by Debra Webb
She came back to him and wound her arms around his neck. He hitched her up until those long thighs circled his hips. He turned, bracing her back against the wall. Happily, he’d take her right here, or on the couch—hell, even the steps looked good.
All of the above. All in good time.
He carried her to the couch and sank into the cushions, her legs straddling his thighs, all of her open to his touch. He peeled away her shirt and trailed his fingers along the straps of her bra. When he unhooked it and let the lingerie fall away, he held her, learning how she wanted to be touched.
He set out to show her how beautiful she was to him. How she made him feel so wanted. Skimming his hands over every inch of her flesh, he showed her what she meant. He pulled her close, taking first one breast then the other into his mouth, teasing her soft flesh with tongue and teeth. Her palms were braced on his shoulders, and her little moans were sweet encouragement.
She shifted away, bringing her mouth down to his. The kiss turned into a sensual dual as her tongue slid across his. Her hands cruised over his chest and lower until he was rocking his erection into her delicious touch.
As she opened his slacks, taking him in hand, he slipped a finger under that lace and found her wet, hot and ready. Need surged through him. “Abby.” He raised up, stripping away his clothing. The only remaining barrier was her panties. With a wink, he reached out and tore them away.
Wearing only her thigh-highs, she came over him, gliding down slowly until she’d taken him fully inside her. He waited, holding back by some miracle, while she set the pace. It was worth the wait—when she moved it was heaven. Gripping her hips, he met her body with each stroke, until her climax shuddered through her and around him, her fingertips digging into his shoulders.
His release came a moment later and she dropped her head against his shoulder, panting and snuggling close as they floated back to reality.
After a few minutes she shifted again. “Told you the couch is too small.” She stood up, keeping his hands in hers. “Come share my bed.”
He didn’t know it was possible to go from completely sated to all-out need in the span of one staircase, but it happened.
When they reached her bedroom her tender kiss ignited an encore performance that stole his breath. Spent, her body felt as pliable as butter sprawled across his chest. He heard her whispering softly against his skin but couldn’t make out the words. “What was that?” he asked.
She raised her head, propping her chin on her hands to meet his gaze. “‘Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.’”
He ran a finger down her spine. “You’re quoting Shelley?”
“It seems to fit.” Her smile was nothing short of radiant. “You know the quote.”
“I do.”
“You consistently surprise me, Riley.”
He combed his hand through her hair. “Same goes, Abby.”
She pulled the covers over them and snuggled next to him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” He pressed a kiss to her hair and listened to the simple perfection of her breath until she fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday, December 3, 6:40 a.m.
Abby slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb Riley. He was sprawled facedown across the mattress, the tangled sheets leaving him more exposed than covered. Of all her recent challenges, exiting the bed proved the most difficult.
With a wistful sigh, she kept moving. She’d make it up to him later. Tonight, after they had the terrorist in custody, they could celebrate. They could even go down to the park and join the fun of a successful opening day of the Christmas Village.
She found dark jeans and a sweater and dressed in the guest room so she wouldn’t wake him. Then she wrote him a note and left it on her pillow. If she was lucky, this would all be over before he realized she was gone.
Optimism was a good thing.
* * *
WHEN RILEY HEARD Abby leave the house he opened his eyes. Rolling over, he stared at her bedroom ceiling, only moving after he heard the low rumble of her car engine. Still he waited until the noise faded before he rolled out of the bed.
He supposed he should be flattered she trusted him enough to leave him alone in her house. This was, after all, the opportunity he’d wanted since arriving in Belclare. He reclaimed his clothing and dressed quickly, pausing just long enough to read the apologetic note that said she’d been called to the station on an emergency.
Yes, he’d been sleeping deeply with her supple body in his arms, but he knew her phone hadn’t made any of the obnoxious sounds she’d programmed for police business. In between rounds of lovemaking, she’d made a point of putting it on the charger next to the bed.
So, if not official business, where had she run off to so early? He didn’t like the answers that immediately came to mind. Last night he’d suspected she had made a move of some sort in hopes of thwarting the enemy. Now, he was certain she was up to something she didn’t want anyone else to know about. Fastening his watch, he checked the time. Two hours before the official opening of the Christmas Village.
He did a quick search on his way out. In the kitchen he found another note inviting him to help himself to coffee and whatever else he wanted and asking him to lock up as he left. Eggs and toast weren’t his primary concern. He wanted her to tell him what she was up to.
He suppressed the sinking feeling in his gut as he violated her privacy and opened the laptop she’d left on the kitchen table, but it had to be done. Keeping her safely in her post as Belclare’s police chief was his first order of business.
Finding the email requesting a meeting with the sleeper cell leader landed like a punch to the gut and his breath stalled in his chest. Irrational as it was, temper and a strange hurt surged through him. He knew she didn’t trust him completely, and he even understood why. But to take this step without any backup was desperate. The terrorist leader would cut her down without a second thought and use her death as a cautionary tale to others who would try to prevent further operations.
He closed her computer and locked up her house, darting across the driveway to his place. He fought his first instinct to don the tactical gear and weapons stashed behind the wall in the bedroom closet—that wasn’t the answer.
Instead, mustering his operational calm, he changed into jeans and a thermal shirt. He shrugged into a shoulder holster and checked the load on his 9mm. Covering the gun with a thick chamois shirt, he headed downstairs for his boots and down vest. He’d think of a reason to explain his return visit to the Christmas tree lot on the way.
Chapter Fifteen
Abby chose a spot close to the entrance of the Lewiston tree lot, not surprised her car was the only one in the parking area. She’d decided on this location because of the family and because it gave her enemy the illusion of several ways in and out.
The chicken-wire fencing didn’t offer much in the way of a challenge or a deterrent to trespassers. Though they’d never suffered a threat or lost property, the Lewiston family maintained an armed watch on the lot 24/7. One of them would be around, watching.
“Welcome to your last day in my town,” Abby murmured, as she checked her weapon and slid the extra clips of ammunition into her coat pockets. Provided her email had made it through to the right party and her challenge had been accepted, the terrorist grip on Belclare was about to end.
With her badge in plain view on her jacket and her Glock in hand, she stepped out of the car. The sun was bright in the sky, but the air was bitter cold. The wind nipped at her cheeks and chilled the denim of her jeans. Her boots crunched on the snow-covered gravel of the parking area. Alternately stepping and pausing to listen, her gun lowered but ready, she cautiously entered the forest of Christmas trees neatly organized by size and type.
She felt eyes on her and knew she’d drawn the attention of at least one member of the Lewiston family. Based on the increased patrols, she knew her officers could be on-site within three minutes of a
n emergency call. Three minutes gave her plenty of time to draw out a confession or at least identify a viable suspect.
Her radio crackled. “Mornin’, Chief,” a voice rasped. “One trespasser in the northeast corner. No visible weapon.”
Of course the Lewistons would know the police channels. She nodded, appreciating the tip as much as the automatic cooperation. She’d just started moving with more confidence to that position when the same voice sounded off again.
“Second contact directly east of your position has a shoulder holster. Don’t know what you’re up to but seems like you’ve got some interest.”
A quick prickle of fear skittered down her spine. She hadn’t expected this to be easy. With a bit of clever maneuvering she could still pull this off. Failure wasn’t an option.
Keeping rows of trees between her and the east side of the lot, she moved closer to the corner, eager to find who was waiting.
The sound of a shotgun rang out, sending birds into flight. The lower branches of a tree splintered on her right. Fresh pine filled the air. The tree slumped to the side and she caught sight of a familiar red vest diving for cover.
The terrorist could not be Riley. The words bounced around in her head. No, the jackass terrorist was messing with her. She couldn’t have been so wrong as to sleep with her enemy.
“Show yourself!” She dropped to her belly, looking for boots and listening for movement. “I thought you came to negotiate.”
“I believe he came to kill you.”
Where was that voice coming from? And what the hell was Deke doing out here? He’d never spent so much time away from his house. Feet appeared in her line of sight but no boots. The high shine on the shoes and the dark slacks warned that it was in fact the artist who’d come to meet her. Could she have so badly misjudged the man?
She measured the distance to the man and stayed low. “What brings you out this morning, Deke?”
“I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, darling,” he replied, not moving from his position. “I do so much more than paint.”
It was him! She’d been a fool! So grateful for his help to the town’s well-being—to her well-being, she hadn’t seen the forest for the trees. Now, with Christmas trees surrounding her, she saw exactly what she’d been missing.
“No time like the present,” Abby offered, checking Deke’s position again and spotting boots moving closer to him. Tied this time, there was no mistaking Riley’s footwear. If it was him, why wasn’t he defending himself? And her? Her heart turned as cold as the ground beneath her chest. Tears stung her eyes. She would cry later. Right now, she had a confession to gain and an arrest to make. Maybe two.
“I’m not sure you can handle the truth, sweet Abby,” Deke taunted.
Fury tightened her lips. “Your being here says it all. That email only went to my haters. That tells me a hell of a lot.”
“Are you sure, Abby? More than one federal agency has been watching Belclare. I was sent to keep an eye on things...to protect you.” He sounded as calm as he did over coffee in his parlor. “Do stand up and let’s discuss this rationally. You know me, Abby. Why would you hide from me? If I’d wanted you dead, I could have easily made that happen on any number of occasions.”
At least that last part was the truth. “Yes,” she said, pushing to her feet. She’d had enough. She wanted the truth. “Why don’t we all three discuss this right now.”
“Agreed.” Riley stepped clear of the trees he was using for cover, holding a gun aimed at Deke’s chest.
Deke’s gloved hands were raised and empty, palms facing out.
As if seeing him for the first time, she could tell by Riley’s stance that carpentry wasn’t his primary vocation. Questions ripped through her, not one of them relevant to this particular moment and all too painful. “Lower your weapon,” she ordered, her voice quavering.
“No.” He didn’t flinch. “Deke Maynard is a killer, the mastermind behind all of this. We just got confirmation.”
“The convenient lies of an expert assassin,” Deke countered, shaking his head as if the accusations were nothing more serious than the ranting of an unhappy child. “I saw the media footage of him with that poor woman’s car. Quite a heroic feat, designed to impress you, Abby. He’s been lying to you all along. I’ve been doing some research of my own and Riley O’Brien is not who he claims he is.”
“You know damn good and well I didn’t have anything to do with any of this, Abby,” Riley argued, fury darkening his face.
Deke made a disapproving tsk-tsk. “He got that close? You mustn’t blame yourself. His specific...ah...skills are well-known in unsavory circles.”
Abby tried to summon her voice but it wasn’t happening. All she could do was watch the two men who had fooled her so completely. Maybe she didn’t deserve to be Belclare’s chief of police after all.
“Deke is a terrorist,” Riley accused. “The dump of Filmore’s phone records shows a connection.”
“The man and I chatted frequently about what was best for the town,” Deke explained. “You know how obsessed he is with preservation.”
Abby struggled with the decision. They were both so convincing. She searched for a defining question, one that would expose the liar. “Someone convinced Filmore to set that fire.”
“A search of his home turned up nothing of consequence,” Deke said, dropping his hands to his pockets with a new measure of confidence that no one was going to shoot him. “I believe he thought he could save the town by making you look bad.”
Deke glanced beyond her, to her left. What was he looking for? She risked a glance in that direction, but she didn’t see any movement. If someone was closing in on them, the Lewiston guard would fire or, at the very least, warn her.
“Think, Abby,” Riley challenged, bringing her attention back on point. His gun was still trained on Deke.
“Lower the gun,” she repeated, the mixture of hurt and anger building in her chest making it hard to breathe.
Riley shot her a disappointed look but did as she asked this time. Abby looked from Deke to Riley and back again. Her heart screamed for her to make the right choice, her temper told her to drag them both to jail.
“Yes, do think carefully,” Deke said, his voice steady and smooth as silk while she wrestled with her indecision. “This man, this stranger, has used you to further a terrible cause.”
“How long are you going to listen to this crap?” Riley demanded. “How well do you really know him, Abby?”
Deke was the eccentric artist, the local recluse who only came down from his studio to grace the people with enough wisdom and charm to keep them satisfied. And perpetually curious. Beyond weekly coffee and the occasional canvas displayed in the gallery window, what did she know about how he spent his time or where his assets came from?
She didn’t want to believe he was the bad guy, but she couldn’t quite believe he was a federal agent.
A wave of guilt rushed over her. She’d enjoyed his attentions, believing his interest and supportive friendship had been genuine. Had his flattery made her blind to the facts of his true nature?
“Finish this, Abby,” Riley urged. “Don’t make a mistake that will get us both killed.”
His voice slid low and rough across her senses, much as those working hands of his had slipped over her body last night. If he was the assassin Deke claimed, Riley had certainly been close enough to take her out any number of times, as well.
It was the worst kind of standoff. She was staring at a hero and a killer. She only had to decide which one was which. Being wrong could very well cost her her life. Being right could cost her the love of her life. She nearly laughed at herself for ever thinking she enjoyed making the tough calls.
Sirens approached and brakes squealed, making the turn from the paved road into the gravel parking lot. Here was her backup—who would she send back in cuffs?
“Abby,” Deke coaxed. “You know me.”
“He’s a liar, Abby,” Riley ins
isted.
Her gaze locked with Riley’s and suddenly she knew. Heart and gut instinct aligned in one perfect moment of clarity. Riley had warned her there was more to this situation and he’d repeatedly asked her who stood to gain. She couldn’t prove it in legal terms, but she wouldn’t have to. Unless she was wrong.
Her backup rushed into position next to her.
“Arrest Mr. Maynard,” she announced. She kept her gun trained on Deke until Officer Gadsden had him handcuffed. “I’ll notify Homeland Security.” She risked a look at Riley. “Mr. O’Brien?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll need you to come in and make a formal statement.” A statement that better include a thorough explanation of that confirmation he’d mentioned, as well as his surprise appearance out here.
He arched an eyebrow. Whether that silent, subtle gesture was about her official tone or something else, she didn’t care to analyze right now.
“I can do that. Anything else?”
Oh, there was a lot more, but this wasn’t the place to get into the other issues. “The city of Belclare thanks you.” She turned her back on him before she broke down entirely. The chief of police did not dissolve into a puddle of mush in front of terrorists and curious citizens.
“Hey, Chief!”
She looked over at Jerry Lewiston, the head of the Lewiston family. He was standing near the area Deke had been looking at. “Yes?”
“Can we keep the bomb?”
“I beg your pardon?” The shock of his words cleared away the emotional cobwebs. Thankfully.
“Way I figure, it’s a fair exchange for the damaged tree.”
“I’d have to disagree,” she said, striding over to see what the hell he was talking about. “It’s evidence.”
“But it was my boy who helped your friend in the red vest disarm it and save your life.”
She looked down, her knees wobbling. It had been a close call. Lewiston was right. If this had gone off... “You saw who planted it.”