Savage Retribution

by Lexxie Couper

  He could guess what was going on in Regan’s head. And he knew she needed a moment alone.

  A sigh welled up in his chest and he released it slowly. Christ, what would she do when he told her his next move?

  Kill him?

  He suppressed the dry snort before it left his nose. No, she wouldn’t kill him, but she wasn’t going to be happy either. In fact, she’d probably put up a fight, a pretty good fight, knowing her. He couldn’t imagine her letting him lock her up, no matter how persuasive he was. Still…

  The faint sound of running water trickled into his consciousness and a small smile pulled at Declan’s relaxed lips. She was having a shower.

  The image of her naked body, glistening with streaming water, bubbles of soapsuds clinging to her amazing curves filled his head. He groaned, opening his eyes in an attempt to remove the image. Regan did need a moment alone. Thinking of her wet and naked made him want to leap up the stairs, fling open the shower-screen doors and make love to her all over again.

  His cock twitched between his thighs at the thought.

  Mary, Mother of God, when did everything in his world become about Regan Thomas?

  When you first saw her in Epoc’s lab? When she first kissed you, back in her home?

  He sat up, ignoring the blazing agony his side was becoming. Shit. Falling in love was not part of his plan. Get her out of Sydney. Take her far away from Epoc. Keep her there. Keep her safe. That was his plan.

  She’s never going to be safe with you, Dec. You know that. Not while Epoc is alive.

  Cold realization closed over him and he clenched his jaw. As long as Nathan Epoc was alive, he had to stay away from Regan.

  Another cold wave washed over him. Not only at the danger he’d brought into her life, but at the complete and absolute knowledge he could never stay away from her. Never.

  He straightened from the chaise, walking across the ballroom in long, determined strides. The only way to never stay away from Regan was to wipe Nathan Epoc’s existence from the face of the planet. And the only way to wipe Nathan Epoc’s existence from the face of the planet was to take Regan farther away than he’d planned.

  What he needed now was a fast car.

  A really fast car.

  Chapter 8

  Sydney’s peak hour traffic turned the roads to sludge. Metal sludge. People sweated behind their wheels, hammered at their horns, hurled abuse out their windows and generally went nowhere.

  Peter’s grip on his own steering wheel tightened. The urge to activate the hidden red and blues on his unmarked car and part the gridlock like Moses parting the Red Sea made his fingers itch. One flick of a switch and he’d be moving. No closer to finding Reggie, but moving. If he were moving he’d be focusing on the road. Not the confusing, alluring and far too distracting female beside him.

  “This is going to be a very poor partnership if you never speak to me again, Detective.”

  “I’ll speak to you, Yolanda. Once I figure you out.”

  A throaty chuckle filled the cabin of his car. “Not until then? Then I guess we will never speak. A pity, really.”

  Irritation made him scowl. “Are you playing me for a fool, Vischka?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glared at the traffic, muscles tense. “Nothing.”

  “Do you mean the attraction between us?”

  His pulse kicked up a notch. “Drop it, Detective.” Anger rolled through him. At her unexpected statement and his physical reaction to it.

  “If I tell you I was immediately attracted to you?”

  “I said drop it.”

  “Why? Because you feel the same way?”

  He shook his head. “What are you after, Yolanda?”

  “After?”

  “Call me suspicious, but I still have a problem with you becoming my partner the day my sister goes missing.”

  “And I had something to do with that?” She chuckled, low and throaty as always, the sound making his jaw clench and his balls throb. “You have seen too many movies, Detective.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You need to trust me.” Yolanda’s warm hand smoothed over his thigh and her voice grew husky. “How can we work as partners if you do not trust me? Verdammt, Peter. You can feel the chemistry between us. I see it in your eyes, I feel it in your muscles. Imagine what it would be like if you only trusted me?”

  He dropped a glance at her hand on his tense thigh before lifting his gaze to give her a level look. “Who are you, Yolanda?”

  She blinked at him. “I am your new partner.”

  “No. I mean who are you? And the shit about transferring from Sydney West because your Area Command wanted to screw you doesn’t cut it. I find it far too convenient my old partner breaks his shoulder on the very day my sister is abducted. And, apart from making my dick stand at attention with just a look, all you’ve done since we’ve met is ask questions about her.”

  A horn suddenly blasted. And again. Followed by a venomous shout from behind, “Pull your fuckin’ finger out, mate!”

  “The traffic is moving, Detective.” Yolanda pointed at the growing space on the road before them, a languid smirk playing with her lips.

  Peter turned his attention to his rearview mirror, scowling at the bird-flipping teenager in the lowered hatch behind him. The urge to open his door, walk back to the youth, flash his badge and teach the unsocial lout a painful lesson in patience was strong. But he couldn’t. His cock—that traitorous, fervent organ—was growing stiffer with each passing second. He wasn’t teaching anyone anything with a bulge in his pants.

  Self-disgust curdled in his mouth and he pressed his foot to the accelerator, stomach lurching as his car roared forward. “I’m taking you back to Command.”

  “Why? Where are you going?”

  The irritation in her voice made him want to smile. It was about time he got to her the way she was getting to him. “I have work to do.”

  “Without your partner?”

  He pushed the car into a narrow gap. “Yes.”

  “You think I am involved with your sister’s abduction, yes?” Yolanda’s soft question filled the terse silence in the car. “You think I somehow had your partner injured so I could take his place? That I am using you to get to her?”

  Peter turned his head, giving her a steady, silent look.

  “And I am seducing you for the same reasons?”

  He clenched his fists around the steering wheel. Refusing to answer.

  For a split second, Yolanda’s eyes seemed to shine with something dark and painful, before it disappeared behind a coolly poised glare. She lifted her chin. “You cannot believe I find you attractive, even though I know partners should never feel that way about each other?”

  “No. I can’t.”

  She removed her hand from his thigh. “Very well. What if I tell you my life has been one bad choice after another? One shattered dream to the next? What if I tell you, the first time I met you, I thought maybe, just maybe, you were a man governed by his heart, not his fists, seeing the caring way you scratched the lizard perched on your shoulder? What if I tell you every time I see the worry in your eyes when you talk about your sister, I fill with hope? Hope fate has finally dealt me a hand I might win with? Can you believe that?” She tilted her chin. “Or am I playing you for a fool?”

  Peter felt his heart hammer in his chest. Christ. What the fuck did he think now?

  Yolanda scowled at his silence and turned to look out the window. “You have been a cop too long, Detective.”

  Unease twisted in his gut. Something didn’t ring true. Didn’t feel right. He’d listened to his instincts his whole life. Why was he not doing so now? What was it about Yolanda Vischka that threw him so far for a loop? “So, it’s all a coincidence?” he asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.

  She turned back to him, eyes direct. “Yes.”

  “Prove it. Call your old Command.”

  “Now?”

&nb
sp; Peter nodded.

  Wordlessly, Yolanda removed her cell phone from her jacket pocket, dialed in a number and handed it to Peter. “Penrith Local Area Command,” an indifferent voice said on the other end, the familiar sounds of a busy police station humming in the background.

  “This is Detective Peter Thomas from Sydney City Homicide. Can I speak to your Chief Inspector, please?”

  There was a slight clunk, followed by: “This is Inspector Wallis, Detective Thomas. How can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to ask you a question about one of your detectives, Inspector. Yolanda Vischka. She was transferred—”

  “To your command area,” Wallis cut in. “And I’m bloody pissed off about it. Told her months ago I wasn’t going to let her go. Too bloody good at her job to lose her. Pisses me off. I shoulda tore up the transfer papers when she put them on my desk. She started yet?”

  Peter’s chest grew tight. “Yes, Inspector. Today.” He cast Yolanda a sideward glance. “When was her transfer approved, may I ask?”

  “Three months ago. I refused to let her go until she’d closed off her cases.” There was a heavy pause. “The place isn’t anywhere near as enjoyable now she’s gone.”

  Peter disconnected. He passed the phone back to Yolanda, unable to miss the smug expression on her face.

  “Well?”

  Her smooth and somehow throaty voice caressed his ears. Made his prick twitch with contemptuous attention.

  “You want to say something to me, yes?”

  “Your old Inspector says Hi.”

  “That is not what I mean, Detective.”

  He stared at the taillights of the car in front of his, sweat trickling down his temple. “You’ve got me so fucking mixed-up, Yolanda. I don’t know which way is up. When I should be thinking about Reggie I’m wondering what it would be like to…”

  He faltered, knuckles turning white on the wheel.

  “To what? Kiss me?”

  Self-contempt gnawed at him. “Drop it, Yolanda.”

  The hand returned to his leg. Caressed his knee. His thigh. “I can show you. If you let me.”

  Peter clenched the wheel, his balls beginning to swell with base interest at the lazy strokes Yolanda’s fingers played over his leg. Resisting the urge to squirm, he studied her from the corner of his eye, knowing all too well she felt the tension in his body. Jesus. Everything in his gut told him she was wrong, that the whole situation was wrong, but with one touch of her fingers he was ready to fuck her senseless. What does she really want? Get her to answer that at least. Maybe then you can get your focus back on the hunt for Reggie.

  “Tell me straight, Yolanda,” he said, keeping his stare firmly on the road. “Are you fucking with me?”

  Her responding chuckle—somehow both dirty and innocent—made his groin throb with hunger. “No. But I would like to.”

  He cast her a quick look, pulse pounding. “Do you seduce all your partners like this?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t I believe a word you’re saying, Vischka?”

  The hand on his thigh inched high, making his blood run hot and his mouth dry. “Because you are broken.”

  Peter swallowed, the building tension in his lower body stealing his concentration. Remove her hand, Thomas! For Christsake, remove her hand. “Broken?” he repeated instead.

  “Broken,” Yolanda whispered.

  He pulled in a ragged breath through flaring nostrils. “How do you know that?”

  “It is in your eyes. And the way you react and recoil from my touch. Like a man who finally tastes life after deprived of it for far too long. A man who hungers what he tastes yet fears it all the same, yes?”

  Ravenous blood pumped through his veins at the thought of touching her. Touching her in ways partners never should. “Damn it, Yolanda. I don’t need this now!”

  “I’m not trying to deceive you, Peter.”

  He snorted, the sound sharp and scornful.

  “Shall I tell you who I am?” she asked, angry, defiant and sad all at once. “I am single, my parents died when I was I seven, I have been in Australia for almost ten years, even when I was living in the orphanage in Germany I wanted to be a cop and I have a weakness for broken men.” She slid her hand higher up his thigh, her knuckles brushing the swell of his crotch before slipping back down to his knee. “I will fix you, Peter. Let me in, trust me and I will fix it all.” Her lips parted in a soft breath and she twisted in her seat, studying him with smoldering intensity. “Let me help you,” she murmured, leaning slightly toward him, her warm breath kissing the side of his neck, his jaw, sending libidinous pleasure through his body. He stared out through the windscreen, the surrounding traffic and Sydney itself gone, the world narrowed down to the growing tension in his groin and the thought of Yolanda in his arms…

  “Let me help you, Peter. Let me help you find Regan.”

  His sister’s name was a shard of ice stabbing straight into his gut. He glared at Yolanda, the blaring horns and sweltering heat of reality crashing over him in crushing, contemptuous force. “Why are you so interested in my sister?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

  Yolanda stared at him, face unreadable. Her lips parted…

  And his cell phone rang.

  Infuriated impatience tore through him. He snatched the device from his jacket pocket, refusing to take his eyes from Yolanda’s. “Detective Thomas,” he snapped.

  “Detective,” a familiar voice said on the other end. “This is Sydney City Dispatch. Your sister’s left a message for you.”

  Peter’s heart slammed into his chest and for a moment everything felt frozen. “Yes?”

  “It’s in a private residence in McMahon’s Point,” Dispatch said. “Detective Huddart from North Sydney Command is waiting for you there.”

  * * * *

  Regan tried not to feel the luxury surrounding her. The stolen Jag purred north along the freeway, eating up the miles like an animal on the trail of prey both sweet and fast. The leather seat hugged her hips and back, the cool air-conditioned air kissed her bare limbs and cheeks and the mellow sounds of Miles Davis emanated from the speakers with such deep clarity her skin rippled with shivers. If she closed her eyes, it would be too easy to imagine she was heading to a secluded resort up the coast for a relaxing weekend away with her sultry, new lover.

  But she couldn’t close her eyes. Not when Declan looked so pale. She frowned at him. “You need help.”

  He grinned, looking far too at ease behind the wheel of the stolen sports car, despite the pallor to his skin and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “What kind of help?”

  “You’re not well. You need to see a doctor.”

  Declan chuckled. “And what kind of doctor would you be having me see, love? An animal doctor?”

  Regan glared at him, a faint blush heating her cheeks. “So, it’s perfectly okay for you to risk your life to keep me safe, but when I make an educated statement you make fun of me?” She turned back to the window, watching low, rolling hills pass beside her in a green blur. “I don’t like you, Declan O’Connell.”

  Declan chuckled again. “Yes you do.”

  Regan ignored him. Well, tried to. Her body was way too attuned to his presence, her heart too entangled with his. The blush in her cheeks growing hotter, she turned from the window and cocked an eyebrow at him. “So, your plan is to keep driving north until we get to where? Queensland? Will you see a doctor then?”

  “Love, a doctor would run screaming from the room if he took a look at me. You know that. You’ve done it yourself a few times already.”

  “Declan, you look terrible.”

  It was a lie. He looked gorgeous. As dangerously sensual as ever. The clothes he’d “borrowed” this time suited him, the expensive, black designer jeans, black leather boots and a black polo shirt seemingly made for him. If it weren’t for the sweaty forehead and pale skin she’d have thought him as healthy as ever.

  Declan laughed. “You really kno
w how to make a man feel good about himself, do you know that?”

  She narrowed her eyes. The laugh was loud and totally at ease. But it also seemed controlled. Like he was holding it for some reason. “You’re being stupid,” she stated. “I spend every day working with animals in pain. I know you’re trying to hide it from me.”

  Another laugh burst from Declan’s lips, this one louder. “So, you’ve finally admitted what I am. Guess it was a vet you were talking about taking me to, after all.”

  Regan gaped at him. She wanted to slap him. Or hold him. “Watch it,” she snapped, “or I’ll be asking him to neuter you.”

  Declan laughed again, the rich sound a perfect foil to the bluesy trumpet tones wafting from the car’s sound system. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Regan Thomas.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Are all Australian women as prickly as you?”

  “Only ones abducted by Irish werewolves with a hero complex.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know, you’re not doing much to dispel the old Irish stereotype here.”

  “And what stereotype would that be? That all Irishmen are amazing lovers?”

  Regan felt her cheeks fill with heat. She rolled her eyes—both at Declan’s statement and the way her pussy fluttered and pulse quickened at the thought of his sexual prowess. “No,” she shot back, forcing her rapacious response away. She was not in love with him, damn it! She wasn’t. “The stereotype that deals with an Irishman’s intelligence.” She folded her arms and tilted her chin. “Not getting medical care is just plain stupid.”

  “Aah, that stereotype. Just be calling me Paddy then, love.”

  Regan threw up her hands, exasperated to screaming point. She turned to her window and watched the eucalypts blur by. What did she do now? Knock him out the same way he had her?

  She shot him a surreptitious look.

  She’d laid out more than one male in her life—Peter had copped more than one punch to the jaw as they were growing up—but something told her Declan’s jaw wouldn’t succumb to mere human physics. Besides, she knew how he drove. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was doing less than ninety miles an hour at the moment. She wanted him to get medical care—not put them both in an ER. She needed a different tactic.