by Debra Webb
Then he stood, water rushing over his gorgeous body, soaking into his clean jeans. She realized suddenly that he’d already had his shower. She scrubbed her arm across her face, the hot water mixing with her salty tears. A shudder of defeat quaked through her and she wanted to collapse on the floor once more, but he pulled her into his arms and held her against his strong, warm body.
She cried some more, wishing she could stop, but she couldn’t. He held her, caressed her wet hair and her back. Eventually he drew her away from the comfort of his body and leaned her against the tile wall. It was slick and hot now, no longer cold. He reached for the body wash and filled his palm. Slowly, so very slowly, he smoothed the cherry-blossom-scented soap over her skin. He started with her throat, then traced his hands over her shoulders, down her chest, over the silk encasing her breasts...down her arms.
Her body trembled at his touch. Fire rushed over her skin wherever his hands landed. He clasped his fingers with hers, washing her hands, then traced a trail up her sides. With a gentle prompt, he turned her around and washed her back. Every inch of skin was caressed and massaged thoroughly.
He leaned close, whispered against her temple, “Close your eyes.”
Her breath catching at the nearness of his lips, she did as he asked. His every touch, every move was so very gentle. He ushered her under the spray of water and began washing her hair, massaging her scalp until goose bumps spilled over her skin. When he’d rinsed it thoroughly, he started all over again with the conditioner, slowly, methodically working a kind of magic she had never felt before. Her body was on fire, so hot and languid she could barely stand.
Then he dropped to his knees and washed her feet, her ankles, calves and thighs, his touch patient, intent. When she thought he might stop, he added more body wash to his hands and washed her intimately through the strappy bikini panties she wore. She whimpered in spite of her determined efforts to curb the reaction.
He stood. Pressed a kiss to her cheek and turned for the door.
“No.”
The single word was rough, desperate, demanding.
She couldn’t let him go.
She needed him.
She wanted him.
He looked into her eyes, his as full of desire as she knew hers were. She wasn’t the only one who wanted more.
“This is not what you need,” he murmured.
“Last night you said we’d revisit the subject tomorrow.” She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, let it fall down her arms and onto the tile where the water swirled and rushed down the drain. “It’s tomorrow.”
“You’re just looking for a distraction,” he warned. “I don’t want to be something else you’ll regret.”
She leaned against the wall, allowing her breasts to jut forward. “I think you missed a spot.”
He grabbed the body wash and squeezed a little more onto his palm. He held her gaze as he reached for her breasts. She gasped when both hands closed over her and squeezed. He teased her nipples, leaned down and kissed her, his mouth devouring hers.
Her arms went around him, slid down his back until she encountered the waistband of his jeans. She trailed her fingers around to his fly and unfastened it. She stuck her hands inside that soft denim and ushered them slowly down his lean hips, then pushed his back against the wall this time. She kissed her way down his chest as she pushed his jeans lower and lower. When her tongue dipped into his navel, she dropped to her knees and tugged off the soaking wet jeans.
She kissed her way back up his muscled thighs, past his fully aroused penis and onto the center of his wide chest. He lifted her up, and her legs instinctively went around his waist. He shut off the water, shouldered his way out the door and headed for the bed. He lowered her onto the comforter and reached for the one thing left between them, those damned panties. He dragged the damp, strappy things down her legs, following that same path with his lips. He tossed the panties away and settled between her welcoming thighs.
As she arched her hips, his erection pressed against her, and she shuddered with need. He pulled away, apparently satisfied to taste and tease her mouth with his own.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she murmured between kisses. She lifted her hips into him once more.
He grinned and reached down to guide himself into her, filling her quickly and completely. She cried out with the pleasure of it. Shivers rushed through her, rippling along every muscle, pushing her toward that place of pure sensation. He held her tight, his muscled chest rubbing her breasts, grinding against her nipples until she thought she would lose her mind.
Her fingers found their way into his hair, and she relished the silky feel of it. She traced his square jaw, nipped his lips with her teeth. The rasp of his hips along her inner thighs, the stretching sensation of each thrust, the brush of his chest against her breasts...all of it had her plunging toward sensory overload.
The distant ache of climax teased her, coming nearer and nearer until the pleasure exploded inside her. One, two, three more thrusts and he came, too.
He growled as he rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, their bodies still intimately joined.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry again. She didn’t know why she felt that particular urge. He was...amazing. What they’d just shared was amazing. There was no other word for it.
As if understanding, he pulled her close and whispered into her damp hair. “Please don’t regret this.”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she whispered back.
2:00 p.m.
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”
She’d asked him that same question four times already. “It’s a surprise.” Lacon grinned at her.
“Okay. I like surprises. Sometimes.”
“You’ll like this surprise, I promise.”
He’d had to select a car from the garage. All the blood in his would just remind her of the nightmare at Hirsch and Kildare. For now, he intended to do all in his power to keep that smile on her face and that sweet laughter coming from her luscious mouth.
He’d taken her to his favorite burger joint for lunch. They’d eaten all the bad stuff: burgers, fries, shakes. He’d had her pegged for a vanilla girl, but she’d gone straight for the chocolate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much as she’d told him stories of her and her brother’s antics as kids.
She’d asked a million questions about his family and childhood, as if all he’d previously told her hadn’t been nearly enough. So he’d decided to give her the grand tour—at least the one he could give without driving all the way to Texas.
He parked in front of his town house on Rockwell. She peered out the window at the two-story redbrick duplex. It wasn’t as fancy as her place, but it was his home away from home, and he was comfortable here.
She whirled in the seat to face him. “Is this where you live?”
He nodded. “You want to come in?”
“Yes.” She reached for the door.
He emerged, checked the street in both directions and met her on the sidewalk. He resisted the urge to take her hand as they strolled up the walk. Six steps up to the stoop and through the common door. A small hall that had once been a glamorous foyer went left to his town house and right to his neighbor’s.
As soon as he’d unlocked the door, Issy rushed in ahead of him. His gut tightened. What she thought of his place suddenly mattered way too much.
She wandered all around the reasonably spacious living room. He should probably get a rug for the hardwood, but the bare wood floors had never bothered him. His sofa and chair were big, overstuffed and comfortable. A couple of handy tables, a big-ass television and he was good to go. About the only other thing he needed was someone to curl up on that big old sofa with him.
That his gaze rested on her warned him that he was moving way too fast into personal territory. H
e’d been trained to avoid that dangerous deviation. He knew better. But he couldn’t slow the momentum.
“I love the fireplace.”
“It comes in handy on those cold Windy City nights.” He joined her at the mantel where she was examining the family photos that lined it.
“Your sister is beautiful.”
“Thanks. My dad insists she looks just like our mother did at that age.”
Issy smiled at him and moved on to the group photo they’d taken on Father’s Day. “Wow. All you Traynor men are handsome.”
A spark of jealousy burned in him. “Really?” He took the framed photo from her. “Those two?” He shook his head. “No way. I got all the looks in the family.”
Another of those relaxed smiles spread across her face. He could barely breathe just watching the happiness bloom on her countenance.
“Let’s see the kitchen. Do you cook as much here as you do when you’re on duty at the safe house?”
“Absolutely.”
He led the way through the small dining room to the kitchen. “There’s a patio out back.”
She walked around the kitchen, touched the cabinet doors, trailed her fingers over the counter. His mind conjured up the memory of his fingers trailing over her skin, feeling her body shiver against him...feeling her coming around him. He swallowed hard, tried to think of something witty to say.
“It’s cozy.” She surveyed his spice rack and the stack of cookbooks in the corner, then she touched the hand towel that hung on the oven door handle. It said Cooking Good. His sister had given it to him at Christmas. “I can tell you spend a lot of time in here.”
He shrugged. “When I’m home I cook.”
“Can I see upstairs?” She bit her lower lip as if she was worried he would say no. “You’ve seen where I sleep.”
“Sure.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Make yourself at home.”
She strolled past him and hurried up the stairs. He climbed a little slower, mostly because that way he got to watch the sweet sway of her hips. It wasn’t like there was a lot to see up there—beyond the gorgeous woman in front of him. There were two bedrooms and one bathroom, besides the tiny half bath downstairs. She wandered from room to room, lingering in his bedroom. Soft music whispered from the clock radio.
“Nothing to see.” He gestured to the bed. “Bed. Dresser and closet.” He shrugged. “And one small bedside table. I leave the radio on like that all the time.” The volume was turned down so low you could barely hear the music. He liked the gentle sound, like the soft roar of the ocean.
She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the bed. “I want to lie here with you and listen.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s kind of silly, but I want to feel your space.”
“Okeydokey.”
He climbed onto the bed and lay down beside her. They stared at the ceiling fan going round and round, listened to the soft notes of the music filtering through the air.
“Your bed is comfy.”
“Yeah.”
Her hand found his, and their fingers instinctively intertwined.
The tight feeling in his chest worried him. He was liking this way too much.
The vibration in his jacket pocket alerted him to a call. He exhaled a big breath and dug the damned thing out. At least it wasn’t hers. Anastasia wouldn’t call him.
He stared at the number. Didn’t recognize it.
“Traynor.”
“Mr. Traynor, this is Chief Anthony Waller.”
Lacon stilled. “How can I help you, Chief?”
“We need to have a meeting.”
Surprised, Lacon asked, “What time and where?”
“Now, if possible. I’ve contacted Victoria. She’s already en route. We’re meeting near the old station house on Halsted Street in Lincoln Park. I realize it’s short notice, so how quickly can you be there?”
Lacon sat up. “Half an hour.”
“Bring Dr. Frasier with you. This can’t wait.”
“We’ll be there.”
Issy was sitting up now, her gaze searching his face. “What’s going on?”
“Chief Waller wants a meeting. He said Victoria is already en route.”
Issy finger combed her hair. “Then I guess we have to go.”
Lacon didn’t have a good feeling about this. As they moved back downstairs, he decided it would be best to contact Michaels en route to confirm this impromptu meeting. They had no control over Anastasia’s actions, but this felt wrong somehow. His instincts were sounding off.
At the front door, he hesitated. “Stay inside while I have a look around outside.”
She hugged her arms around herself. “Okay.”
He hated the fear that took the place of the happiness he’d watched light up her face until that damned phone call interrupted. She’d been through too much already. He didn’t like any of this, not one little bit.
Outside, he surveyed the street. Checked the car. All seemed as it should be. He put in a call to Ian Michaels. Got his voice mail. He left a message for Michaels to let him know what was going on with the Waller meeting. He left the location just in case.
Once Lacon felt confident there was no danger lurking nearby, he locked his place and ushered Issy out to the car. He took a few shortcuts to reach the neighborhood where the old defunct police station still stood. He’d added a little time on to what was necessary when Waller questioned him. His instincts still nagged relentlessly at him.
Something wasn’t right.
He parked behind another vehicle on the side street next to the bank across from the old police station and cut the engine. He surveyed the street in front of the old station house. So far he saw nothing unusual, but that didn’t mean something unusual wouldn’t come out of the woodwork like roaches after dark.
“What do we do now?” She looked at him, her eyes clearly conveying that she was worried because he was worried.
“Let’s just stay in the background and see how this plays out until we hear from Michaels.”
Five minutes later, an SUV arrived. Chief Waller got out and walked halfway down the block. Maybe ten seconds later a dark car, big with heavily tinted windows, eased to the curb. Waller leaned down at the rear passenger side and appeared to be talking to someone.
The vehicle was not an agency vehicle. There was no sign of Victoria or Michaels. This was definitely not right, by any stretch of the imagination.
“This is all wrong.” Traynor started the car and slowly backed down the side street. When he was far enough from the intersection to avoid detection, he executed a u-turn and sped away.
“Do you think Chief Waller was trying to set us up?”
Lacon checked his rearview mirror. “I don’t know, but I didn’t recognize that car as one of the agency’s. I didn’t see Victoria or Michaels either.”
His cell vibrated and he checked the screen. This time it was Michaels. “Traynor.”
Michaels confirmed his gut instinct. Victoria had not received a call from Waller. The chief had lied.
The meet was a setup.
Chapter Nine
Colby Safe House, 6:30 p.m.
Victoria had already met with Chief Connie Staten regarding Chief Waller’s potential criminal activities. Marissa hated the idea of one of the top cops in the city being on Anastasia’s side, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe it didn’t happen. For some, money was more important than anything else, even executing their sworn duties.
“Does this mean that Anastasia knows where we are?” The idea had only just occurred to her. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs.
Lacon raised his hands in a hold-up gesture. “Right now we have no reason to believe he knows where you are. Waller was never given this address. He only knows that you’re at one of the
agency’s safe houses. The addresses are a closely guarded secret.”
“So there are others?” She relaxed the tiniest bit. This feeling of not being in control of her own destiny, of being totally at someone else’s mercy, had her completely on edge. She had agreed to do this, but she hadn’t expected to not be able to trust the good guys. The reality of the situation felt far graver now. Caused her to doubt herself.
“Several.” He glanced around the kitchen, set his hands on his lean hips. “You up for chicken? I’ve mastered several mean chicken-and-rice recipes.”
As unsettled as she was about this latest turn of events, she had to smile. He really was such a nice man. Whatever happened, when this was over, she hoped they could remain friends. Her body heated just standing here looking at him. She wasn’t sure friends would ever be enough. But she also realized that right now she was his job—his work—and this wasn’t necessarily the beginning of anything deeper.
It just felt that way.
So not smart, Issy.
“That sounds great.” She pushed all the troubling thoughts away. “What can I do?”
He grinned. She loved that grin. Her heart stumbled. Don’t even go there, silly.
“Find something green that goes well with chicken and rice.”
“I think I can handle that.” She went to the fridge. “Someone stocks this place whenever there’s a guest?”
Or maybe he’d done the shopping, too. But no, she didn’t think so. She couldn’t see how he would have had the time between when she reached out to her friend Eva Bowman and when Lacon showed up at her house after William’s murder.
“There’s a staff that takes care of the cleaning and the shopping.”
She had been surprised when they returned to find the en suite in her room spotless, the bloody clothes gone. She hoped they had thrown those clothes away because she certainly never wanted to see them again.
Her exploration of the fridge turned up kale and spinach, two of her favorites. All they needed was the right dressing for a healthy salad.