a bloody, bombed-out crime scene. They needed answers. Thus, she was wanted for questioning, but if she went in, even if she just called and they discovered her location, the mole would learn where Nate was hiding. She couldn’t let that happen, which put her on the wrong side of the law. Temporarily, at least.
She grabbed the smart phone from Peg and glanced at the article. They’d used one of her undercover mug shots. One of those deals to legitimize her within the ranks of the dirtbags they targeted. In the photo, her hair was the color it was now, stringy, and her eyeliner and mascara were smeared as if she’d been crying. She looked like a drugged-out whore, which was exactly what they’d been going for with that operation. Seeing the picture on her aunt’s phone turned her stomach.
“What can you tell me?” Peg asked.
It was just like her aunt to skip the small talk and strike at the heart of the matter. “I can’t tell you everything. I am a cop, and yes, we’re in trouble. Yesterday someone killed Nate’s parents.”
“Explains why he’s so serious. So sad. Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
If they’d had any choice, she wouldn’t be. “The only people who knew Nate’s location were WITSEC agents and FBI Agent Stiles, the lead agent on the task force.”
“You really think someone could infiltrate the Witness Protection Program?”
“I like that better than laying
it at my boss’s feet. Either way, we can’t use the regular channels until we figure it out. The plan is to stay out of the line of fire until my partner can figure out what happened. My priority is keeping Nate alive. You okay if we hang until it’s safe?”
Peg plated the pancakes and unplugged the griddle. She sat and grabbed Dez’s hands. “Baby, you can stay as long as you want. I’ve wondered and worried for years. If I could go back—”
“It turned out okay. Honest.” Dez forced a smile. She had stayed away to avoid this conversation, so she deflected. “We’ll stay out of your way as much as possible, but staying here keeps Nate hidden until the drug dealer after him is behind bars. So thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. I think you should tell the sheriff who you are and what you’re doing here.”
“Yesterday, an ambush killed four people in less than five minutes. I was almost one of them. Trust no one isn’t a motto. Until we know how connected the traitor is, Nate’s identity—and now mine since I’m plastered all over television—stays between you, me, and Mick.”
“You’re not going to trust the sheriff because of one bad apple?”
“A bad apple with a very long reach.”
“You’ve forgotten small town life. I’ve already gotten calls asking who is parked in my driveway. The sheriff stays over two or three times a week. And even if I could avoid him—and I won’t—someone will eventually come knocking. Best way to handle small towns is to face them head on. We should go out to dinner. Celebrate your homecoming.”
“Defeats the purpose,” Dez argued. “You forget that my picture is all over.”
“No, the picture of Destiny Harper is everywhere, but that’s not the name you used when you lived here. And, pardon me for saying so, but that picture of you looks like—”
“A drugged-out whore,” she finished.
“With dark hair and raccoon eyes. She doesn’t look anything like my niece.”
Unstoppable (The Untouchable Series) Page 5